Tag Archives: dailies


We are so far advanced from where we were 10,000 or more years ago.  We are such badasses!  Just to think, not that long ago, we were little more than naked, nomadic semi-animals who spent the majority of their time looking for food.

Now, however, we have GROWN AND EVOLVED.  Look at US! See what we have evolved into:

Today I received an e-mail.  It was spam, just like the other 412 e-mails that I received in the last 15 minutes (it now takes a measurable amount of time for a person to “sift” out real e-mails from the spam).  This particular e-mail caught my attention because of the bright colors (because I’m a recovering 20th century consumer) and when I read it, it really had an impact.  At the end of this post there is a screen shot of the e-mail message.  Just in case the text is too small and you can’t make it out well, the e-mail reads as follows:


Hey frank (then my email address which I blacked out)

Use this information to Blackmail Anyone You Know

 Ever wished you could get back at someone by uncovering dirty information?

If they have a speck of dirt under their fingernails, we’ll find it and provide it to you.  Find out background information on anyone in just minutes (arrests, past marriages/felony)

 Get the Dirty on Anyone Here (in the green button)


This is what we have evolved into?  This is the best we have?

Sometimes, we suck, big time.

(PS, in case the author of the e-mail is reading this:  Get a life!!)

What's left of us.

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A curious observation

Far be it for me to resort to raw commercial endorsements.  No, that’s not what this is about; however

PROLONG2many of you know about the product pictured here:  prolong.  It’s the stuff you add to you your Christmas tree water to keep it fresh during the time it sits in the tree stand.  The stuff works great, but it’s not only that.  It also gives me such a robust boner.

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Any minute now…

A little boy gets down from his school bus on his way home. The boy saw his mother about halfway down the block and ran, as fast as he could, to where she was.  He jumped into her arms, trembling and with tears streaming down his cheeks.

The boy’s Mother hugged him close and tightly and spoke to him warmly and in the way that only a Mother can.  She said:

-“There, there, my little man.  What’s this all about?  What’s got you so upset?

The little boy lifted his head from his mother’s shoulder and between sobs, managed to ask her:

-“Mommy, today at school I heard some grown ups talking and they said that the world is coming to an end.  Is that true, Mommy?  Is this the end of the world?”

Without any hesitation, the boy’s Mother giggled and then kissed his forehead and said:

-“Come, come now, you silly willy!  The world is fine, it’s not ending at all – it’s only  human civilization that’s collapsing all around us and a lot of people can’t tell the difference between one and the other, but don’t fret my little man, at least now you know and you don’t need to be afraid.”


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How I learned about Shinola

This is the way that the story was told to me, it is the way I remember it and the way it made sense, it still does.  I don’t know this actually happened or not, but it doesn’t matter, it puts the lesson into perspective. It will tell you the tale in the same exact way; after all it is one of the most important rules of all time.

The story of shit and Shinola.

The stock market crash of 1929 and the great depression that followed was undoubtedly one of the most horrifying and impacting things to happen to a people, ever. By 1933 it had reached its peak.  Most of the pictures that we are familiar with from the “Great Depression” were taken during this time; the soup kitchens, the lines of unemployed people seeking a meal, the apple vendors.  1933 was indeed a very bad year for many. Not everyone was affected, however.  “Most” of the rich from Wall Street is not the same as “all” of them.  There were a few who weathered the catastrophe and they may not have been as wealthy in 1933 as they were in 1928, but they were still “people of means”.

The story takes place during this time.  Among the hardest hit were shoe-shine boys.  No one thinks about this much, but shoe shine boys were as much a fixture on Wall Street as stockbrokers and bankers, after all, during the 1920’s, walking was still the method of transportation of choice and on Wall Street, this meant looking sharp; a tailored suit and shoes that were shined to a mirror gloss on a daily basis by the army of shoe shine boys lining Wall Street.

