Exiled On Main Street

Hey fatboy, get off the fence

2011-12-23T06:39:00.008-06:00

A couple of thoughts that I've been trying to organize and put down so they make sense, since my pop died...

For years I have loved Dylan Thomas's 'Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night'. I think it was my inner angry young man, and a belief that one should never give up, but continue to fight the good fight, yada yada, and all that other psuedo-romantic crap that fills the minds of the youthful, whether that be physically or mentally.
Anyway, here it is, in it's entirety.

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rage at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

So, while dad was in his decline phase for the last few months, I kept reading through this, at first cheering him on, raging against Doctors, and hospitals, misfortune, medical insurance, ad infinitum. And then in the last few weeks, and really into the last days, I would look at him in bed, and think about the last verse. And finally think. Go. Go into the good night. I love you dad, but it is time for you to go, you have raged against the dying of the light, but enough of your fevered delusional thoughts, of the battles for more breaths, the constant state of exhaustion. You have been a fine man, a great father, a loving husband, an incredible citizen of the country, and friend to anyone open to you. Go. You've earned it. I love you, I miss you, but go. And finally he went.

What follows is (give or take a little editorial license, and poor memory) the eulogy for Dad from his memorial service. Oh, and the title of this blog/post refers to a story I originally was going to tell in his eulogy, but somehow wasn't sure anyone would "get it", so edited it out. My dad was a very funny man, but sometimes you just had to be there.

On Wednesday December 21st, I lost my father. Truth is, the man I loved, and who taught me so many things over the years had really been gone months before. Through October, November, and even a day here or there in December, he still gave little peeks, but mostly he just slept, or rambled about imaginary events and happenings.

Some of his musings and observations during this period were funny, but not intentionally so, and there was a bit of guilt in chuckling about them. Mind you, I know my dad well enough to know he would have been chuckling along with us, as he possessed a rather wicked sense of humor, taking delight if someone was a little uncomfortable with a response he might have to something.

Pardon the English, but it was not beyond dad to simply "make shit up" if he thought he might get a rise out of someone. Invariably, about the time his target would start to get good and worked up, he'd shoot them a huge grin, big enough that the gold cap on his molar showed, at which point the unwitting rube would be ..."ohhh, I've just had my leg pulled to the point of coming off".

He loved a really good argument. A particular subject we would go around and around about was baseball. He would cite some unnamed experts, and insist that his view was not only the right opinion, but indeed, it was actual fact. Bear in mind the previous observation that dad would simply make...stuff up.

One of his nicknames with me, was "the world's most married man". His level of devotion to mom was astonishing. They met in 1957 at a St.Patrick's Day dance, in the small market town of Market Harborough, under the eaves of an ancient grammar school. Some 50 years later, the romantic old sod still had the ticket. He always liked to tell the story of their meeting, and give it a slightly more macho twist over the years, but the truth is, she had him hook line and sinker from the outset. A gangly, jug-eared American country boy, meeting a petite blonde hottie with her charming accent. Frankly, the boy never stood a chance, and in conversation over the years, he admitted it. 54 years later, he still never stood a chance, but he never regretted a moment of it. I would try and tease him about it, asking why a good looking woman like Jennifer Dunkley wanted to go out with a guy with ears so big, he looked like a car coming down the road with both doors open, but it was pointless. He'd just grin, and admit "yep, I never figured out what she saw in a doofus like me either, but I'm sure glad she did".

He came from a large family, and left school to join the Air Force, which became his first career. He stayed in for 21 years, and then because he enjoyed working for the government so much, he put in 20 with the state of Missouri.

Some of you might notice a theme here. One woman, 54 years, two jobs of note, 20 plus years each. Dad believed in sticking to things.

And that sticking to things extended to the kids. While he was never shy about telling us we were loved, and making sure we knew it, he wasn't shy about letting us know when we had steered off the proper path. Nothing was worse than the head shake of disappointment, when you had very clearly made the wrong choice, or pursued the wrong course of action. Dad worked in guilt the way Michelangelo worked in marble. A true artist. Oh, and one of his favorite guilt lines-and a beaut. "Your mother will be very disappointed". Or "Your mother was worried about you". Both of these lines translated as "I" am disappointed, and "I" was worried about you. A master at manipulation!

But mostly what I think of when I think of dad, was he was a great teacher. He taught me to have a moral center. Not that I appreciated it as a rebelling teenager, that just KNEW that the old man didn't have a clue.

But moving into adulthood, whereas I didn't follow him on his spiritual journey, I certainly learned right from wrong.

Just because something is easier, or explainable, or justifiable, doesn't mean it is right. "Do the right thing, son. You know what it is." If that means giving to someone who has less than you, when you don't have much yourself, you do it. It doesn't make you a saint, it doesn't make people go "oh wow, how great you are", but you do it because it is the right thing. And the right thing is the only thing.

He gave to charities, he handed out money to beggars on the street, and he would look them in the eye when he did it. Told me it made them feel human, rather than a piece of doggerel not worth looking at.

Anyway, I rambled though all that to get to this.

The most important thing I learned from Dad was a lesson that took a very long time to take root. Love. I can't tell you how many years he would end every visit or phone call with "I love you, son", and receive a "Yeah, ok-talk to you later" from me. But he kept doing it. And slowly it crept into this thick skull that 'wow, he really means it'. So I started responding in kind. At first it was awkward. Kind of a "Yeah, sure dad. uhh...love you too" type thing. And then I started realizing, damn. I do love this man. This oh so not average guy that has put every ounce of his being into this family. And then it would choke me up to say it as he got older, more frail... everytime, realizing that was one less time I would see him, and one less time I would get to tell him how I felt.

So, I want to close with two things. One, Dad-I love you, and I miss you horribly. Two, and this is absolutely the last word on the subject, Skip Schumaker is never going to be a gold glove second basemen.

We Don't Need No Education

2011-10-25T06:23:00.005-05:00

Currently the United States medical community is in the process of completely fucking up the treatment of my father. How's that for an opening sentence?

Backstory: He is 73 years old. In 1999 he lost a lung to cancer, having kicked the smoking habit back in the late 70's. Since that time, he has had myriad health problems: He has mild emphysema in his remaining lung, COPD, prostate cancer, a melanoma on his forehead, high blood pressure, and just to make things that much more enjoyable, he's had a bad back his entire life. Fair enough, it paints a bleak picture.

In July he and my mother went to England to visit my sister. To be fair, this was against the personal advice of his own wife, and me. Every time he tries to travel, it beats his system up, and tends to knock him backwards. But he is a stubborn guy, and so off they went. From what I gather there were a few of his "normal" travel incidents, trips to the emergency room etc, but nothing astonishing or grossly upsetting.

The first warning shot that something was amiss came upon their arrival. Dad had a panic attack in Chicago, and was having trouble breathing. They took him to the local hospital, and the arrival to St.Louis was delayed a day. That wasn't too shocking in and of itself, because, as previously noted, travel always presents problems for him. No, the big problem was their arrival in St.Louis itself. First off, his physical appearance was shocking. He looked like he had escaped the set of "Night Of The Living Dead". His explanation was he hadn't slept for the better part of three days, and was shattered. This lack of sleep (I believe) would manifest itself again very shortly. On the way home, I stopped so he and mom could get something to eat. At this point, dad decided to take a left turn from reality, and it was a bit of a shock. At the restaurant, he became convinced that my nephew was at the restaurant, hiding behind the counter, waiting to surprise him. A relatively harmless delusion, but one he was absolutely convinced of. Once it was explained (repeatedly) that his nephew was in fact out of town, he finally decided that maybe he would benefit from a good night's sleep.
And that was it. He got a good night's sleep in, and over the next couple of days, as his strength returned, he was back to normal. Church on Sunday, meeting me for lunch of or dinner a couple of times a week...the usual.
And then sometime in mid September, everything started to go wrong. He began having a lot of trouble with his breathing, and sought treatment for his COPD. And boy did he get it. Drugs, drugs, and more drugs. And the more medications they put him on, the more medications he needed, and the more meds he needed, the more side effects seemed to manifest. Most disturbingly, he started to develop an inability to get any continual sleep. As that problem increased, unsurprisingly, so did his anxiety levels. Which led to panic attacks, and insistence that mom take him to the emergency room. Which to my astonishment, led to larger doses of "anti-anxiety" medications. (Brief interlude...something wrong with you? Throw some drugs at it. Still got a problem? Throw more drugs at it!! It's logical!!)
So we have the start of a spiral. By the time he was finally admitted to the hospital, the doctors had him on EIGHTEEN different medications, being taken multiple times, each day. I took the liberty of googling each and everyone of these meds, and found that listed side effects of a dozen of them were "interferes with sleep". Now, gentle lay-reader. Go out and google "sleep deprivation psychosis", and guess what? You're going to get a lot of hits, alot of articles, all sort so scientific psychobabble, that in a nutshell says..." Deprive someone of quality sleep, and they will go goo-goo, ba-ba, batshit, hallucination lsd crazy."
He finally got to the point that he thought he had been kidnapped by old people, and that they were throwing firecrackers at him overnight in the hospital.
The hospital doctors, in their wisdom, decided that maybe the medications he was on were contributing to the problem. So they just replaced them with a bunch of others. Got him down to 16, taken multpile times a day. Am I the only one that finds that hysterically funny? One of the doctors wanted to increase his anti-anxiety medications, to help him deal with his hallucinations. I told him, "you do realize he didn;t have the hallucinations until AFTER he was put on the anti-anxiety meds, don't you?" Like a taped recording, he then informed me, no, these are to help him. I figured punching him was probably inappropriate, so I asked him if he had done an overarching pharmaceutical review, to make sure that no negative interactions were taking place. He assured me that they were professionals and knew what they were doing. I felt assured that he was an arrogant ass, that didn't like some commoner asking him to justify his joy in pumping my dad full of chemical experiments.

So, at this point, my dad is in a nursing facility, as the system pumps him full of psychotrpoic drugs, looking for that perfect balance that will turn him into a compliant zombie. It should be noted, that while the geniuses are searching for an Alzheimer's unit to send him to, so he can be forgotten about, he in actual fact doesn't forget ANYTHING, short term or long term. No memory issues, sports fans. Nothing that screams Alzheimers.

Hallucinations. No sleep. Piles of drugs. I'm not a doctor. I know that his breathing issues and blood pressure problems require medication. I also know that pulling him off all the crap they have him on "cold turkey" would be horrifyingly dangerous. But I sure would like to find a doctor that would have a serious conversation about this before he becomes a Stepford Dad. And so far, I am having no luck. The only one who is even willing to listen is the administrator of the home in Chester (That's an HOUR away from Saint Louis) that they are presently trying to ship him off to. And he doesn't have any control over medical care.

Phhhttt.

Roger, Wilco

2011-10-05T17:53:00.005-05:00

Ok, so the grand old Kiel Opera House has reopened, and here's a brief field report.
It is still the best concert venue in Saint Louis. Hand down. Best sound, great sight lines, cheapest beer...wait a minute, scratch that last one. NINE DOLLARS for a sixteen ounce bottle of beer? Wow. Made my brain and wallet hurt!!

Anyway, they did a very nice job of cleaning everything up, and giving it an intimate feel inside the performance hall, and then the mezzanine is gleaming marble, with port-a-bars scattered around so you can enjoy an over-priced drink. Oh, and the balcony is open, with some tables, so that you can sit outside.

As for the show I saw, Nick Lowe opened, performing alone, just a man and his guitar. And it has to be said he delivered the goods, playing a nice selection, spanning his career, including an outstanding slowed down cover of his old friend's "Alison".

As for the headliner, I guess what I want to do is borrow a line from an old friend of a friend of mine. "There's a place for all kinds of music". It is a line to be used as an acknowledgement that maybe what you;re listening to isn't really your thing, but, what the hell. Someone appreciates it.
And, with no small amount of irony, it described how I felt. The majority of the crowd were clearly enjoying themselves, but I kind of thought it was a bunch of self-indulgent twaddle. But, they did have a great light show. And the musicianship was good, even if it wasn't my cup of tea. C'est la vie. It was still a great night, in a great facility.

Summer In The City

2011-07-23T08:08:00.002-05:00

OK, for those who live under an air conditioned rock, somewhere at the back of a very dark cave, can I just say it is hot out?
It's 8 am. I just got done mowing and weeding the yard. I still have bagging left to do. And that's the front of my shirt in that there picture, ya'll.
I need my own serf. I'd be a kind master. Not too many beatings.

OK-Back to it-Stay hydrated people, it's going to be very nasty...

What's goin' on?

2011-07-21T22:48:00.004-05:00

I have to say, I honestly don't know. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Oh well, life might just get more interesting over the next few days/weeks-which is always a good thing, or at least not a boring thing. It seems I'm now being viewed as a "bad-boy" that is easy to cut loose with. Sounds like some sort of Spreingsteenesque street tough fantasy, which simply is so not me. Ergo, I'm pretty sure the idea is not true, as those who know me are aware that there's a pretty anal retentive soul lurking deep in the heart of "Big Deal Dodge" that squelches any actual "bad-boy" nonsense.
Has to be said, all in all, I'm kind of finding this whole thing pretty funny.

