LET'S KILL HITLER!

At freaking last! Tonight, we have all-new DOCTOR WHO! WHO-HOO!

Tonight, the Dolphins play the Bucs in Tampa too!

But since the Bucs can't sell out their stadium, I'll be following it on the Internet and watching some cheeky, British Sci-Fi goodness. And. Loving. It.

And the episode is called LET'S KILL HITLER, an action which I can totally throw my support behind.

Hitler is a bad man. I gots to have me some Hitler killing.

I gots to have me some more Alex Kingston/River Song too. Love her.

So, beer, pizza, football, WHO. I'm in. I'm totally in.

Let's put our problems on the shelf for a night, shall we?

Jammy-dodger, anyone?

Jammy-dodgers are cool.

Leebo Goes Universal

Many thanks to The Barabarian and The Gypsy for the fun trek to Universal Studios yesterday.

It was a good romp and it eased my worried mind.

It was a positive day and seems to have created a positive vibe. Let's ride that vibe shall we?

And hopefully, like the Rock and Roll Roller Coaster, it won't get stuck mid-way through the ride.

Good vibes this week. Boots to asses. Just bring it.

The Bums Win!!!!

Jeff Bridges has put out an album, man.

The Dude sings.

And guess what? It's pretty good!

I don't know about you, but I take comfort in that.

And proud we are of all of him.

In the parlence of our times.

Enjoy his Cycle.

And don't pee on the rug, man.

The Hour Of The Wolf

Greetings, Comrades.

Ever hear of the Hour Of The Wolf?

In Russian folklore, the Hour Of The Wolf is coined as the time at night when the wolf is said to lurk outside people's doors. In Swedish and Finnish folk religion it is the hour when most people die and are born. Between 3am and 4am.

It is the time, when you lay awake in bed and listen to your own heart beating. It is the time when you lay there and think. You don't sleep. You think. A lot.

Think about past regret, current regret....think about pain, think about what was, think about what could have been, think about what is, and what might be. You see where your life could have gone, but didn't.

It is the moment where all your hopes, dreams, regrets, pains, demons, and memories arrive at one time for a little party in your noggin'.

And they dance. Whether good or bad, they dance. Between 3 and 4am.

It is an hour where you are truly alone in the night. You listen to your own heart beat, and it beats just a little bit harder, a little bit faster.

The Russians would fight the Wolf at this hour with a large shot of vodka. And several little shots of vodka. In case the Wolf had cubs.



I've spent a lot of time in The Hour Of The Wolf lately.

I think about my current unemployment issues. I think about my future. And, with the recent inadvertant meeting of some folk who hurt me pretty badly years ago, I have that wound reopened to think about as well. Where my life could have gone, but didn't.

Swell.

Past present and future. Where your life went, could have gone, should have gone. One huge pile. One huge known and unknown. Upon further review. Between 3am and 4am.

Welcome to the Hour Of The Wolf, tovarisch.

Cheers.

Enemy At The Door

Hello. Been a while.

Been a while, basically, because my grand plan of kicking ass in life has taken a bit of a setback.

See, I got laid off.

Laid off from the job that hired me away from the perfectly good paying job I had before I left to go work for these buffoons.

You ever make all the wrong decisions for all of the right reasons?

Well, I can honestly say I have.

I find myself in a position where loyalty and doing right by people have landed me in a position to where I am, quite literally, in dire peril. I was loyal, I was hard-working, I was making all the right moves and doing right by the place and people that I worked for and with. And I got kicked in the nuts for it.

I haven’t blogged or posted or whatever you call it, about this until now. I've been fighting the negativity. Still am.

See, the company that I went over to from the other company I left, was not as stable as I would have liked.

Apparently, someone over Boron-ed a strawberry field costing millions of dollars to the company. Or over Moron-ed it, depending on your perspective. This, combined with other financial losses and a general lack of business acuity by individuals involved with the organization has combined to lead to my abrupt dismissal from the company.

In other words, we've lost a buncha money so get rid of the new guy. We never liked him anyway, though to be fair, I like them a helluva lot less now.

I never saw it coming. I thought if it wasn't gonna work out, I could still go at least a year.