In 1929, to be exact, a new product was patented and put to market.  It was called Shinola.  It was a shoe polish with a wax base that gave birth to the “spit shine”.  Within a year of being introduced, even during and after the crash, it became the only shoe polish desired by anyone who could still pay for a shine.   By 1933, however, the army of shoe shine boys sat idly, their shine boxes, rags and brushes ready, but not one cent with which to buy Shinola.  They simply did not know what to do and so they took to assembling in the mornings near the Northwest end of Wall Street, where it meets Broadway.  They assembled quietly and just sat throughout the day; during the time that they would normally be shining shoes.  At the end of the business day, they would head back to wherever it was they called home, with nothing more than what they had in the morning.

By the same token, the few wealthy Wall Street gentlemen simply went without their beloved “shines”.  One day, during this time, one of the shoe shine boys decided to not walk up the street to where all of the others would be waiting with an ominous silence. On this day, this one particular shoe shine boy decided to walk the other way, and he walked.  He walked until he got to the Brooklyn Bridge and kept walking.  Back then, there were still cow pastures in Brooklyn, even though it is hard to imagine nowadays. The shoe shine boy walked until his feet hurt and then he sat down.  He put his shine box on the ground as sat on it like one would sit on a crate.  It was only then that he looked up and realized how far he had walked.  He looked in the direction from where he had come and could see the Manhattan Skyline.  He turned to look around and realized that he was in a vacant lot with some grass and a few cows.  The cows looked at the boy with a bored expression as they chewed.  Directly in front of where the boy had put his box on the ground, he saw a fresh, steaming and aromatic “cow patty”.  For a moment, he thought that if he had taken two more steps before stopping and sitting down, he would have stepped right into the pile of dung.  He sat and stared at the pile of shit; there was nothing better to do anyway and this way he did not have to share his misery with anyone, he could take the full brunt of how bleak life was.  So he sat, for an immeasurable and uncounted period of time, just looking at the pile of dung and then suddenly, like a bolt of lightning, he had a strange thought.  In some ways, the cow manure reminded him of the one thing he so needed and desired; the instrument with which he practiced his craft; Shinola.  He stared at it and stared at it and thought;
-“They’re almost the same color, and from here they could even have the same texture.”

That’s when it occurred to him.  He looked left and right so as to make sure no one was watching and reached out.  He grabbed a handful of the cow shit and swished it around in his hand, thinking.   He wasn’t sure exactly what he was thinking just yet, but he was thinking.  After a while, he just couldn’t take it anymore, he had to try and see what would happen so he scooped up some of shit in his Shinola tin, took his rag, dabbed it in the brownish goop and shined up the tip of left shoe (it was all that was left that could be shined).  He used his best moves and lo and behold, the poop gave a great shine, in fact it was so good that for just a moment, he could swear it was the shine that only Shinola could muster and for just a moment, he believed it.  That was all it took.  He filled up his tin and two empty cans he found in some trash and whatever else he could fill with cow dung.  Once he had all he could carry, he made his best effort to cover up the smell and ran back towards Manhattan, as fast as his feet could carry him.

The next day, the boy’s cries of
-“SHINE! GET YER SHOE-SHINE RIGHT HERE! ONLY FIVE CENTS!” greeted the rising sun, to the great surprise, and joy, of many.  Within seconds, the first man to get a shoe shine on Wall Street in almost 3 years, stepped up to the boy and said:

-“Well!  Just in time, too!  Looks like I’m first!”  The man boasted as he hoisted himself up onto one of the high stool-benches that were placed by the very patrons of the shoe shine boys, so that everyone walking by could see them and know that it was they whose shoes were being shined.

-“Coming right up, sir!”  The boy smiled back.  He took out his rag and his Shinola tin and got to work as if ne’er a day had passed since he last shined a pair of leather uppers.  The boy had let the cow dung dry out a bit during the night, and covered the tin quickly after dipping his rag so the smell wouldn’t give him away.  Once it was on the shoes, no one could tell the difference.  The boy was good; hunger is an excellent teacher.  In no time at all, the gentleman’s shoes where like two mirrors, gleaming in the morning sun.

