Slots and Peeps

I’ve never lived in a place where the front door had a mail slot.  The lazy part of my thinks this would be really cool; having mail delivery right to the floor by the front door.   Never again, having to walk to the mailbox.

Another part of me, never wants someone to trek through rain, sleet and snow to have access to a 3″ x 9″ sliver of my existence.  A Monday through Saturday intrusion, albeit brief intrusion into my place would be too much for me to handle.  Although, the visits would occur on a regular basis on established days, maybe a stable relationship would be comforting.

Would this magical mail door also have a peep hole?  I haven’t had a peep hole door in maybe 15 years.  Unless you count hotel rooms, these days I am more familiar with the other side of the peep hole.   Peep show…another story.

Not sure I really want a mail slot or a peep hole, unless attached with a fab condo in NY, Chicago, SF, Austin, London, just not this town.

My status is better than yours

There’s nothing scared and nothing private, its all public these days.  Every moment of excitement, sadness, joy, or ambivalence is shared via a social network status.  No need for hand written notes, no need for telephone calls, no need for interpersonal face to face communication.  Its all digital.  Friend me on Facebook, follow me on Twitter.  Computer to computer has replaced eye to eye.

“Spending quality time with the kids”-Really?  Quality Time is defined as updating your facebook status? Parent of the year.

“Had to put Smokey to sleep.  Goodbye dear friend.”  Sure there are animal lovers out there to offer sympathy and support.  Why not tell use more about euthanasia.

“Great party im sooooo drunkk.  goin home gots to wirk tomorrow”  Thanks for sharing the events leading up to your   DUI.

“Going to the grocery store”  Im too bored to care.

“Watching Citizen Cane.  Great movie.”  Are you watching the movie or updating your status?  If you really want to appreciate the movie, turn off the computer and watch.  If you are doing both…Rosebud is the sled.

“Being mugged and beaten by strangers.”  I’m sure your Twitter followers cannot help you from where they are.  Call 911, spray mace, run, now tell everyone “What Are You Doing?”

follow me on twitter:  @thefreeto

Friend me on Facebook Steve Freeto

Send me your street address and I will send you a hand written note.

Ten Thirty One

Halloween time! It’s my favorite holiday. What other holiday is it OK for women to dress up like whores and get away with it? Well besides Easter. Those flower dresses and bonnets are pretty slutty. Wearing crotch-less panties with your Sunday’s best is the Christian thing to do.

Halloween is the holiday for hypocrites though. Even the most homophobic man will dress up like a woman on Halloween. These guys will shave their legs, duct tape their balls to their assholes and put on a dress all in the name of Halloween. These same homophobes are afraid to sit down to pee because it’s a little too gay, but on Halloween it’s a different story.

Hell, anything can happen at a Halloween party. Bobbing for apples is a lot like giving head, except without the banana being crammed down your throat.

When I was growing up, the easiest costume was a hobo or a bum. This year it is going to be difficult to tell the difference between Halloween bums and real bums. You know the people on the side of the road with the signs that say “I need money for food for my kids”. That would suck to be in that position, but it would be an easy costume. Hell, they got it made on Halloween. Just get a bucket and go door to door. We won’t even know they are begging just flip over the card board sign and write “Trick or Treat”.

I love Halloween candy in every shape and size. Fun size, snack size, full size, its all good. I remember growing up going trick or treating and every year there would be “rumors” of some house giving away full size candy bars. These urban legends were tricks to thin the cluster of kids at each door. Once told there was a house with full size bars, the greedy kids of the pack would head straight to that house. People giving out candy tend to give smaller portions when there is a large group. But when there are only 2 or 3 knocking, you just might get a hand full of fun size instead of just one. When there is a large group, you are most likely to only get one fun size. Fun Size? What the hell is this meant to be? This is the “dick tease” of candy. Its just enough to get you wet, but not enough to satisfy you.

I’ll take any candy except Bit o’ Honey. This is not candy. This stuff was created by dentists looking to make money refilling your cavities. I swear every time I eat Bit o’ Honey, I lose a filling. People my age, know what I’m talking about. Our fillings are not these fancy tooth colored composite fillings; our fillings are bits of tin foil dipped in mercury. The kind of filling that when you touch it with a metal fork, you get an electric shock throughout your whole mouth. Trying to eat dinner turns into a game of Operation. If you don’t have a steady hand its….buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzaaaappp.

stand up sit down

writing new material for stand up and im slightly nervous.  not nervous about being on stage alone with a mic stand, hell i enjoy the attention.  im nervous that i might forget who to picture naked.  do i picture myself naked or the audience?  if it is me then i will probably get excited, it will be like prom all over again.  if it is the audience that is supposed to be naked i will spend my time on stage looking for birthmarks in strange places.  wish me luck.