I worked 7 days a week for 7 months for these guys. I busted ass for these guys to the point where I wasn't even sure where they ended and I began. My mental health at the end of that was beyond the phrase "burned out". And, I actually turned down a job that was offered to me to stay loyal to these guys. Wrong decison, right reason.

So, basically, they hired me away from another company just to lay me off 9 months later. And to add insult to injury, they gave me one (1) paycheck for severance. My loathing for them is beyond my writing ability.

These events have combined to put me within the rank of America’s unemployed. Of which, there are many.

That is, if you believe CNN. According to them, there are no jobs in America. Fortunately, I distrust the news media (any news media, except maybe the BBC) to the point of paranoid frenzy. If Jon Stewart says there’s no work, I’ll fucking panic. For now, I won’t. I have work to do. My job is to find a job.

Unfortunately for me, that job of finding a job is tricky, as our economy is collapsing, our so-called leaders aren't leading and basically, nobody's buying. Anything.


I can't watch the political news anymore. It's all bullshit. Politics and Lobbyists are destroying our country like a moron destroys a strawberry crop.

WE THE PEOPLE has become US VS. THEM and neither side can even acknowledge that the other side might have a decent idea about anything. Our system is broken, padded with the lobbying, the power-hungry, and the rich. And none of them gives two shits about what used to make America great: The Average Joe.

Still, I am trying my best and I'm still swinging. I'm fighting the negativity I feel for the bastards that did this to me. I'm fighting to succeed. I don't know what else to do. And with the love that my mother gave me, I'm gonna knock the devil to the floor. I hope. Cuz, he's at the damn door, that's for sure.

I'm trying to make something happen.

Again.

Sigh.

And in between, I have plenty of time.

Whoa! Geronimo!

Ha! What a cliffhanger!

You cheeky British bastards! I love it!

Your well-written, mesmerizing sci-fi silliness has got me hooked. Good show.

I love you, River Song!

And you too, Alex Kingston.

Rawr.

Fish Fingers and Custard!

Last Doctor Who before the summer break!

I'm soooooo happy I can watch this tonight.

Normally, I 'd be stuck in a hotel in North Carollina.

A hotel that does NOT get BBC America.

The BBC have doen a great job with this show this year. I'm totally diggin' it.

I love you, River Song.

Hello, Sweetie.

This pep has a piz and other oddities, including me.

The pic above is an actual pepper that got put in the reject bin at Rosemont Farms.

You can't sell a pep with a piz.

Not in Polk County, anyway.

All is well. Finally got some time off away from it all. It was much needed. I expected to be heading to North Carolina when I got back, but soem things have changed with the job and there is a way I can make a good, positive impact here at home with them, so we'll give it a shot.

I do want to say a little something about The Tampa Bay Lightning.

Grit.

That's all I have to say about The Tampa Bay Lightning. That's all that needs to be said.

Thanks for the great playoff hockey, guys. Amazing play, amazing effort. I was enthralled.

Next year.

Taking it all day by day. Have no idea what's down the pike.

How does one meet the unknown?

With guile.

What's comin'?

Only The Shadow Knows.

I gots to have my gravy

Just stopping by the blog again to say something. Something.

Florida blueberry season is over and I couldn't be happier. This has been one of the most trying seasons I have ever been through. It's been a learning curve, that's for sure. I could have done some things better. Next time, if I get a next time, I will.

But there's been some lessons learned this year that have been hard for me to digest...what greed does to some people has been a lesson in the forefront. Never had anybody threaten to spit in my face before over a price drop. Lirerally. This face. Really? This face? Really? Nahhhhhh.

And apparently more changes are on the horizon, and I'm starting to figure out that's kinda what life all is about. Only took me 40ish years to get it. And I still don't get it.

Walking thru pudding. Day-by-day. Best make good sport of what you can. We all got it comin', kid.

Been watching The Tampa Bay Lightning and really enjoying their run. Last night's Game 6 against the Bruins was most enjoyable. I was at Natalie's sports bar watching the game. With Natalie. And other folk.

We celebrated a great win. We laughed and cheered and wined and dined and played Cornhole, a game which is like Horseshoes, with bean bags. Up until then, "cornhole" had a completely different connotation for me.

We had so much fun that I glanced at my watch and it was one 1am.

