Extra-Ordinary Life
Category: Life

Extra-Ordinary Life

If you want to live an extra-ordinary life, do you have to be an extra-ordinary person? I have often wondered about that because I find my own life to be absolutely extraordinary in many ways, yet I consider myself to be quite ordinary in most of my skill levels and talents. The difference may be that what I often lack in skill and talent I make up for with an agressive drive and tendancy to push myself beyond my limitations.

I also take alot of chances. Of course, I fail at many things, and at an alarming rate, but,whether I am tenacious or retarded, I don't allow my failures to ruin my enthusiasim for learning and trying new things.

I'm writing this because I believe most people settle for very ordinary lives. I often hear people say that they have certain expectations from life, our government, their girlfriends or guyfriends, and even their pets. They spend their days looking for ways to get the world to conform to their expectations and then they spend their evenings in disappointment because the world never can meet those very same expectations.

I grew up in Ohio, first generation from Austrian immigrants, relatively poor, and mostly confused about where I fit in the American experience. My father worked from 7 to 7, seven days a week for as long as I can remember. We never went out to eat, drank coke on holidays, wore hand-me-downs and darned socks, and ate a sack lunch at school every day. We didn't go on vacations, watch cable, or eat steak. But, somehow, we survived. My dad prospered, and my siblings and I have become successful in our own ways.

I often tell people that the only thing I ever got in my life was from my dad, and that was a whoppin', but that's not true. My dad gave me something else. He gave me a work ethic and a desire to succeed.

Mostly, my life growing up in Ohio gave me a strong, almost overwhelming desire not to live the life my parents lived. I wanted to move away from my comfort zone and explore the world and I have done that to a degree. I have learned how to complete numerous types of work, both physical and mental, and have usually worked at least 2 jobs for most of my adult life. If I wanted a thing, or to travel, I worked for 6 months or a year, or for however long it took, and then I went and did the thing I was saving for.

You may think that I am bragging, but I'm only recapping a strategy that I employ to help me live in a way that my friends and family do not.

If I want something, I don't ever think that I deserve to have it just because I'm alive and living on the earth; I GO GET IT OR I GO DO IT. I don't have expectations, but I do seek opportunity.

I refuse to live an ordinary life. I hope you all agree to that for yourselves as well!

LIVE IT UP!

10:24 PM - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

This is a piece I wrote in July while I was vacationiong in San Francisco
Current mood: chipper
Category: Writing and Poetry

Rivers

From the back alley babbling brooks

to tumultuous tributaries carrying a human flood

and cascading through concrete gorges,

finally spilling into frenzied asphalt rivers,

Stockton doesn't meander.

There are no oxbows or lazy switchbacks;

no quiet backwaters or cool, clear tide pools;

rather raging swift and straight,

colliding perpendicular with other rivers

equally intent.

Heads bob

and rapids roar in tongues.

Arms flail

and struggle to break the surface.

What lurks there

in the shadows of those polluted depths?

What primal beasts

are concealed, there, behind cordoroy and denim tides?

Wet things.

Wild things.

Secret things.

A community of hungry things

wanting to feed,

wanting to spawn,

wanting to hide

in the fecund depths.

They are caught in the current

and go with the flow

until Stockton collides with Broadway,

spewing torrents east and west.

In the eddies,

sheltered by reefs

called Condor Club and Hungary I,

fins flash and white teeth shine

through the murky confusion of the tides.

The sharks sing their Siren Songs;

"Come on, man.

It's right here, man.

It's all good here, man."

They hawk the crowds,

circling, circling,

until another tired levee breaks,

washing a fresh tsunami across the swirling sea.

The human flotsum boils

onward,

daily,

 and, seemingly, forever.

8:57 AM - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

Food & Wine Revews; San Francisco and Sonoma County California
Current mood: content
Category: Travel and Places

I just arrived back in Tampa on a red-eye out of Las Vegas after a week of eating and drinking my way through San Francisco and Sonoma County in Northern California. I haven't slept in 27 hours. What the hell, sleep is for sissies anyway.