C'est la vie..so, in honor of what is a pretty silly ideal...

Spanish Johnny drove in from the underworld last night
With bruised arms and broken rhythm in a beat-up old Buick
But dressed just like dynamite
He tried sellin' his heart to the hard girls over on Easy Street
But they sighed "Johnny it falls apart so easy and you know hearts these days are cheap"
And the pimps swung their axes and said "Johnny you're a cheater."
Well the pimps swung their axes and said "Johnny you're a liar"
And from out of the shadows came a young girl's voice said: "Johnny don't cry"
Puerto Rican Jane, oh won't you tell me what's your name.
I want to drive you down to the other side of town where paradise ain't so crowded, there'll be action goin' down on Shanty Lane tonight
All them golden-heeled fairies in a real bitch fight
Pull .38s and kiss the girls good night

Oh good night, it's alright Jane
Now let them black boys in to light the soul flame
We may find it out on the street tonight baby
Or we may walk until the daylight maybe

So much for the laughter, it is time to put my clown shoes away. G'night tonight, boys and girls

Well I used to be disgusted

2011-07-01T23:41:00.003-05:00

And now I try to be amused.

Ok, so that was pretty damned good. What a great song selection-first off though, I should point out that the first "wheel spin" of the song selector was performed by Eddie Vedder...right after he got done singing a duet with Mr.Costello on "Substitute".

Among the less expected songs for the evening-
Heart Of The City
Purple Rain
And Your Bird Can Sing
Out Of Time
This Wheel's On Fire
Tears Of A Clown, which was segued into from Alison. Brilliant.

Oh, and he played Man Out Of Time right near the end. Which made me hideously happy.

Oh, and don;t forget the go-go dancers. Every concert should have go-go dancers. :-)

Only complaint...It was loud...did I mention that? I mean...loud. as in LOUD. Like very.

2:30, and all is right with the world

2011-07-01T14:49:00.002-05:00

Wrapped up my day after a good lunch meeting, got a call from the nephew that he was able to score me a pair of Elvis Costello tix on the cheap, found someone to go at the last minute, and now I am heading to the pool.

I do believe every Friday should work out so well.

Born To Run

2011-06-19T07:05:00.003-05:00

Thank you for so much, and goodbye. Other than that, I've got nothing.

Quadrophenia

2011-06-06T07:37:00.004-05:00

So, after yesterday this seemed appropriate. Between clearing toilets, digging in the dirt, scrubbing dogs, and mowing the yard in ridiculous heat, ladies and gentleman...courtesy of Pete Townsend, I give you the Dirty Jobs

I am a man who looks after the pigs
Usually I get along okay.
I am man who reveals all he digs,
Should be more careful what I say.

I'm getting put down,
I'm getting pushed round,
I'm being beaten every day.
My life's fading,
But things are changing,
I'm not gonna sit and weep again.

I am man who drives a local bus
I take miners to work, but the pits all closed today.
It's easy to see that you are one of us.
Ain't it funny how we all seem to look the same?

We're getting put down
I'm getting pushed round,
I'm being beaten every day.
My life's fading,
But things are changing,
I'm not gonna sit and weep again

My karma tells me
You've been screwed again.
If you let them do it to you
You've got yourself to blame.
It's you who feels the pain
It's you that feels ashamed.

I am a young man
I ain't done very much,
You men should remember how you used to fight.
Just like a child, I've been seeing only dreams,
I'm all mixed up but I know what's right.

And on that bright cheery note, it's Monday morning everybody! Go get'em!! :-)

Reward-Lost Groove Thing

2011-05-26T06:36:00.002-05:00

While being shook vociferously, a groove thing sprang loose, and as yet has not been located. Said groove thing is unique, in that it responds forcefully to early Olivia Newton John, Andy Gibb, "Do Ya Think I'm Sexy" era Rod Stewart, and REO Speedwagon.

The groove thing was last seen in the metro east area, circa 1982. Should you find it, please call 314-322-8887.

tick, tock

2011-05-24T01:54:00.003-05:00

marks the passing of time, as the night crawls on...

Insomnia sucks. Though it does allow a certain melancholy to float in, which invariably has my mind wander to some cool song or another, while trying not to think about all the crap that's keeping me awake in the first place. At the moment, it isn't so much a song, as it is bits and pieces of Tom Waits' Rain Dogs

Inside a broken clock, splashing the wine with all the rain dogs...

How about this couplet, from 9th and Hennepin
"And no one brings anything small into a bar around here
They all started out with bad directions
And the girl behind the counter has a tattooed tear
One for every year he's away, she said
Such a crumbling beauty, ah
There's nothing wrong with her that a hundred dollars won't fix"

or a cry in your beer special...

"Tear the promise from my heart
Tear my heart today
You have found another
Oh baby, I must go away

So hang down your head for sorrow
Hang down your head for me
Hang down your head tomorrow
Hang down your head, Marie"

Silly Marie, should have stuck with the poet. At least he'd have a good quip when the money ran out.

Oh well, this weirdness has been brought to you by too little sleep, and too much in the skull. Back to bed, and try again.

Night night

Late for the sky

2011-05-22T03:11:00.004-05:00

Waking up at 2:30 in the morning, and being hopelessly alert sucks...flip from this side to that, try to think of nothing, but instead every stupid realistic, and unrealistic concern you might have rushes in. Ratshit!

Oh well, time for a drive. At least gas prices fell 30 cents...

All in all, it was all just bricks in the wall...

2011-05-21T16:39:00.004-05:00

OK, I physically feel like I've been beaten with a sack full of ball-bearings, but the wall is completed -well except for just a little teensy bit of decorative gravel around the base, and some clean up...but I hurt too much for that right now.

Mentally however, I feel like the king of the world. Move over DiCaprio, you skinny little punk, the big man wants his crown back.

Did you ever?

2011-05-08T07:21:00.002-05:00

Have you ever had one of those days, where you just feel like a dork? Did you?
Not to give anything away, but it seems that today is one of those for me. It started when I sat in the drive thru at the Bread Co, waiting for them to take my order...and then realized the reason they were taking so long was that they were not open.

It was just as well I didn't order, because I then went to QuikTrip, which upon going to pay, it occurred to me that my wallet was in the shorts I wore last night, not the pants I was wearing for my morning breakfast run.

All that before 7 am...

I beg your pardon?

2011-05-01T18:48:00.004-05:00

I never promised you a rose garden...

Getting all the plants in the ground, and preparing for azaleas, part two. Got perennials galore and pretty much done with them, and have now started with the annuals, which I have no idea about. This is experiment time. Basically, I'm just digging little holes, sticking them in the ground, and hoping for the best. Trying to pay attention to the whole "part/full sun" warnings, and trying to space them far enough apart they don't choke each other, but at the same time, give the impression of it being a full bed once they take root and grow.

The weather forecast/reality hasn't cooperated at all, so it was time to just give in and start planting in the rain this afternoon, as the morning, when I was planning on putting them in the ground looks like it will be no better, and neither do the next couple of days.

And then, there's the azaleas. At least this year I got them for next to nothing. I'll need to try and find a nice sunny spot, and manipulate the soil to favor the damned things. My back fence has day-lilies and holly bushes, so I don't know as they'll blend in well there, and the front of the house is kind of crowded.

So, I'm developing a crazy idea of using them as border bushes along one side of my steps. It would save me mowing the damned area (which as those who know me can attest, I hate mowing that damned hill in front of my house, and the more of it I can negate, the better!), and supposedly, they make nice low level border shrubs...which means, I'm either going to succeed, or fail spectacularly! We shall see if I go for it.

Any feedback from anyone that knows diddly about azaleas will be appreciated. :-)

Do the right thing

2011-04-22T16:34:00.001-05:00

Sometimes the planets align, and you just do the right thing.

Yesterday was a rough little day in the dog world. Linda, who is the head of the rescue I work with lost her little guy Wiley rather unexpectedly, and that kind of put a damper on things. She's had a rough year, and that was just a kick in the gut she could have lived without.

So, thinking about that, and discussing how depressing it was, the members of Team Budge convened for a trip to Home Depot to try and stimulate this struggling economy of ours, and lo...fate intervened, with an opportunity to put things right.

As we were going down the road to hardware nirvana, there she was. A little dog wandering around a street corner. So after a brief debate, we figured we better see if she had tags...nope, nothing identifying, though she did have a rabies tag. So we took her door to door to see if anyone was either missing her, or recognized her as being from the area. Nope...so, off to the vet, to scan her and see if she was chipped. Hooray! A chip. But...the owner had failed to switch the address from the APA to their own address. And the APA was closed. So, the "Bu" part of Budge got a house guest for the evening, and we'll try and locate her owner today.

She's a cute little thing, with horrible cataracts, so it doesn't appear that vision is her "thing".

Anyway, I'm feeling good that I did the right thing, and I'm feeling better that my friend DeeBee even did more of the right thing, by keeping her for the night. Full props, Little Bee.

Instant Karma's gonna get you...and sometimes it's good karma. Yeah!

And an UPDATE!!

Buttons went home! DB called the APA, and though they didn't have the current contact number and address, she was able to locate them, and Buttons-Gidget (her actual name, as it turns out) is now safe and happy. Turns out she is 14 years old, and pretty much deaf, as well as blind. Oh, and arthritic. Maybe her name should be Lucky?

Switchboard Susan

2011-03-16T08:18:00.003-05:00

Feeling playful this morning, listening to Nick Lowe's Labor Of Lust. One of the more fun songs...(and they're all fun on this record!) Hope it brings a smile, to your dial.

Switchboard Susan,

won't you give me a line

I need a doctor, give me 999

First time I picked upthe telephone

I fell in love with your ringing tone

I'm a long distance romancer

I keep on trying till I get an answer

Gimme gimme one more chance

She's a greater little operator

Switchboard Susan, Iet me off the hook

I've been this way

since you give me yourlook

Switchboard Susan, you're all the rage

Come on sugar, Iet's get engaged

I'm a long distance romancer

I keep on trying till I get an answer

Gimme gimme one more chance

She's a greater little operator

When I'm near you girl, I get an extension

And I don't mean

Alexander Graham Bell's invention

Switchboard Susan, can we be friends

After six, at weekends

I'm a long distance romancer

l keep on trying till I get an answer

Gimme gimme one more chance

She's a greater little operator

She's a greater iittle operator

Hey babe, you're number's great

38-27-38

Oh you brlng a smile to my dial

Oh you great, operator's great

Spice this up, Baby

2011-03-10T21:21:00.003-06:00

OK, so excuse me while I talk about how great I am.

Decided it was time to scale back the dining out again, and get back to cooking. So, tonight, it was a homemade, properly spicy arrabiata, with a little parmesan...and a sirloin steak properly pounded and tenderized, lightly grilled, and seasoned with salt, pepper, and just the right amount of olive oil and oregano, then cut into small strips, and tossed together with some penne.

So, here I sit full, fat and happy. Tune in next meal time, for more exciting culinary news.

It's a ghost town, baby.

2011-03-09T17:12:00.007-06:00

This is a picture of things I see in my day to day job. It isn't always pretty.

A big part of my work is financing single family investment homes, and I have to say, it doesn't escape my attention that the post WWII suburban homes thrown up around the inside of 270 aren't holding up so well.

For example, I went to drive by some houses on Monday, and it was depressing. I was in neighborhoods that I'm sure (actually, I'm positive), just 10, 15 years ago were quite nice...and now, they have begun their inevitable slide into complete crapdom. They're not slums..yet. They aren't even BAD neighborhoods...yet.

But, the houses all have that pastel siding, green, blue, and grey, all looking very dull, very washed out, with their inevitable carport with the peeling paint. You drive by, and they almost always have the floor length windows, and the curtains look like crap, and you're supposed to (or at least in my job, I'm supposed to) be able to appreciate their value. And I feel bad. For the people stuck in them, for the people that can't sell, because they are no longer worth a damned thing.

Guys not that far removed from me, that go to work, make their money, and know (or perhaps it is better if they don't realize it?) that every lousy mortgage payment is just more money down the drain, because their piece of the American dream, like the little sub-division they call home is aging, and withering on the vine. What's to look forward to? Retirement? If these people are lucky, they'll get $40,000 to $50,000 out of a house they've been paying on for thirty years-so, no. They're not going anywhere. They'll sit in their houses, watch the renters move in, and make sure the locks on their doors are good.

It used to be that you could hold out for developers to come knock your house down, and at least sell to them-but in the current environment that simply isn't going to happen, Things are so overbuilt, it will be decades before there's an appetite for knocking down little bits of decayed suburbia, with their themed street names, and ever so organized sameness.

