oh yeah...

Love the Red Planet

I might be sounding a bit like the brotherman, but Mars kicks serious ass. More specifically – the peeps responsible for getting up there are achieving the new levels of coolness. I too cannot tolerate the ignorant complaints of the costs involved with sending those rovers to the War planet, especially given we blow serious dough on absolute pork crap. Cue the Holst for proper setting - Hey – if we decide to take a page out of Young Hickory’s playbook, we’ll end up declaring a new nation – the United States of Mars. And that’s right after the Lunar United States. Manifest Destiny, baby. I’ll personally invite you all to my villa outside the Sea of Tranquility, for a meal of hot dogs and apple pie.

Defining bliss.

By the title you would think that I’m going to get into some transcendental sexual experience – but no. Even I wouldn’t force that upon anyone else.
I spend too much time in the Taurus, driving from Point A to Point B and back to Point A again, usually with various combinations that sometimes include Points C, D, and/or E. This turns into free thought time, which is just plain dangerous. This is just one of the results of such a time spent in the automobubble.
I usually wind up contemplating on the level of suck that life is at the moment, the state of flux in this yin and yang dance with the really great things and the absolute misery that wakes me up at night. So was this car ride. Hey – like any parent out there (except perhaps for the ones that make the news for the wrong reasons) I dwell on how I can make the kid’s lives better – and that’s cool. But I digress on how I in turn can make MY life better. Even worse – what I’ve done wrong so far as to why my life isn’t better right now. Then it hits me hard. It’s the question that really burns me. Why are all these people able to subsist with a smile on their faces? The answer is just as burning. It comes down to two words : ignorance and apathy. I may very well found out the secret to a happy life. I’ve been told and experienced time and time again is that the problem with raising your consciousness is that you can never lower it. The millions of slobs that clot our highways and go through the motions have no idea that life can be better, and really couldn’t care if it could. I would almost PAY to be ignorant of the cruelties of the reality of living, but that’s a big cop out. I just looked up and read this load – and it’s time to bail. I meant to get into some ground rules I’m trying to set for myself in terms of what and what not to blog – but I’ve got issues – and they’re coming on OUT.

Must. Create.

Ok. The internal alarm clock has been going off and I couldn’t figure it out until now.
I figure it’s creation time. For those of you that have somewhat tuned into the Cz’ski Life, you would know that I have been creating quite an ensemble, not much unlike a backup band the size of ELO. Elvis had the Jordanaires, I have Dawn and the Spawns. Well, the Spawns have grown in number at a rate of one every couple of years. If Math hasn’t completely failed me, it would seem that if another Spawn was to enter the Cz’ski group in the same fashion as the others, it would need some creative input right about NOW. This is the internal flashing yellow lights that keep me awake as I try to fall into blissful unknowing slumber. Realization has come after a few drops of conversation around the dinner table, more than a few relatives (sin-laws) asking more and more fervently at whether we can expect more dependant output, and maybe just plainly that glint in the eye, if you catch my drift. Shit. It’s not even springtime. Thank God I’m not twitterpated.
Anyways – I do feel the need to create, except I’m not about to help in the further creation of my own personal hellish poverty. This blog helps, but it might only be the start of something that has been destined to make its way to the www – stay tuned to the possible beginning of the digital Slug vs. Snail.

Weather or not...

Ok - mental note : if I am ever to be reincarnated, please let me remember to be a weatherman/meteorologist/soothsayer. These guys/gals try to predict when and how much the storms will come and destroy the very fabric of our lives. Right. We all have a better chance of picking up the 1937 Farmer's almanac and turning to page 4356, referenced "2004 - weather" and seeing if it will be cold or really polar out there. And, of course, what phase the moon is in - because it matters.

The evil alliance of weather.com and yahoo has recently informed me that the great nor'easter will be sprinkling the tiny droplets of icy death which will turn to flaky fallout, biblical heavy at times, later this evening until the early morn. What do I say of this? Poppycock. Yeah - the icy rain is correct, since I looked out the WindowTM and verified the precipitation. As for later - yeah - it might snow a little, but my life won't end. Hey - I know I'll even make it back without incident on the treacherous NJ roadways, because as everyone who knows me will attest - my death will come only after Dawn allows it.

Stay warm folks.

Lo! and behold! An angel by the name of David has led me to the wonderful world of Blog, and I have found that it is good. By this post I not only test the waters of blogdom but I leap forth to new ways of spreading all that is Czski.

Gotta love it. Just another way to increase my form of entropy.