Everyone on planet Earth has likes and dislikes. One of my strongest dislikes is lists. Especially list of likes and dislikes! But since you brave folk have ventured under the Black Cloud for another peek into my strange mind, I decided to give you more small clues about me through a list of Ten Things I Hate. Hate is a strong word, but i decided not to water it down and go with vehemently dislikes. I think the things I list below deserve a strong word so I decided to stick with hate. I almost went with vehemently hates. For those of you dying to know more about me other than the fact I'm 200 pounds of twisted steel and sex appeal and the father of everybody's favorite blogger Ericka, here is a brief glimpse into my world through my list of hates:
1: I absolutely hate useless festering pustules of human beings who possess no discernible skills, offer absolutely nothing to humanity, yet make untold fortunes from being totally void of any talent. I give you Paris Hilton, Jon & Kate minus the eight (can't blame the kids!), Reverend Al Sharpton, the US Congress, Bill Maher, Kathy Griffin, Snoop Dog, any reality show star, and George Clooney (sorry George, Ericka made me say it). This is by no means a complete list of useless people. I just found it useless to keep adding names. You know who they are.
2: I hate it when my wife gives directions. Anybody who knows me knows I need directions. But please, give them to me in words I can understand! When most men give directions they say things like, "You take interstate 37 North to Hwy 77 South. Go about ten miles and turn right onto Farm Road 55." My wife says (and I believe most women do this too), "Go a little ways down that big road and turn by the pretty pink house with the big tree. You drive a little while longer until you see the big Frito Lay truck in the yard of that two story white house, you know the one, and turn right I think..." You get the picture.
3. I hate TV weathermen. The fake smile, fake humor, fake effervescent mood, fake tan, and fake knowledge of weather just makes me ill. The teasers are the worst. I mean like you are watching a good show and the weatherman pops in in a ten second spot and says, "We are in for a drastic weather change folks, find out tonight at ten," and he flashes that idiotic grin and giant shark tooth smile. So like a good little idiot, I watch at ten to find out the sun's still shining tomorrow but the temperature will be two degrees warmer. I hate that bastard! Just once I wish a TV station would be honest and say to the viewers, "We have decided to lay off Smilin Bastard to save money while we know every day is hot and sunny. We will call Smilin Bastard back in when we actually have a hurricane or storm or something worth mentioning." Just once I would like to see that.
4. I hate hypocrites. I hate the TV evangelist who cries, whines, and begs for money and tells you how if you don't do it the fires of Hell are waiting for you. So you send the check because who needs the heat. Next thing you hear that same preacher is caught soliciting a five dollar crack whore in the parking lot of a strip club. As far as can be scientifically proven all members of Congress are hypocrites, and you don't need the reasons because you already know this. Also, so called environmentalists like Al Gore and every half ass actor who kneels at his altar, but have a carbon footprint the size of a Mastodon from their private jets, limos, hummers, 20, 000 square feet homes, etc. God I hate hypocrites.
5. I hate parents who don't put their kids first. I have so often seen people have kids but never become parents. The dead beat moms and dads speak for themselves. They simply suck. But I'm talking more about people who have kids but always put their own careers and personal lives first. They take vacations without the kids because they need alone time. This would be okay except they do it more than they do with the kids. They blow a fortune on the latest greatest car so the kids will be "safe" when personal image is the real motivator. Baby sitters, day care, and nannies all spend more time with their kids than they do. They whine about how hard they work to provide for their children, yet they never go to games, practices, plays, or just hang out with them. I honestly believe the most valuable things we ever learn about ourselves we learn from our kids. I think I pity these people more than I hate them.
To be honest, I was going to do a list of "Ten Things I Hate" but when I got to number six I said I hated people who don't get to the point and take forever to say something. So I decided to stop at five things I hate in order not to incriminate myself. There it is folks, a peek behind the curtain or under the Black Cloud if you will. I feel naked.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Sunday, April 11, 2010
"Love Thy Neighbor"
I am a likable guy. Really, I am. Easy going, slow to almost impossible to anger, and will do anything for a person, especially neighbors.