I don't like being a misery merchant, but I just got to thinking about it, and it's really heartbreaking. There are thousands of people 40 to 60 years old, scattered through this city (and many more just like it), that are screwed. They work hard, they bought their home, they made their payments, and for what? A bunch of politicians and policy wonks to tell them "Hey, btw-when you retire, we're skipping out on Social Security. Hope you don't mind. Oh, and that sure is a nice above ground pool you've got rusting in your backyard, bet the kids loved that growing up-oh well, later!! Enjoy the house!"

Oh well, at least Merle and Kris will put on a good show.

Not much to add to this

2011-03-05T18:58:00.003-06:00

Came across this article from a fellow named Phil Zuckerman, making some astute observations about how it appears Evangelicals hate Jesus. Or at least his teachings. I think he's on to something...sorry folks, this will take an attention span of longer than eight seconds, but it is a worthwhile read.

The results from a recent poll published by the Pew Forum on Religion and Public Life (http://www.pewforum.org/Politics-and-Elections/Tea-Party-and-Religion.aspx) reveal what social scientists have known for a long time: White Evangelical Christians are the group least likely to support politicians or policies that reflect the actual teachings of Jesus. It is perhaps one of the strangest, most dumb-founding ironies in contemporary American culture. Evangelical Christians, who most fiercely proclaim to have a personal relationship with Christ, who most confidently declare their belief that the Bible is the inerrant word of God, who go to church on a regular basis, pray daily, listen to Christian music, and place God and His Only Begotten Son at the center of their lives, are simultaneously the very people most likely to reject his teachings and despise his radical message.

Jesus unambiguously preached mercy and forgiveness. These are supposed to be cardinal virtues of the Christian faith. And yet Evangelicals are the most supportive of the death penalty, draconian sentencing, punitive punishment over rehabilitation, and the governmental use of torture. Jesus exhorted humans to be loving, peaceful, and non-violent. And yet Evangelicals are the group of Americans most supportive of easy-access weaponry, little-to-no regulation of handgun and semi-automatic gun ownership, not to mention the violent military invasion of various countries around the world. Jesus was very clear that the pursuit of wealth was inimical to the Kingdom of God, that the rich are to be condemned, and that to be a follower of Him means to give one's money to the poor. And yet Evangelicals are the most supportive of corporate greed and capitalistic excess, and they are the most opposed to institutional help for the nation's poor -- especially poor children. They hate anything that smacks of "socialism," even though that is essentially what their Savior preached. They despise food stamp programs, subsidies for schools, hospitals, job training -- anything that might dare to help out those in need. Even though helping out those in need was exactly what Jesus urged humans to do. In short, Evangelicals are that segment of America which is the most pro-militaristic, pro-gun, and pro-corporate, while simultaneously claiming to be most ardent lovers of the Prince of Peace.

What's the deal?

Before attempting an answer, allow a quick clarification. Evangelicals don't exactly hate Jesus -- as we've provocatively asserted in the title of this piece. They do love him dearly. But not because of what he tried to teach humanity. Rather, Evangelicals love Jesus for what he does for them. Through his magical grace, and by shedding his precious blood, Jesus saves Evangelicals from everlasting torture in hell, and guarantees them a premium, luxury villa in heaven. For this, and this only, they love him. They can't stop thanking him. And yet, as for Jesus himself -- his core values of peace, his core teachings of social justice, his core commandments of goodwill -- most Evangelicals seem to have nothing but disdain.

And this is nothing new. At the end of World War I, the more rabid, and often less educated Evangelicals decried the influence of the Social Gospel amongst liberal churches. According to these self-proclaimed torch-bearers of a religion born in the Middle East, progressive church-goers had been infected by foreign ideas such as German Rationalism, Soviet-style Communism, and, of course, atheistic Darwinism. In the 1950s, the anti-Social Gospel message piggybacked the rhetoric of anti-communism, which slashed and burned its way through the Old South and onward through the Sunbelt, turning liberal churches into vacant lots along the way. It was here that the spirit and the body collided, leaving us with a prototypical Christian nationalist, hell-bent on prosperity. Charity was thus rebranded as collectivism and self-denial gave way to the gospel of accumulation. Church-to-church, sermon-to-sermon, evangelical preachers grew less comfortable with the fish and loaves Jesus who lived on earth, and more committed to the angry Jesus of the future. By the 1990s, this divine Terminator gained "most-favored Jesus status" among America's mega churches; and with that, even the mention of the former "social justice" Messiah drove the socially conscious from their larger, meaner flock.

In addition to such historical developments, there may very well simply be an underlying, all-too-human social-psychological process at root, one that probably plays itself out among all religious individuals: they see in their religion what they want to see, and deny or despise the rest. That is, religion is one big Rorschach test. People look at the content of their religious tradition -- its teachings, its creeds, its prophet's proclamations -- and they basically pick and choose what suits their own secular outlook. They see in their faith what they want to see as they live their daily lives, and simultaneously ignore the rest. And as is the case for most White Evangelical Christians, what they are ignoring is actually the very heart and soul of Jesus's message -- a message that emphasizes sharing, not greed. Peace-making, not war-mongering. Love, not violence.

Of course, conservative Americans have every right to support corporate greed, militarism, gun possession, and the death penalty, and to oppose welfare, food stamps, health care for those in need, etc. -- it is just strange and contradictory when they claim these positions as somehow "Christian." They aren't.

Manic Man

2011-03-05T15:15:00.001-06:00

I have got to do something about me, food, and mood swings!
It is getting worse with age. Used to be that I'd be mildly cranky if I had gone without eating for 5 or 6 hours, but now I seem to contract some form of tourettes. Rather than some kind of lethargy, I spin into some kind of hypercritical maniacal bitchfest. What's weird is, I know it is happening, but honestly can't control it.

Latest occurrence-today. I didn't get around to eating until nearly 1pm, after getting up at Stupid O'Clock in the morning. So I'm having a conversation with a friend of mine, and I just start taking digs. And I know I am, and I know she's getting pissed off, and I can't blame her...but at the same time, I can't stop myself. It's a good thing I choose my friends well, or I'd probably be pretty lonely.

Maybe I should start carrying an emergency Snickers bar with me, before someone shoots me.... It's a thought.

Saturday morning 530

2011-03-05T05:25:00.005-06:00

It is scary, the thoughts that go through your head when sleep has been the period between 230 and 4.
And I'm gonna do the world a favor, amd other than whine about lack of sleep, I'm not going to share the bleakness,
So, how about a happy song,

instead?

And lets all hope for a successful nap :-)

NEWSFLASH...
Nap reasonably successful. 2.5 hours gained.
The world now looks marginally brighter. Creation may continue.

Don Quixote rides again

2011-03-04T07:02:00.004-06:00

Don Quixote has made a brief return from his previous retirement, but upon assessing the situation, he has decided that there was in actual fact no reason for optimism, and things were indeed as bleak as they had been when he made his formal retirement announcement last March.

Third party reporters have hypothesized that Senor Quixote had misunderstood some pieces of information (as is his wont), and had thought that his previous efforts at chivalrous behaviour had gained some appreciation, and he could contribute to the world being a brighter, better place. But alas, it turns out it was only the world drawing its breath before beginning to laugh at him once more.

His ever faithful agent, Sancho would only comment "El burro sabe mas que tu"

Willy DeVille had soul, baby

2011-02-27T19:12:00.002-06:00

A short dispatch today..I was listening to Willie DeVille at a friend's house on Saturday night, and in the process of emptying a few bottles of fermented grape juice, his version of You Better Move On came on the cd player.

What a gorgeous song.

Just sayin'...been singing it to myself all damned day.

Enjoy, sports fans

Whoa, whoa, whoaaa feeeeelings

2011-02-20T05:52:00.005-06:00

One of my favorite topics is the truth, how it is perceived, put into practice, defined, and just abused, misused, and then put back in a closet where it belongs.

The last big post I put up on this, discussed the kind of lies people tell...you may or may not recall, THIS ONE

This time, let's talk about when it is time to give up the ghost. Some would argue that, like the mythical George Washington, we should never lie. I don't make that argument. In a perfect world, perhaps, but at last check we didn't have one, and people still have feelings, situations that they're unsure of, and so on.

But, after awhile, it gets to a tipping point. A place where continued dishonesty is going to be seen as being hurtfully so...for those practicing the "well you didn't ask precisely" method (a self confessed personal flaw), plausible deniability will be gone. To continue to practice a lie of omission has ceased to be omission, and now is just being deceptive. Or a lie to protect someone is now in a state where it clearly will no longer protect anyone, and will in actual fact be detrimental to you, if not physically, at least in relation to how you are perceived by others, whom you may want to have the respect of.

I guess the point of this follow up to my previous post on the subject is, living a lie just is a very bad idea. It's one thing to get out of mowing the lawn, or going shopping, but it is quite another to continue to mislead people you ostensibly care about. And isn't that exactly who gets lied to? I mean, you wouldn't bother lying to folks you didn't care about, because...drumroll....who gives a flying toss what they think anyway?

In a continuing theme

2011-02-13T08:42:00.003-06:00

Just Gimme Some Truth....
I have decided that my blogging has been too cramped. I have some folks that read it, and as that's developed, I've allowed myself to get concerned with potentially offending people, thus censoring myself.
Sorry, Charlie, the soft ride is over.
Stay tuned, for a return to more personal tales of misery, woe, laughter, joy, and some (un)healthy doses of bile.
Mr.Bitter is back.

Let's discuss the all important Universal Commandment of Life. Some people have this notion that ten commandments are needed to live life correctly. Wrong. One will suffice. And it is..."Try not to be an asshole"

That shalt not kill...fair enough-but if you're not being an asshole, are you also not killing someone? What about cheating on your spouse? Same thing. Honoring mom and dad?

Sometimes its hard...sometimes you tell yourself that just can't figure out what to do, or how to handle a situation. Here's a tip. Pick the tough one. It is what you should do, that's why it is tough. It might require that you feel like a bit of a jerk, but it is far better to be a short-term jerk, than a full blown a-hole.

OK, philosophy class is over. Time for me to paint. I wonder if I could get some neat textures rolling Simon up and down the wall?

I feel good, but I ain't James Brown

2011-02-12T09:54:00.002-06:00

From Dylan and the doldrums, to Billy Preston.
How can you listen to this and not feel good? Check out the keyboards on his scintillating version of Gershwin's "Summertime" I mean, doing a Bach inspried version? Are you kidding me?

Check out a few more slices of happy genius...
Nothin' From Nothin'

Get Back

and.... OUTTA SPACE!!

May your Saturday morning keep on keepin' on!

Burn

2011-02-11T13:35:00.003-06:00

A few days ago, I started playing Dylan's Blood On The Tracks, which led to listening to a variety of old fashioned brokenheart songs, and I came back to this one again, and again. It's certainly worth a listen.
BURN

And it's true...whenever it has comes to the whole affairs of the heart thing, I am a goddamned sore loser-but shouldn't everyone be? Otherwise, why be bothered... regardless, this song has been criminally ignored.

We can now resume regularly scheduled programming

Pearls of wisdom...

2011-02-06T07:24:00.004-06:00

Isn't life kind of funny?

An update on the grocery list

2011-02-05T06:32:00.003-06:00

OK, as previously noted, I have a new foster, and she is best described as being...oh hefty. In the same sense that John Merrick was described as being "ugly".
Let's be honest, the poor dog's fat rolls have fat rolls.
Anyway, there was a period of trying to name my new (not-so) little friend...she arrived with "Isabelle" which wasn't going to do, was quickly called Pork Chop, which while descriptive, somehow didn't seem to be quite right. Then there was the emergence of "Polly Pork Chop" which at least gave her a more common moniker. That has finally segued into what I hope (and believe) to be the final step in her name metamorphosis. Her full name is Polly Pork Chop Chubbs. Better know as PC Chubbs, or far more frequently, as simply Chubbs.
Even when we do get her weight off, she's still going to have that moon shaped face, so it fits.
Welcome, Chubbs. Even Vinnie has decided he likes you.

I was driving home, early Sunday mornin' through

2011-02-05T06:10:00.005-06:00

Bakersfield, listening to gospel music on the colored radio station,
and the preacher said, "Y'know, you always have the Lord by your side!"

And I was so pleased to be informed of this, that I ran twenty red lights in his honor...Thank you Jesus, Thank you Lord

I have found that there are some powerful messages conveyed to us through song, and that this is one of them. Drive with abandon my friend. The good spirit will look out for you.
Amen

PANIC!!!

2011-01-31T07:03:00.004-06:00

Yes, it's true. We're all going to die. Unless we eat enough french toast. And throw a lot of salt. Panic everyone...Lord I love watching local news. They are currently telling people that they need salt...BUT OH NO-Wal-Mart Lowes, and Home Depot are all out of it. But (and I'm serious), they "NEWFLASHED" that Sam's in Kirkwood just got a truckload in. RUN!!
They just keep stirring the pot. You gotta figure they are getting paid big bucks by Wal-Mart to get everyone running to the store to buy survival kits, four cases of baked beans, candles, four sleeping bags, ice skates, a generator, enough batteries to last until June. Me I'm researching recipes for cooking up canines, just in case. Sorry Chubbs, you're biggest, you go first :-(

Just another day at the office

2011-01-29T17:01:00.003-06:00

So, last night was a fine fund-raising effort....I think. Our table ended up "getting their Keith Richards on", as the beer and wine disappeared at an impressive rate, so who knows how much money was raised?
And I got scolded! By the trivia night question reader...and she did it through the microphone, telling me off to the entire audience...what a hoot!