I've decided to do critiques of wines, food, and travel experiences for those of you who might be intertested in traveling, as I did, to northern California. So, without further ado, I will critique one dining experience and one winery per posting, with travel experiences thrown in where-ever appropriate.

You Dim Sum, Stockton Ave., China Town, San Francisco

Yes, Dim Sum isn't just for breakfast anymore (although it is a favorite breakfast food for the Chineese descendents in China Town). You-Dim-Sum is one of my favorites and I stop in here whenever I visit San Francisco. This particular Dim Sum shop is a rather grimey and busy storefront kitchen with large round baskets of carefully crafted dumplings steaming away behind a dripping counter and glass display case. You always have to stand in line here as locals and visitors crowd the narrow isle somehow snuggled between the glass display case and counter and the trashcans that line the opposite wall.

 The ladies who attend the counter speak little, if any English and my transactions always include a lot of pointing, head-bobbing, gesticulating, and rauchous shouting. I would hold up three fingers with one hand, point to the dumpling of choice with the other, and shout, "Three! Three!" loudly, to overcome the din from the other aggitated or excited customers. The ladies quickly slide my dumplings onto wax paper that covers a questionably washed red cafeteria tray and look up at me expectantly for further commands. Meanwhile, my Dim Sum mountain grows in dimension, like a valcano crowning with hot magma before an erruption. After making my final sellections, I push through the crowd to a small eating area where my wife and I share a table with a man wearing four shirts and protecting five grocery sacks filled with newspapers, which are stacked around him and the table. I introduce my wife and myself to him and we dig into our lunch as he spins yarns about his secret involvement with several governors reaching from California to Missouri.

Now, to the Dim Sum. For those of you who don't know what Dim Sum is, let me try to capture the magic for you. Dim Sum vary in size and shape, but they almost always contain a hidden delight, snuggled pouch-like in a purse of thin rice paper and then steamed. If you've ever had Pot Stickers, you're close to the idea, but far from the flavor. The dumplings can contain fish, shrimp, or vegetables, or any combination of the same. Other variations contain pork; bar-b-qued and sliced, minced, or pulled. The flavors range from delicate and atmospheric to in-your-face savory, with beautiful earthy qualities that come from soy oils and chili's.

They are, by far, the best deal in an expensive dining town and a tray full of the delite's rarely runs over $11.00 US. That price is worth the price of admission just to watch the counter ladies sling dumplings and to share conversations with the local characters who find solice in a steaming tray of slippery dumplings.

I rate this place - A BLAST! with food that tastes great and doesn't cost an arm and a leg.

Wine - Gundlach-Bundschu, Sonoma, CA 95476

Gundlach Bundschu was established in 1858 and is the oldest family owned wine producer in California. They have been one of my personal favorite for many years now and they continue to invest in new varieties of grapes and wines. They are one of two vineyards growing Tempranillo grapes and have recently released a  2006 Tempranillo Rose that is refreshing and delicious.

They are a small producer but quality is always in the forefront in their wines.

2005 Pinot Noir (Retail $38 per bottle US) - Classic Pinot with a supple mouthfeel, complex minerality, and Burgundian character. I drank 3 bottles of this wine the week I was there as a quality control process. It surpassed my expectations.

2005 Tempranillo (Retail $33.00 per bottle US) - Bright red cherry with a long tea finish. I drank 2 bottles of this wine at a picnic of roasted artichoke hearts, black pepper Salami, sour dough baggets, and a salad of red leaf lettuce, juilliened anaheim chili's, radish, and grape tomato's with a white balsalmic/meyer lemon infused olive oil vinigarette. We startd the picnic with the Tempranillo Rose (2 bottles) and some fresh local fruit (cherries and plums, which are in season). We finished the picnic with dark chocolate covered hazelnuts and their 2005 Zinfandel (Retail - $35 each US) which was a rich luscious mouthful of spice and plum, and bright enough to cut through the deep choclate flavor of our dessert. I don't remember much after all that but I was told that I had a wonderful time.