I live in a decent neighborhood on Padre Island in Corpus Christi. Surrounding us is a lot of open lots with tall grass as well as a ton of open over grown dunes and wildlife refuge land. Two blocks down from my house is a park with a concrete basketball court. This is Mecca for my dogs Ross and Riley. Ross is a rambunctious chocolate lab and Riley is a slightly more elegant standard poodle with a personality disorder. He thinks he is a baby rhinoceros. Everyday I take Ross and Riley in the morning and evening to the park to play ball. Ross could be an outfielder for any MLB team. He can catch anything you throw at him: high, hard, bounced, etc. Riley can't catch anything but he can run like the wind even if he is a rhinoceros. He brings it back to me sticking that rhino horn in my side, butt, ribs, anything he can till I take the ball and throw it again. Everyday, on the way to or back from the park Ross will do his "business" in the tall grass of an empty lot or in the dunes with the other wild life. He does this cause he is smart. He has never pooped in anyone's yard. He knows where to go. Riley, being with Ross almost four years now, picked up on this a few years ago and only goes where Ross goes. This makes it easier on me. I don't have to carry the dreaded plastic bag. Or so I thought.
This morning coming back from the park, a neighbor told me to make the dogs go somewhere else. "It just isn't right they go there," he said. He can smell it, or so he says. This area is over 70 yards from his house. I instantly wanted to give him a close up smell just to make sure he could identify it in a line up. As my blood boiled, I instantly pulled a WWJD. You know, "What would Jesus do?" The WWMD (What would Mel Do?) wanted to grab him by the neck and see how many shades of purple I could discover. But I decided Jesus would want me to love my neighbor. But seriously, does Jesus know this guy never has a shirt on? Does He know this guy sits in his garage chain smoking from daylight till dark surveying the neighborhood for law breakers? Does He know the old fart wood works on his table saw in his garage all day which he obviously doesn't thinks or cares it bothers his neighbors? Does He know this guy has two huge white dogs which sits in his drive way without a leash on intimidating anybody who dares walk by?
If Jesus knew all this, then I think He would say WWMD and let me discover new colors for the rainbow. But here I am trying to find reasons to "Love Thy Neighbor" while my blood pressure is bulging out my eyes. Welcome to My Black Cloud.
I live in a decent neighborhood on Padre Island in Corpus Christi. Surrounding us is a lot of open lots with tall grass as well as a ton of open over grown dunes and wildlife refuge land. Two blocks down from my house is a park with a concrete basketball court. This is Mecca for my dogs Ross and Riley. Ross is a rambunctious chocolate lab and Riley is a slightly more elegant standard poodle with a personality disorder. He thinks he is a baby rhinoceros. Everyday I take Ross and Riley in the morning and evening to the park to play ball. Ross could be an outfielder for any MLB team. He can catch anything you throw at him: high, hard, bounced, etc. Riley can't catch anything but he can run like the wind even if he is a rhinoceros. He brings it back to me sticking that rhino horn in my side, butt, ribs, anything he can till I take the ball and throw it again. Everyday, on the way to or back from the park Ross will do his "business" in the tall grass of an empty lot or in the dunes with the other wild life. He does this cause he is smart. He has never pooped in anyone's yard. He knows where to go. Riley, being with Ross almost four years now, picked up on this a few years ago and only goes where Ross goes. This makes it easier on me. I don't have to carry the dreaded plastic bag. Or so I thought.