Anyway, after doing some serious intake at the event, a visit to the best little neighborhood bar in Saint Louis was in order (I cannot say its name, or all the trendies might discover it and ruin it!) Some serious money was spent on the jukebox, pizza was delivered, and the beers were disposed of with gusto!

A fine evening....

One for the money, two for the show

2011-01-28T22:14:00.004-06:00

OK, it is possibly the largest social event of the calendar year in the Saint Louis metropolitan area. That's right folks, three, count'em, three animal rescue groups are banding together to put on an evening of action packed, dynamic fun, at the MOUSE RACES!!
There'll be gambling, there'll be beer, there'll be wild, wacky games, and I have it on good authority, there'll be dancing girls. Well, if they feel like it, that is.
Anyway, it is for a great cause, and it is a good time. Plus, it is just fiendish how those little mice tune up their cars for the races...

I'll take some potatoes and gravy with that

2011-01-13T07:51:00.004-06:00

So, I have a new foster. Ostensibly, Linda has pre-named her Isabelle. Fat chance, Linda. This dog is built like a furry bowling ball, and is as cute as can be. Oh queen of the the dog chow, I christen thee "Pork Chop".
Plus she likes the name and comes when called by it. Vinnie of course hates her, but he'll get over it.

She seems to be housebroken, and for a dog as chubby as she is, she's pretty laid back about dinner. I've had to hand feed her so far. I'm wondering if she has some sort of issue with sticking her face in the bowl...I'll try a bigger dish tonight.

Also, I Let her sleep on the bed, as she was pacing down on the floor-and mild-mannered Simon never minds more canine company (unlike Vinnie, who probably resents me being on the bed, let alone any other dogs!)

Anyway, I'll come up with something less insensitive for a name, but for the next week or so, it fits!

Welcome to the pack, Pork Chop!!

Simon and Liza/Rosie

2011-01-05T21:36:00.001-06:00

Two of my favorite little friends romping in the snow, pre-Christmas. These two are trouble!

(re) Start Me Up

2011-01-02T11:26:00.004-06:00

Ok, so that's a wrap on 2010...
At this time last year, I was preparing the launch of the great weight loss campaign, and the official year end results were...54lbs gone. In and of itself, that seems like a good number, and I suppose it is. Though it has to be said, I had actually got about 70lbs off at one point, so over the last four months I regressed. BUT (and you knew there would be a "but"), I had actually regressed to only 48lbs lost, so I am trending properly again.

So, the new year is off with a bang, this year's resolution (last year being the first time I ever made one, which was "I will finish the year in better shape than I started it"-and I did!) is very closely tied to last year's. It is...to increase my weekly exercise by 50%. Last year I swam 30 minutes a day, five days a week. This year it is to get the equivalent of 45 minutes a day in. Anything more than that will be considered a welcome bonus. I'm not expecting to repeat the 50lb weight loss, as I think that is too aggressive, but hopefully another 35-40 or so this year, and by the time I welcome the BIG 5-0 in March of 2012, maybe (just maybe) I can be at something approaching what I would ideally like to be.

Anyway, all in all it was a good year. I made and lost a great furry friend, improved the house by leaps and bounds, and continued to learn that the song was right. You can't always get what you want...but if you try sometimes, you get what you need.

Maybe.

Onward, 2011...

And so it goes

2010-12-31T01:33:00.003-06:00

Short one tonight. Just the observation that insomnia sucks. Even with my darth vader mask. Oh well, maybe another twenty or thirty games of free cell will do it...

Goodbye, sweetheart

2010-12-21T16:18:00.002-06:00

This morning, the first day of winter, 2010, I had to say goodbye to my little white angel. Karli's hips and back finally betrayed her, and in a cruel surprise, led to her demise before her cancerous tumors.

I had a few people today tell me how lucky she was to have had a home that cared for her so much, blah blah blah, after what appears to have been a brutal and taxing existence. And I appreciate those kind thoughts and words. But, I keep thinking about it, and I don't see it that way. It seems more appropriate to thank Karli for blessing me with five months of her life. She did me the favor by being here, by being the completely trusting, and loving little dog she was. I will miss her. Will? Shit, I already do.

Winter Wonderland

2010-12-12T20:49:00.002-06:00

Today was the first really nasty day of winter. It truly was a blustery day, Winnie-The-Pooh.
But, that doesn't mean everything was bad. I discovered that my senior citizen dog, that I got in July likes the snow. She enjoyed a nice waddle around, and a good lay in it.
And my outdoor decorations took on a whole new look with the snow. The photo doesn't really do it justice, but the reindeer in the snow looks pretty darn good!

Release the Kraken!

2010-11-22T23:31:00.004-06:00

My latest love affair is with rum, and as such, I have recently remembered an old line from a song. Written by the great Ray Davies, it was actually a rumble against taxation, and just what the British government was doing. And as he was moaning about needing to take exile and avoid the poisonous rates, he wrote this...
"Goodbye champagne and the caviar set, I wanna slum and drink all of the rum I can get, I'm away, I'm away in a foreign land"

I'd link to it, but I'm afraid it is a little too obscure for You Tube. A sample from Amazon, perhaps?

Anyway, if you care to download the song, it's only 99 cents, and is, if nothing else, a cheery finger poppin' tune. And you can enjoy it over a mojito, rum and coke, or god bless us all, a little egg nog with rum. Go about 50-50 for diet purposes, eh?

Something to smile about

2010-11-18T19:56:00.004-06:00

Damon Gough, better known as 'Badly Drawn Boy' has to have the market cornered on whimsy. The tunes bounce, the words are playful, I mean, how brilliant is "Ipso facto, using up your oxygen, you know I'm shallow, calling out for extra help ,you've got to let me in or let me out" with the little 'dee doo dee dee" keyboard bits. If this song can't make you smile, you really are just a miserable so and so.
Something To Talk About

And as long as I'm enjoying that, I have to line up Paul Carrack doing "I Need You". One of the cleverest little choruses going..."I need you like a shark needs to shoot" Never fails to make me grin.

Hazy Shade Of Winter

2010-11-12T20:05:00.003-06:00

Just in time for the winter weather, ladies and gentlemen, the bar is OPEN! It has been fully restocked, it now features the telescoping tv, the sound is great, the furniture comfy, and the fireplace inviting.
If I haven't seen you in awhile stop in for a drink, if I have seen you recently and you want to stop in anyway, bring something to eat will ya, I got the booze!

Egg noggily yours,
Me

Another Brick In The Wall Of Civility

2010-10-30T06:28:00.003-05:00

Last night went to see Roger Waters perform "The Wall" in all it's titantic, sprawling glory...and it was done very well. The Wall was erected thru the first half of the show, and was used to great effect as a giant film screen, displaying vivid imagery, photographs, graffiti etc. Musically, it was locked tight. No real surprises, just good solid performances=though there was one bit of interesting theatre-The song Mother was performed as a 'duet' of the 60 year old Roger Waters singing with himself from a recorded performance of the original tour some 30 years ago.
Regardless, the show really was well done, with good musical performance, great theatre, explosions, inflatable characters, planes flying into walls, helicopters circling, choruses of children from local schools, blah blah blah.

And it all teetered on being ruined because there are some people that cannot understand something quite simple. If you want to discuss the world series, if you want to talk about the "cool thing your neighbor did", then why do you pay $120 for a ticket, so that you can stand amongst other people that paid the same, and shout about it at the top of your voice throughout the show? Couldn't you just play the CD, and talk in your living room, dickhead? Huh? Would it be too much to think that just maybe, just the thinnest possibility, that I, and everyone else that has never met you before, and hopefully will never see your dull dimwitted, thick as pigshit self again do not care, and better yet, would like to hear the BAND without your running f-ing commentary on your own miserable, shitty little existence. It was amazing. We were surrounded by them. I felt like I was in a Stealer's Wheel song, with clowns to the left of me, and jokers to the right. I did finally grab one guy, who couldn't seem to grasp that I was in actual fact, not his buddy, and I didn't appreciate him rocking back onto me as he launched into yet another of his endless air guitar solos.
Anyway, in the second half of the show, the mentally challenged were overwhelmed by the louder songs of the show, and my annoyance was lowered, but still...people...please. Get your heads out your asses. If the music is so loud that you have to yell at each other in order to be heard, perhaps that's a hint. You don't need to be having a conversation...

Ouch!

2010-10-28T05:48:00.002-05:00

Can I just say that waking up with your calf having spasms due to a very nasty cramp hitting you just before the alarm goes off is NO FUN. Won't be swimming this morning...hate to think what jumping in a pool full of cold water would do.

Bummer

A quandry

2010-10-25T17:52:00.005-05:00

OK, at the risk of sounding like a misogynist, I have to ask: What's up with our women politicians lately? A quick poll-which party has the most batshit crazy woman running for office this year? On the right, the GOP has Michelle Bachmann, Christine O'Donnell and Sharron Angle. And in this corner, Nancy Pelosi, and the awe inspiring Kesha Rogers. For volume, the GOP has more, but Kesha is hard to top. And considering the GOP is sporting a threesome of whackos, that's saying something!

Hilary and Condoleeza just have to have their head in their hands when they see this stuff.

At first blush

2010-10-24T08:59:00.002-05:00

So what's the deal with embarrassment? I think far too many of us get embarrassed about things we shouldn't bother getting worked up over, and far too few of us get embarrassed over things we should be.

This is prompted by a few discussions I've had over the past few days about various and sundry drinking escapades. Such things as falling off roofs naked, sliding under tables in restaurants, paying a visit to the drunk tank dressed in stylish BVDs, paint the side of a car in vomit-tone pink at 60 mph down the highway on chilly January night...maybe its just me, but these just aren't things worth being embarrassed about. A bit of fun was being had, and something happened to provide an amusing story. Whoop-dee-do.

Here are a few things to actually be embarrassed about: We're one of the most affluent societies in the world, and we have somewhere in the neighborhood of 750,000 homeless people. "Survivor" has managed to have 21 different series. Kim Kardashian is famous. As a nation we bounce back and forth between our two political "choices" in the vain hope that one of them isn't lying this time. Our next generation has one hell of bill sitting in their mailbox, courtesy of the tax cut and spend, and tax increase and spend even more idiocy of the said two parties.

And there are lots more...feel free to provide any additions to the list..

What's Goin' On

2010-10-15T06:26:00.004-05:00

Ok, so most people who know me, know that I currently have a senior canine residing in my house. Karli is a sweet old girl, who's past is a bit of a mystery.
She has the worst teeth I've ever seen on a dog, a large cancerous tumor on her underside, and advanced hip dysplasia. These three things would leave you to think she was an escapee from some puppy mill hell. Except she doesn't exhibit any fear of people, or wide open spaces, like a lot of those dogs do.
But one thing that does send her off the deep end is unexpected noises. She just hauled ass out of the living room because I opened a soda can. Sheer terror.
Whassup with that, Karli?

Perry Mason, I'm not...

2010-10-10T09:02:00.005-05:00

I was talking with a friend the other day, who mentioned the notion of feeling guilty about things. This got me to thinking-namely, that there is an awful lot of guilt in this world, a lot of it the product of religious indoctrination. I mean, the Jewish and Catholic faiths in particular seem to have been built on a bedrock of feeling guilty!

Oddly enough though, I'm not here to discuss how everyone should be absolved of their guilt. Yeah, there's such a thing as overkill in the guilt category, but the truth is, barring some neuroses, if you're feeling guilty, there's usually a pretty damned good chance that you've done something, or not done something that you know you either shouldn't have, or could have done better. That's not to say everyone should walk around feeling awful about the way they picked on little Johnny Dorko in 4th grade, or surrender their life's earnings to a charity as penance, but rather that there seems to be a whole new industry out there that seeks to absolve people of guilt.

"It's not your fault!" "Be empowered"! "You're not responsible for others feelings, they are!". I dunno-if you crap all over someone, I think you're probably a little responsible for them feeling bad. Lord knows, I've been a dickhead more than once in my life, and when I look on it in hindsight, I feel bad about it, and try not to repeat those actions. Its what makes me (hopefully) a better person than I was. And unless you're some kind of infomercial trained psychopath, you probably ought to feel at least a little bad about it too, and try to do better next time. I mean, if your attitude is "fuck'em, its their issue", you're going to leave a wake of unhappy folks behind you, and sooner or later you will be well and roundly hated by those familiar with your remarkable self-centeredness, and complete lack of remorse.

So, what's the bottom line? If you f-up, yes: you should feel bad. And then you should either rectify the situation, or at the very least make note of it, and improve the way you handle it next time. I don't think you need to let the guilt devour you, but I do think you need to feel it bite, just so you remain in touch with what is right and wrong.

Just sayin.

