...thanks alotta

   Returning from Grandpa's, Janet and I are pissed once again. Pissed at the lack of common courtesy that is sadly lacking in her dad and brother. Both pitch a fit when the family doesn't do things their way and then, when you try and accommodate them; they turn backwards and basically say 'fuck you, we don't give a shit what we do'.

   Ever since her Mom passed away a few years ago, Grandpa and Mike (the brother) have become increasingly cyncical and critical of everything one tries to do. Grandpa bitches that he can't imagine it cost to prepare Thanksgiving dinner for twelve people as much as it does. Why of course not, he's responsible for buying the pies and then laments that they cost him a mere $1.99 a pie. So, his total investment for dinner is under eight fucking dollars.

   I give Mike credit, he did spend about seventy-five dollars this year and we spent our usual hundred or so. I don't mind us doing so, but it sure would be nice if the others would acknowledge the effort Janet goes to in making this a nice meal and occasion for the family.

   Alex and I went to see Mike's son Zach in a soccer match. Sad, they lost 1-5. Zach just doesn't seem to be as selfish with  the ball as he needs to be. He has some teammates that are good individually but as a team, forget it. They haven't discovered the magic of teamwork. Then again, Mike says they have different coaches all the time and none of them agree on the philosophy of how to play. No wonder the boys aren't worth a shit as a team.

   Aunt Doey and Uncle Jimmy were there. Out of the blue, Aunt Lindy shows up with Stacey, her daughter and two of Stacey's children, McKenzkie and Keegan. Keegan is a twelve year boy who is taking fiddle lessons. naturally talented, he's painfully shy about performing but Mom and Dad force the issue. McKenzie is a junior in high sachool this year and does softball and track. Plans to go to Maryville for college and major in sport or physical therapy. Pretty girl that has adecent sense to her. And everyone brought food...yeah!

   Alex is now home at his house and Janet and I have enjoyed some relative peace and quiet tonight. She read on her book and I'm writing to you. I've also sketched out a second fictional novel that's been playing in my head. More about that later. Need to stop, rest and then continue tweeking my comedy. Until next time, keep your powder dry...kG

...giving THANKS!

   Whew, it's Friday, they call it 'Black' Friday. Just finished watching 'The View' when they expressed my sentiments exactly, isn't this a bit racist? Hell, when we were in school, we could have called every Thursday 'Queer' Thursday; especially if you wore green or yellow. And let's see, 'Red' Sunday when the Chiefs were playing a home game at Arrowhead. I get so damn tired of being politically correct. It's just Friday, folks.

   Anyway, had a reasonable uneventful Turkey Day on Thursday. Just the Mrs., my son and myself at home. Went for a car ride around neighboring Franklin County. Had to cut the 'ride' short as we all three had taken a dieuretic earlier in the day. Talking about peeing like race horses, every bend in the road we'd come to, one of us would have to bail out of the van and take a hike. Fortunately, there are an abundant amount of Quik Trip's and Casey's in the area...and they were open.

   We will celebrate with family on Saturday...a real first for us. In the past, if it wasn't right at noon on the Day, it wouldn't be Thanksgiving...all ten minutes of it. We'd shovel the food down our throat in record time thus allowing for Grandpa and Uncle Mike to watch football on the tellie; let me do my usual nap; let the boyrs piss and moan about nothing to do and allow Janet and Grandma time to bitch that no one even offerred 'thanks' on this glorious day.

   Seriously, I am thankful for all of the above. I mean, really friends; where else could I be and here all of this racket? I could be homeless and pretend that I'm not hungry. I could live in total poverty and imagine that I don't hear the sounds of bullets going off everywhere or worst yet, here the screams of someone being raped. I could be laying in a hospital bed, clinging for life, knowing full well that it will never come. And then I thank the good Lord for our armed forces...they do their job without much thanks from an ungrateful nation.

   Ah, living the dream, the American dream. What gluttony we have in this country. Is enough never enough? I doubt it. So, yes, I give thanks to the family times of the year. They truly are memories I cherish and will take to my grave knowing that I had at least that. With that in mind, surround yourself with family and give thanks. And remember, family isn't always by blood. Until next time...kG

...my facts, my life

   Good morning, it's cold today in Kansas. So much for the tropical breezes, I could use a tropical heat wave right about now. And the shot of rum doesn't count.

   The doctor has convinced me to apply for permanent disability. Geez, that fucking sucks! She threw the line at me 'you've had a terrific 30 years in the workplace'. Yeah, more bullshit; but I'm applying. Sorry for the potty mouth, I'm just disgusted. My wife has even gone so far as to encourage me to do the same. Imagine that.

   She's concerned that I continue to keep falling alseep for brief periods of time at the oddest times, i.e. during the day while visiting with her Dad; driving down the road; sitting on the throne. I've been doing research on that, I think I have the answer...I'm tired, just damn tired of the state of affairs.

   Seriously, the medical condition is known as narcoplesy...geez, sounds contagious. Gonna' go for now, we'll discuss more later. Thanks for listening, have a great holiday...kG

...a homework assignment

My close friend Mary Margaret posted this: Here's the game: Grab the book nearest to you right now. • Turn to page 56. • Find the fifth sentence. • Post that sentence in a return email to me. • Don't dig for your favorite book, the coolest, the most intellectual. Use the CLOSEST book.

Happy Turkey Day to one and all!

By the way, here's what I picked up: (its from a book to one  of the people I'm sending this to...and it's ironic, it's how I feel right now...)

"What you're doing right now isn't working, is it?" [Here's the real zinger, the sixth sentence follows] "If it isn't (and chances are you wouldn't be reading this if it was...) then maybe you'll agree it's time for a change.