Rotten Kids

I love vandalism, especially when well done. Marquee owners are not using the sign to promote their own product or services, why not leave a few extra letters on the sign to allow for some fun. Hell, I would even buy a vowel or two to be able to spell out any message that I want. This sign at a local car wash drew plenty of attention. The line would reach around to the front.

Where does the line begin?

New Math

Meth is everywhere.  Boys, girls, men, women, children, teenagers, and everyone in between seem to be exploring meth making, meth dealing, meth doing, and all things meth.

Stop the madness.  If you don’t end up dead, you will at least end up in jail.

Say “No” to meth, Say “Yes” to math.

Math won’t make your teeth fall out.  If they do, you got yourself parts for your abacus.

Math won’t make you steal from your family, unless subtraction is now considered stealing.

Meth may help with your chemistry homework, but math may be of greater benefit.  I don’t think ammonia, bleach, Sudafed or Mentos (active ingredients of meth) can be found on the periodic table.  Without math, you could never figure out the atomic abundance of any isotopes.  Try it.

As Barbie once said “Math is hard”, but at least math doesn’t give you welts on the skin or paranoid delusions.  If math causes these side effects you better call Sylvan learning center.

Math is so much better than meth.  Don’t be fooled by the glamorous mug shoots of boys, girls, men, women, children, teenagers caught meth making, meth dealing, meth doing, or all things meth.

Meth will help with fractions, as more than half your life will be screwed by this concoction.  The other half of your life will be en route to F’ville soon.

If faced with long division without a calculator in a life or death situation, I guess I would probably choose meth over math.  Do what’s right for you.

For me and my love of arithmetic, I would choose math over meth 6/5’s of the time (except long division without a calculator).

3.14

Chicken pot pie.  I’ll have the pie.  Pie makes me happy.  Although I guess chicken could too.  Hell, so could pot.  I am easy to please, but when pie crosses my lips its happiness.

If pie was an illegal substance, I am sure I would be breaking the law more often.   I would need a dealer to get a daily “nickel bag” of pie.   Pie cravings probably are not like alcohol DT’s, but I do jones for some Boston Cream Pie.  I would probably sell my VCR and TV to get the hook up for some strawberry rhubarb.  I would even pimp myself for pumpkin or sweet potato pie.

Creme Brulee may not be considered pie, but I would risk it all for the right serving.  Actually, I sometimes feel the need to punk slap someone for not making it right.  When I pay for Creme Brulee, I want a nice carmelized layer on top.  My spoon should ricochet off the surface and take effort to bust through.  A good creme brulee makes me happy.

Too much pie will make me chubby.

Something in the way

When I sit down to write, something gets in the way.

I kinda miss the days when I could not sleep regularly.  Waking up after only a couple winks was frustrating for sure, but it certainly allowed me the opportunity to let out some jolts of creativity.  I would always have an idea pop into my head and jump around until my moments of slumber were erased.  Those ideas had to be documented, better yet captured somewhere.  Most times, I would  scribble down my thoughts in a 6″ x 4″ memo book.  I loved those little 50 page books, I would carry one around or leave one bedside for those moments of  creative eruptions.

I am sure I have 10 or more of those books, all filled with something.  I have never been a fan of writing “Dear Diary…” thoughts, but I truly enjoyed writing free verse, random thoughts.  I claimed to never share my true thoughts, but those verses told many personal stories.  You really didn’t have to know me to “know” me, just read between the lines.   Many pages were filled with jokes and funny rhymes, but as I read those pages again I realize many were a cry for help.  Depression, tension, aggression, frustration and every other “ion” were documented.

I tried medication to help with my “ions”.  Maybe that sorta worked or could have worked, but I never wanted to admit the need.  Selfish, stubborn, and other “S” words describe my approach towards my “ions”.  All of those issues caused lack of sleep.  My brain was working and I was writing.  Such a mix of good and bad.  Good news; I was releasing creative thoughts. Bad news; there’s no sleep.

Something changed in the past two years.  I credit the theater for helping me release “ions”.  I have always had a love for theater since elementary school.  The first role that I recall was Crispus Attucks in a 6th grade production of a tribute to black history.  I went to school in New Jersey and certainly was not the only black kid available for the role.  In fact, I am not sure that I am black, but I do know that I was one hell of an actor.  After that I performed in high school and a few other shows in between then and now.  There was a considerable break from the stage during the grunge era, well unless you consider karaoke performing.

The past couple years have been full of opportunity to get back into the theater.  Whether on stage, behind stage, or off stage, I have been near a stage.  Musicals, dramas, and comedy has given me life with a reduced amount of “ions”.  I could go on and on about improv comedy, but that would be too self indulgent. Although Improv Battle Royale with Cheese has been such a reward.

I enjoy sharing my creative moments on stage, but I really want to write again.  Can I have both?

Memo Books available by request.