Let's Talk About Sex

2010-10-09T08:50:00.002-05:00

No, no...let's not, It's all dark and wet, and well let's face it, it is just an uncomfortable subject. How about those Rams, eh?

Please.....kill....me....

2010-10-07T17:43:00.003-05:00

OK, so that's a little over dramatic, but don't you just hate colds when the weather is nice? I mean, you pretty much hate them when the weather is bad, but at least all you really want to do at that point is hide inside anyway.

Started coming down with this thing about two days ago, and thought it was going to be a little 24-48 hour thing. Nooooooo. I am now stuck here, typing on a blog, about how my head feels like it is full of poured lead.

On the plus side, baseballs on. On the downside, I don't like any of the teams playing. Well shit!

Lies, and the lying liars who tell them

2010-09-09T17:57:00.004-05:00

Ok, so I stole that...

Everyone in the world lies at some point, let's face it. If you always told the truth, you'd probably get punched in the nose a lot, and the human race would die off because sex would cease to happen. My job exposes me to a multitude of fibbing, and of course, like anyone else, I get (and to be fair, give) my share of BS'ing.

However-what is an acceptable lie, and what goes beyond the pale?

Here's my opinion, that is probably stupid and ill-informed, as I'm sure someone will e-mail me and tell my I'm wrong.

1) Lies for entertainment value, or "fishing stories". Who cares? If it enhances a story, is any harm really done? I mean, yeah, its BS, but no one is hurt if an embellishment or two is thrown in.

2) Lies to hide something. This is tricky. Ultimately, the answer comes down to: Is something being hidden that would cause hurt or harm, and that will NOT be found out unless you open your big mouth, and that no one is hurt by not being told it? In that case, it's an acceptable lie. An example might be that you know a friends recently deceased (and well loved) spouse, was actually planning on dumping said friend in a divorce when the car wreck happened-nothing is gained by you opening your big mouth.
If however, it is a lie being told to hide something, that is merely putting off the inevitable, then that's just throwing wood onto what will eventually be a fire. "No, that child in the paternity suit isn't mine dear, I promise" would be a fine example!

3) Backstabbing accusations. well, that's just wrong, isn't it?

4) Lies of omission: OK, here's where I get in trouble. When does not volunteering unasked for information cross the line into being devilishly dishonest? Right here, right now, I will confess to this one. If asked directly, I will answer pretty much any question thrown at me, and do my level best to do so honestly. But, sometimes you just have to know the right question to ask.

Sunday morning, coming down

2010-09-05T09:36:00.002-05:00

So, I'm walking through the grocery store this morning, shaking out the cobwebs of the night's activities, and in the background, I can hear the music being pumped in, mixing in with the noise of the stock people and shoppers. For the most part, like everyone else, I'm oblivious to it, but it happened to catch my ear, at a precise moment in the song. And all I could do was stop and wait for it. The line, the moment, that one precious piece of songcraft that set this particular song apart.

The song was Bob Seger's "Against The Wind". I'm not his biggest fan, but sometimes he can just catch a moment with a line. And in that song, he's singing about the past, and how weary we get moving forward...and then drops the line-"I wish didn't know now, what I didn't know then"...and it is just perfect. The innocence is gone, and you just can't undo it.

And then I pushed my cart down the aisle, and bought the adobo sauce and beans...

The Winter of My Contentment

2010-09-02T18:37:00.010-05:00

In the late summer of 1973, our family was temporarily torn asunder, as my father was stationed TDY in Thailand, and the remaining three, my sister, mom and I went to England to stay with my maternal Grandparents, and my Great (in both senses of the word) Aunt Ivy.

Rather than being overly traumatic, it actually turned out to be a time that I look back upon with as much wistfulness and longing as any period of my life.

Upon arrival, I was placed in the local high school, though as memory serves, that provided some trauma-whereas I was top of everything, and brain the size of a planet in the US school system, as the English children started school earlier (and the PC brigade hadn't quiet broken the old system entirely), I found myself having to actually WORK at school for the first time in my life. And I enjoyed it. A challenge at last. There were some false starts, and some rotten moments at the school, but really, once I got used to the uniform, I settled in.

School however, isn't what this is about. This is about the magic of memory, of anticipation, the joy of seeing something so fabulous, its burned in your mind for life.

In the village, there was exactly one toy shop. And this was, in hindsight, pretty second rate in comparison to the shops on the High Street in Leicester. But to me it was absolutely magical. Being England, and being the early 70's it was a marvelously perverse truth that the shops shut before I could get there after school, except on Wednesdays, when they stayed open late. Until six o'clock! Brilliant!

Not that I let the shop being shut dampen my enthusiasm. I can still remember standing in a misty rain, wearing my ubiquitous duffel coat, breathing heavily on the glass, as I stared at the incredible things contained within.

I was at an age where I was particularly enamored with Dinky Toys. Had the entire collection of Captain Scarlet vehicles, and several of the Thunderbirds too. They carried an relatively impressive array of Action Man toys and accessories, but even they paled before my ultimate fascination. The sticker book for the upcoming 1974 World Cup. Lord, I purchased, or had purchased for me, more packets of those stickers, trying to get my set completed. Never could get all the players for Zaire, who in their one and only World Cup appearance (ever, as they have since ceased to exist as a country) resulted in a series of humiliating defeats as yet unrivaled. No matter, being the completest I am, I pursued those Zairian players as though the fate of the universe depended on it. My dismay when they quit selling the stickers in the shop, prior to my completing the set was one of the first rude awakenings, and learning of the lesson, that yes folks-You really can't always get what you want. Sadly, it never occurred to me to order them from the form in the book!

TV was a completely different experience. At the time, the British believed quality certainly trumped quantity-I was, and still am amazed at just how good the series "The World At War" was. The footage, the narrative, the interviews. Just engrossing. It made my Wednesday evenings worth getting home for.

But...Thursday was when it all came together. Yes, it was time for Top Of The Pops! And it was time to watch all the latest, greatest, and most outrageous music acts on offer. It was the time of Glam, and the gloves were off. The more ludicrous and over the top the outfits or behaviour, the better.

Looking through the glass backwards, 1972 was the year when Glam ramped up-T-Rex were huge, Bowie was becoming Ziggy, and Slade were starting to boogie down. But in 1973, everything blew up.

The first big Glam hit to come out while I was there, was David Essex's Rock On. He was kind of a hybrid between your standard teen idol and your glam boy- I think my poor sister wanted to cry (or something) every time she saw him.
In quick succession, there was a Ballroom Blitz, Alvin Stardust channeling some sort of bizarre Elvis, Gary Glitter in his pre-kid fiddler mode being more ridiculous by the week. There was Mud with their retro sound and choreographed stage performances, Roxy Music were delightfully weird, and then as the bizarreness grew, the ultimate Glam smackdown took place. Yes, it was Christmas, and two of the greatest rock and roll Christmas singles of all time went toe to toe.

It was Wizzard vs Slade. In the end, Slade won in a rout, but Roy Wood surely out-weirded them.

There were still artists like Mott The Hoople, Queen, Suzi Quatro, Cockney Rebel, and even Sparks left to come, but it all really peaked that Christmas. From there, Glam began its decline into irrelevance, and on came...disco *sigh*

Anyway, it was remarkable year for an 11/12 year old boy. Vacations in Wales, enforced fun at Butlins, having my evening rice pudding with my granddad...it really was the best of times.

Because I want to

2010-09-01T21:41:00.003-05:00

This is just about songs that I love, or have loved for different reasons, for no other reason than I feel like putting them out there. Most are well known, some maybe not so much, but they all remind me of something or someone, or perhaps just a period in time. So, without further ado...

The Waterboys Pagan Place has such a marvelous sense of urgency. First time I heard this was while working at Record Bar, and we were just amazed. It was never going to get any airplay in a backwater town like St.Louis, but we hipsters in the stores got to listen to all the latest and greatest, and this was really a game changer. No flcok of seagulls here, boys and girls.

Neil Young wrote a lot of great rockers, some brilliant acoustic material, and this... It's just one of those songs that has that certain melancholy feel, and longing. It leaves me Helpless, Helpless, Helpless I got the record in high school, and was stunned. It was a what I like to refer to as a needle dropper. I picked it up, and put it back at the start, closed my eyes, and listened to it again. Kids with CD's and MP3's have no idea how easy they have it these days!

As an avowed power pop guy in the late 70's, this was a revelation. Their most popular song was a love song to an inflatable doll, but wow-this was just a revelation as to what could be done with a great song. I'm A Believer already!

The first 45 I ever purchased with my own pocket money! Well actually I bought two that fateful day...here's the second one. I would just love to hear someone like Ryan Adams or Matthew Sweet do the first one.

When I was a kid in England, the radio was limited-you just couldn't rock and roll with the BBC at night. But when the sun went down, under the covers with my transistor plastered to the side of my head, I could pull in the joyous sounds of Radio Luxembourg, broadcasting in English, all across the continent, and most importantly, into my bedroom, there on Hillcrest Avenue, in the cozy little village of Kibworth. And that, ladies and germs was where I heard, and was captivated by this.

In the next few days (or maybe a week) I shall do a lengthy post on the joys of the Top of The Pops in the UK in the Glam era. Fasten your seatbelts, kiddies. Mud, Slade, Wizzard, and yes, even Suzi Quatro are headed your way!

The Weighting (Is The Hardest Part)

2010-09-01T06:36:00.004-05:00

As the furious Battle of the Bulge has resumed, it is time for an update.
Shirt size...down two inches in the neck
Pants...down six inches in the leg--I shrunk! No, but the waist has wasted
T-Shirts-down 2 "x's" on the old xxxxxxxxL scheme.

It has been my contention for a long time that losing weight and keeping it off is the hardest thing I've ever tried to do...reason I can say that is, I have consistently failed. And, there are simple reasons for that-when you quit smoking (which I kicked a 3 pack a day habit 12 years ago this month)you simply quit. Period. You don't smoke differently, or less often, or only on Sundays-you just QUIT. Can't do that with food, oddly enough. Well I suppose you could do a Bobby Sands, but that isn't really a very good answer. So, you're left with being in a constant state of monitoring. And if you've never had to fight the battle, trust me, it is hard. And you get lazy...and your vigilance slips. And things taste soooo good. And it's raining, and you don't want to exercise. And everyone is going to the pizza joint, and you're invited. And there's a party on Sunday, and there'll be beer and brats. It is a bugger! Oh well,, hopefully I shall reign victorious THIS time. It is the goal...

I will rave, and I will ramble

2010-08-31T06:01:00.003-05:00

I'll do everything but make you stay...

I have loved this song from the first moment I heard it. It is ethereal, it is a thing of transcendent beauty. Enjoy

The Waterboys

Goodnight sweetheart

2010-08-20T07:18:00.002-05:00

The tough assed kitty breathed her last on Wednesday. As reported last week, Maggie was a terminal case, but she'd bounced back so many times. This time it was just a little too much to ask her to come back again, and it was time to let her go with a little dignity.
You really knew it was over when we got to the vets office and opened her crate (which like any good cat, she hated), and she didn't even bother coming out of it. The fight was well and truly gone from her. She did have a couple of strolls around the vets office, but no happy leaps from surface to surface, just unsettled anxiety from being somewhere she really didn't want to be.
When the time came, she made a couple of her trademark meows as the injection was given, and then she was gone. As she laid there, I was struck by just how lovely she really was. Her fur was so soft, and just beautiful. I feel horrible for Debbie, who has had to say goodbye to several of her furry friends so close together.
Maggie was a talkative sort, whose varied utterings actually sounded like she was discussing things with you sometimes. I know I had more than one conversation with her.

It is going to be a lot quieter in Ms.B's office, without her feline visitor there to give an opinion, or take a short stroll across the keyboard at a crucial moment, ensuring that the e-mail says "%Um)gaLIHWBySu" instead of, "I'd like to paint the shutters green"

Goodnight peanut. Love ya.

Through a glass, darkly

2010-08-20T05:09:00.005-05:00

Scattered thoughts on the general condition, through the lens of being awake at 3:30 in the morning. It ain't pretty, folks.

Beautiful loser: Heard this song the other day, and it got me to thinking- Is it ok for someone to think of themselves as one, or is that a trifle narcissistic? Is it a label that can only be assigned by a second or thrid party. And if that's the case, isn't it a little nasty to refer to someone you know well enough to call a friend as a "loser"? Perhaps it's mutually exclusive, and you lose the "beautiful" part, by being aware of the "loser" part? Or maybe you're not such a loser, if you realize the grace and dignity involved in the "beautiful" part? This is what laying in bed being overly analytical will get you, by the way.

Letting go: Why is it so hard? Rationally, I think 99.3% (a scientifically made up number, I actually pulled directly from my ass to this webpage) of people know when it is time to let go of things, or perhaps maybe they know when it is futile not to, yet it never really seems to make it easier, does it? I suppose that's what mourning and feelings of regret and loss are all about-an inability, or unwillingness to let go. Boy that was deep. Watch out Freud, I'm gunning for you.