In all, wonderfull wines, but the good peop[le at Gundlach Bundscu opened a bottle of 1998 Zinfandel (only 9 cases remaining if you beat my order today). This wine blew me away. It was complex with the traditional fruit forward flavors you commonly find in Sonoma wines but a bold pepper and herbal spice was soon to follow that had an exceptionally long finish. This was a really deep and complex wine and I wanted to sit there, in the patio by their lake in the warm afternoon breeze and contemplate its intricacies but I fell asleep.

Overall Wine Rating - One of the Best; Drinkable but still Interesting.

Cherio,

Flak

.

1:43 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Traveling
Current mood: giddy
Category: Parties and Nightlife

I'm leaving for San Francisco, California on July 3rd and should be there in time for supper. Any recommendations anyone?

Regards,

1:19 PM - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

The Shithouse Poet
Category: Friends

One of my friends is The Shithouse Poet and I've written a little piece in his honor.

Ode to the Shithouse Poet

It seemed I'd sat there for ages

while holding my nose

and searching the walls like pages

For some wisdom and some prose.

And there, a single scrap,

A wit's single lonely line,

scrawled in cursive with his crap

since he was determined to opine.

It was something about a school,

or, perhaps, the size of my penis,

that he determined was a disgrace

when compared with this shithouse Venus.

And so, depression sunk in,

while I searched for more meat

that was scrawled on the walls from my shithouse seat.

And, alas, my reward

for my ardent measure;

a poem on the wall for my reading pleasure.

Henry, the Stubborn Turd

by the Shithouse Poet

Father Murphey was sitting here

Just before you came.

He strained and aimed like a bombardier,

But the results were much the same.

Lodged in his arse was a mighty turd

And Henry was his name.

Mere physical exertion would be absurd

For stubborn pride was Henry's claim,

To fame.

So, the vicar reaches for a stick

To dislodge the dogged doo.

But Henry's girth is much too thick

To let the prybar through.

The Father makes a desparate grab

And pulls Henry down an inch

But Henry's smart and makes a stab,

Causing Murphey's sphincter to pinch.

Henry thinks he's won this round

And relaxes with a shrug.

Only to hear an unholy sound

As Father Murphey give's a tug.

The rest is history, so they say,

And really no surprise.

For the Father can not walk today

And as you might surmise,

As he pulled stubborn Henry out

From between his ruddy cheeks

He opened up an awful wound

That won't be healed for weeks.

But bannish Henry, that he did,

The prideful to the sewer,

And from the filthy stall he slid,

Covered in blood and his own manure.

A moral? Sure, there is one.

And let it be short and sweet;

Though you be stubborn you can still be undone

So shut-up and take a seat.

The End

I sat and read, and, oh, what joy,

to share his odious wit.

The task at hand is easily achieved

when you can read something while you sit.

So, Shithouse Poet, I thank you

For taking time to share your craft.

It's nice to occupy your brain

while you're busy, fore and aft.

William Flach - 2008

1:44 PM - 6 Comments - 9 Kudos - Add Comment

The Man With the Lonely Penis
Current mood: dorky
Category: Writing and Poetry

These are the lyrics to a song I have written and which is currently in our 1st set rotation when we play out.

The Man With the Lonely Penis

There was a man, desiring women and a place to swing.

He wanted nothing too kinky, just a normal Friday night fling.

To his dismay, he may as well had been gay.

When he opened his mouth they didn't understand a word that he'd say.

There are men who are searching near and far

For a woman who would be their lucky star.

But since men are from Mars and women are from Venus,

This is the song about the man with the lonely penis.

There was a man and wealth was his legacy.

He would date a young lady and buy her anything she might see.

He'd take her out, wine her and dine her all night,

But when he'd offer a chance at the thing in his pants she wouldn't bite.

There are men who would spend a whole paycheck

For a little bit more than a meal and a good-night peck.

But since men are from Mars and women are from Venus,

This is the song about the man with the lonely penis.

There was a man, a metro-sexual some might say.

He'd get his hair done and go shopping with girls night anf day.

He played this game, hoping one day he would score,

But girls found him to femme and politely they'd show him the door.

There are men who would wear girls underpants

If they thought it would give them a better chance.

But since men are from Mars and women are from Venus,

This is the song about the man with the lonely penis.