And I thought "Oh shit, I'm wearing someone's watch." Because I don't own a watch.

Bring on Game 7. Very much looking forward to watching that game. I want to see Lord Stanley's Cup. In person. Again.

Lot of people are counting the Bolts out in Boston.

I don't wanna hears that bullshit.

I gots to have my gravy.

GO BOLTS! BRING THE THUNDER, BABY!!!!

A Picture Of Leebo With A Cute Puppy

Just to verify all is well, I present a picture of myself with a cute puppy.

I have plenty to say, and I will say it soon enough.

But for now, I present a picture of myself with a cute puppy.

All is well.

Aint no grave, can hold my body down....

Except a really shallow one, I mean.

I'm tired. I feel dead. I am working too damn much. I miss my life.

I know this won't last. It will end. One way or another, I will live again.

I just found this on The Internets. The Johnny Cash Project.

This is one of the coolest things I have seen. They take thousands of illustrations from all over the world and put them all together to mark out to The Man In Black.

Such creativity inspires me.

Until I have to go back to work.

Again.

And again.

Every day, always again.

I walk the line.

http://www.thejohnnycashproject.com/

Blueberries are good for you, but they are killing me...

So, I think to myself today, hey self, you haven't been on the blog in a while... and then I thought how much of a miracle of life it was that after working 103 of the last 105 days, the last three weeks of them nights, I remembers I has a blog at all.

I am currently working late evenings becaue blueberries must crush me. I have worked, literally, almost 4 months straight. It's doing wonders for my social life. Most of my friends have disowned me.

I am reminded as to why I do this whenever bills come along. But I wonder what it does to my sanity. Then I laugh and wonder what kind of benchmark I could possibly have for my sanity.

I am very tired. I am wanting a dose of life again. I am tired of all-emcompassment. There must be Leebo Time.

Time. For Leebo.

One thing is for damn sure.

This just might be the season I kill a goddamn truck driver.

That's gonna be sweet.

Or... one might kill me.

That would suck.

Produce.

You are a fickle mistress.

And a goddamned whore.

The only bar I can walk to....

As Hitchcock would say, good evening. I haven't been on the blog…though it's not for lack of trying. I'm actually writing this on my Blackberry at the Winghouse. Currently, Britany Spears' homogenized, synthesized voice blares annoyingly over, around and through my head and I marvel at…but not by much.. at how much she sounds like Chris Brown. Across the bar from me is a man with blue-ish green tattoos from his sideburns down to his hands. He is completely covered in tats, except for his face, which could use some. There are huge, black, disc-like objects embedded in his ears, each about the size of a coaster. He looks happy. He looks content with life and existence. Fuck him. I am currently in the mix of blueberry season. I have worked 89 of the last 91 days and am currently in a situation where I am working a helluva a lot more than having any fun. This is a situation I find abhorrent, except twice a month when bills are due. When, with a complete babyface-turn…it comes surprisingly in handy. I'm burned out. I'm cranky. I can feel it. I drop a pen and feel nothing but rage. My printer runs out of paper and I want to slaughter thousands. My phone rings and I want to decimate entire solar systems. I showed remarkable restraint when they announced Snookie would be at Wrestlemania. Either that or I just don't care anymore. About life. Or the WWE. There's a gaping chasm in my life. I don't know what it is, except all that "all work and no love or fun" baggage. And also, maybe, all that cool shit I don't have. Like love and fun, for example. Those sound neat. I'm just kind of coasting through the days right now. I'm feeling nothing. Really. Got some hurt. Nothing new. I'm numb. I'm tired. I feel nuzzing. Nuzzing, Lebowski. Holy crap, I'm becoming a goddamn Nihlist. I vow not to let that happen. Those folk threaten castration. They'll cut yer fucking dick off. It won't come to that, Dude. I won't let it. If I can get through the next few months without disemboweling someone with a wooden cooking spoon, I'm going for some major R+R. Walking through pudding. Jeezus. That guy across the bar has giant coasters in his ears. Fuck me. Fuh-uh-uck. Me. I so want to shove a beer in that guy's ear.

Ah, WTF

Hey. I haven't been on here lately. I'm in a strange place. Soon, I plan to stop drinking and start writing. That should be the time when I find out I write better when I drink. Shit.