...an introduction or something like that

   By now, you should know that I am a wannabe author as well as a wannabe comedian. The following is a brief excerpt from my soon-to-be published firt book. With a rather long, cumbersome title of  'Conversations with KennyGene - A Wannabe Comic: For the Mature Child in All of Us'; the book is an irreverent look back at some of the more outrageous shenanigans I have experienced within my lifetime.

   A moon over Indiana will bring a smile to your face while a few of the coming age tales could make you faint, if not, downright momentarily ill. Like most of us, I admit to an addiction for food and learn how I’ve come to cope with the never-ending habit. Other situations are funny in a juvenile sort of way and the stories from my college years might even appear a tad cruel. While reading along, one must remember the time in my life when these occur and to the context of which I write about them.
   I grow up on the lower side of middle class in the very heart of the Midwest. I have four brothers, even though my mother claims in having only two sons (and sometimes its one, even if I’m not the chosen one); a set of parents; one wife, complete with her parents; a dynamite son; a menagerie of current and past pets in and out of the house; and friends that span five of the seven continents. That is, last time I counted, I didn’t know of any relatives or partners in crime hiding along the banks of the Congo in Africa or stationed at Antarctica, but I could be wrong.

   As a child, my pastor often told me on Youth Sundays that I should consider the ministry, as I would always tread where angels feared. There was always someone volunteering me to deliver the sermon on those occasions. As far as I am concerned, I simply spoke what was on my mind. Much the same goes here – I’m only telling stories which most of us have forgotten or wish I would never remember, let alone air to the pubic at large. I only try and find the perverse humor in our lives; that’s all.

   One thing is for certain, you’ll not likely forget the conversations we share here and you will probably remember me…KennyGene – A Wannabe Comic…right or wrong, good or bad, the memories will become an indelible part of your memory. Maybe, just maybe, some day you will have your own version to tell.

   Want to know more, than watch for the book and buy it...kG

...reflections of you

   More on this later, just want to make note and come back to this.

   ...well, I'm back. Just returned home from watching the movie 'The Blindside' with Sandra Bullock and Tim McGraw. Should be required viewing for every man, woman and child. I just don't understand bigotry. Granted, my dad was the second worst bigot known to me; the first was his dad, Grandpa No Legs. Maybe that's why I am of the opposite persuasion...don't know and not sure I want to.

   Regardless, the Mrs. is a tad upset over my writing. She hasn't read it all but she knows most of it. What I've done is provided a sneak preview of the initial draft of my book to twenty-five individuals. Each of them are unique in their person, their beliefs and their friendship with me. Ironically, two of the more 'liberal' seem to be the ONLY ones upset by its contents. The one, a true child of the sixties and a pseudo flower child only read one chapter and remarked 'she didn't know how cruel I am'. For God sakes woman, these are events of my childhood and college years. Tell me woman, are you the same person you were then? I hardly doubt it.

   The second read it in its entirety. I can't really define why she is offended. Maybe its because the stories are told from a male point of view and she is a lesbian. I respect her in many ways but I think she missed the boat here. However, I still think highly of her and she is still a very good friend.

   After discussing the other twenty-three raves with my publisher, he posed one question. 'Will I let the 8 % of the population who will not buy nor read the boook stop me from going forward?' Obviously not, I am going forward and the book is due out in the Spring of 2010.

   As for the Mrs., again she feels that my writing is a reflection of me...good or bad...she only wants to protect me from the negative. Like I've explained to her, it is ONLY a part of me and not ALL of me.

   As for the reflections of you, that's another story. Maybe I'll address it a little later. For sure, there will be a story about that in my next volume. Until then, keep smilin'...makes people wonder what you've been up to...kG

  

...announcing

                                              One second,


                                              One minute,


                                              One hour,


                                              One day,


                                              One week,


                                              One month,


                                              One year,


                                              In my life,


                                              On my life,


                                              Of my life,


                                              For my life

...facebook and how to ace your history class

     Just when I think there can't be anything better than sliced bread...rather the internet...along comes the likes of Facebook, myspace and youtube. Those social networks are amazing. Have dabbled for a very brief time with FB and have reconnected with friends from years ago. And, yes, I have had to face the neighborhood bullies once again. Good thing they are on that side of the screen, I'd want to piss in their face and then run like a bat out of hell.

     Still haven't figured it all out yet but know one thing, this blog and those type of media will play into the market mix of my upcoming book "Conversations With KennyGene - A Wannabe Comic: For the Mature Child in All of Us". Try saying that three times backwards blindfolded. Let's see...

   "su of llA ni dlihc erutaM eht roF :cimoC wbannaW A' makes one; "su of llA ni dlihc erutaM eht roF :cimoC wbannaW A'  makes two; and, "su of llA ni dlihc erutaM eht roF :cimoC wbannaW A' is three.

     No, it's not some kryptic message from the Russians. Its just me being a smartless smartass. The hell with the blindfold, I just remove my glasses and I can't see shit for brains. Actually, reminds of the time in high school when I had a dumbshit old football jock as an American History teacher. He reads out of a syllabus that was probably over a hundred years old. On Fridays, he'd assign us twenty questions to write and turn in on the following Friday. If you did exceptionally well, he gave you a plus sign. If it were average you got a check mark and if you simply turned it in, you got the dreaded minus sign.

     Being a guy with few words...imagine that...I'd answer all twenty with concise, dead-on, correct answers and only used two to three pages. Invariably, I would either get the minus sign or, on a good day, succeeded and got the check mark. Never the plus that I thought I deserved.

     Something came over me one day and I removed the outer sheet on three past assignments and turned them in with a new cover sheet. The next week I got mine back with a nice surprise - not one, but two plus signs. Hmmm...I'm on to something. The next week I removed the cover sheet and a couple sheets and when I got it back, I received a plus sign. So it went for the rest of the term.

