J.J. Goodman: Writings, Musings and More

He looked up at the board and sighed again. They say a watched pot never boils; so too unfortunately true does the notion also apply to the arrival/departure board at Logan International Airport. No amount of staring, wishing, or attempted Jedi mind-tricking was going to cause the bright red, all capped "CANCELLED," boldly printed beside American Airlines Flight 1553, to change. Had he known better, he wouldn't have made the trip to Boston in the first place, despite how much he loved his friends and so desperately wanted to attend their makeshift reunion. For better or for worse, he wasn't generally one to 'know better' in any circumstance as of late.   His life had changed a great deal in the last several years, and in some ways he'd become the opposite extreme of his formerly conservative, moderate, and overly cautious-in-all-things self. He'd learned that life was too short and embraced his chances as they came. It wasn't as if he

"This can't be happening," I thought to myself. It was like something out of a Mitch Albom story, only it was ostensibly real. I could feel myself sink into the velvety soft cushion of the couch in the waiting room. The stagnant scent of cigarettes and old perfume seemed to permeate from the yellowed and peeling wallpaper. Frankly I'd expected Heaven to be a bit, well, nicer.   Perhaps it is, once you become a resident, that is, and maybe that was the point. I wasn't there to stay, not yet at least. No, I was only there to visit. I suppose for those of us still here they wouldn't want the place to be too inviting, and by "they" I mean, well, actually I'm not entirely sure. You hear tales of St. Peter and pearly gates and Archangels guiding you through an ethereal afterlife. In my mind I envision a world of sunshine and the smell of fresh linen. Maybe I'll ask. Or maybe I'll be so overcome with emotion I won't be able to say a wor

Hayley loved her friends, she truly did, most of the time. Tonight, however, she hated them with the heat of a thousand suns. While she appreciated the sentiment behind their actions, there was nothing more she wanted that evening than to stay home, drown herself in a bottle of wine, and watch sappy movies until she cried herself to sleep. It had been a rough week, and thoughts of Jeremy invaded her life at every turn. He'd broken up with her just before New Year's, having told her that he just needed space and time. Apparently the space he needed was the gap between Stephanie Langford's thighs, and time spent in her bed.   No, Hayley Wolf was far from over him and still had a few good cries left in her before she'd be ready to face the world. Enter her best friends Dawn and Jenny, and instead of drinking good wine home, she found herself instead at Dawn's sipping some sugary-sweet something with a rosy tint that came out of box. Reluctant as she was to d

Well, here we are at number two-hundred.   (Are you sure this time?)   Be quiet, you. Yes, I'm sure. I wasn't quite sure what to do for this, the bi-centennial post, so I went back over the weekend and perused the previous one hundred and ninety-ni… ok eight posts I'd previously published. Of course that resulted in the discovery of the error in my mathiness and yesterday's true post number 199. Beyond that however, I wanted to see how this blog has progressed, what types of things I've written, and how people have reacted. I have to say, I am truly humbled.   Since I've started this nonsense I've shared a great deal about me personally, far more than I would have expected looking back. I tell people that I am an open book, buy how many of us say that and truly mean it? I suspected that I did not, but it made me feel better to think that I was the open volume I claimed to be. In reading some of my past posts, though, I've come