I'll be back at THE LEEBO SHOW soon. At least that's the plan. It works in theory.

Based on the last post, I am pleased to report that I did find Mike Guerdon. And, quite frankly, I feel bad about the odd, and potentially alienating generic mutations one must face when one is Mike Guerdon's offspring.

It doesn't make Mikey a bad person.

It does make him insect-like.

And a potential gock.

Ya gock.

O' Brother, Where Art Thou?

Figure Grud - A: We were never near Anna Nicole.

Attention, please.

If anyone sees Mike Guerdon could you please tell him we love him (in a niz-on-fiz-ag way) and miss him?

We being me, I mean.

Come back, Grudly Mandinko.

Yer a gock.

Maybe Lord Vader was right.

Sometimes I actually think about going to the Dark Side.

I'm not going to do it, but I think about it, sometimes.

Where would my life be? Would I even be alive?

I mean, what's being a good guy done for me lately? Or ever?

I'm thinkin' that if I were evil, I'd have a lot more money, a lot more power.

I don't really crave power, but if you're evil, it's kinda mandatory.

Goes hand-in-hand with the badness, don'tchknow.

I might even have a pretty girl to talk to, one who can tell me how awesomely evil I am. Maybe she'll make me a sandwich. If I were evil, I might even get a date on a Friday night. With a harem. Of bitches.

That's right, I said bitches.

I don't usually call women that. I'm not a jerk. Or a rapper.

But I can aspire to be a jerk. Rapper is just too low, even for Evil Leebo.

If I were evil, I wouldn't care about women.

I wouldn't even treat them as people.

I wouldn't want to get to know them. I wouldn't let them in.

Since most women I've let in have hurt me anyway...that would work.

Wouldn't it?

Sigh.

It probably wouldn't.

I shouldn't think like that. I'm lucky to have what I have.

Maybe it's better being lucky than good.

I am a lucky fellow. Not as lucky as some, but luckier than others.

It must be the melancholy that's affecting my mood.

I've not been my usually bad-ass self.

Been sloppy. Been apathetic. Haven't really cared.

Manic depression is a frustrating mess.

I find my lack of faith disturbing.

And nice guys definitely finish last.

Worthless Star Trek thought

So, here's some wierd sci-fi meaningless thought.

I scan the TV, and I can catch a STAR TREK: THE NEXT GENERATION re-run anywhere on multiple cable channels.

Yet, I can never catch the original STAR TREK anyhere on the telly.

Yet, they show the classic TREK every weeknight on free TV in rural Arkansas.

The classic episodes with the enhanced special effects.

They kick ass.

So, a skull-frag station in Arkansas can show the classic, kick-ass STAR TREK, but we can't show it anywhere on cable TV.

Food for thought.

If you were dumb enough to think such things.

Fortunately, I am.

Live long and prosper.

TROWER POWER and what-have-you

Yo.

Haven't been on the blog. Been melancholy. Dunno why.

Maybe it's post kick-ass concert bringdown.

I went and saw Guitar God Robin Trower at the House of Blues in Orlando and again at Jannus Landing in St. Pete over the weekend the very next night.

It was phenomenally successful and Trower rocked what I laughingly call my face.

I say it was successful in the fact that I achieved my objective in jamming to Trower Live on two consectutive nights. He was awesome. Again. And again.

It was less successful as certain persons that I really wanted to go with me (that I really wanted to turn on to the genius that is Trower) that were scheduled to attend... were not able to.

Their reasons are varied, including, but not limited to, influenza, prior commitments and just not being that much into me.

Still I had an awesome time with me and would attend such an event with me again, should the moment ever present itself. I like my own company. And at this rate, I'd better.

So now it's Thursday and I am melancholy.

My mother's been gone a year, the anniversary (if you could call it that) was last week.

My parent's 50th wedding anniversary is tomorrow.

My Mom's birthday is Valentine's Day.

My Dad's birthday is a week after.

Gonna need some cold ones in between.

This cheap new Walgreens beer really kicks ass.

A Hope in Hell

Hi, there.

With the recent events in Tucson being manipulated and bandied about by many a talking head I found something that inspired me. I found it in an article by Harry Knowles over at Aint It Cool News.

