Tuesday, January 31, 2006 Divine

Ah, here we are, the words between the pictures. Thank you to the few daring souls who peruse my prose amidst my scribblings.

Let's talk about forgiveness.

Joe is going to CCD for classes on reconcilliaton. This, for those of you who are heathens, is a Catholic sacrament whereby you sit in a closet and tell the priest everything you've done wrong. The priest then "absolves" you of your sins, and tells you to go say a bunch of Hail Marys. I think the priests have a sheet they read off of- talking back to your parents is one H.M., Lying is ten, staking a younger sibling naked over a red ant hill and pouring honey on his or her genitals is worth twenty, and so on. The last time I went to confession, about ten years ago, a priest gave me eighty. (No bullshit.) I'm sure they've accumulated interest by now.

As with almost everything, Joe is quite gung-ho about CCD, probably to make my parents proud of him. I was an extremly Catholic child for the same reason. I even thought of being a priest at one stage. We had one in our family- in Sicily no less- whom everyone referred to in hushed tones as "The Uncle." What job could have greater staus than that? But if I were to join up, I think I’d be a monk, and work in the fields in utter silence.

Of course, I realize I would make a lousy Man of the Cloth, because I just don’t believe a word of it anymore. This would put a crimp in things. It is a bit difficult when Joe asks questions, like, "Why do we have to go to confession for God to forgive our sins?" To which I reply that God loves you no matter what, but it makes you feel better to talk about the things you feel bad about.

"Is anger a sin?" was the next question. I told him that no emotions were sins- it's what we DO about them that counts. However, to dwell on an emotion- to re-live anger, sadness, or worries over and over again hurts us inside. (He is a little young for the concept that everything in your brain is electro-chemical, and our bodies become addicted to the chemicals triggered by strong emotions.) That's where forgiveness comes in.

A close friend of mine recently created a shitstorm for his wife, kids, friends, (including myself) & family. I was furious, and considered breaking away from him. (Sorry to be so vague, it's just that it's not my tale to tell.) But then I saw that his family was willing to help him out of the hole he had dug, even though he had hurt them so many times in the past. "Well," I thought, "if they can be so forgiving, maybe I can too." I only hope he finaly realizes that if so many people love and forgive him, then he must be worth loving. Only when he realizes he must earn his own love for himself will things get better.


Sunday, January 29, 2006


Last night I had a dream that I was in my parents' house, in the middle of the night. I had a wind-up model plane that flew, and a little baby chick, which, through some bit of dream logic, was about to lay an egg of its own. Again, with dream logic, it was imperative that the chick fly in the airplane and land with the egg intact.

I set the chick in flight, and it buzzed all around the house. It smashed at high force into the dining room wall. I looked around under the table for smashed egg (or chick) but could not find anything.

Not a glamorous story, but its always fun to read the interpretations of others.


Monday, January 23, 2006

I'm a Jerzy Girl, In a Jerzy World…

Now, many of you who have frequented this site have seen ridiculous, sometimes obscene comments made by some supposed bimbo named "Jerzy Girl." "Her" site is peppered with pictures of actress Christine Lakin (from "Step by Step,") who could more accurately be described as a Texas girl.

I do, however, have a pretty good idea who the person is who has left these comments (and others, I assume, under various anonymous names.) He (possibly she, but I have a pretty good suspect in mind) has dropped hints and mentioned people that I've known. He has also left these sort of comments on someone else's site.

Now, you may ask, what kind of a person really has nothing better to do than to make a fake site with pictures of celebrities, frequent a blog of someone he knew under a fake name, and leave these sort of comments? I know exactly the type of person, and he does too. If I am right, he's a (hopefully former) schoolteacher, about the age of 43, who once was dating someone very close to me, and stole money from her, along with my guitar.

So, Exidor's old friend (if I'm right,) kindly fuck off.

With Love,

Friday, January 20, 2006

Memories, All Alone in the Moonlight…

Here we are again, another uninspired & banal Illustration Friday word. There's not much room for interpretation here. I was going to go for the cheap shot and draw some female genitalia in protest, (do I have to spell it out?) but then I'd probably be cast into P.C. hell. You're only allowed to draw naked women if you are a woman. I don't know, it seems like a rite of passage thing. If you're a woman and you draw a naked woman in some sort of depressed pose, then you're officially an artist. It's a chick thing.

On a completely other track, did I ever mention I have the best kids in the world? I was walking home this afternoon, and saw a few adorable seven-year-old-or-so tykes leaning out of an apartment window, yelling obscenities at my son and daughter. One of them actually told Joe that he would shoot him and Mandy. When they saw me, they started screaming at me, calling me a "fat fuck" among other cute and adorable things. I marked in my mind where their window was, and decided to return after dinner.

I went back to the apartment around 7:30. A man answered the door, and I could see in an instant from his surly expression where his children got their manners. Upon seeing me, the sweet little youngsters behind him ran cover. I asked him if his was the second window from the left. He rolled his eyes and asked me what had happened. I told him the story. Afterwards, he shrugged and said he'd take care of it. I could tell that I wasn't going to get an apology, either from him or his kids. I nodded, shook his hand, and left. As I walked to the elevator, the hallway echoed with screams and curses . I wondered what sort of punishment and hurt were going to go on behind that door, and if, for the kids, it would ever end.


Thursday, January 19, 2006

A Love Poem

Two frog
Sat on a log
Reading my blog.
One frog
Said, agog,
"How 'bout a snog?"
Said the other frog
In the bog,
"First, buy me grog,
Or a bread to sog,
You filthy dog!"
The first frog
Called her a hog,
An insignificant cog,
A gold-digging wog.
The second frog
Decided to slog
And went to play Pog.
The first frog,
Now alone in the fog,
Went for a jog,
And choked on the smog.

