J.J. Goodman: Writings, Musings and More

His record was six. Granted, that was on a clear day when the surface was like glass. This time, however, there was just enough of a breeze to send a barely perceptible, gentle roll along the water’s surface. The best he could manage today was three, and it certainly wasn’t from a lack of trying. He had been out there so long, in fact, that he no longer noticed the burning numbness as the lactic acid built up in his forearm. He just stood there, tossing stone after stone, watching them skip across the lake until they disappeared in the murky water. “It’s getting dark,” a voice called from behind him. “I know.” “How long are you going to stand there and throw rocks?” “Until I figure it out,” he replied shortly. “Figure what out, man?” “Life.” With an audible sigh, his brother turned and went back inside. There was no arguing with him when he was like this. He was stubborn, just like their mother, God rest her soul. When he got something on his mind there was

My mind is a strange and complicated place.... welcome. ______________________ The hours had progressed from late to early, and the place was nearly empty. Sal was busy wiping down the bar and washing glasses, though he did take notice of the few straggling patrons that still occupied the premises. Cole was sitting at the table in the corner, facing the door. Over and over and over again, he flipped the shiny, dollar coin high into the air, caught it, glanced at it, and flipped it again. Finally his curiosity got the best of him, and Sal posed the question. “Hey, Cole, you’ve been flipping that thing for hours, man. What gives?” Cole seemed to ignore him and watched intently as the coin flipped end over end above him. When he caught it this time, however, he flipped his hand over and slammed the coin down on the well worn table. “Heads or tails?” Cole asked without looking up. Instead, he stared at his own hand, beneath which the coin rested. “I don’t know, why? Wh

A little something something I pieced together from spare thoughts, left over ideas, and a stirred imagination. The high dose of caffeine I ingested this morning may have had something to do with it, too. Let me know what you think, feel or predict. Perhaps a follow up will reveal... well, you'll just have to read the story below first... Enjoy. ___________________________________________ It was a brisk walk back to the cottage. Mother Nature’s schizophrenia was once again on full display, having taken the day from a sunny forty-six degrees at noon to a chilly twenty-five degrees with a light snow in just nine short hours. He didn’t mind and still wore a smile on his face. He loved that little bar, and considered it his own personal “ Cheers .” Everyone knew his name. Of course, they all called him “Jake” instead of “Jack,” the name he usually went by, but he didn’t mind. In fact, it was endearing. He was theirs, and they were his, and they had a symbiotic relationship: They

Scotch isn’t scotch when it isn’t scotch. It’s true, I swear! (Stop looking at me like that. I’m serious.) Some things in life aren’t what they are because of what they aren’t. Confused yet? It’s really not that complicated. Let’s do a little role playing: You be Ricky, and I’ll be Lucy with some ‘splainin’ to do. Scotch is whiskey. Scotch can only be called “scotch” if it is made in Scotland . Otherwise, it is simply whiskey. So that Wild Turkey, aside from the fact that it should only be used to clean paint brushes, is most decidedly not scotch. Get it know? The same premise applies to Champagne (notice the capitalization). Champagne only comes from the Champagne region of France . If it hails from anywhere else, sorry Sparky – you’re drinking sparkling wine. Just like anything that calls itself bourbon, that’s born outside of Kentucky , is nothing but sour mash. (I learned that from watching The West Wing , so it must be true.) Why do I mention all of this? A) Because

What is “soul searching,” anyway? Looking for the capital of South Korea on Google Earth? Attempting to discover the Well of the Souls? (Snakes? Why did it have to be snakes???) Ordering “soul food” for the first time? (Seriously – what the f*** is okra, anyway?) Flipping channels and finding the old Soul Train variety show in syndication? (That can’t be it, at least not for me. What has two thumbs and is about as “white-man-overbite-got-no-rhythm” as they come? That’s right: this guy.) I joke, but think about it: what does soul searching entail? I suppose it’s different for all of us. So what is soul searching to me? I define it thusly: a metaphysical, psychological sojourn through which an individual contemplates one’s existence and comes to a determination of purpose and happiness. (Take THAT, Freud.) Personally, I think there is one particularly thing that is absolutely essential in order to fully embark on a soul searching journey, and that one thing is serenity. (I am n

Greetings, shalom, aloha and welcome to the first post of 2013! I hope everyone enjoyed their holidays. Mine were interesting, as I, like our dear friend Bilbo Baggins, found myself taking an unexpected journey. (Never underestimate the utility of self reflection.) In doing so I was able to connect/reconnect with several important people in my life, and find some much needed clarity. The story below is dedicated to those friends and is meant to document my metaphorical journey.(SIDE NOTE: Thankfully my journey, unlike Bilbo's, did not involve Orcs, Gobblins, or Gollum.) (SIDE SIDE NOTE: I take that back - I did see The Hobbit, so I guess my journey did involve Orcs, Gobblins and Gollum.) In any event, here's to 2013. May your year be filled with peace, prosperity, love, laughter, and fun. I hope you enjoy this, my first written work of the new year.  ______________________________ Every circumstance that led him to stand there, at that moment, faded away as he looked