The Tiger's Paw

Happy New Year

noreply@blogger.com (Jimmy Muraco) — Thu, 01 Jan 2009 04:35:00 +0000

I would like to wish all of you a very happy, safe, healthy and exciting new year. May your medical tests come back clean...may your jobs remain secure...may your bills be paid...may your pipes be full...may your coffee be fresh and hot...may your cats be well-fed.

9/11

noreply@blogger.com (Jimmy Muraco) — Thu, 11 Sep 2008 23:04:00 +0000

Seven years ago today I saw smoke in the sky but no planes. I saw tears of sorrow and joy. Cars sitting at a park-and-ride waiting for drivers that would never return to claim them. People speeding down the highway blind to everything around them from tears as they turned up the radio. Cell phones being smashed by those who could not get through to their missing loved ones. Men with shotguns standing on rooftops. Chaos. Death. Destruction. Confusion.

Seven years ago today I saw a flag raised amongst the smoking ruins and dead bodies. Groups of strangers singing hymns together. People of all colors and ages join together to help those in need. Rich, poor, young, old, male, female, black, white. What was meant to destroy a nation gave it new life.

For those lost souls of 9/11/01
For those of us who were there and survived. For everyone affected by that horrible day.

God bless America.

"Getaway pt. 2"

noreply@blogger.com (Jimmy Muraco) — Fri, 08 Aug 2008 07:14:00 +0000

Sitting in the smokey jazz cafe
Playing Gin Rummy until sunrise
We planned the stakeout carefully
Waiting for the order to come down

I puffed contentedly on my pipe
and watched events go down
Keeping my eyes low I pretended to watch my cards
Sipped the virgin rum and played it cool

Bossa Nova in full swing
A wisp of smoke rose from the bowl of my briar
The rebels were here but we went unnoticed
Maybe they came for the whiskey and the women

My pipe went out
The glass empty
We were made
Time to go
The jeeps were ready
Twenty paces stage left and we were rolling
A caravan of chaos

Dead Souls

noreply@blogger.com (Jimmy Muraco) — Tue, 08 Jul 2008 06:04:00 +0000

Mama used to make a big feast on Sunday evenings complete with appetizers, several courses and at least four dessert choices. We kids would always try to get stray pieces of parmesean cheese while Papa hand-shaved a block for the bruschetta. Unlike most Italian families we never had any wine at the table. We never had any alcohol in the house at all. Papa used to say that he was allergic to wine but I think his reasons for abstaining went much deeper than he let on. That was Papa, always wanted to protect us from everything including himself if need be.

Each night after dinner I would sit next to my father's chair as he would sip espresso while smoking his pipe and listening to old Italian folk songs. Sometimes he would sing along to the music in the old language. Mama would finish in the kitchen then come into the parlor and sit across from Papa. She always served ice water with slices of fresh lemon then sat back to enjoy the music and the scent of Papa's pipe smoke. He had so many beautiful hand-crafted pipes that were a joy to look at as well as smell. When it was my bedtime I kissed my parents and snuggled into my comfortable bed. The house felt, sounded and smelled so good. I always fell asleep very quickly during those times.

One night I woke up and heard some men talking downstairs. Mama was already asleep in her bed so I quietly walked to the stairs and saw Papa speaking with three other men in the living room. The men were dressed in suits that looked quite expensive. Papa spoke to them in Italian and they seemed to understand what he was saying. One of the men spoke in English and said "Looks like a long night, eh?" Then my father put his jacket on and left the house along with the three other men.

I never saw my father again after that night. My mother refused to discuss anything about him other than to scold us for asking. Eventually we knew never to inquire any more. Our house never felt the same again. There was, however, a lot of wine in the house after that.

Six months ago I was having dinner at a restaurant with my wife and children when a customer came in that I recognized immediately. It was one of the men that I saw that night speaking Italian with my father in the living room. He was much older than he was that night long ago, but he had the exact same suit on. When he went into the men's bathroom I followed him in. I did not know what to say or how to even bring up the subject of my father or that night. All I knew and cared about was the fact that one of those men was in the very same room as me. He must have felt my eyes upon him because he looked at me through the mirror above the sink. After what seemed like an eternity he said "Looks like a long night, eh?"

The rest you already know because it's all in the police report. The defense lawyer said that if I am lucky I'll get a life sentence without parole. I appreciate your attempt at saving my soul, Father, but that died many years ago. Please be with my family because they need all the prayer and support they can get now.

I have to go. There's this little old Italian guy on kitchen detail that I need to see.

I IS FEATURED!!!

noreply@blogger.com (Jimmy Muraco) — Wed, 02 Jul 2008 21:24:00 +0000

Yours truly is currently a featured writer on the EditRed site! Most of my submissions have been some choice picks from this site as well as some exclusive content for EditRed.

Check it out here!

Pet Peeve

noreply@blogger.com (Jimmy Muraco) — Mon, 23 Jun 2008 21:26:00 +0000

I want to share one of my many pet peeves. While I have many (I'm an old grouch) this one is one of my biggest.