One paragraph struck me as truth, in particular:

"All of us need to be tolerant. For all the faiths that teach us to live a peaceful path, we sure don't practice it. Well, at least not when our hands touch a keyboard, or we talk on the radio & tv. We judge, instantly, immovably and with terrible furor. We inflate the situation, give fame & attention to a tragedy, that would best be served with silence."

Amen, brutha. There are many things that are holding us back as a species. Tolerance toward others is the key component in just about all of them.

It's probably one of the few times I actually agree with Sarah Palin. But then again, she's quoting Ronald Reagan.

"We must reject the idea that every time a law is broken, society is guilty rather than the lawbreaker. It's time to restore the American precept that each individual is accountable for his actions."

Again, Amen, brutha. This wasn't politcal. This nut chose to hurt people. People that knew him said he was a Nihilist, (say what you want about the tennants of National Socialism, Dude, at least it's an ethos) but he was a Narcissist. He didn't give two shits about social change. Not really. He was in his own world. And he was insane.

Harry attached the following video that he said helped him feel hope during such a sad and hopeless situation. I liked it and and decided to put it on THE LEEBO SHOW.

As skeptical as I am, I still believe in humanity.

As skeptical as I am.

Here's looking at you Natalie's!

(Figure NAT-1: Natalie has a big sign with her name on it. She also refers to your cheating wood.)

Perhaps it's only fitting that my first post of 2011 is all about Natalie's.

Natalie's is a wonderful place. Nestled snugly off of South Florida Avenue in Lakeland, it is a haven and hangout for a lot of folk, me included.

Natalie's, not by coincidence, is run by Natalie.

I used to go to school with her back in the day. Lakeland High School (LHS) Dreadnaught, Class of 83, thank you very much.

Flash back with me, won't you? Back to that most interesting of times, the 1980's.

We didn't talk much in High School, Nat and I. You see, she was an insanely beautiful and popular debutant. By contrast, I was a resident nerd who spent more time skipping class and partying under the bleachers than fraternizing with beautiful debutantes. Years later, reflecting upon that, I've come to the conclusion that this might have been bad planning on my part.

By using the word "debutant", I don't mean to imply that Natalie was stuck up or anything, quite the contrary. She once smiled and waved to me as some guys were stuffing me into a locker. (I've used that joke a hundred times but this is the first, and strangely enough, last time I've ever put it on the Internet.)

So, even though we weren't really friends in the high school days, I, like the rest of the male population at LHS, thought she was insanely beautiful, and my opinion on that particular point as not changed at all since then.

Flash forward, won't you? Several years later.

With Lakeland High School literally years in my rearview mirror, I spend my time wandering about the landscape looking for whatever the hell it is I'm looking for and can't find. During this pilgrimage, I walk into the only place in the universe that real men consider That Most Holy of Shrines. I refer, of course, to the cultural phenomenon that is Hooters.

As I sit at the bar and try to figure it all out (a practice I still employ and have not really gotten any better at with time), appearing there before me, in full Hooters uniform (if you consider that “full”), is Natalie.

I consider this a good thing. Since Hooters’ inception, I have always believed that beautiful women look great in a Hooters uniform and my opinion on that particular point has not changed at all since then.

So, it was nice to be re-introduced to her at that time. Our conversations were regulated to the standard Hooters-girl-works-the-customer gimmicks, though. As I said before, we weren't exactly old friends from the High School days. It was the usual banter between waitress and customer.

She probably doesn’t remember those conversations. To be honest, I can’t remember them myself. I do know that, in my usual drunken state, I never wanted those conversations to seem like I was trying to pick her up, which, of course, I was. Me and everyone else in the place.

So, Nat's a Hooters chick, then later, a Hooters Manager. After her promotion, I immediately noticed that Hooters Managers wore more clothing. It might have been a promotion for her, but it was clearly a demotion for the rest of us.

Flash forward, won't you? Several more years.

There's this place off South Florida Avenue. No one has been able to make it work. It’s been a sports bar, a seafood place, etc., etc. It's been everything. Every place that has tried to do business there has met with failure and defeat. Kinda like the Dolphins this year.

Enter Natalie.

