J.J. Goodman: Writings, Musings and More

Um... yeah I don't know where this came from. It just... did. As always, I am interested in your thoughts, ideas, critiques, etc.  Enjoy! ___________________             He vaguely remembered the sensation of her soft lips pressing against his own, and her whispering “I love you, Jonathan,” before she left for work. That was three weeks ago. He sighed as he stared at the picture of the two of them together, a picture her sister had taken of the two of them while hiking on vacation just two weeks before she disappeared. Jonathan forced a smile. If he didn’t, he would have wept. Again.             Rachel was one of those naturally beautiful women that just had a radiance about her. Her chestnut hair and chocolate brown eyes contrasted against her pale complexion. Barely standing 5’3”, her petite figure had the perfect balance of muscle and curve. A button nose and di...

Ok, I know I generally don’t weigh in on things political, BUT… I will make an exception here: Binder full of women??? And before you get all over my case for not focusing on the hard hitting issues that we as Americans face, yadda, yadda, blah, blah blah, remember this: This is a literary blog full of cynicism, sarcasm and satire. If you want poignant political commentary, go to Fox News or watch the Rachel Madow show. (BWAAAAA HAAAA HAAAA!!! I know. I couldn’t write that with a straight face any more than you could read it with one.) So let’s get to the heart of the issue. A binder full of women. What, exactly, are we talking about here? Three-ring? Trapper Keeper? Or one of those folders with the annoying black plastic binding thingy with the flimsy, little clips that always come out of the little rectangular holes in the paper? Or are we talking more in the literal sense? A binder of women, like, say, a certain political candidate we’ll call “Glove” running around with a c...

*And by Star Wars I mean, with the exception of one small reference to Attack of the Clones , the original trilogy. Because the prequel trilogy was, by and large, crap. It was. Don’t deny it. Here are some simple life lessons I have gleaned from one of the greatest movie trilogies of all time. Learn them. Love them. Embrace them. (And NO, The Matrix trilogy does not even come close to earning a place on the list of all-time greatest trilogies, for the simple reason that it stars Keanu "can't act his way out of a paper bag" Reeves.) It’s always better to have furry friends.   Sometimes they’re not that bright; sometimes they get in the way; they’re dirty on occasion; and often it takes them a while to warm up to you. But once they do, you have a loyal companion for life. They will comfort you, stand by your side no matter what, lay down their lives for you, and even fly a spaceship to a desert planet to rescue you from a giant space slug. Of course, at first th...

  What’s in a name? Is it really important? I suppose if your name was Andy Hitler, or Otis John Simpson, or maybe Richard Head, then perhaps you might have a stronger opinion. (Giving you a moment to ponder… wait for it… wait for it… get it now?) Don’t even get me started on the parents, whose surname is “Da,” who named their kid “Zippidy-Do.” In the immortal words of Dave Barry, I swear I am not making that up. Google it. (Or Bing it. We are equal opportunity web browsers here.) Admittedly, I myself play the moniker manipulation game. This may come as a shock to many of you [insert dripping sarcasm here]: Goodman is not my given name. (GASP!) But… it is. True story. Goodman is my name. But it isn’t. Scratching your head yet?  Put it this way – A general rule of marketing is that people are less likely to buy something if they can’t pronounce it. Volkswagen found this out the hard way, eventually creating a self deprecating ad campaign to bolster lagging sales for the ...

This is what happens when I combine a lack of sleep, an hour long commute, humidity, and just enough caffeine to stir my senses... As always, your comments are appreciated! _______________________ October Flame             By noon it would be an unseasonably warm day for early October. At seven o’clock in the morning, however, the air was just cool enough to allow a humid condensation to hang in the air and blanket the morning in a thick fog.             “Keep clear of the moors,” he mused aloud, reciting one of the lines from the campy, classic horror film An American Werewolf in London . It was little things, like quoting from his favorite movies, or counting the number of a certain car he saw while driving, that kept him conscious during his daily commute. Otherwise, the sound of his tires spinning on the monotonously flat highway generally tended to lull him...