The other day I was watching VH1's Awesomely Bad Songs, and came to realize every time they introduced the next song on the countdown it was one that I loved. Is that bad?

Looking back on it, they were actually critiquing the videos for each song more than the song itself. And, I agree that just about all of them had terrible videos. For that reason, I think the show should have been called, When Bad Videos Happen to Good Songs or Awesomely Bad Videos.

Just a thought.

I better turn my attention back to class now. . .

"By all the rules of schoolboy history books, they were nonentities: they commanded no armies, sent no men to their deaths, ruled no empires, took little part in history-making decisions. A few of them achieved renown, but none was ever a national hero; a few were roundly abused, but none was ever quite a national villain.

What they did was more decisive for history than many acts of statesmen who basked in brighter glory, often more profoundly disturbing than the shuttling of armies back and forth across frontiers, more powerful for good and bad than the edicts of kings and legislatures. It was this: they shaped and swayed men’s minds."

- Robert Heilbroner, from The Worldly Philosophers: The Lives, Times and Ideas of the Great Economic Thinkers

In the window of a little shop down the block is the greatest sign. It reads:

"War is not good for children and other living things."

I think it's perfect.

What is it about fall
that turns me inside out?

Maybe it’s the chill in the air
or the subtle, sweet scent
of autumn leaves that
makes the longing so unbearable -
turns desire palpable.

There are images I can’t shake -
so vivid it’s as if I pulled them
straight from old photo albums
in a cedar chest years from now.

I close my eyes and see us
curled up in a quilt on our front porch swing –
watching leaves twirl through the air,
dancing to the raspy rustling
of cornstalks drying in the fields.

The zipper on my flannel vest
forms a refrain between two stanzas of
heavy leather hiking boots
falling to the floor with a thud.

Coming through the screen door,
the rose-colored sting in your cheeks
is kissed by the scent cinnamon, ginger
and the apple pie cooling on the counter.

I can feel the afternoon sun
as it slants through our
picture window and warms
the carpet where I’ll stretch out
to watch football.

As the last gold rays sink behind
the shadowy mountain tops,
we'll fall asleep,
peaceful
and content.

If you wanted to
fill your pockets
with stars,

I’d find a way to
bring them to you.

If you wanted to
have a picnic
on the moon,

I’d make it happen.

Capture oceans
in a bottle,
for you, I would.

Some things just are.

You can question them inside out,
upside down,
and backwards.

You can beat them bloody
pleading for rationality
but none appears.

Some things just are.

You can step toward them
gingerly
with open arms
trembling
and embrace
what might be

or you can walk away
try to ignore them
and guarantee
what never was
will never be.

Goodnight,
he said,
savoring
a soft sweet kiss

and closed
the door
behind him

Through the peephole
I watched
as he walked away -
unsure why
he had knocked
in the first place

Just sitting here
thinking about you

the images floating
on the clouds
of a Steinway

played, I imagine,
in some kind of
soft moonlight.

Don't let your fears keep you from flying.

Well, I'm back in New York City once again. Ten days back in the Midwest was just what I needed. It was fantastic to see everyone and hang out with my friends for a while. Strangely, it was even nice to get a red-blooded dose of country music.

Not sure I ever shared this tidbit. . . There's a fabulous 100% pure-country bar down the hill from my house - the El Paso Bar & Grill. I went down a few days ago to pick up a burger and cheese curds and took great joy in a 2' x 3' sign on the inside door: "Fishermen - Please remove waders before entering the restaurant." Equally as good, restaurant is spelled wrong on the sign.

More from El Paso. . . This may be the worst corn harvest in years. It's been both dry and cool, just the opposite of what corn needs. In fact, there are several fields by my house that are completely worthless. They froze during a hard frost a few weeks back. Now they're burnt brown, wilted and rotting in the field.

More stories later.
Until next time. . .