This morning coming back from the park, a neighbor told me to make the dogs go somewhere else. "It just isn't right they go there," he said. He can smell it, or so he says. This area is over 70 yards from his house. I instantly wanted to give him a close up smell just to make sure he could identify it in a line up. As my blood boiled, I instantly pulled a WWJD. You know, "What would Jesus do?" The WWMD (What would Mel Do?) wanted to grab him by the neck and see how many shades of purple I could discover. But I decided Jesus would want me to love my neighbor. But seriously, does Jesus know this guy never has a shirt on? Does He know this guy sits in his garage chain smoking from daylight till dark surveying the neighborhood for law breakers? Does He know the old fart wood works on his table saw in his garage all day which he obviously doesn't thinks or cares it bothers his neighbors? Does He know this guy has two huge white dogs which sits in his drive way without a leash on intimidating anybody who dares walk by?
If Jesus knew all this, then I think He would say WWMD and let me discover new colors for the rainbow. But here I am trying to find reasons to "Love Thy Neighbor" while my blood pressure is bulging out my eyes. Welcome to My Black Cloud.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
"The Bridge"
Hello all. Back again under the Black Cloud? Most folks are smart enough to get out of the rain, but since you're here, let me regale you with Chapter 2 of my autobiography, "Me & My Black Cloud". This chapter is titled "The Bridge" which describes the stage of life I'm in now and offers a few of my pearls of wisdom. While it is a bit long for a blog, I think you will find it entertaining. I would love your feedback. Thanks in advance for all your comments good or bad!
"The Bridge"
As I mentioned in the introduction, I am 47 years old. I have been told by all the talking heads that 47 is the new 35. All I know is I am in the transition stage. What is the transition stage you ask? This is the undeniable period between the hope and optimism of youth and the taking up of permanent residency in Old Fartville. Let’s just say the transition stage lasts pretty much your entire forties. I call this transition period The Bridge. Yea I know, I really stretched my imagination to find a trite metaphor. But this bridge is special. It is a one way bridge. You are forced on The Bridge whether you want to go or not. There is no turning back. You cannot stop on The Bridge because you will cause a traffic pile up. I am now on The Bridge. I can see behind me. It’s getting fuzzier everyday, but I pretty much know what’s back there. I look ahead and see the decaying city of
I’ve acquired some knowledge along my journey, and I’ve learned there are only two things which can prevent you from becoming an Old Fart. The first is money. Money can buy you cool cars, big houses, face lifts, and the ability to hook up with younger people. It staves off the Old Fart syndrome but rarely ever stops it. Hugh Heffner is a classic example. I believe he is 104 now and he is still tapping 18 year olds. But you can tell money can only go so far. My God look at the man. Just the other day Willard Scott had his face on a Smuckers jar. I mean he must fart three times just crawling in bed with that bevy of beauties. Now that’s just sexxxxy.
Then there are those who have a ton of money, but despite all their efforts cannot stave off the Old Fart syndrome even for a little while. Take Larry King. He has traded up to a younger model through marriage 43 times, and yet, since the first memory I’ve had of him on television, he has been the poster child for Old Farts. He must have done his wardrobe shopping at the Old Fartville Mall since the day he was born.
The funniest thing to me though are those people who are loaded and are in the early stages of Old Farthood yet they have deluded themselves into thinking they are too cool to fall victim to it. I mean can there be any better example of this than Donald Trump. The puffed up come over, smoldering pre hunch back glare, and the phlegm filled “YOUR FIRED!” tag line are filled with so much irony of which he is totally blind to. It’s just delicious. If there were any justice in this world, God would smite us all dead except for Donald Trump and Rosie O’Donnell and force those two to procreate.
I mentioned there were two things which could stave off becoming and Old Fart, one of which is money. The other is wisdom. Yes wisdom is a delicate elusive vapor which settles on all of us from time to time but rarely ever stays. The very select few which embody wisdom will never become Old Farts. For me, the ultimate personification of wisdom was Mother Theresa. She imparted so much on so many and wanted so little in return. Her famous quote was, “God doesn’t require you to succeed; He only requires that you try.” How much more wise can you be. If wisdom had a human body, it would look like Clint Eastwood, act like Mother Theresa, and have the voice of Morgan Freeman.
