The sun don't shine on the same dog's ass every day

If I had my life to live all over, I'd spend every waking moment on the study of obsessive behavior.

Lately, I've been obsessing over my computer. I've souped it up with extra VRam, Speed Doubler, Ram Doubler, sticky keys, hot keys, hot and sticky keys -- you name it.

I realized the other day that I've been doing a hell of a lot of work on my computer, but not too much work with my computer. Yeah, I've got it running like a top, but I'm a lot like the guy with the Ferrari who tunes it, optimizes it, polishes it, but never, ever fucking drives it. Or if he does, it's just to test the new shit.

I need help.

You might not want to read this week's column. It's not the usual short-story-like threads or the unified tirades you've grown to love. It's just musings off the top of my brain, that most wonderful of organs -- according to other brains.

Basically, this column starts where my other ones usually end. If you're a first time reader, go to the archives. You'll find something you like, I swear. If you're a regular reader, don't worry. I'll be back in form with the coming new year. This is just a temporary deviation, not a trend.

I might add, though, that if I didn't write a column like this one, I wouldn't bother to write columns at all.

I made a mistake in last week's column. I said Chip Tait was going to be 34 this year. In fact, he turned 33 this Dec. 25th. Sorry Chip. May you outlive Jesus.

To make it up to you, I'm sending you a special birthday gift, a recording of Lennon's "The Ballad of John and Yoko."

It'll come to you.

I was going to do one of those "END OF THE YEAR" summary columns. You know. The 10 greatest events of 1997, the best songs, the most sensational murders, the best Mercedes crash in a French tunnel. That sort of thing. But I was watching the TV, and the local news was going to do the same thing. And the guy who was going to do it was the fucking weather man. Fuck that. Fuck this.

The best thing that happened in 1997 isn't going to be published in any major magazine. You have your lists, I have mine.

I also have a web page:

The Ten Best Things That Happened to Me in 1997:

1) Met Bukowski's last editor, Michele.

2) Joined a new band called the Fence Cutters.

3) Bill DeCarli recorded one of my songs.

4) Got to see the Grand Canyon and Carlsbad Caverns.

5) Was allowed to smoke a cigar -- before and after dinner -- at a restaurant in Nebraska, where the waitress apologized for the new smoking policy--a non-smoking section consisting of two window tables.

6) 49ers in the playoffs again and Dallas ain't. Even I didn't want them to do that bad.

7) This new 8600/200 PowerMac.

8) My trip to northern California.

9) Started a column on the web.

10) Played baseball -- hardball, with stealing and sliding and spitting -- in a 40-year-old and over baseball league.

11) Got in touch with a lot of old friends -- Rachel C., Mike D., Mary C., Ray M., Jeff C., Steve C. (I'm leaving a few out) -- via e-mail and the Internet.

12) Made new friends on the Internet. Okay, one new friend, but that's a lot for me. Catherine came through for me big time.

I guess that's a dozen things, but it was a very good year.

The Ten Worst Things That Happened To Me in 1997:

1) Gained ten pounds.

2) Struck out 4 times in one game. Four!

3) Showed up to a job exactly one week late.

4) Fucked my best friend's girlfriend (that should bother at least five of my friends... especially Russ).

5) Gained ten pounds (did I mention that?)

6) Broke up the old band, John Cougar Rabinowitz.

7) Tried to have sex with a short-haired cat. Persians! When am I going to learn to stick to Persians?

8) Drunk driving through a Parisian tunnel.

9) Christy got a hold of my home phone number

10) It's official: My balls are now bigger than my dick.

Like I said, it was a very good year.

STANDARD DISCLAIMER: This column aims to be funny. If you can read anything else into it, you're on your own. Copyright 1997 by Mike Jasper.