     For the last assignment of the year, I really showed that I had balls. I took one of the papers and wrote everything in reverse. Just like the crap above. Guess what...you guessed it. I got it back with two plusses once again and ended up aceing the class.

...enjoy, it's not original...but enjoy it anyway

                                  
                            JESUS IS WATCHING OVER YOU

     A burglar got into a house one night. Shining his flashlight on the floor in the dark, he heard a voice saying, "Jesus is watching you."

     He looked around nervously, shook his head, and kept looking for valuables. He again heard, "Jesus is watching you." This time, he shone his light all over, and it rested on a parrot.

     He asked, "Did you say that?" The parrot admitted that it had. "I'm just trying to warn you, that's all."

     The burglar said, "Warn me, huh? Who are you? What's your name?"

     "Moses."

     "Well, what kind of stupid people would name a parrot 'Moses'?"

     The bird answered, "I don't know; I guess the same folks who would name a Rottweiler 'Jesus'."

...an end to my higher education...finally

“Mrs. Right, is Mrs. Beautiful on her way? I’m a bit nauseous; I’ve lost control of all of my senses,” Dr. Supreme snaps out.

     “Is this any way to talk to your loyal assistant Dr. I. M. Supreme? You’re going home right now and retire to bed,” scolds Mrs. I’m So Beautiful as she enters the offices.

     “Oh, hello love. I’m sorry, I don’t understand what’s happening to me,” he replies as he gathers his jacket and gold-laden parasol, his second most prized possession from his trip around the world.

     As they wave good-bye to everyone, the senior couple leaves with the educator not returning for the balance of the week. “Man, that must have been some good shit,” I thought. I’m clueless because I don’t need that fucking crap in my system. Then I wonder, ‘how does crap fuck’?

     I walk out of the office with Mrs. Jokester by my side. We need to deliver some reports to the registrar downstairs before the end of the day.

     “Good job, ma’am” I snicker as we both try to contain ourselves. “Damn fine job, KennyGene. I can’t wait to get home and tell Mr. Quarterback” as we brag to each other while strolling down the back hall to our final destination.

     And so another day comes to an end within these balls of ivy. I suspect this is why we call it higher education...kG

...continuing education higher & higher, part IV

Tamping down on the fresh tobacco, the good man begins to stoke the stuff and lights up. He inhales a deep breath as he continues to compact the glowing wad of leaves. The man of many words takes a deeper hit the second time and shakes his head, rubbing his brow.

     “Lizabeth,” a contraction of Mrs. Right’s first name, “you did go to Wally World for my tobaccy, didn’t you,” he questions.

     “Why, of course I did. Is something wrong,” she responds submissively to the gray-haired, pompous fool.

     “I’m certain you did my dear” as he continues puffing away on the mixture of Prince Albert and Lebanese Red. “I’m a little light-headed, though. Must be something I ate at the luncheon.”

     “Ms. Jokester, KennyGene, come in here,” yells out our boss. Rarely one to raise his voice, we quickly jump in to find out what is the matter. Obviously he sounds a little disturbed.

     “Your noses out of whack, what is that nasty odor out there,” motioning towards the outer offices. “Its Dr. I. M. Supreme, he’s just smoking his pipe with the new tobacco his secretary bought him,” Ms. Jokester speaks up. I shake my head in agreement and look away, trying to keep a stoned face.

     “If I didn’t think better, I’d believe he’s smoking some marijuana like you kids do at the football games” as he continues to the point of having a mild escalation attack.

     “I don’t know Dr. Everybody, they both are about the same…plain crappy if you ask me,” adding in my worthless two cents.

     “You two wouldn’t know something you’re not telling me, would you” he continues, pressing for answers which never come.

     Not waiting for our answer, he dismisses us and we return to work. Dr. Supreme, higher than a March kite, asks Mrs. Right to call his lovely wife, Mrs. I’m So Beautiful, to come to campus and take him home. He can’t finish the day in this condition.

...higher & higher education, part III

Mrs. Jokester is in place and Mrs. Right walks in with her mealtime purchase. True to her characterless routine, she places the smelly crap in the canister and rushes out to the women’s john. Nimble as a frightened deer, my boss’s girl scrambles into Dr. Supreme’s office and mixes the pot with his new tobacco. This will be all too funny; I can hardly wait. I might even pee my pants.

     Thirty minutes later Mr. Self Important comes back from the chamber with Dr. Handsome My boss returns from meeting with the faculty. Everyone else is present and busy working the day away.

     Dr. Supreme retreats to his office and finds Mrs. Right has indeed replenished his stock. “Thank you again, Mrs. Right. I can always count on you’” the dean praises her in front of the rest of the worker bees. This appears so trite to me. All of his verbal flatulence, what’s the point?

     “Okay, Mom, in English this means passing wind or even plainer language, the good doctor of education is farting at the mouth.” My Dad says it better and gives her a one-world reply.

     “Buuullllshit!” Simple, direct and dead-on, I acquire the same passion for that word and his delivery style. Nothing more, nothing less, its complete as presented.

     Enough sidebar conversation, back at school, Dr. Supreme reappears center stage once more with his latest status symbol, a gift from the Dark Continent. King Kahuna Tuna from the Republic of Nothingness presents Supreme with a thoughtless smoking oracle, a pipe made from the remains of a slain elephant’s ivory tusk.

...time for reflection and giving thanks

   It's only appropriate with Thanksgiving being just a few days away that we should all pause, reflect and give thanks to the many blessings each of us have had bestowed upon us. I know, I do and will do so here.