William Flach

1:55 PM - 5 Comments - 8 Kudos - Add Comment

Loneliness
Current mood: fermented
Category: Writing and Poetry

Midnight Message

Night time bar room hopping,

and I'm going home alone.

I've got to talk to someone.

I'll ring them on the phone.

A frantic midnight message,

I'm telephoning late at night.

"I'm feeling manically depressive.

I drank too much, alright.

"I hope that you weren't sleeping;

I don't want to be that rude.

Want to hear something funny?

I'm feeling rather lewd.

What's that, you watching TV?

I thought I heard a groan.

I'm sorry, I didn't realize

that you were not alone."

It's way past the hour of midnight

and my breathy is rather flat.

I've had too much of boozing

and I'd like to chat.

I'm desparate and lonely.

Wish there was someone here.

I want a little small talk.

My telephone is near.

Flak

3:37 AM - 7 Comments - 8 Kudos - Add Comment

Rhythmic Poetry
Current mood: cooky/wacky
Category: Writing and Poetry

This is an old piece that I performed with a sax player and a percussionist. The word in caps represents the heavy emphasis or the 'one' of the beat.

Afrika

IN afrika

A BLACK moma glances

DOWN from a window 

AT the pimpmobile

PARKED beside the russian

TRUCK. some cubans talking

LOUD, pushing through the

CROWD, pulling at their guns.

THEY call the black man

BRO, then lead him by his

NOSE. afrika

RIGHT ON, afrika.

IN afrika

A BLACK nappy headed

BOY with a russian 

GUN strapped across his

BACK stoops to wash his

HAIR in the urine

OF a sacred holy

COW while a white man

SELLS him some afro

SHEEN afrika,.

RIGHT ON, afrika.

IN afrika

THE ELITE politician

KNOWS what the nations

NEED, buy them with guns

AND BEADS and bring them to their

KNEES while tribal elders

DRIVE in mercedes

BENZ, drink blended whiskey

FROM the skulls of men.

CHANGE afrika,

RIGHT ON afrika.

William Flach - from For Future Identification, a Collection - C1990 

1:36 PM - 8 Comments - 12 Kudos - Add Comment

The Frontiersman Rewrite
Category: Writing and Poetry

After posting my poem, The Frontiersman, in the group Writer's Cavern topics and enjoying their critique, I have reqwriten the poem and given it a new name.

If you don't mind, read both and compare them. Let me know if the new poem opens up better for you.

Deeper

I brush my fingertips along the marble pillars

That line the way to the narrow chasm.

Its good here in the high places,

But, I want to go deeper.

A serpent breaks the surface of the pool

From where I stop to wet my parched lips.

It dives back into the abyss

And I want to follow.

Fingertips push across the waistland

And one hand reaches to pluck ripe raspberry fruit.

Red juice boils down an ivory hillside;

Burning hot earth gravy.

Then, sliding down the slippery slope,

I crash into the undulating surf of the Soft Coral Sea.

Spice currents and carnal fumes of fragrance

Boil up from unfathomable depths.

Wild animals howl from somewhere in the distance.

Hot crusts of sea salt cling to my sunburned brow.

With a final hero's effort, I push down,

Only to collapse into the arms of love.

William Flach - C2008 

6:35 AM - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

The Frontiersman
Current mood: blissful
Category: Writing and Poetry

The Frontiersman

The Frontiersman wanders the high places,

Seeking the marble pillars that line the narrow chasm.

He wets his parched lips in the pool of a serpent

And pushes on toward the waistland.

He lingers at the Mother Mounds

And with one hand reaches to pluck ripe raspberry fruit.

Red juice lava boils down the ivory mountainside,

Burning hot earth gravy!

Then, as if sliding down the slippery slope,

He crashes into the undulating surf of the Soft Coral Sea.

Spice currents and carnal fumes of fragrance

Boil up from unfathomable depths.

Animals howl from somewhere in the distance

And hot drops of sea sweat cling to his sunburned brow.

With a final hero's effort he pushes with his last strength,

Only to collapse into the arms of love.

William Flach - C2008

7:54 AM - 11 Comments - 17 Kudos - Add Comment