Natalie dreams. Nat wants her own place. She wants that place. That place on South Florida Avenue. The place no one else has made successful. She wants to make it work. She wants that place, a place where her friends and family and future friends and future family can go and hang out and have fun. She wants her name on the sign and she wants to run it her way. She wants to make some money. And she wants to wear more clothing. Clearly, a demotion for the rest of us.

Her and hers (By now, she has built a small armada of friends and family) set forth to achieve the goal. They negotiate and buy. They spend a lot of money. They sweat. They have fun, sometimes not. They work their asses off. They sacrifice and build.

Finally, Day One. Natalie's is born. There was much rejoicing. Or so I assume. I wasn't there.

Flash forward to a few days after Day One. It's not a request this time. You've read this far. You're invested.

With Lakeland High School literally decades in my rearview mirror, I spend my time wandering about the landscape looking for whatever the hell it is I'm looking for and can't find. I emerge dramatically from the smoke and fog and enter into the front door of Natalie's dream.

Actually, upon further review, it was the side door. I parked on the side.

(Figure NAT-2: The side of Natalie's. Not to be confused with inside of Natalie's.)

I had been in the building before when it was other things. I belly up to the bar and take a gander. Looked cool, but something was different. What was it? Oh yeah, there were people in the place. That was unusual. Most times I walked in that building it was empty. I'm not a business major, but I'm pretty sure having actual paying customers is a great way to stay in business.

Nat has people. Nat knows people. Those people know people. Nat's place has a great vibe. Word gets around. More people come. There is much rejoicing. At Nat's, there usually is.

Flash forward to now.

I said Natalie's has a great vibe. It does. "Vibe" really is the word that expresses it. You can't manufacture a vibe. It takes place naturally, based on the fun and personalities that inhabit the place. I truly think Nat’s has the best vibe of any place in Lakeland. That's why there are people in there.

Good food can be found there too. The Hutch pizza.... to die for. It's a simple menu, which is good. I don't need complicated food. I have enough complications in my life. Even my Dad liked the food. A compliment to the chef of somewhat galactic proportions.

The atmosphere at Natalie's is friendly. You can get a hug and a smile, usually from someone attractive, which helps. If you want a hug and a smile from someone unattractive, well, it can probably be arranged. They're accommodating, if nothing else.

Speaking of attractive, I would be totally remiss if I did not mention the stunning Natalie's Girls, a bevy of beauty and talent the like of which this town has rarely seen. They are magnificent and likeable, each and every lovely one of them. One of these days I'm going to get a picture of me with a shot of Crown surrounded by these sirens, but I can't figure out how to ask them without it sounding like I'm trying to pick up all of them, which of course, I am. Me and everyone else in the place.

That's the great part about Natalie's: they’ve not just created a great bar/restaurant, they’ve created a comfortable locale with a really great vibe, all waiting for you, just off South Florida Avenue. It is a unique and wonderful thing.

It's a haven, an oasis, a speakeasy, a happening, a gathering, a hangout.... It's all that and more. How great is it? Her employees (and her) hang out there in their off hours. That fact alone speaks volumes about the place and outclasses other corporate, soulless places by leaps and bounds.

One of my best friends said to me once "Only Natalie could have pulled this off." And while I surmise Kenny might have helped a little, I believe that.

I like hanging out at there. And even though Natalie and I didn't talk much in High School, we talk now like old friends from those days. Which, of course, we are.

(Figure NAT-3: Nat knows if she takes a picture with me, I'll leave her the hell alone.)

Last and certainly not least, I bestow my ultimate compliment to Natalie's. And I don't mean the ZETA7 tag hanging in the place, which in and of itself is pretty dang cool.

Figure NAT-4: We miss you, ZETA7....

See…Natalie's has THE DANK. It has The Dank IN SPADES.

And those who know me know how much I love The Dank. And those that don't know what The Dank is should probably click here and get educated.

This post got a little long-winded, but I feel kind of passionate about Natalie's. I hope it outlasts us all.

Perhaps it's only fitting that my first post of 2011 is all about Natalie's. Because I love the joint. I plan on drinking a LOT of Crown there this year.

So, Natalie, stock up, my friend. A fellow Dreadnaught is thirsty, and we can't have that, can we?

Cheers.