    First and foremost, I thank God for providing me with a wonderful soul mate and wife. J has seen me through the good times as well as the bad. She's one dynamite lady who I would have never dreamed as being a part of my life almost thirty-five years ago. When I left KC for college, I couldn’t run fast enough. Sure, high school was great but my home, well; let's not go there. I was just glad to be free of what I was leaving behind.

   Secondly, I thank the good Lord and J for giving me one terrific son, A. He came into this world besieged with medical difficulties that were not made for the faint of heart. The doctors and other 'professionals' gave him up for dead. So much so that the hospital staff did their damnest to convince us to sign him over to the state.

   Obviously, they didn't know us and we didn't take their instruction. Today, A is thirty-one years old, lives with two roommates in supported-care and is totally involved in his community. We can't keep up with the lad. How that makes me proud that this guy that the world was willing to write off, has battled back numerous times in his life, and has become stronger and more determined then ever to live and thrive in this world.

   A is an avid KU Jayhawk fan...erstwhile, a sometimes KSU Wildcat fan and participates in many sports and activities. He's faithful to the Chiefs...unlike me his Dad who loathes them...and even follows the Royals. And there isn't a movie been made that he hasn't seen or purchased in the last 10,000 years. He has a never-ending spirit of love and goodwill towards everyone. As Christ is called charismatic, so is A. He draws people in and makes them accepting of all kinds of people...regardless of their personal situation. He's what I would call a man's man because of this.

   Third, I thank all of you for being a part of my life. All of you have helped me form and become the person I am today. I am not without faults, but then again, who is? I wish all of you the joy and fellowship this Thanksgiving. Take it and make it last the whole year through. If you feel a bit pressed, take a minute and take stock of what you have, the freedoms you enjoy and the life before you. Then, pass it forward in some small way. You and the world will be better for it.

   I've done enough sermonizing. I just thought it was important to let you all know what this and every Thanksgiving means to me. God's peace to all of you and yours. kG

...higher education, part II

     The good girl is running behind schedule and we are the only employees left in the office. It’s a quarter of twelve and we need to get to lunch. She approaches my desk and asks me about Dr. Supreme’s choice in tobacco.

     “Hell, I don’t give a crap what he smokes. I do know it stinks, much like the water in the college pond. I’d rather smell the shit from the school farm across the way.”

     “Hey, here’s an idea KennyGene. Why don’t we mix some weed into his pipe tobacco? The weed is the same color and texture. He’ll never realize until...”

     “Funny girl you are, what a trip. One problem, how are we going to get into his private inner sanctum and remain unnoticed,” I ask.

     “Simple, Mrs. Right comes back from lunch, she’ll go in his office to refill his tobacco chest; and then head to the ladies room. She always goes to powder her nose right after the noon hour.”

     “KennyGene, you get the stash and I’ll mix the latest, greatest for the all powerful one. I won’t be as suspicious walking into his office. I’m always leaving papers in his chair from Dr, Everybody.”

     “Done deal, “I’ll get some over break. Lebanese Red, the finest hash on the street today will be the order of choice. Nothing but the best for the man of the hour.” With that, we both leave for lunch to prepare for our part of the plan.

                                                           ....to be continued...

...higher education, part I

     Remembering memories of my time as an undergraduate student, I recall the day Dr. High and Mighty went home ill after smoking some of his favorite pipe tobacco.

     I am working my way through school and enjoy the privilege of working for Dr. Smiles at Everybody, one of the deans on campus. His office is located on the second floor of the Ad Building and is part of a larger cluster of administrative offices.

     Other wannabe educators which share the suite with him include Dr. Nobody Knows, an internal operations man students have never seen, let alone heard of; Dr. Dudley Do Right, the dean of students who nobody likes, including the students; Dr. Handsome, pretty boy Dean of Academics; and Dr. I. M. Supreme, the self-important dean of graduate studies.

     All of the deans along with their private secretaries are slave masters over poor, pathetic student workers like myself. Dr. Everybody’s secretary, Ms. Oh So Practical Jokester, husband is on the football team with my roommate. As his stand-in, I receive better treatment because my master has provided me with my own office.

     Dr. I. M. Supreme’s letter opener is Mrs. Religious Right, a pleasant but extremely rigid and uptight middle-aged woman. Her student assistant, Miss Born-Again Christian, could easily be her wannabe daughter.

     As for the other secretaries and their respective support teams, I don’t recall their names; however, like everyone else, they cannot stand the scent of Dr. I. M. Supreme’s pipe tobacco. Everyone thinks he’s tighter than tight and buys Prince Albert in a Can only when the stinky odor maker is on sale at the local Wally World discount center.

     Today is Tuesday and I am serving hard time in the office. This is also the monthly Chamber Day luncheon for Dr. Handsome and Dr. I. M. Supreme. The latter dean is providing the program as he recently returned from South Africa. Dr. Do Right and my boss, Dr. Smiles at Everybody are in a morning conference with the Faculty Senate.

     Clamping down on his overused pipe, Dr. Supreme comes out and demands Mrs. Right purchase his tobacco while she is out to lunch.

     “I won’t have time myself, Mrs. Right. Don’t forget. Oh, and in advance, thank you very much.”

     “Yes sir, I’ll remember. I will pray for you to do well at lunch and your presentation. God will be with you,” answers the subservient, timid worker bee.

     Ms. Oh So Practical Jokester and I exchange glances and quietly laugh, thinking how can someone bow down and kiss this man’s less than royal ass. As pathetic as it appears, this mouse of a woman does so faithfully every day.

                                             ...to be continued...