Through extensive research or just simple observation, I can tell you ninety eight percent of Congress, all of the Supreme Court, and the majority of city councils across
The stupidest thing our forefathers did was to set minimum age limits on serving in our government. The smartest thing we could do in our nation right now is to reverse those age limits immediately. No one over the age of thirty should be allowed to serve in any government position. Think about it. If all of Congress, the Supreme Court, and our President were under thirty, our nation’s image around the world and image internally would instantly change from a nation of rich, greedy, warmongers to a nation of vibrant, hopeful, go getters. Today’s twenty to thirty year old nation doesn’t carry around the angst, hatred, racism of Old Fartville. Not yet anyway. We need to distance ourselves from all the baggage the Old Farts carry. They stand in front of the camera saying, “Do this for the childreeeen,” with tears streaming down there face and greed for the money from the bill they are passing in their heart. They and our nation are so used to crying poor, crying sick, crying fat, crying old, crying can’t, crying illegal, crying discrimination, crying democrat, crying republican, crying liberal, crying conservative, crying hate, crying taxes, crying why, and crying why not. We need to shut the fuck up and channel Mother Theresa and cry nothing, but do everything.
Monday, April 5, 2010
Life Is No Longer A Team Sport
Thirty seven years, three months, and four days ago Haley Anne Mills was born. Four nurses and a doctor all commented on how Haley had the most beautiful bright blue eyes they had ever seen as they handed the seven pound girl to her mother. The tiny brown skin child nestled into her mother's waiting breast as a bond forged between them like no other on Earth. Although alone, frightened, and fatigued to her bones, her mother peered down at Haley and felt her soul fill with purpose.
Thirty one years ago, Haley clung tightly to her mother's loving hand and to a man's strong hand she only knew as Dad. They gently pushed her forward showering her with words of encouragement and reassurance. She held on reluctantly gently sobbing she didn't want to go. But in way only parents can do, they confidently convinced her forward. Finally, in slow unsure steps Haley moved forward gaining footing as she went off to her first day of school.
Twenty two years ago Haley went on a field trip with her class to visit sick children in the cancer ward of the local hospital. She held the hand of a girl only two years younger than Haley. "Why are you here?" Haley asked the frail bald child. "I'm sick," she said forcing the words out in a hoarse whisper. Not sure why she was crying, Haley held the girl's hand more firmly and asked, "Why are you sick?" The frail child willed the words out of her dry mouth, "I ask myself that everyday." Crying loudly and without embarrassment Haley stated, "I am going to be a great doctor when I grow up and there will never be sick children again!"
Eighteen years ago, a beautiful caramel skinned girl held her mother's shaking hands and gently kissed her wet cheeks whispering, "It'll be alright," in soft warm repeated phrases. She gently let go and hugged her dad for a brief moment afraid to linger for fear of losing her strength. She turned and opened her car door. Haley climbed in and slowly pulled away giving a slow wave as hot tears finally gave way. Her mom and dad choked away the heavy lumps in their throat and hugged each other while waving as they watched their baby girl drive off to college.
Ten years ago Haley walked into the same hospital she visited all those years ago where she met her inspiration. That inspiration had matured into her life's purpose. She now walked confidently down the hall introducing herself to nurses, patients, and anyone who would stop and listen. She began her residency with a passion and enthusiasm that few there had ever seen. She strode toward the cancer ward and decided to look in on patients before her shift began. Sadness overwhelmed her as she looked upon frail sick children not unlike her friend from many years ago. She turned with a renewed purpose and strode away to make her promise of many years ago come true.
Five years ago Haley Anne Mills became Haley Anne Ferguson. She held the hands of her lover, her friend, and her husband as she whispered the words "I do". This man, this completeness to her soul loved her like no other. She felt his love and knew he would never divert her from her purpose but only help her to achieve that dream as well as so much more. She worked tirelessly as a research scientist at the Center for Disease Control where gradual achievements had come slowly. But Haley knew so much more was ahead.
