Casey's Just Sayin'

Let me begin by saying that before last week I had not read a single word written by Kurt Vonnegut. This is strange considering how much I love science fiction, time travel and well written prose. But after I completed reading the horrible "novel that must not be named", I was desperately browsing iBooks for something decent and came across Slaughterhouse Five. It's a short novel, maybe 250 pages, published in 1969, which means as it was being created at the typewriter of Mr. V, I was being created in the womb of Mrs. F. That seems about right. I ate this novel like the last pastry at a big-boned convention. The structure and style were simple without being mundane. The story wove almost chaotically, yet purposefully about through time and place. While I was fairly positive I knew the sci-fi portion of the story - time travel and aliens - was all supposed to be in the head of the main character, one Billy Pilgrim, there left a slight shadow of doubt, just enough to want ...

In my home we have our seasons. Spring Season kicks off with my birthday, which is usually four days before the vernal equinox. It’s easy to imagine that this is a good time of year for me personally. It also really heralds the beginning of the golf season, so it’s a win-win. By the way, it never, ever rains on my birthday. Ever. Play Season usually really gets rolling around May. This is when our family begins the fairly regular migrations to the Shakespearean Festival in Ashland, Oregon. It’s a two-hour drive and the performances are spectacular, the town beautiful. My love and I have seen works from NY to San Francisco and Ashland ranks at the top. Camping Season starts as soon as the children are out of school. I’m not much of a camper, but my lady likes to take the little ones to the coast at least a couple of times a year. This season also kicks off with my love’s birthday in June. Back to School Season hits at the beginning of August. This is when we realize that summer ...

Faster than a speeding justification for bad behavior. Able to leap to self-destructive conclusions in a single round of drinks. They're absurd. They're lame! They're the Resolutes! Hearing New Year's Resolutions from someone else is a little like them telling me all the details of one of their dreams: a complete lack of perspective. Unless the person is very close to me the dreams (and the resolutions) cannot possibly be fully understood or given the proper amount of empathy. I can pretend, of course. I can say the right words, type the correct responses, wish the resolutes well. I might even quote a little Ben Franklin: "Be always at war with your vices, at peace with your neighbors, and let each new year find you a better man. " or try to be cute and go the Oscar Wilde route: "Good resolutions are simply checks that men draw on a bank where they have no account." The options are fairly endless. But it all leaves me feeling false. So, this year, I...