Satisfaction: The time honored question remains. Why can't I get no? If someone had told me at 16 that the refrain from what in my mind is the greatest R'n'R single of them all would ring true to me at 48, I'd probably have answered "well what's the fucking use then?" Oh well, I try, and I try...and I can't get no

Tough ass kitty

2010-08-13T07:05:00.003-05:00

Sometimes, like me you think you've had a bad day. Then you find out yours isn't so awful.
Hang in their Mags-It IS Friday!

Made a trip last night, ostensibly to send this fine piece of feline creation to her final resting place. Only she didn't want to go just yet. Maggie has a few tumors, and has had surgery to remove it once, but ultimately what ails her is fatal. Last night, after shopping at Target, her owner and I returned to be greeted by blood all over the place. Vessels in her nose had erupted from the pressure of the tumor, leading her to spray blood every time she sneezed...which was often, because her nose kept filling up with blood.

After some deliberation, it was decided to take that long last car ride, to say the final goodbye. But Mags is a bit tougher than that. By the time we'd arrived at the clinic, she was full of vim and vigor, playing with the vet, jumping from the counter to the floor and vice versa...soooo-she was given some nasal spray to get the bleeding to stop, the vet said it was likely down to a week or two before she would start to actually suffer, but right now, she was probably good to go.

Maggie rocks, and truly does have nine lives. The thought that it was all a con in order to get an extra can of salmon and some Fro-yo hasn't escaped me.

Old dogs, new friends

2010-08-09T06:38:00.004-05:00

OK, so on Saturday Miss Butts and I loaded off to the Columbia area to pick up the rescue's latest and greatest. And I do have to say she is something else.
Karli is what is known as a "whitely"-namely, her fur forgot to turn red, or black, or fawn, and just stayed white. So, you have a snow coloured corgi, which takes a few minutes to get used to if you're familiar with the breed, though she certainly draws comments about how pretty she is and so on.

Anyway, Karli has a whole heapin' helpin' of health problems as it turns out. She has mammary tumors, bad hips, she was loaded with ticks (thank you Ms.Moore for disposing of those) and she also has the single worse case of death breath I've ever encountered. The dog's teeth are absolutely rotting in her head, and as a result, her breath can melt glass from forty paces. My boy Vinnie has a bit of a pooh eating problem, and frankly in comparison to hers, his breath is that of a fresh spring breeze. Oh, and she has a urinary tract infection too...

Enough of what is WRONG with her. It has to be said, she is gorgeous. She is gentle, she's house trained, and she likes to stick close to people. Her first night here she stayed in her crate, but after seeing how well she seemed to be housetrained, I figured a little gamble with letting her sleep in my room wouldn't be too bad. And it wasn't, though she gave me a scare this morning, as I couldn't find her. Turned out she'd nosed her way into my closet, and sacked out in the back on the old shoes.

Oh one other thing-she isn't going to be bullied. Vinnie tried her on, and she bared all six teeth, and let him know that she'd gum his butt if he pushed his luck!

And on a mildly related side note. If you're ever in Columbia Missouri, and you're looking for a place to grab lunch and have a beer, you could do a lot worse than the Flat Branch micro-brewery. Though you should also note that they do expect you to put money in the parking meters, even on a Saturday, damn it!

Oh, and not that I'm begging (or even, not that I'm not begging. I ate my pride quite some time ago, on a toasted wheat roll, with just a dab of peanut butter), but Pet's Second Chance does accept donations. She's going to cost a small fortune to fix up. Everything from a dollar up is appreciated. :-)

http://www.petssecondchance.org/donate.html

Bitterness Rising

2010-08-05T07:30:00.004-05:00

Unfit to live in - just about fit to burst
Like the banks of a swollen river
As bitterness does its worst
Working on your feelings - eating you all up
But you have to shake that shit to move on
And let love carry you on up

It's just bitterness rising - taking you off
Bitterness rising - you gotta shake those feelings off

My once stated goal to be the world's most bitter man may yet still be attainable...

Oh well, a nice wallow in the unfairness of life, the universe and everything is pretty much a normal occurrence in everyone's life, and it's my turn.

I think I'm gonna go eat some worms :-)

Vacant, room available...

2010-07-24T05:41:00.004-05:00

Off for a week of booze, food, and beach, in Florida, the land of sunshine and sharks.

Quick observation: Watching a little "Palladia" on the boob-tube-Do The Fray actually suck as bad as I think they do? I'd heard of them, but until this morning, had avoided hearing them. What a bunch of silly twerps, obviously drunk with feelings of their own self-worth. As long as I'm being abusive, I'd like to insult Shinedown. Lord are they just about useless, non-descript repetitive garbage. They could be The Fray...or any number of crappy, carbon copy bullshit inoffensive, non-creative garbage.

Back in the day, myself and Mr.Boston would regularly opine to anyone that would listen, that it was better to try something different, and fail miserably, than to just recycle the same old crap that everyone else does. And lord knows The Fray, Five For Fighting, Theory Of A Deadman, Shinedown, Nickleback, Daughtry (whose musical cred isn't helped by having a disturbing resemblance to Vin Diesel) and just about every other "new" artist I've heard in the last xx years who do well to keep that in mind.

Jesus, I'm old...

Shake Your Groove Thing

2010-07-11T07:25:00.004-05:00

A dilemma in regards to proper etiquette:

If you are at a movie, concert or sporting event, and you need to move down the row to go to the restroom or perhaps concession stand, is it best to stick your butt or your crotch in people's faces? Is it optional, depending on who's sitting in the row you're going down?

As long as I'm discussing convention, yesterday I went to the outdoor pool, and bore witness to some of the odder behavior I've seen in a public place for some time. Not one, but two independent cases of Mr.Speedos making spectacles of themselves. I mean, as previously observed, anyone that wears speedos and is not named "Spitz" or "Phelps" is obviously a delusional twit anyway, but these two guys took great pains to separate themselves from the pack. The first, after completing his afternoon swim (which didn't appear to be an Olympic calibre performance) proceeded to engage in an exercise routine at the poolside, which involved lots of push ups, and sticking his butt in the air. We observed that this display would certainly have been easier, and more comfortable for him to perform at home, instead of on hot, rough concrete, and could only surmise that he was either homeless, stupid, or hoping to provide entertainment to the pools' various social commentators. As it turned out, this man was a mere piker. A warm-up to the main event as it were.

The second Mr.Speedo (or Beard-o as he shall now be known) was astonishing. After completing his non Olympic performance (At one point I was swimming in the lane next to his-my fat ass passed him, and rest assured sports fans, my swimming style is more akin to that of a wounded manatee than a dolphin), Beard-o proceeded to launch into a series of contortions worthy of a sideshow at a cheap and seedy circus. This clown was performing yoga, in his speedos, again, on hot rough concrete, right next to the pool, as if he were on a stage. Which I suppose he was. Lord knows, we couldn't quit watching. It was fascinating to watch the intent look on his face as he turned himself into all sorts of bendy positions. He was a torso twisting, toe extending, one leg balancing machine. I was half expecting him to launch into a one person interpretation of Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake at some point.

And what made it even more amusing, was the guy's over all appearance. His facial hair stylings were those of an Al Queda agent, bent on some form of Jihad. Imagine a depiction of the Prophet Mohammad in speedos, and you're getting the picture. Outstanding public theatre!

Tubthumping

2010-07-09T07:07:00.004-05:00

Thought for the day: What if I got knocked down, but just didn't bother getting up again? Would that be so bad? Maybe the view is nicer from the floor? And if I'm only going to get knocked down again, why not just stay there on the floor, and make the best of it? Lord knows, according to the song, I'm drunk as a lord anyway.

I would write a handbook for how to be a better slacker...except it would take more effort than I'm willing to invest.

Hey you, I want to be your boyfriend

2010-07-08T07:17:00.005-05:00

Oh yes boys and girls, let us hearken back to those glorious days, when power pop ruled. I think a part of me will always be stuck in 1978 and 79. All this incredible, wonderful, finger poppin', toe tappin' music was just flying out. Unfortunately, here in St.Louis, it couldn't get on the radio, as it was choked out by disco on the top 40 stations, and Rush/Triumph and a lot of other very very bad music on K-Shit 95.

Which reminds me of K-She's stupid polls they used to do, in which their loyal listeners were to fill out their fave three songs so that "Real Rock Radio" could favor us with a 'countdown' on whatever holiday weekend was coming up. Quite predictably, the top three, in varied order were: "Stairway To Heaven", "Layla", and "Freebird". Me, I always dedicated Elvis Costello's "Radio Radio" to our good friends at K-SHE. For a modern rock station, they sure didn't believe in playing any. I can flat out tell you that no new wave, punk, or even U2 got played through the mid-80's. Too 'edgy' is all I can guess.

Anyway, if you want some ear candy, direct your browser (and PC speakers) here, and then just click around...

A waist is a terrible thing to mind

2010-06-22T17:13:00.005-05:00

It's sad, and it's true. The mind is the first thing to go. Time to tell a story on myself.
Just got home from work, and as per usual, let the dogs out to take care of their business. I went downstairs to throw a load of laundry in, and upon coming back figured I had better let the furbags in, as it is about 100 degrees out. So I do...and as Simon runs in, I notice he has a rather large "hanger on" sticking out of his poopchute. So, without thinking, I quickly step out into the middle of the yard, and call him back out in the hopes that he will run out before the poop falls off his backside and on the kitchen floor. So far so good, huh? Did I forget to mention the part where when I threw the load of laundry in, I thought I may as well wash what I was wearing?

The neighbors just have to love living next door to me, I tell ya. Opal was nice enough not to say anything as I quickly ran back in the house, but I'm sure she has to be wondering what I've been smoking, drinking, swallowing or injecting.

Metamorphosis

2010-06-16T00:01:00.006-05:00

What do you do when life throws you a curve?

Experience has taught me the cliche "patience is a virtue" is a pretty wise concept. And the older I get, the easier it is to resist the temptation to ignore that wise little snippet.
Yet another indication that no matter how hard I may fight it, maturity continues to work its magic. Who knows, a fully functioning adult may yet emerge from the childlike cocoon that is me.

When I was younger, it was standard procedure to try to force things, jam my opinions down people's throats, make things that weren't going my way, be my way. The belief was that sheer force of will was enough. The truth is, life just doesn't work that way. To use a baseball parallel, you're sitting dead red, guessing fastball, and anytime a curveball, or off speed pitch is thrown to you, you whiff. Horribly. Like Willie McGee chasing a Steve Carlton slider. And in all likelihood, with this aggression, you cost yourself a lot of life's smaller pleasures. And for what? The possibility of a little instant gratification? Maybe one in every fifteen or sixteen efforts you hit a home run?

So, continuing the baseball theme, my more mature, and hopefully wiser self has gradually embraced the idea that you have to hang back, wait for the pitch, and if it's a strike, then smoke that sucker into center for a clean base-hit. And if it ends up out of the zone, then you just enjoy your at-bat, and take a walk...

Off the scale

2010-06-04T07:35:00.004-05:00

Shrek here...out of curiosity, I went to a website to calculate my body's frame size. Ostensibly, this is because I know I have a large frame, but even given that, am always amazed at the height/weight recommendations they have for me. Namely, they like to tell me that because I am a "large" framed person, I should weigh no more than 222lbs. Now, there are several people that read this blog, that knew me back in the 80's when I did indeed get down to the 220's. And I looked like an escapee from Auschwitz. When I went to the doctor, he insisted that I gain at least 25 to thirty pounds.

So, I go on about this because of the following. Apparently, if you bend your arm at a ninety degree angle, and measure from bone to bone in your elbow, that tells you your frame size. A medium frame is between 2 7/8's inches, and 3 1/4. So considering the entire "medium" range is a mere 3/8's of an inch, if your elbow is 3 7/8 inches, thus an entire 5/8 inches larger than the upper end of the medium scale, does that mean you've blown the whole scale away? Have I moved two notches into the BONUS super large frame category? Should I indeed, embrace my life as an ogre, paint myself green, and start eating peasants? How best are they prepared? Boiled, with cabbage, onions, and hearty helping of garlic? Or maybe baked, with potatoes and parsnips?

Anyway, enough silliness. Operation normal sized me continues. Down 63lbs as of this morning. Another 45 to 60 or so to go. Unless I'm aiming for that perfect body weight, as recommended by the non-Andrew friendly charts!

The long dark tea-time of the soul

2010-06-02T16:00:00.003-05:00

In the end, it was the Sunday afternoons he couldn't cope with, and that terrible listlessness which starts to set in at about 2.55, when you know that you've had all the baths you can usefully have that day, that however hard you stare at any given paragraph in the papers you will never actually read it, or use the revolutionary new pruning technique it describes, and that as you stare at the clock the hands will move relentlessly on to four o'clock, and you will enter the long dark teatime of the soul.