© 2006 Tony LaRocca

Wednesday, January 18, 2006

Manipulating by the Numbers

For those who don't live in the NY tri-state area, we had a tragedy recently in NYC. A seven year old girl, Nixzmary Brown, was killed by her stepfather after months of tourture. Repeated calls were made to child services by concerned teachers, but no one helped her.

There's nothing I can say that hasn’t been said allready. But this morning I saw news footage of a vigil for the poor child. Another little girl was sobbing her terrified eyes out. I thought at first that it was a relative or a friend, but it turned out the mourner didn’t even know the victim. She was just there, she said as the newscaster put her arm around her, "because the story touched her."

I don’t believe in being overprotective or lying to kids, but who in their right mind would explain all this to a seven-eight year old, and then bring her out in biting cold twenty-degree weather for someone she never met? Is it necessary to stick a camera in the face of a child who is probably screaming inside, now that she knows she lives in a world where mommies & daddies can do these kind of things? What is wrong with people?

On a lighter note- a special message to P.N.: Buck up, little camper! William Shatner's just sold at auction for $125Gs!


Tuesday, January 17, 2006

El Bloggo

Half the people I see on the street, including myself, (or half of myself?) are wearing headphones. As I’ve said before (ala R.A. Wilson,) what we call existence is merely a sort of virtual reality movie our brain compiles from our senses & plays in our mind. In that case, by blotting out the audio, are we all dubbing in a soundtrack, or are we merely trying to drown out the commentary track that keeps bleeding in?

In a dream last night, an angel told me that I had been in a coma since a car crash back in 1995, and everything since was just a dream. Did I want to wake up, or did I want to keep dreaming? I decided to keep dreaming, since I didn’t want to live in a world that didn’t have my children- even if it was imaginary. This concept horrifies me- not that I might be living in a dream, but the thought that this life was the most interesting dream my mind could come up with. Maybe it's just a manifestation of an overblown guilt complex- that I’m so responsible for everything that I could erase my children with a thought. Pass the Paxil, please.


Saturday, January 14, 2006

E is for Eventually


Eventually I'll do all the things
I promised myself I'd do
Hang gliding, flying, writing, acting,
And walking 'cross the country too

Eventually I'll take care of myself
And be healthy, wealthy, & wise
I'll get down to my approved weight
And wear tight jeans on my thighs

Eventually I'll get Lazik
To fix my bad eyesight
Then I can put glow-star stickers on my ceiling
And dream about them every night

Eventually I'll finish all my books
Five with two thirds done
I'll sell them all and quit my job
So I'll have time to write another one

Eventually I'll spend more time
With my children whom I adore
'Cause I know that when they're teens
They won't want me 'round no more

I tell me I'll do these eventually
And stop making all this fuss

I tell me I'll do them eventually

'Cause tomorrow, I plan to be hit by a bus

© 2006 Tony LaRocca

Wednesday, January 11, 2006

Sorry it's been so long. I've been spending most of my computer time working on False Idols. Here's the latest screenshot, for your viewing pleasure. Enjoy!

Down by the Sea

The Illustration Friday word o' the week is Sea. As the tagline for Babe says, you are what you imagine yourself to be.

An imagination is a wonderful thing. A forced imagination might be difficult. We parents are good at forcing our imaginations on our offspring. As my son is now in third grade, I thought it was time he took the next step towards manhood. "Joseph," I said, steeling myself for the tears, "there is no Santa Claus."

He insisted that there was, or else who was that he saw at the mall? "You saw a fat guy with a beard & glasses in a red suit," I replied. "I’m the same thing, but without the suit. You don't call me Santa, do you?" Going for broke, I also delivered the dirt on the Tooth Fairy & the most bizarre holiday lagomorphicaton of all- the Easter Bunny.

Joe was still not convinced, so I showed him the South Park Episode "The Tooth Fairy Tats 2000," where upon learning the truth about the Tooth Fairy, the lads of South Park concoct a scheme to make some cash off the legend. It's a more-or-less clean episode, except for a line where one adorable tyke threatens to geld another.

"Dad," Joe instantly asked, "What's a penis & what happens if you cut it off,"

Once I was able to stop laughing & breathe again, I went for the bronze & explained that a penis was what boys peed out of.

"Ohhh," he said knowingly. "So if you cut it off, all your pee would come out. And you wouldn't want that."

"And a lot of blood, too," I added. "You simply don’t want any of your body cut off- right?"

"Right!" he said, happy that he had a handle on things. The epic of the Birds vs. the Bees can wait for another day.

My friend Amanda told me her daughter almost found out about Santa this year- apparently tipped off by a TV show. The young girl was horrified that mommy might have lied, so mommy assured her that yes, Virginia, there IS a Santa Claus.

"So what happens when she learns the truth next year?" I wanted to know. Lies compound lies... which brings me to the point. The majority of kids- myself & my son included, are mortified upon learning these horrible truths, because OUR PARENTS LIED TO US. We tell our kids that lying is the worst thing they can do- and then we lie to their faces for years. Is this all some sort of rite-of-passage the next generation of kids can do without? Or is it an essential way of teaching them that people are going to lie to them, so get used to it? My parents & my in-laws were horrified that I "ruined" Christmas for Joe, & assured him that Santa was real. That's it, undermine me & confuse the kid, why don’t you. We claim we keep it up for the kids, but I think we do it for ourselves. We want to vicariously have the wonder all over again, through our children's eyes. We just forget about the confusion afterwards when we find out these things are all make-believe.

Except, of course, for Mr. Hanky. He's real.