Thirteen months ago on the other side of the world a group of men sat in a circle. Hatred streamed from their lips as they discussed excitedly a plan to reign terror down on the infidels. Almighty Allah had granted them a weapon like never before. It sat before them in the tiniest of vials. It would not explode into a fiery ball or shake the ground when opened. Instead, when a single drop was dispersed on an inbound plane the unsuspecting occupants would carry the effects home to their loved ones who in turn would go off to school, work, or play and pass the demon on to person after person. In three days after incubation, a plague like no other in human history would bring the infidels to their knees.
Five months ago Haley jumped for joy. She had a breakthrough like never before. She sat behind a microscope and watched formally cancer ridden cells look normal and pure as from a baby's bottom. The drug, her drug, had worked far better and faster than even she had dared to dream. She knew more time was needed for testing, but in just a few short years, maybe months the drug would be available. She cried tears of joy, and tears of pain as she thought about that frail, bald child from so many years ago.
Four days ago a sick businessman from Ohio died. His illness had set on rapidly and violently and he passed away in thirty six hours. This odd death confounded the local doctors enough to alert CDC about the conditions. A response plan rapidly kicked in place and after twenty four hours of frantic tissue testing and analysis CDC came on Code Red alert status. All top research scientist were gathered immediately on national security status. Haley, being one of the most revered research scientist in the nation, arrived and was quickly briefed on the situation. With a frantic study of the diseased tissue, she made a shocking discovery. The diseased tissue looked surprisingly similar to cancer cells she had studied for so many years. In an effort to find some sort of weapon quickly to battle the fast moving plague, she tried the very drug she created. To her shock and the utter joy of the team scientist with her, the reversal of the disease effect was miraculous. By sheer luck, a huge reserve of the drug had been manufactured for release in just a few days originally designed for cancer treatment. A plan was quickly set into place for immediate mass distribution for the impending explosion of the oncoming plague. It looked as if disaster was going to be averted by the sheer will and life's work of one person.
Today, at this very moment, as far as I know there is no impending plague. There is also no Haley Anne Mills Ferguson. She was aborted. She never existed. She was only one of a million could have been possibilities extinguished by a choice. Choice...the word bastardized to sound like personal freedom. Life is not like an individual sport. It requires the help of others. It is supposed to be a team sport. That's why we called ourselves a society complete with varied and distinct cultures. Today in our world of what about me players, life is no longer a team sport. The irony of our personal choices affecting so many others will someday come to bear on us in a horrific way possibly like the one above. Have you ever stopped to wonder how many Einsteins, Lincolns, Mother Theresas, Martin Luther Kings, or Haley Anne Mills Fergusons we have aborted because life is no longer a team sport?
Thirty one years ago, Haley clung tightly to her mother's loving hand and to a man's strong hand she only knew as Dad. They gently pushed her forward showering her with words of encouragement and reassurance. She held on reluctantly gently sobbing she didn't want to go. But in way only parents can do, they confidently convinced her forward. Finally, in slow unsure steps Haley moved forward gaining footing as she went off to her first day of school.
Twenty two years ago Haley went on a field trip with her class to visit sick children in the cancer ward of the local hospital. She held the hand of a girl only two years younger than Haley. "Why are you here?" Haley asked the frail bald child. "I'm sick," she said forcing the words out in a hoarse whisper. Not sure why she was crying, Haley held the girl's hand more firmly and asked, "Why are you sick?" The frail child willed the words out of her dry mouth, "I ask myself that everyday." Crying loudly and without embarrassment Haley stated, "I am going to be a great doctor when I grow up and there will never be sick children again!"
