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6:16 a.m. - 2001-11-16

I COULDN'T FINISH THIS DIARY ENTRY...BECAUSE I GOT HIGH

Once again, I find myself staring at this screen with nary a decent, civilized thought in my head.

I walked this morning, which made me feel good. The foot didn't hurt either. And for those of you with suggestions about how to care for my feet, I appreciate them greatly. But I'm an old man, I've had this problem for years and I guess I shoulda been more specific ... I already have these lifts for my shoes that support my arches. They were specially designed for my feet. I had to get plaster wrapped around my feet and have casts made of them. Then these lifts...which are hard as bricks...came back to me. I stick them in my shoes and yeah...they're a bit uncomfortable. But after a few weeks, my feet feel like I'm a teen again and everything's hunky dory and I have a spring in my step and birds sing and chickens dance and crack whores ooh and ahh.

So I just have to put up with the pain a bit more and then I'll get a few years of reprieve from it.

I finally went to the doctor with these bone spurs back in '97, I believe. I couldn't even walk it hurt so bad. And when I say couldn't walk...I'm serious. I had to hop around on one foot from my car to my desk back to my car to my recliner to bed. Sometimes I'd stop by the toilet. Even the shower. You know...if you want to be technical about it.

Sigh.

Have we reached this level in our relationship where you come here to read about my foot problems? When I start bitching about my bunions, you all have my permission to quit stopping by.


I've got a buddy...he's about 57 years old and he's still a deejay.

He does parties mostly, but works in clubs on occasion. He has thinning white hair, a great personality and absolutely HATES deejaying. It was something that he got into in his 30s, enjoyed doing on the side, quit his job and decided to devote his life fulltime to deejaying.

Now...20 years later...he's sick of it and wants out. Sadly...he has no other skills. And let's face it...he's getting way too old to be a deejay.

Every now and then, I have to put a buncha new songs on discs for him so that he can still come across as "hip" with the youngsters.

So last night he called me, wanting to know who sang a song called "Hollywood Swinging".

Hell if I know. I'm not up on that newfangled hip hop shiznit.

Oh.

It was Kool and the Gang. Hardly newfangled hip hop shiznit.

So I had to download that song and an Isley Brothers song for him.

Uh-huh.

We're talking hip.

THEN...he asked for some new tunes for his collection. So I downloaded some new Creed, Incubus, Bubba Sparxx and that damned Afroman song "Because I Got High" or whatever the hell it's called.

Y'know...I'm all for toking the ganja. But let's not celebrate it in song as blatantly as this guy does. He took the marijuana legalization cause back about thirty years with this song. I don't see why he just doesn't keep repeating "Get high and be a lazy assed mofo who doesn't accomplish shit except constantly getting on people's nerves."

My buddy's gonna freak when he hears this song. He's a drinker, but was never a druggie, even though he was in his teens during the 60s.

I wish I had been a teen in the 60s. All that free love and all those wonderful drugs. No AIDS. Music was changing. I'd probably at least have an appreciation for the Doors or Jimi Hendrix if I had grown up in the 60s. I'd probably be jamming out to "Purple Haze" as I had a doobie the size of my foot hanging out of my mouth and a hippie named Sunshine hanging off my willie wang.

What more could a nostalgic middle-aged bastard with a bad foot ask for?

Nothing.

Trust me.

Another friend of mine wants me to make them a "Weed" CD with a bunch of songs about marijuana. I've got a handful of ideas, but have to come up with some more. I just downloaded "Puff The Magic Dragon" for kicks. Should go good with "Because I Got High".

Alright...enough shenanigans...time to go fix breakfasts and lunches and get the den cleaned up for Grandma to come over and mess up.

Peace out, space children.

Your old ex-hippie wannabe signing off.

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