-“There you go, sir.” the boy said, shyly and just for a moment, he almost hesitated, but he didn’t; he reached his hand right out, palm up where a shiny dime landed firmly, almost as if choreographed.  A dime!  A dime for a five cent shines!  None of the boys had EVER been given an entire nickel as a tip before!  The boy’s entire face lit up almost as much as his benefactor’s, who slowly got up from his perch, ruffled the boy’s hair and said: -“See you tomorrow, kid.” before continuing his walk; much slower now and making sure to greet everyone he passed.  Word spread quickly and by noon, the boy’s hands hurt.  He huddled backwards into a niche between buildings, and emptied out his pockets.  He had nearly three dollars!  THREE DOLLARS!  That would feed him, his parents and his two brothers for a week, and it wasn’t even high noon!  By the end of the day the boy added another two dollars to his daily total and it was only then that he realized that he has shined one hundred pairs of shoes and could expect the same every day!  He loved that cow manure!

One by one, the other boys approached him, simultaneously in awe and shock.  The boy looked at his friends coming towards him and reacted; covering up his tin and protecting it, like a prized treasure.  One boy asked:  “Where’d you get the Shinola?”  The boy hugged his box tighter and said “Leave me alone, all of you!  You’re not going to take it from me!”  He ran off like a bolt, straight home and fell right to sleep, exhausted.

The next morning, he gave his mother $4.50 of the $5.00 he had made.  People say that she cried tears of joy for a solid month. He kept fifty cents, thinking to buy a supply of Shinola and continue his journey towards his good fortune.  On the way to the general store, he thought; “Wait a minute!  Nobody knew the difference!  Why should I spend this money on real Shinola when the cow shit is free, after all, they do the same thing!”  He turned the other way and went to the Candy Store and had himself a Malted Milk with two scoops of ice cream for breakfast!  He had actually believed his own lie.

The boy shined another 100 pair of shoes that next day, and 100 more for each day after that for 5 days.  His grin was so wide it challenged the great breadth of Broadway itself.  Everyone was HIS regular customer and he was only shoe shine boy on Wall Street, all thanks to cow’s four stomachs and what they left behind.  He would run to the field in the late afternoons, filling up his tin with more of the precious brown goo that had made him so happy.  Yeah, it wasn’t really Shinola, it was better than Shinola!  He laughed to himself all the way back across the Brooklyn Bridge.

Now, all of this took place in late July, did I mention that?  Oh, yes, it was the dead of summer – and a hot one.  Manhattan was hotter than anyone wanted to even guess at, and then some.  The few rich men who had been getting their daily shines from the boy paraded themselves back and forth on Wall Street; to their meetings, their lunches and dinners, their offices and their homes.  None of them were the wiser; no harm, no foul thought the boy.  The summer sun thought otherwise however, and after five days and five layers of cow shit on all of those shoes it began, to cook – actually to bake.  Baked cow shit on leather; I don’t know if I can even imagine what that would smell like.

On the fifth day after shining his first pair of shoes with the manure, the benefactor of that shine was having a luncheon meeting with another businessman together with their respective wives.  They were in the fanciest restaurant around, high noon on a Wednesday.  The place was packed with the few businessmen left in a country gone bankrupt.  At exactly 12:07 pm.  The caked on dung on that first man’s left shoe, where the first dab of cow shit was so carefully applied five days before, finished baking and cracked, a slim plume of heat escaped from the crack, rising higher from the ground.  In seconds the other shoe also cracked and a plume of shit-steam began to rise from it as well – and then another, and another!  In ten minutes, the restaurant smelled like an outhouse.  When it no longer became possible to ignore, it was that first man to have his shoes shined who spoke first.  He threw his napkin on the table in a fit of rage and gave his lunch companion the foulest stare he could muster and blurted:  ”Well, Sir!  I never…”  The sheer insolence of the accusation brought the other man to his feet immediately and he retorted “What say you, man?  Me? Look to your own loins for the source of the stench, non to mine!”  Almost immediately, the same scene played out at virtually every table, and the few rich men left in America, found themselves having a knock-down, dragged-out bar-type brawl in the fanciest eatery on the Lower East Side.