...WORLD PREMIERE

     As I said earlier, it's not my time to be out and about. Running a few errands, going for a second job interview and picking up the mail; I return home to perform my honey-do's. While doing them, I figure I can take time to work on my upcoming book. It's my first and due out in the spring of 2010. I thought I'd post part of one of the chapters here for you to read. Enjoy, let me know what you think...kG

...snow is just another word for shit

     Sorry folks, i'm not the snowman. Actually, I loathe the stuff. But, I'd rather drive on it than the ice. That's a given. It's probably not the snow so much as it is I have to be bundled up inso many clothes and such that I feel I can't breathe.

     The wet stuff arrived about 3 this morning. Fortunately, it is gone and it's just plain chilly and wet aside. I'm sure more is on its way, though. Just about an hour north of here in Hiawatha...they got clobbered. Better there then here. I know, I have lots of friends and family...my son and wife to name a few...love the stuff. For the longest time, I didn't even find it pretty enough to put on a Christmas card.
     In a few weeks, I'll post some pics' of the stuff. Until then, I'll focus more on my choice of issues at hand...anyone can lament about the snow, but it takes a rocket scientist to know that it's God's version of dandruff...bad joke, kG, you better shut up and get out of here for now. kG

...place-dropping vs. name-dropping

     One of my greatest pasttimes is to travel to unknown destinations around the globe. Not only do I find excitement in going to these exotic locales, but I really find it interesting how, why and what their names mean. Case in point would be one of my wannabe trips to New Zealand. So, we're off to...

     Taumatawhakatangihangakoauauotamateaturipukakapikimaungahoronukupokaiwhenuakitanatahu (85 letters), a hill, has been listed in the Guinness World Records as the longest place name in the world.
     It is shortened as "Taumatawhakatangihangakoauauotamateapokaiwhenuakitanatahu" (57 letters) in the New Zealand Geographic Placenames Database.

     The name is translated into English as "The hill of the flute playing by Tamatea — who was blown hither from afar, had a circumcised penis, grazed his knees climbing mountains, fell on the earth, and encircled the land — to his beloved."

     How would you like to have to use that address on your tax return? Worse yet, can you imagine teaching your child to say it, spell it and then send them off to school for twelve years of pure torture. I still want to go to New Zealand; if for no other reason then to find this welcoming spot.

     ...and where have you been as exciting...kG

...sex, sex and more sex

      I feel the need to go on record for a few things...namely sex. First and foremost, my ass really gets tired by all the hang-ups surrounding sex. And I mean from any angle. I really find it difficult to tolerate all the fuss over one's sexual orientation. I don't subscribe to the definitions as set out by society. Being 'straight', 'gay', or 'bi' means absolutely nothing to me.

     I don't care what or whom you sleep with; as long as it is a consensual meeting and the participants are both of legal ages, then it is absolutely of no concern to me. And it damn well isn't any business of yours, my reader. If this pisses any of you off and you stop reading, then it is you that has the problem.

     I have heard all the arguments from all the sides. And I find it all a bunch of pure, unadulterated bullshit! The 'gay' side is as bad at bashing as the 'straight' side. As for the 'bi' community, they're just trying to stay out of the fray. I understand that all of us may have 'limits' but are any of them more right than the other? I seriously doubt it. We are all part of this universe and such, have the right to live our lives accordingly.

     I look at the whole person and not just what turns them on physically. Am I that shallow to think of only that? I would hope not. And if you do, shame on you. As I explained to a 'gay' friend of mine, 'being 'gay' isn’t your identity, it is only a part of who you are'. The same goes for 'straights' and bi's'.

     Well, at this point, if I haven't stirred up the hornets' nest, nothing will. So sound off, let's here what you have to say. Besides, maybe someone else is thinking of it as well. kG

...the Kansas Stranglers

      Hey, what a last couple of days. Been trying at best. With J finding out about some serious heart issues and the reoccurring mess I deal with; it all brings to mind the Boston Stranglers of the 1960's. No, not the killers, even though sometimes the pain feels that bad. Let me try to explain.

     A little over a year ago I had been diagnosed with lymphodema and sciatica. In laymen's terms, the former means extremely poor circulation in my legs. Basically, the valves aren't strong enough to pump by blood back up my legs and as a result, I endure extreme pain in both legs.

     As for the sciatica, it starts on the back of the right side of my butt, travels down the entire back of my leg and up the foot to the kneecap. Dual pain is definitely not my idea of a goodtime - one is a stabbing pain and the other is a cutting pain.

     Treatment for both is almost as painful. Have had epidurals in the base of my spine. Had ongoing PT, OT, massage and other wonderful therapies. Have had to buy a lymphodemic pump and balloons for the legs. Daily routine includes and hour or better of squeezing the crap out of my legs. The epidurals felt as if I was being electrocuted and the shock went through my butt crack all the way down to my toes. Have to always have a cane with me because walking great distances can be a challenge. Weather affects it horrendously.

     Then, I sit back and reflect a moment. Which is worse, this issue or being a hopeless victim confined to a wheelchair, not being able to do my duty and soiling my pants like a newborn. I think we can figure out which is worse.

     On a positive note, I am starting to heal and improve. What once were hairy legs have become almost totally bald. In the last six weeks, the hair is starting to grow back and my manhood is responding in a welcome fashion. In blunt terms, I'm getting rock hard boners for the first time in quite a while. Sorry, tmi...disregard that, folks.

     Why do I call this the 'Kansas Stranglers'? Pretty simple, I have to wear knee-hi compression support stockings. Talk about being a killer, they're damn near impossible to put on by myself. Once on, they make my lower legs feel as if they're entombed in concrete. The good thing is, for about 8 hours, I walk pretty well. Then, I tire and can't wait to yank the muthers' off.