Eighteen years ago, a beautiful caramel skinned girl held her mother's shaking hands and gently kissed her wet cheeks whispering, "It'll be alright," in soft warm repeated phrases. She gently let go and hugged her dad for a brief moment afraid to linger for fear of losing her strength. She turned and opened her car door. Haley climbed in and slowly pulled away giving a slow wave as hot tears finally gave way. Her mom and dad choked away the heavy lumps in their throat and hugged each other while waving as they watched their baby girl drive off to college.
Ten years ago Haley walked into the same hospital she visited all those years ago where she met her inspiration. That inspiration had matured into her life's purpose. She now walked confidently down the hall introducing herself to nurses, patients, and anyone who would stop and listen. She began her residency with a passion and enthusiasm that few there had ever seen. She strode toward the cancer ward and decided to look in on patients before her shift began. Sadness overwhelmed her as she looked upon frail sick children not unlike her friend from many years ago. She turned with a renewed purpose and strode away to make her promise of many years ago come true.
Five years ago Haley Anne Mills became Haley Anne Ferguson. She held the hands of her lover, her friend, and her husband as she whispered the words "I do". This man, this completeness to her soul loved her like no other. She felt his love and knew he would never divert her from her purpose but only help her to achieve that dream as well as so much more. She worked tirelessly as a research scientist at the Center for Disease Control where gradual achievements had come slowly. But Haley knew so much more was ahead.
Thirteen months ago on the other side of the world a group of men sat in a circle. Hatred streamed from their lips as they discussed excitedly a plan to reign terror down on the infidels. Almighty Allah had granted them a weapon like never before. It sat before them in the tiniest of vials. It would not explode into a fiery ball or shake the ground when opened. Instead, when a single drop was dispersed on an inbound plane the unsuspecting occupants would carry the effects home to their loved ones who in turn would go off to school, work, or play and pass the demon on to person after person. In three days after incubation, a plague like no other in human history would bring the infidels to their knees.
Five months ago Haley jumped for joy. She had a breakthrough like never before. She sat behind a microscope and watched formally cancer ridden cells look normal and pure as from a baby's bottom. The drug, her drug, had worked far better and faster than even she had dared to dream. She knew more time was needed for testing, but in just a few short years, maybe months the drug would be available. She cried tears of joy, and tears of pain as she thought about that frail, bald child from so many years ago.
Four days ago a sick businessman from Ohio died. His illness had set on rapidly and violently and he passed away in thirty six hours. This odd death confounded the local doctors enough to alert CDC about the conditions. A response plan rapidly kicked in place and after twenty four hours of frantic tissue testing and analysis CDC came on Code Red alert status. All top research scientist were gathered immediately on national security status. Haley, being one of the most revered research scientist in the nation, arrived and was quickly briefed on the situation. With a frantic study of the diseased tissue, she made a shocking discovery. The diseased tissue looked surprisingly similar to cancer cells she had studied for so many years. In an effort to find some sort of weapon quickly to battle the fast moving plague, she tried the very drug she created. To her shock and the utter joy of the team scientist with her, the reversal of the disease effect was miraculous. By sheer luck, a huge reserve of the drug had been manufactured for release in just a few days originally designed for cancer treatment. A plan was quickly set into place for immediate mass distribution for the impending explosion of the oncoming plague. It looked as if disaster was going to be averted by the sheer will and life's work of one person.
Today, at this very moment, as far as I know there is no impending plague. There is also no Haley Anne Mills Ferguson. She was aborted. She never existed. She was only one of a million could have been possibilities extinguished by a choice. Choice...the word bastardized to sound like personal freedom. Life is not like an individual sport. It requires the help of others. It is supposed to be a team sport. That's why we called ourselves a society complete with varied and distinct cultures. Today in our world of what about me players, life is no longer a team sport. The irony of our personal choices affecting so many others will someday come to bear on us in a horrific way possibly like the one above. Have you ever stopped to wonder how many Einsteins, Lincolns, Mother Theresas, Martin Luther Kings, or Haley Anne Mills Fergusons we have aborted because life is no longer a team sport?
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Why I'm Here....