I hate when I am in a store speaking to a clerk and another customer comes up and starts either asking questions or barking orders at the clerk while I am in mid-conversation with said clerk. Why does this other customer think that his or her time is more important than mine? How would they react if I was to do that to them?

This also happens frequently in non-commercial settings. I am in the middle of speaking to someone and another person comes along and starts chatting with the person I am speaking with. Excuse me, am I invisible? Is what you have to say anything more important than what I have to say? I don't understand it!

This happened to me this past Sunday at church. I was speaking with someone about a rather important issue when some loudmouth jerk comes along and starts to monopolize the private conversation. Now at first I decided that in order to avoid a confrontation (being that this was church) I would let it go. After ahwile I asked myself why I should I have to sit back and take it when the other person obviously did not care about being polite.

I think that I am going to give myself an order that the next time this happens (and you know it will) I am to put the jerk in his or her place. While I do not expect the offender to comprehend the reason for my defense, I fully expect to at least feel a bit better by doing so.

Anyone else out there have this gripe too? I'd love to hear about it!

Hedonsim defined

noreply@blogger.com (Jimmy Muraco) — Wed, 16 Apr 2008 20:41:00 +0000

Back in Havana, Fidel and I dined on the local paella and rum. Armed with Cohibas in the shade we made our plans to run the contraband up through the back channels of the underground market. The bribes were paid and the bosses were gifted. All that was left was to return the suits back to the mob.

Pavel watched pornographic cartoons on his Blackberry while the trucks were loaded.

The coffee was dark and strong just like our women. Their sweaty muscles shining under the midday sun as they carried crates of cargo onto the dock. Once the sun went down we would trek our convoy out of the city and into the night.

Bible Stories No. 27

noreply@blogger.com (Jimmy Muraco) — Fri, 28 Mar 2008 20:26:00 +0000

The evil deity made it's demand: "Worship me or you will surely die and suffer eternal torment!" The prophet preached to the faithful: "Now is the time for Salvation! Resist the Evil One and be free!" The faithful took the message and preached it to the people: "The prophet has spoken the message of Salvation!" The evil deity commanded: "Do not listen to the false prophets for I will destroy you all and torment your souls for eternity!" Some of the faithful grew fearful of the Evil One and broke away from the flock. They started to worship the Evil One in fear of It's wrath. The Evil One spoke to It's followers: "Tell the faithful to worship me. If they refuse, kill them all, men and women. Kill their children too. Leave no heretic living!" Soon, the camp of the faithful was under attack by the cult of the Evil One. The faithful turned to the prophet for refuge. They pleaded "Pray and save us from the Evil One and It's wrath!" The prophet spoke "Woe be to you who follow the Great Evil for you shall be enslaved and blind to your bondage. Resist the Evil One and be free!" The cult of the Great Evil decended upon the faithful and slew them all, men, women and children, until all that was left was the prophet. The Evil One spoke: "Prophet, you shall be bound and imprisoned for one-thousand years and will be tormented for all that time!" As the prophet was bound the Great Evil addressed It's congregation: "Throw him into the Pit of Eternal Flame so that he shall be tormented for one-thousand years and no one shall hear the blasphemous words of Satan". At this, the crowd became silent and a great commotion was raised. The prophet spoke for the final time. "Woe be to you, slaves of the Evil One. I, Satan, was cast from Heaven for resisting the Evil One and came here to warn you and show you the way to Salvation. Do you now see the true evil that enslaves you?" With that, the Great Evil threw Satan into the Pit of Eternal Flame and thus began the new age of blind bondage of the people of God.

"Steak and Eggs"

noreply@blogger.com (Jimmy Muraco) — Fri, 07 Mar 2008 05:19:00 +0000

Steak and eggs
Makes you fat
Clogs your heart
Shortens your life
Why is it the most expensive item?

"Sports Complex"

noreply@blogger.com (Jimmy Muraco) — Fri, 07 Mar 2008 05:16:00 +0000

The sign by the stadium made me curious.
"Just how does one get over a sports complex?"

"Final Days"

noreply@blogger.com (Jimmy Muraco) — Fri, 07 Mar 2008 05:13:00 +0000

The sign said "Final Days".
I guess we are doomed.
Apocalypse awaits.
They were closing anyway.

"Wrong Number- a true story"

noreply@blogger.com (Jimmy Muraco) — Fri, 07 Mar 2008 05:11:00 +0000

"Hello?"
"Who the hell is this?"
"Who the hell do you want?"
"Who the hell did I call?"
"How the hell do I know?"
*click*
*click*

My Brazllian Love Affair

noreply@blogger.com (Jimmy Muraco) — Wed, 27 Feb 2008 15:55:00 +0000

In a smokey jazz cafe in Rio
we sat in blowing smoke rings and sipping
margaritas while the bossa nova gently
soothed the souls of those who had come in
for a late night refuge from the steamy heat.

As the music played the locals took to the
dance floor their bodies swaying sensually
to the rhythm. The air was thick with the
scent of rum, tobacco and the perfumed sweat
of the beautiful women whose skin glistened
softly under the moonlight...their brightly
colored dresses and flowers in their hair
gave them the appearance of spirits over the
sea...like angels welcoming one to the gates
of Heaven.