     Enough about my woes, I didn't want you to think I was a whiner. A massage therapist friend chuckled when I had to get the pump. He asked 'are they going to get you a cock pump also?' Funny he should ask, they didn't but something's working right down there. There is a God. Thank you! ...and what's new in your part of the world? kG

...Dad, I have good news for you

     I had planned to talk about the newly released movie '2012' here but then I decided a little light-hearted family humor was in order. The movie was pretty decent but we will get to that at another time. I'd rather talk about my kid A. He's pretty phenomenal and the true comedian in the family. You can never stay mad at him...ever...ever.
     Case in point, A was 12 or 13 years old and was in middle school. His mother and I co-owned and managed a retail store not far from our home. Being that he was in middle school, we felt he could come home for up to two hours by himself. J would leave the store by 5 p.m. and I would follow and arrive around 7:30. We closed at 7 p.m. and it would give us a chance to shut the store down and run the receipts for the day.

     A has a speech challenge known as aphasia. He will substitute similar words for words that he cannot say or approximate. For example, for the longest time, he couldn't vocalize the word 'jet'; so he would say 'plane'. The same would go for his sentence structure. The syntax wasn't always complete and a tad bit awkward, but we could get the idea.

     When he was in pre-school, he would come and get us and tell us 'Dad, Mom, I have bad news for you' if something wasn't right. For example, if one of his dogs missed the mark and peed on the kitchen floor, this would be 'bad news'. The same went for 'good news'.

     Our store was closed on Sundays and as such, allowed us time to run errands for the family, visit other family members, go to church or do something fun with A. One particular Sunday we went to a local home improvement center. We were in the midst of remodeling our home and were looking for new door hardware for all of the interior doors. Finally, we would find something that we all three agreed upon.

     Going home, I left the bag containing our purchases in my office at home. Monday morning arrived and we all began our weekly ritual. I left by 6:30 to get to the store and J saw A off to school on the school bus and was at the store by 8:00. This particular morning, nothing of consequence was out of the ordinary.

     The day was pretty hectic and J was looking forward to going home and crashing a few minutes before deciding what to do for dinner that evening. Arriving home, she walked in the front door and was greeted with our son beaming and telling her 'Mom, I have good news for you'. Being proud, he walks her into the family room and in the middle of the room's floor laid all of the hinges, doorknobs and other door hardware from every door in the house. Looking around, she noticed a couple of doors propped up against the walls.

     Feeling a bit panicked; she raced through the rest of the house only to discover A indeed had good news. All of the rooms’ doors were against a neighboring wall...without the hardware. Needless to say, there was definite news for me. She decided to wait till I got home.

     As I pulled into the drive a couple of hours later, the two came outside to greet me. A looks at me with puppy dog eyes and tells me has good news for me. J speaks up and says A 'good news, don't you mean...' and before she could finish, A said 'bad news'. He began to tell he was sorry and then grabbed my hand and led me indoors to the same spot he took his mother.

     'What is this, A?' All he could do was cry and point to the doors against the wall. Trying to comfort him, I tried not to get mad. I'm accused all too often of being a cranky-ass old man and this time wouldn't be much better. A proceeds to tell me he helped me. At this point, we all start laughing and I thanked him for his wonderful help. I wasn't quite ready for it but I thanked him none the same.

     With that, we all went back out to the van, got in and took off to dinner at a neighborhood Mexican restaurant. This is only one of a million times over the years he has told me that he 'has good news for me'. So, everybody, go out and have a good day and remind yourself there's always more good news then bad news in the world. kG

    

...love, my many, many loves

     I love my job…where else can a guy sit on his ass, answer the phone and collect checks from people all across the country…and still be legit and not be an adult phone line…sometimes I wonder, though…btw, the job is over, care to guess what I did?

      I love the origin of names. For example, a child from the inner city is named Secura. Another child is named Deliria. Or how about the twins, they are known as Tamala and Tamale. The first rhymes with Pamela and the second has a long ‘e’ at the end as in ‘lee’.

     Then there are the twins from college…Ima Pigg and Ura Pigg…am I ever glad my parents didn’t name me Sue…I was supposed to be a Nancy…do I look like a fricking Nancy to you…

     I love trees and their names…take for  instance the ‘pussy willow’. Ever wonder why there isn’t a ‘pussy elm’ or a ‘pussy maple’? Then, you could have a ‘pussy pine’ and a ‘pussy oak’. I mean, let’s get real folks, how many kinds of pussy are there. Pussy is pussy, cats that is. As for trees, that’s a whole other story.

...girl talk

     Hello again! Mentioning Grandma and 'girl talk' comes to mind. You're probably wondering why I would choose to talk about 'girl talk' when I'm a guy. Well, it's my Grandma and it's my girl we're talking about...my wife of thirty-four years...Madame J. So, let's get started.

     J and I start dating our junior year in college and get engaged the fall of our senior. Our friends were both excited and confused. We both claimed as being just friends...maybe friends with benefits...but that's nobody's business but ours.

     Friends kept wondering who was going to wear the pants in our marriage. DUH! That's a no-brainer. Obviously, we both would...as we told all of our friends. J would be going down the right side and I'd be going down the left leg. We both would be fighting for the middle. Nothing's changed, we still are!

      Realizing we needed to break the news to our respective families, we decided to go visit Grandma S and share the news with her first. She had us over for dinner in her little four and half room house. The 'dining' room was in the center of the house and as such, was the hub for all of the family business and activity.

     Finishing dinner, Grandma had me clear the dishes as she and my beloved walked a few steps away into the living room. Grandma commands me to bring in the dessert as she and J needed to have a 'girl talk'. I snickered silently as I knew what J was in store for. Grandma was known to be the type that just lays it on the line, telling it as it is or as she sees it.

     We all were sitting snugly in the tiny room chomping away on some of Grandma's cake. She quickly finished and set her plate to the side. Clearing her throat, she spoke up 'J, Kenneth is not a jack rabbit'.