To my dear friends, with their settled lives;

It is the metaphorical Sunday afternoons, those moments when you just have too much time to reflect, that bring you down. Optimism smashes to pieces, like water slapping off the rocks on a stormy coastline. The bright cheery thoughts fade into nothing, as you realize that the rest of your day, at best is likely to be spent doing the dishes, or, if you're really lucky, watching someone else do the dishes. Even the dogs can't be bothered to be entertaining on this late Sunday afternoon.

Invariably, thoughts turn to the dramatic, as you languish in the despair that is your own personal boring hell, and you envision yourself doing something great, magnificent...and then reality raises it's ugly head once again, as you're forced to acknowledge that even on your best day you couldn't throw a strike, let alone slip a fastball past Derek Jeter. Now, you're an old arthritic man, who considers it a fortunate day if you remember to zip up your pants before setting off to work.

All of my friends at school grew up and settled down
And they mortgaged up their lives
One things not said too much, but I think it's true
They just get married cause there's nothing else to do, so

I'm just sittin' on a fence

Yes my friends, you are getting old. Your life is dull, and your pleasures are fleeting. See, that's what you get for growing up!

Sincerely,

Peter Pan

Grimly Fiendish

2010-05-25T22:37:00.003-05:00

I have been humbled by something as ridiculously dainty as pastry. There's a blow to my machismo. While trying to make empanadas, I cooked up the filling with no issue, in fact, it is delicious-combined a few different recipe suggestions to come up with my own, and was feeling pretty pleased with myself-the white wine substituting for chicken broth came out very nice indeed. But then came the pastry...

Now I have had people tell me that pastry is tricky, and it's an art, and it requires a certain feel, and blah blah blah. In fact, at gourmet.com, they have this to say about pastry. "Pastry is notoriously persnickety and usually requires exact measurements and precise handing in order to turn out well." Well damn, Guess they were right. It was downright fiendishly "persnickity". One could almost say it was really f-in' persnickety. Stuck to the roller, stuck to the counter, then it was too dry and flaky, then it broke apart, then the egg wash didn't do what it was supposed to do so I could pinch the edges...I may have sworn a few times. Maybe.

Anyway, I salvaged a couple of them to bake tomorrow, but I can pretty much tell they're not going to be right. On the plus side, I have lots of filling left over, and am gonna have some kick ass burritos out of the deal-along with a cilantro/lime sour cream spread for it. And furthermore, after three or four mojitos, who's gonna care anyway?

But if anyone out there is good at pastry, and wants to give a neophyte a few pointers, I'm all ears...and flour and sticky dough.

Fever In The Funkhouse Now

2010-05-25T17:12:00.006-05:00

More ruminations on my favorite recent re-release, as I listen to it for about the 20th time since it's street date....

How the hell does anyone even think about topping "Rocks Off" as a way to start a record? The guitar line comes in with a nice little riff, and then a quick "oh yeah", and Mr.Riff-hard grinds it out, the horns kick in, Nicky Hopkins and that sainted piano, Jagger at the high water mark of his abilities, both vocally and lyrically, and all the while being nailed down by the steadiest drummer in the world, period. If you can't shake your ass to that, give it up, you're dead. Kick me like you kicked before, indeed.

And then, because someone needed to demonstrate that there was a song that could make people jump around and act like a bigger idiots, they roll straight into Rip This Joint, which you know damned good and well was REM's inspiration for the End Of The World As We Know It...except they did it too slow. The frenetic pace, the word play-it is a gas, gas, gas.

Mister President, Mister Immigration Man,
Let me in, sweetie, to your fair land.
I'm Tampa bound and Memphis too,
Short Fat Fanny is on the loose.
Dig that sound on the radio,
Then slip it right across into Buffalo.
Dick and Pat in ole D.C.,
Well they're gonna hold some shit for me

And just why the hell didn't ZZ Top get the holy hell sued out of them for copping Hip Shake and calling it La Grange? I mean, it isn't the most original riff in the world, but Christ they lifted it pretty much note for note.

I met a little girl,,,in a country town
she say whaddya know...there's Slim Harpo
didn't move her head...din't move her hands
din't move her lips....just shake her hips

Anyway, the whole first side is just a buttshaking experience, even Casino Boogie, which is one of the weaker on the whole shooting match, is a rump moving riff machine. And then it's Tumbling Dice, and what a great way to end a side, huh? There are bands that spend twenty years trying to come up with one song as good as these, and the whole damned side is filled with'em. I'm not sure if that should be viewed as inspirational, or depressing for the aspiring musician!

All Down The Line

2010-05-19T18:54:00.003-05:00

Batten the hatches, boys and girls. It's about as silly as can be, but I haven't been this excited about a new release since...well, since Some Girls in 1978. And this is just a reissue. I say "just", but as noted in a previous posting, it is this humble blogger's opinion that Exile On Main Street is the greatest start to finish rock and roll record ever made. It's big, it's sloppy, it's murky, it's dirty (very), it's mumbled, it's awash in a drug induced haze, it is everything I love about rock and roll.

Take your Abbey Road/Pink Floyd/technical perfection and tell it to Mozart. Rock and roll is a euphemism for sex folks, and as Woody Allen famously pointed out, sex is only dirty if it's done right. And let's face it, nobody is gonna think about sex with Comfortably Numb playing, now are they? ("Oh dear, I'm all numb..dead from the waist down, as it were")

So, onto the reissue. Thankfully, they didn't clean it up too much. And this is why I'm excited. Had an incredible fear that you'd actually be able to tell what Jagger was singing on Let It Loose, or for that matter any of the damned songs. He once said Fats Domino told him the only parts you should be able to figure out are the choruses (a la Blueberry Hill) and he stuck to it on Tumbling Dice. Hell he could be singing verses of the bible for most of the record, and you wouldn't know it.

So, yeah, the drum sound is a bit clearer, the bottom end a bit more forceful, but the mass of horns, the gospel choirs, Nicky Hopkins and that wonderful piano (just pounding on Soul Survivor) Mick Taylor and the slide, are all still just hitting you in the head, in all their massed (and massive glory). I don't even give a damn about the "bonus" tracks. As long as they didn't screw up the real deal, I am happy...and they didn't. Oh joy.

On a side note, it would be a mistake not to point out the one serious foul up. What's with the packaging? No postcards, the inner sleeves aren't reproduced. Might have to see what the Japanese do-they always do these things right!

Just Wanna See His Face

2010-05-14T13:13:00.008-05:00

My religious views tend to be...oh, not quite the standard operational western variety. I mention this because I had a discussion last night about this very topic-and found that I had a hard time articulating exactly what it was I did believe.

So, here's me, religion, god (or if you prefer, God), spirituality, (ir)reverence, yin/yang, and perhaps a little hoo-doo thrown in, just to keep the hellhounds off my trail.

I was born a small black child...no that joke's been used already...I was actually born into the Church of England, though for the majority of my early childhood, we really didn't do much with church.

My first recollections of going to church were in South Carolina, at which time I was expected to go to Sunday School, and sing in the choir. I was prepared to sing in the choir, because they promised me free soda. Everything has a price.

To say I was unimpressed with my initial exposure is a bit of an understatement. Though I do remember going to a synagogue on some kind of cross-faith Sunday school venture, and thinking that Judaism might be the thing for me, as I wouldn't have to give up my Sundays. The notion that the Saturday trade off might not be a winner didn't occur to me at the time, I just knew that there had to be better things to do with my time than spending hours hearing about some chap no one could see, that supposedly went around fixing what to me, even then, seemed like a pretty messed up place. Frankly I felt this god fellow wasn't doing a very good job, and perhaps someone should start looking at either replacing him, or at the very least hiring an administrative assistant or something.

Fast forward a few years to England-I never actually attended church regularly at St.Wilfrids' (the local church in the village), but on the plus side, I did become a bell-ringer. I have to say, learning how to work the ropes in the belfry was great fun for a curious 12 year old. We learned how to strike the hour, and more impressively, how to do rounds. Très cool.

After my return stateside, there really was no further family push to get me into religion. I think they'd arrived at the conclusion that either the boy was going to find "it" on his own, or he wouldn't, but pushing him would just annoy him and cause the heels to be dug in harder. This was correct on the parental units part.

So I wandered forward in my godless, oblivious fashion, not asking too many questions, and not seeking any answers, until...and this is kind of funny...I got my first copy of Jethro Tull's Aqualung. I reproduce the liner notes for your pleasure (and certainly infringe on someone's copyright)

1 In the beginning Man created God; and in the image of Man created he him.

2 And Man gave unto God a multitude of names,that he might be Lord of all
the earth when it was suited to Man.

3 And on the seven millionth day Man rested and did lean heavily on his God and saw that it was good.

4 And Man formed Aqualung of the dust of the ground, and a host of others likened unto his kind.

5 And these lesser men were cast into the void; And some were burned, and some were put apart from their kind.

6 And Man became the God that he had created and with his miracles did rule over all the earth.

7 But as all these things came to pass, the Spirit that did cause man to create his God lived on within all men: even within Aqualung.

8 And man saw it not.

9 But for Christ's sake he'd better start looking.

Well this just changed my whole ballgame. Here was someone articulating a lot of what I felt, even if I had failed to explain it to even myself. The entire organized religion just seemed like a way to keep everyone in line, and really has f-all to do with the real meat and potatoes of god, a supreme being, spiritual truth or what have you.

The notion that an all knowing God would pick a small tribe in the middle east as his favorites, is silly. And while we're at it, so are the following. Having a son, so he can be whacked up on a chunk of wood, thus making everyone forgiven for the naughtiness, or talking to an Arab gent, and later having him ride a horse up a beam of light into heaven. It's daft. Eight armed gods in India, flying spaghetti monsters on the internet, sun gods pulling chariots across the sky *sigh*. It is all hooey to me.

But yet...if you ask me if I think there is some god, or spirit, I will answer in the affirmative. I certainly don't pretend to know it's nature, but I think it is safe to say that it is not a direct intercessor. I think that people are rewarded for good deeds, and ultimately, be it cosmically, or in the material world, punished for being schmucks.
In my conversation, we touched upon prayer, and whether or not I thought it was a good thing or bad thing. I think it can't hurt, particularly if it makes you feel better. I'm not sure that god is going to fulfill a wishlist, but again, with the karmic thing, I think if you are working hard enough, and hoping hard enough for the RIGHT thing, you just might find that things turn unexpectedly your way. And I suppose that is at least a mild endorsement for the power of prayer.

As I look back over what I've written above, I could go back and change a few things, but I'm not going to. I meant no offence to those who do believe in chosen people, sacrificed sons, or magical horse rides, but felt I have to be true to me, and express my own serious reservations about those things. I think they're fantastical stories meant to woo the masses with their miraculous nature. And I'm not buying at that deli counter.

On an unrelated side note, I've been listening to my blog's name sake LP while typing this. I must state it clearly: Exile On Main Street is the greatest rock and roll album ever. Period. No room for argument, cram your Beatles, Dylan, Nirvana, or anyone else you want to throw out there. They just aren't in the picture.

Merry Christmas

2010-05-10T14:47:00.012-05:00

So, I was thinking again (dangerous, isn't it?), and the thought occurred to me that people are like Christmas presents. And the onus here isn't on the women/men being viewed as the presents, but rather it is on the men/women that think of them as such.

The prevailing thought process is that we're all adults, and we're all mature, and by gum, if you have the prettiest package in the world, or just a plain brown wrapper, it really doesn't matter, because what does matter is what's inside, right? And just about everyone loves to say that. You hear it all the time. "Great personality", "wonderful sense of humor", "insightful, intelligent rapier mind" and so on. To not say that the ugly duckling can be a swan-well by God, it's shallow! But the truth is, most people simply don't mean it. Hell, I don't, so I'm certainly not climbing up on some pedestal as a representation of what is good and righteous in the world. You simply can't blame people for this. All I'm pointing out is the God's honest truth, as opposed to the saccharin concept of inner beauty. Let's face it, if the box looks like one of Santa's reindeer gave it a good kick, most people aren't too interested in the present.

So there's the rub-we (as in most of us) are still mostly fascinated by what's on the outside. If you're looking under the tree, the package that gets your attention is the one with the right shape, the right wrapping, the right bit of heft...and then you open it to discover it's all wrong, or even worse, it isn't even remotely similar to what you'd expected. It's a deluxe box of Band-Aids, not an I-Pod! And it happens to us time and time again. Oh look, someone got me the new CD I wanted...nooooo, they got me a cut-price cd-rom computer game, that looked like a music CD when in its pretty paper...

And don't try to tell me that people and their expectations of each other are any damned different. We build this fantasy vision of what a person is like based on how much we like the way they look, or in this digital age, how much we like the way we THINK they look. And we do it over, and over, and over. Pavlov would be disheartened.

As noted, I'm as guilty of it as anyone-there's no stones being thrown. I was just driving in the rain the other day, pondering this human condition. Which is really quite a mess, methinks.

Regardless, I think a little honesty with ourselves would go along way. So next time you're congratulating yourself on how wonderful you are, and how you're really interested in someone new because of what a neat person they are, think about it. Would you really be as enthused about this "wonderful" person if they looked like Amy Winehouse or Karl Malden? The short answer of course is "no". The slightly longer answer is "hell no".