Welcome one and all (probably one) to Mel's Black Cloud. As with all new ventures, this one has a mission. My mission is to entertain you with my musings about life (this mission barely beat out Getting Ericka Off My Ass!). These musings will vary from themes like religion, politics, family to personal. However, all my postings will be delivered from the skewed view from under My Black Cloud. I will endeavor to write with a comical honesty laced with satire which teeters on the sharp edge of bitterness. Oh shit, I'm just writing something, anything to keep the real writer of my family (Ericka...see www.alabastercow.com) from giving me my daily poking with a sharp stick.
The Black Cloud title is in reference to my personal autobiography, "Me & My Black Cloud", I have partially written (Just like my other novel "Hail Mary" I have partially written...See a pattern?). My autobiography and my blog refer to my Black Cloud because I consider myself in general very Un-lucky. Now let's make something perfectly clear. I know I married way above my head and have a gorgeous wife who loves and takes care of me. I have an awesomely talented daughter who is both smart and beautiful, and who despite all my sarcasm about her, I consider my most honest friend in the world. She also married a man that any parent would be proud to call a son, much less a son-in-law. I also call him my business partner and a trusted friend. I have a precious granddaughter who is the heartbeat of our future. I don't consider these things luck. They are much too precious for that word. These things are blessings. My unlucky-ness stems from mundane things like having 4 kings in poker betting into that lucky moron with 4 aces. Trust me...true story. I have never bought a lottery ticket with more than one correct number. I have never won a contest of any kind. I have never pulled out of the garage without having to turn around because my wife thinks she left the stove on (we have done this over 7,000 times and not once has the stove ever been on). See...plain unlucky. As one of my poker friends once said about me, I am so unlucky it could be raining pussy and I would get hit by a dick!
So, if you dare, welcome to Mel's Black Cloud. It is a haven for me. A place to be real, tell things as I see them right or wrong. Don't expect chaste prose hemmed in by ettiquette because a writer is nothing if they have boundaries. You only have to look at Ericka's writing to see the raw edge of honesty because she acknowledges no boundaries. I aspire to do the same. So thank you Ericka for the inspiration (translation - sharp stick in the ass) to get at it and write because I know it is my passion even if I write from my skewed view from under Mel's Black Cloud.
The Black Cloud title is in reference to my personal autobiography, "Me & My Black Cloud", I have partially written (Just like my other novel "Hail Mary" I have partially written...See a pattern?). My autobiography and my blog refer to my Black Cloud because I consider myself in general very Un-lucky. Now let's make something perfectly clear. I know I married way above my head and have a gorgeous wife who loves and takes care of me. I have an awesomely talented daughter who is both smart and beautiful, and who despite all my sarcasm about her, I consider my most honest friend in the world. She also married a man that any parent would be proud to call a son, much less a son-in-law. I also call him my business partner and a trusted friend. I have a precious granddaughter who is the heartbeat of our future. I don't consider these things luck. They are much too precious for that word. These things are blessings. My unlucky-ness stems from mundane things like having 4 kings in poker betting into that lucky moron with 4 aces. Trust me...true story. I have never bought a lottery ticket with more than one correct number. I have never won a contest of any kind. I have never pulled out of the garage without having to turn around because my wife thinks she left the stove on (we have done this over 7,000 times and not once has the stove ever been on). See...plain unlucky. As one of my poker friends once said about me, I am so unlucky it could be raining pussy and I would get hit by a dick!
So, if you dare, welcome to Mel's Black Cloud. It is a haven for me. A place to be real, tell things as I see them right or wrong. Don't expect chaste prose hemmed in by ettiquette because a writer is nothing if they have boundaries. You only have to look at Ericka's writing to see the raw edge of honesty because she acknowledges no boundaries. I aspire to do the same. So thank you Ericka for the inspiration (translation - sharp stick in the ass) to get at it and write because I know it is my passion even if I write from my skewed view from under Mel's Black Cloud.
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