     'Huh,' came J's bewildered reply. Again, all Grandma would say is that I wasn’t a jackrabbit and then stare the poor girl in the eyes. Finally, J answered back 'Grandma, I don't understand what you mean; Kenneth's not a jackrabbit?'

     Without blinking an eye or missing a beat, she looked at my bride-to-be and flatly announced, 'He doesn't get on and get off in thirty seconds!' A bit puzzled and then surprised, J's lights flashed on and looked back at the woman and replied "Trust me, Grandma, he's not.'

     With that, Grandma turned her head towards me and spoke with a hint of pride in her voice, 'thank God, I knew I raised you right, son. Your Grandpa, God knows I loved the man, but he was the sorriest excuse for a lover that any woman could ever have.' Then she jumped up and grabbed both of us planting gobs of smooches and hugs all over the two of us. We all busted out laughing and helped ourselves to a second piece of cake.

     That was the end of the 'girl talk' and everything was right in the world. kG

    

...more cookies please

      Here's another part of the cookie jar saga and Grandma that I wanted to share with you. In Grandma's house, everyone could have cookies, like I mentioned earlier you never had to ask. You did however; have to clean up after yourself. If you didn't there wouldn't be a next time.

     The part I want to share has been a secret for years...that is up until her funeral and memorial service. The chapel was overflowing with people. Literally hundreds of people were there for this tremendous woman who had a hardscrabble existence for most of her life but gave her love and generosity unselfishly to everyone that crossed her path. So be it; everyone came to say their good-byes to the grandma of the neighborhood.

     Her daughter, mu Auntie M, called and gave me the news of her passing. She had also requested that I be one of the people that would get up and tell a favorite memory of theirs with Grandma. I felt so honored. This woman had been my rock for my entire life. Of all the women in the world, there are only two that I ever openly loved and cherished. My wife J of thirty-four years and Grandma.

     J and I arrived at the chapel and Auntie M greeted us. Again, the place was overflowing, all here to remember her. We started to sit down in the 'friends' section and Auntie M objected. "Kenneth, you're family, come with me. Come on J, you too." I was dumbfounded and try to apologize and back away. Not hearing of this, Auntie M grabbed our arms and took us to the family section. We were the only non-blood 'family' members allowed in this section. The entire family lit up with smiles to see us and I was happy to see them.

     The service began somewhat traditionally and then everything changed and you knew that this was Grandma's doing. Regardless, people started to speak out and tell their stories. Strangely, it was all family speaking and then one of them spoke my name and said I had a story to share. She introduced me as Grandma's other 'son' as Robert, her only son, died on the same day, hearing the news that his mother died. This was his funeral as well.

     I recanted the cookie jar story that follows this post and then added the story about the 'secret' cookie jar. The cookie jar we all knew had scores of different kind of cookies. Ginger snaps, vanilla wafers, chocolate cream cookies. You get the idea. Well, as I grew older and into junior high, Grandma let me in on a little secret. She had a private stash of 'special' cookies for 'special' people. The only special people ended up being P, her granddaughter; Grandma herself and me. Whenever I came to see her, she had me run and get the 'good' cookies. Coconut macaroons, chocolate chunks, homemade peanut butter. We always had to be careful not to let the others know.

     When I married J, my wife, Grandma included her in that group of 'special' people. As for being her 'son', she told my mother at my wedding (in the receiving line at that) that she (Mom) wasn't my mother. She told her rather matter-of-factly that she may have given birth to me and I may live with her but I was her other 'son'. And that was all there was to it. I felt so honored as she told me to the day she passed that I was her son...and her family agreed.

     Yes, she still had those 'special' cookies for me when I came to visit over the years. The family eventually learned of her little sham and just laughed about it. Everyone at the funeral did too...they never knew about it,though. kG

...my Grandma's cookie jar

     In 1982, HBO released The Electronic Grandmother, Ray Bradbury's story of a family and an adroit known as their 'electronic grandmother'. Grandma was played by Maureen Stapleton and is one our favorite films. My Grandma S could have easily been the role model for Miss Stapleton.

     Let me explain, I never had a 'grandma' as a child growing up. Dad's mom died when he was twelve years old and my Mom; well she had eight mothers. YES...eight of them. Her dad married eight different times, twice to the same woman with a couple of wives in-between. I did have a great grandmother on her side of the family. A sweet woman but not whom I recall as my 'grandma'.

     Grandma S was everybody's grandma. The woman took in every stray man, woman and child that walked the streets and into her door. Likewise, the house was full of animals galore...dogs, cats, fish...you name it, Grandma's house had it. To say her home was never boring is definitely an understatement.

     The saint became my Grandma when we moved out to Claycomo, a small little village on the then outskirts of Kansas City. Dad moved us from the city's northeast side because he feared trouble was moving into our neighborhood. He wanted no part of that and thought this new place might be a better home for all of us 'heathens'. (More on the 'heathens' another time)

     Anyway, school was starting and I walked to grade school. It was just a few blocks from the house. The first day of school came and I was in the fifth grade. A really tall girl was in my class and her name was P. P for pretty because she was as tall as she was pretty...long brown hair, gorgeous eyes and a pretty, yet restrained smile. She was taller than anybody in class. She offered to walk part of the way home with me that day. Come to find out, I passed her house along the way to mine.

     She invited me in saying that Grandma would have cookies for us. She explained simply that she lived with her Grandma. Not wanting to pass up cookies, I eagerly went in. There she was, my vision of a Grandma. Kind of frumpy with a mid-section that was slightly bulging over her belted housedress. Had 'grannie' glasses worn hanging down her nose. She looked up, smiled and asked who I might be. I said my name was Kenny and lived further down the street and was new this year.