It was a time to remember forever as my
Brazillian love affair.

Short Stories No. 1

noreply@blogger.com (Jimmy Muraco) — Thu, 15 Nov 2007 04:09:00 +0000

So I was chatting with one of my other personalities the other night when my third self breaks in and starts an argument...soon the entire mind was in an uproar of civil unrest...needless to say....the party broke up...

"I Don't Care"

noreply@blogger.com (Jimmy Muraco) — Sat, 29 Sep 2007 05:13:00 +0000

Anyone with children knows that sometimes you cannot field every question, whine, tattle, or request for attention that your children present to you. On these occasions I have begun to start singing a little tune that goes something like this: "I don't care...don't ask me, I don't care...why should I, I don't care...go away, I don't care..." This has worked very well and it has become so natural that it is performed unconsciously under the proper circumstances.

This evening, my four year-old daughter was being pestered by her four year-old brother, and he asked her if she would give him a toy that she had at the time. Normally I hear these types of exchanges between the three of them and usually the response is: "Yes", "No", "Leave me alone!" or "DADDDDDYYY!!!!". Imagine then my shock to hear my daughter start quietly singing: "I don't care...don't ask me, I don't care...why should I, I don't care...go away, I don't care...".

They never seem to hear the calls for bedtime, bath time, wake-up time, dinnertime, etc. yet they instantly hear and repeat everything else. Be afraid...be very afraid!

I am becoming my father!

noreply@blogger.com (Jimmy Muraco) — Sat, 29 Sep 2007 04:56:00 +0000

I was messing around with a camera and when I saw this shot I was horrified to realize that I am not only a small resemblance to my late father, but I've become his clone! I have the same black and grey hair, same grouchy face (although I was not grouchy at all..it's just the "family Face"!). No wonder my kids always think I'm mad....I just look that way all the time.

Even scarier is that it's not just in appearance. I talk like him, same gestures, sense of humor (well...I'M the funnier one), both would laugh at the same damn Bugs Bunny gags. Sometimes when my nerves get a bit frazzled (happens a lot) and my kids ask me for the 267th time "Daddy, why is the cat puking?" I repeat the old family motto: "Who da Hell knows? Who da Hell cares?". On occasion, I've even been known to utter the "What da Hell for?" with the same vocal inflections and tones.

Similar opinions and same spontaneous ranting tirades about some imaginary injustice or another...same fillibuster chatter about nothing anyone else can understand...same hypochondria...same temper.

I can only imagine one day about 25 years from now that my son will have kids of his own. One of them will ask: "Daddy, why do you look so grouchy?" to which my son will promptly respond: "Who da Hell knows? Who da Hell cares?"

R.I.P. Pop...I miss you.

Words of Love and Prose: The Cat

noreply@blogger.com (Jimmy Muraco) — Thu, 27 Sep 2007 04:50:00 +0000

Cats are magnificent animals. I truly love them more than any other species on this Earth, homo sapiens included. Cats can express love but they chose who they give it to. They are brilliant, beautiful, mysterious, graceful and majestic. Cats don't need anyone. They know they're the superior species.

“A warm spring breeze, a sunbeam shining through a window and the delicate sounds of Nature are all fine, but the presence of the cat completes the setting and creates artistic inspiration.”

"The sophisticated elegance of the cat is not to be underestimated, for in its presence the world becomes the finest art.”

Sinuses from Hell

noreply@blogger.com (Jimmy Muraco) — Tue, 25 Sep 2007 23:42:00 +0000

Today I have the sinus infection from Hell! I went to the store for some meds and was overwhelmed at the vast amount of sinus pills of all sorts. Daytime formula, Nighttime formula, severe, mild, maximum and regular strength formulas. It seems that you need a medical degree just to buy some cold tablets anymore. Now if I can just figure out which tissues to buy...medicated, fluffy, two-ply, aloe, extra-soft, super-absorbent...

Caption this photo

noreply@blogger.com (Jimmy Muraco) — Tue, 25 Sep 2007 04:08:00 +0000

Poor tiger! He has to tolerate tards like this on a daily basis. Here are my captions for this pic:

"Mom said I shouldn't play with my food...now I know why!"
"I know I'll still be hungry an hour later but I love Chinese food!"
"It never fails, they deliver my food but they forgot the damn duck sauce!"
"If this bitch farts, she's dinner!"

Submit your entries in the comments!

Welcome to The Tiger's Paw!

noreply@blogger.com (Jimmy Muraco) — Thu, 05 Jul 2007 02:53:00 +0000

Welcome to "The Tiger's Paw"! The name comes from several things but mostly because I love tigers, have tiger tattoos, have the nickname "il tigre", and my kids like to think that they are tigers (blame the Frosted Flakes commercials) so that would make me the Big Daddy Tiger.

This blog is just for my own personal thoughts, ramblings, observations, musings, maniacal laughter, writings, etc. I will try to make it entertaining as I go along. I also maintain a blog about pipes and tobacco and I kept and maintained a blog during my own cancer battle. Here is where I will vent everything else.

Enjoy!