Back to the first man, the one who got the first shine and who started this brawl, he received a jarring left hook that floored him.  The man landed with a THUD, right at his opponent’s feet.  After recovering his wits, he realized he was no more than two inches from the man’s shoes and saw the cracks that had formed where earlier there was the shimmering mirror-like shine.  The man took in two enormous breaths of the stench before recognizing it and screamed; “Bull Shit! This man shined his shoes with bull shit!” and laughter roared from his belly.  It spread quickly too, calming heated tempers with the thought of a man resorting to bull shit to shine his own shoes!  That lasted for about thirty seconds before every other man realized they were in the same predicament.  The laughter suddenly came to a screeching halt and a dumbfounded silence hung in the air – no one knew what to say, they had all played the fool that day.  Once again, it was the first man who spoke:  “The shoe shine boy!  We all got our shoes shined from him; he’s the only one out there!  He’s made fools of all of us.”   The men stormed out of the restaurant and straight towards the boy’s spot on the side of the road.  When the boy saw the literal stampede of men coming at him, he didn’t have time to even react.  They were upon him at once and literally kicked the boy’s ass all the way to the Brooklyn Bridge where they warned him to never show his face on Wall Street again or they might just forget he was a boy.  He was never heard from again.   His first customer was ridiculed by all of his peers for being the first sucker to buy the cow shit shine and the ensuing lambasting ruined him and few others as well.  These were tender times, after all, there was a Great Depression going on – but not so great that an entire city couldn’t stop to laugh at one man who could not tell the difference between the cow shit that was used to shine his shoes and the Shinola that he thought adorned them.   Sure, you could hardly tell the difference in the shine.  In the end, they both shined your shoes, but one of them is SHIT.   No one is allowed to make that mistake, ever.  And so it was that it came to be that to know the difference between shit and Shinola is one of the more important things, literally or metaphorically, that we must all never forget.

That is how I head the tale, one warm day in December in 1973; I now give it to all of you.  Share it if you like, remember it or forget the story, but never forget the lesson.  Shit can imitate many things, but in the end, its shit and we know this from the onset.  Remembering this will save your life; more than once, without fail.

I always say that we can do better.  Maybe this is a start.   I love you all; all 7 billion of you.


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(Preamble: I’m still here!)

“Behold:  man.  Poor, foolish creature.  We humans are the only living organism (that we know of), able to gather up all of the information in the world and put it in a box.  Then, after finishing, we sat in front of the box and looked at it – and got information confused with knowledge.  On a planet where ignorance has been the status quo, such a thing could happen.  So now, instead of a planet populated with uneducated poor people serving the handful who got a clue first, we are a planet of idiots with boxes full of information who think that this makes them educated and knowledgeable. I am a human, these are my people.  Humanity has come full circle, from being jesters to graduating as full-fledged clowns.”

 We can do better.

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An observation as to death

“I fear not death, nor the fact that it will, one day, visit me; but I cannot bear even the thought of not living.”


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Let’s be serious…just for a moment

Seriously now, it’s already hard enough having to sit and watch us bullshit ourselves to the point of idiocy, but I just finished a tag surfing session and in addition to the usual endless droning about GOLD this and GOLD that, I just saw (for the first time) an article regarding a country that was “repatriating” its gold from the vaults in London and New York where the countries of the world have kept their gold since WWII.  The article stated that the decision to repatriate the gold had been made by the leader of the country “in view of the volatile nature of the world’s economy’.  That was just a bit much.  Up until now, the math more or less indicated that everyone knows that the whole GOLD thing is bullshit, but all of a sudden I’m not sure if I should doubt that math.  Is it possible that people actually BELIEVE this shit and are not just playing along because that’s what we think we must do?  I don’t know, but it’s scary.  Scary enough to motivate me to post this message:

Just in case anyone actually believes that GOLD has any actual value that makes it immune to anything that might happen to the economy or to human civilization, it should be noted that GOLD is actually worthless.  It is a fairly unremarkable metal that we selected to use as the stuff that we would manufacture MONEY from back when we decided that WEALTH (which has always been FOOD) should have a standardized measure of exchange to facilitate commerce.  We picked GOLD to be the “material” used to manufacture money because it was PLIABLE and we could shape it into coins more easily than other metals. In other words, GOLD became the manufacturing material for money because it was SOFT, period.  That’s about all there is to GOLD, the rest we made up and believed.  In summary; if the U.S., European or global economy should collapse (they actually already have, but I won’t go against the “grain”, I’ll play like it hasn’t happened yet) then what in the world is that country I mentioned earlier going to do with all of their repatriated GOLD?  It’s time for everyone to begin to digest the truth because it is the truth, regardless of how we feel or what we believe and the truth is that there IS no more money.  We spent all the money that there was, that there is and that there will be in the next 500 years and there is nothing left to substantiate any math that supports the concept of money.  The machinery that moves civilization is running today (albeit poorly) only because we BELIEVE that those little pieces of paper and GOLD are actually worth something, but this hallucination is quickly fading and sooner than we can imagine, MOST of us will have no choice but to face this truth and deal with it.  So I ask you:  when the MACHINERY that runs the “world”; the one that runs on “money” finally peters out and shuts down, ending commerce and production globally, what can anyone do with GOLD?  With no infrastructure in place, there will be no system in place to grow and distribute FOOD OR WATER and in 3 months there will be mayhem.  What good will 10 or 11 billion dollars worth of GOLD do when everyone is STARVING?  Who in their right mind would trade a can of beans that they found in the back of some forgotten cabinet somewhere for a mountain of GOLD at that point?  You can’t EAT the stuff!  It’s a freaking METAL, no different than tin, bronze or iron and no more or less valuable than whatever WE decide.  It was hard for me to digest, but I did.  This means that you can too, because we’re all the same.  I know that it’s hard to let go of the world as we know it, but WE BROKE IT and we need to build a new one, so we need to grow up, quickly, or in the simplest of terms, we’re fucked.  YOU know this, I know this and we ALL know this.  I refuse to believe that we are all idiots, but we are dangerously close to proving that to be true – and that applies to me as well, if we end up screwing ourselves because of idiocy, then that makes me an idiot too.  I don’t want to be an idiot.

We CAN do better.

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That which has value

The whole of human existence has become blindly obsessed with the issue of having possession of, if not the right to possess (by virtue of debt) those things that have value, specifically; money.  No thing has any more or less value than what we assign it and it is woeful to contemplate that we would, individually or collectively, assign a higher value to any thing than what we reserve for ourselves, yet we have.

In the universe, there are only two values, these being the same ones we should concern ourselves with, lest we lose all reason and rationality:  There is that which is TRUE and that which is FALSE and to count them as two values is only insofar as there are two different words to count, for they are in essence, opposite views of the same value; its validation and its negation.  The only actual and real value that exists is truth which is simultaneously the only thing of value, yet we have come to value money more we value ourselves and even more than truth, and because of these we are all but lost in our own lie.

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It has always been generally considered that our modern globe-spanning Western Civilization chose Greece to be the place to herald its birth.  Now, all of a sudden, it might just be that it also chose Greece to be the place where it lay down to die.


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The price of excellence

In today’s world we try to teach our children to excel and to do their best and we believe this, therefore it is fair to say that this is true. At the same time, whenever anyone excels or does their best or does something that is considered valuable or important and is recognized for doing what we have instilled in them since childhood, what follows the recognition is a barrage of envy, resentment, exclusion, rejection and even mistreatment on a personal level; not by everyone, but by almost everyone. If each individual instance of this negative response was to be analyzed and dissected, one would see that the reason and cause for it boils down to the simple thought: “Why couldn’t it have been me? Why did it have to be him/her?

So widespread has this phenomenon become, and so used to it have we become that it is not only expected, but has become that which is desired, for which one of us can stand in front of a mirror and deny that some, or all of the motivation or inspiration that we may have to accomplish anything is based on how much others will envy us for being recognized and financially compensated.

It is very possible that this very real aspect of humanity may be the reason why so many arrive at the conclusion that it is futile to excel or contribute for any reason other than the financial benefit, the latter having become the only motivation we may have left. It is also very possible and quite probable that many people have actually solved this equation and concluded that the only way to not experience this phenomenon is to be mediocre.

If we look around, we can see that what we actually teach ourselves to aspire to is mediocrity, for what greater accomplishment can there be than to “not attract too much attention?” Just ask any celebrity.

An exceptional thought, action or creation born of any one of us requires the good will, acceptance and simple courtesy of the rest of us; for what benefits one of us, benefits us all. We already know this.

Isn’t it time to forgive the past and build a future? We’ve made enough mistakes to learn from them instead of repeating them.

We can do better.


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