     "Nice to meet you Kenneth. Help yourself to some cookies," she beamed as the woman brought a big old Tupperware © salad bowl full of all kinds of store-bought cookies. She had Kool-Aid © already on ice to wash them down. This was her 'cookie jar'. Realizing I was late getting home, I excused myself and rushed out the door.

     Over the weeks ahead, this would become a ritual. I'd stop at Grandma's to say 'hi' and have some cookies. She taught me that I didn't have to ask for any and showed me where the cookie jar was kept. The only rule she had was that when you got into the jar and the cookies were running low, you needed to let her know. Then, she'd crawl under the house and pull out a bag full of more unopened cookie packages. I could only dream of such delight. Not only had I found a passion for cookies, but I also got a Grandma in the deal.

     I've shared that story for most of my fifty-plus years with anybody that would listen. She passed a few ago at the age of ninety-eight. She was and is still my Grandma and she always had cookies for me whenever I visited…which was often. Funny thing, she always told people she was my ‘reasonable facsimile’ of a Grandma. Pretty fancy description for a woman who didn’t even know what a fax machine was.

     And she kept calling me 'Kenneth'. In fact, her entire family did and does. They were the only people that I ever allowed to call me by that name. To this day, they all still call me that...not Kenny, not Kenn but Kenneth. Go figure. kG

    
    

...an apology of sorts is in order

Friends,

     First and foremost, this blog is meant to be informative as well as entertaining. It is not intended to defame, discriminate or slander anyone or any group of people. It is solely a collection of thoughts and ideas, experiences and dreams and whatever else comes from my brain cells to your eyes in reading it. Likewise, the comments posted by the readers are solely their opinion and not of my own.

     I want make it clear that I am not prejudiced towards anyone save two exceptions: those that are prejudiced and those that are slackers, those that expect the world to provide them with a free ride. That being said, again, I apologize if you become offended whenever you read this blog. I truly celebrate the diversity of our world and thrive on what makes us all the unique individuals that we are.

     I only ask one thing from each of you: to celebrate with me in the joy of knowing that we live in a world that is as vibrate as it is original; that each of us can achieve whatever we choose to and that everyone of us have a right, rather a responsibility, to live as productive of a life as possible. It's our choice, so let's go out and make the world a better place...share a few giggles, shed a few tears, and bust our backsides to make our lives better.

   So dear friend, sit back and enjoy the ride; I'll be looking for you along the way. Peace, out! kG

...COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO

     If you have looked through my album, you will find a larger-than-life metal sculpture of a rooster. NO, its not in Kansas but there is a story behind it. It's located in a small, rural town in the far northeastern part of Clay County, Missouri. My Dad was born in Floodville, otherwise known as Mosby, in 1928. He'd tell everyone who would stand still long enough that he was a cock from Roosterville. Folks, Roosterville does exist. They even have an airport.

     And so it goes, I found this cock, rather rooster, in Floodville. Standing erect and upright, you can sure tell its designer is justifiably proud of their skill. Actually, I'm not much into Americana art and its form, but the cock did grab my attention. Too bad Dad isn't alive to see it. It might even bring a smile to his face.

     By the way, Roosterville is west southwest of Floodville...as the crow flies, that is. Want to know more, just drop me a line. I'm sure we can talk about more than just cocks. And for all of my gay friends, when you've seen this cock, you'll never crow 'any cock'll dooo' again...they just won't measure up. kG

...bulletin, just added

     If you look towards the top of the blog and to the right, you will find a section entitled 'Fall over Kansas'. These are some personal pics' of my life in Kansas. I thought maybe you would want to see what I call home. So, I plan to have a new slideshow every four weeks or so. I hope to capture the essence of the season and give you a chance to see and learn more about me. Hope you enjoy the sights, I'll try not to make them boring. kG

...still just a beginning

      Well, I've taken my first steps in trying to get this show on the road. I admit I am lacking in technical skills. I like all the pretties and goodies but haven’t a clue how to do any of the necessary actions to produce the desired result. My son's middle school principal said it best, 'I'm computer illiterate. I'm doing good to know how to turn it on, much less know what it is'. Thanks, Charlotte, I couldn't have said it better myself.

     At this point, I want to and need to give a tremendous thank you to my friend since high school, Mary Margaret. She is one smart-ass woman that knows her way around the likes of this. She's going through quite a bit of personal hell right now; but knowing her, she will push through and be better for it. Thank you Mary for your constant support and encouragement. I only hope I am able to repay the many kindnesses that you have provided. Without such, who knows where this effort would have landed...hopefully still on the road and out of the ditches. kG

    

...a beginning, sort of

Hi everybody!

     I'm kennyGene and I live over the rainbow in suburban OZ...yes, I'm referring to Kansas. And, no, it is not a flat, treeless and void of all too few humans...maybe frequented by an occasional dying cockroach, though. Actually, it's quite the opposite where I'm sitting. Surrounded by a rather hilly terrain and trees out the wazoo, my life is one step ahead of hysteria lane.

     For the most part, I am just like you. I have lived a life full of unique experiences and had some rather interesting surprises along the way. For now, I won't bore you with the details. Besides, I want to hear of your life and the events that make you...YOU! So, by all means, write. Who knows, you may end up being part of the show. Anything is possible and everything is fair game for discussion.

     In the next few weeks, I will introduce to you more about what I hope to achieve by making this blog available.  For starters, it will serve as a venue for both of us. For me, I'll share with you the next step(s) in my life and where they might take us. For you, a chance on the unknown.

     I do have a vision where this will lead. As in any sound marketing plan, though, it is subject to revision. For now, let's just look at it as having conversations with kennyGene - a wannabe comic.

     Until next time, keep 'er between the ditches and continue pushing forward...kG