Sometimes I really am just a shower of the brown smelly stuff, it's true.

It's just that demon life, has got me in it's sway

2010-05-09T19:27:00.003-05:00

Quick thought, before a grumble about the weekend: Dogs are better than people.

Consider: How often do you take a dog into your house as your lifelong (well at least his or her life) friend, and end up seeking a divorce? How long a grudge does a dog hold if you forget dinner? Or if you're late? What if you want to go out with another friend. Oh sure, they'll jump around at the door as you leave, but they won't give you the cold shoulder when you get home...for DAYS. And has the dog ever complained because you want to watch something else on the tube?

OK, so on the downside, they're lacking in conversational skills. But considering the inanity of a lot of human conversation, is that really such a bad thing?

Spent the weekend working around the house, doing a lot, and yet feeling as though more was just piling up behind me. A lot like quicksand-the more I would do, the more I seemed to uncover to do. On the accomplishment list, straightened up the garage (somewhat-still have some stuff being stored that will wander off before too long, I hope), jet-washed most of the back patio, weeded the back garden, put up a temporary fence to keep the aforementioned pooches off of the daylillies, picked up and planted a variety of hostas, ferns, astilbes, and junipers, as well as planting an array of other previously acquired plants, did the laundry, cleaned up the kitchen, bbq'd, hit the pool twice (including, and this did pump me up big time, completing a mile non-stop), began to clean out the music room...and ran out of time. And to be fair, energy.

My plea- I need someone to come over, rub my aching back and knees and feed me grapes-because aside from conversation, that happens to be another thing dogs aren't so good at!

Anyway, had a nice dinner with Mom (and Dad, and nephew and Bob and his mom, too) and I am now going to do more in the music room...maybe.

Love Minus Zero/No Limit

2010-05-02T09:14:00.003-05:00

Random rumblings from a rough morning...

Big discovery this morning. Sleeping without my CPAP machine after an evening's libations is ill-advised. I feel like I have swallowed a cat. With it's claws intact. Did I mention the cat was in a bad mood at the time it was swallowed?

So, on that note, I must now concede the following to old age...losing weight isn't going to get me off that infernal machine.

And another thing...why is it I always end up with this malaise, kind of a feeling of slight regret after a night on the tiles? Don't get me wrong, it isn't strong enough to make me not do it again (and again), but it is an odd sensation. One I've had since my teens. Is this normal? Maybe it's just due to not having had the best night's sleep. Hmmmm

But, on the plus side of the equation, I am going to get Simon this morning. And pancakes. I've missed the little fellow, and I love breakfast. A good recovery from a bad start.

But it will be brief. After essentially taking a weekend off from being responsible diet-wise, I'm going to have to recommit (right after breakfast, that is) and regain focus. I've reached the 50lb mark, which means...another 70 or so and I'm there-now that's depressing to type!

Trivia 2010!

2010-04-30T13:00:00.002-05:00

The Must Do Event Of The Season!!

Click on the photo to see details full sized!

When the going gets weird

2010-04-30T06:18:00.006-05:00

The weird turn pro...

If it is true that good things happen to good people, is it equally true that odd things happen to odd people? Cause I must say, things are getting weirder than a cheez-whiz and clam sandwich around here, ladies and germs...

Oh well, there's a weekend to deal with it. Time to shift in to serious "ponder" mode.

Nuttin' but a hound dog...

2010-04-28T06:56:00.008-05:00

I'm watching a few furry friends for a couple of days, and took some photos at 6 this morning as they all did their dog-type thing....

Three to get ready, go cat go!

2010-04-25T12:20:00.006-05:00

How much wine is too much? And should you whine about wine? Inquiring minds want to know!

Thoughts on drinking, some my own, some stolen, a joke..and anything else that crosses my mind on a Monday

Knowing when to say when is only important if the following is in play: If you're driving, if there is an early meeting the next day, or if you're in the company of someone who may be able to effect your livelihood.

Alcohol is like love. The first kiss is magic, the second is intimate, the third is routine. After that you take the girl's clothes off

It takes only one drink to get me drunk. The trouble is, I can't remember if it's the thirteenth or the fourteenth

A joke, and one of my favorite stupid ones...
Three mice are sitting in a bar in a pretty rough neighborhood late at night trying to impress each other about how tough they are. The first mouse slams a shot of scotch, and pounds the shot glass to the bar, turns to the second mouse and says: "When I see a mousetrap, I get on it, lie on my back, and set it off with my foot. When the bar comes down, I catch it in my teeth, and then bench press it 100 times."

The second mouse orders up two shots of tequila. He grabs one in each paw, slams the shots, and pounds the glasses to the bar. He turns to the other mice and replies: "Yeah, well when I see rat poison, I collect as much as I can and take it home. In the morning, I grind it up into a powder and put it in my coffee so I get a good buzz going for the rest of the day."

The first mouse and the second mouse then turn to the third mouse. The third mouse lets out a long sigh and says to the first two, "I don't have time for this nonsense. I gotta go home and screw the cat."

Oh, anyone interested in a cattle dog mix? I still have the egg sucking dog...

Why is that?

2010-04-23T18:02:00.003-05:00

So-why do dog's paws smell like Fritos? It's true...give Fido's foot a sniff!

Happy

2010-04-23T11:18:00.004-05:00

A wonderful thing about Tiggers, a Tiggers a wonderful thing
Their tops are made out of rubber, their bottoms are made out of spring
They're bouncy trouncy flouncy flouncy, fun fun fun fun fun
the most wonderful thing about Tiggers...is I'm the only one

Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii'm the only one!!

I have been accused of being a bit morose of late...that oughta nip that in the bud. Write one lousy post on the crushing of a human soul, and everyone's a critic. :-)

On a more cheerful note, my little fella Simon, is going to be coming home next weekend. His surgery has been deemed a rousing success, and all limitations have been removed, FIVE whole weeks ahead of schedule! He still has a lingering issue of concern, but at least I'll have him back with me. I don't like it when my boy's not around. Put bluntly, Simon rocks.

Speaking of dogs that rock, I'm getting a few visitors this week-my main man Winston and his homies Link and Finley are going to be staying for three days. If the weather heats up and the shedding escalates, I might have a new carpet for the floor by the time they set sail for home! Regardless, I hope to get some good photo ops with the crew, and will post up.

Just A Boy, Giving It All Away...A fable

2010-04-22T20:08:00.013-05:00

The story starts as they do, once upon a time, in a world that now seems so long ago and far away, there was a young man. He was a prideful fellow, confident of his look and appeal to the ladies. In a word, he was a fool, as most young men are. This young man went through a period in his life in which he seemingly was right-the girls did like him! And so his ego grew. It became as immense as the greatest of the redwoods.

One evening, on a lark, this arrogant young knight decided to demonstrate his awe inspiring powers of romantic persuasion to a friend of his-yes, he boldly announced to his comrade, this night shall be great, I will now demonstrate the ease in which I can obtain a date.

I paid all my dues so I picked up my shoes,
I got up and walked away.
Oh, I was just a boy,
I didn't know how to play.

Worked hard and failed
now all I can say is
I threw it all away.
Oh, I was just a boy
giving it all away...

So, he decided that the nice young lady that he worked with, and who he saw was indeed closing the place of his employ that evening would be just fine. And by gum, within five minutes, she had phoned home to make sure that Mom and Dad would watch her daughter, and had agreed to accompany the young buck to the party. Pride being a hungry beast, it swallowed a little more of his decency, as he bathed in his own perceived glory.

That evening, he tried any manner of persuasion to separate the young woman from various articles of her clothing, but ah-ah-ah. She was wiser than he thought. No simple conquest for our warrior, but instead something he found far more intriguing. An intelligent, thinking woman, one easily his equal in raw intellect, and vastly his superior in experience and worldliness.

sail away, sail away,
ooh, I know better now, I know better now
giving it all away

ooh, I know better now, I know better now
I've given it all away...

Went out in the world too much for my nerves
only myself to blame.
oh, I was just a boy
nobody else to blame...

And so it began-the self involved, ego-maniacal young man, learning at the knee (and it must be said, other parts) of the kind, humored, slightly older woman. The truth is, she was a mere three years older, but the gap might as well have been decades. Verses of Maggie Mae wafted in and out of his life through the seasons, as she taught him a lifetime of experiences, and how to give and feel, and indeed to love.

And then it ended as quickly as it had begun. The boy cried, for truthfully that's all he was, he didn't understand why it all went away, nor how the love he had learned to give no longer mattered, and he still really doesn't today. But by God, he's trying

I've done all I can, now it's out of my hands
stand on my head and say
oh, I was just a boy
giving it all away...

sail away, sail away,
ooh, I know better now, I know better now
giving it all away

ooh, I know better now, I know better now
ain't gonna give it all away...

The end.

Nowhere Man

2010-04-21T21:39:00.004-05:00

Ok, so I go by the folks house today. Why is it always so shocking to see pictures of yourself from (mumble mumble) years ago? I don't feel like I look different...oh well, better get my prune juice and head for bed.

Dylan, of sorts

2010-04-12T21:55:00.000-05:00

Not that Dylan, THIS Dylan

Don't know why this occurs to me, but it's been gnawing at the back of the brain all evening.

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And as long as I'm being a cheerful bastard, how about a little Adonais from Shelley?

Peace, peace! he is not dead, he doth not sleep,
He hath awaken'd from the dream of life;
'Tis we, who lost in stormy visions, keep
With phantoms an unprofitable strife,
And in mad trance, strike with our spirit's knife
Invulnerable nothings. We decay
Like corpses in a charnel; fear and grief
Convulse us and consume us day by day,
And cold hopes swarm like worms within our living clay.

Gift From A Flower To A Garden

2010-04-11T22:15:00.000-05:00

So in my continuing gardening efforts, I now have an injury to report. The ev-hul bugaboo is back to bite me. Seem to have rolled the ankle for @*^@'nth time in the last ten years. Ice, anti-inflammatories, and a wrap, hopefully it'll be a go for the morning. If not, it's elevation time and a day off I didn't want to take. Oh well, it was bound to happen, if not today, the first time I mow the hill in the front yard. Moan, moan, grumble, grumble....

Dirty Old Egg Sucking Dog

2010-04-10T00:32:00.000-05:00

I do foster work for a rescue...and I currently have a very friendly, extraordinarily nice cattle dog mix. She truly is a lovely dog, but sadly, I think she was sent to this earth to torment me.

Tonight's episode: She usually sleeps in her crate, with little or no problem. Actually that isn't fair. She sleeps in her crate with NO problem. Tonight, I have no idea why, she decides to whine about it. I listen to it, and ignore it. And then I ignore it some more. Finally, like Popeye, I've had all I can stands, and I can't stands no more, so I let her out, and onto my bed. Not five minutes later, she decides, with no provocation I could discern, that she needs to leap over me. In the process of doing this, she lands on my CPAP machine's windpipe, gets tangled, and in her frenetic wiggles, BANG. Down goes my CPAP machine. And of course it isn't functioning now. *sigh* My sleep apnea thanks her, as it will now be able to rob me of hours of sleep until I can get the machine in on Monday...

Dead Flowers

2010-04-09T17:43:00.000-05:00

There are those that would tell you a garden is a metaphor of life itself. You plant things, you tend to them, and you are rewarded for your hard work, and penalized when you fail to tend the garden properly. Sadly, even if you work hard, and do the right things, sometimes fate intervenes, and much like life, your garden fails, plants die or fail to bloom. Sometimes the weather is cruel, and your rose bushes get pounded into oblivion...

Well when you're sitting there
in your silk upholstered chair
talking to some rich folk that you know
well I hope you won't see me
in my ragged company
you know I never could be alone

I on the other hand, would tell you forget the metaphors, and remember this: gardening is unnecessary hard work. Just spent the late afternoon tending to the garden, and am reminded of why I never really did much with it before Jessica moved in. Namely, it is hard work, ultimately for a bunch of plants that I don't really care all that much about. But, because I know I have a responsibility to the neighborhood to make sure my house doesn't look like some sort of 3rd world nightmare, I'm out there, butt waving in the air, weeding the hell out of it. Hopefully the neighbors enjoy the spectacle.

Well when you're sitting back
in your rose pink Cadillac
making bets on Kentucky Derby day
I'll be in basement room
with a needle and a spoon
and another girl, to take my pain away

My goal this year is to get the front of the house done up entirely in perennials, thus reducing the need to plant year after year. Granted, the weeding will still need to be done, but if I can eliminate the planting itself, my inner slacker will be somewhat pleased. Tomorrow...the back fence area. I am gonna be one cranky mo-fo.

And you can, send me Dead Flowers every morning
Send me Dead Flowers by the US Mail
Say it with Dead Flowers at my wedding
And I won't forget to put roses on your grave

Hasten Down The Wind

2010-04-09T07:48:00.000-05:00

This morning I am struck by just how good some of the old Linda Ronstadt LP's were. I got up early, and have been through Heart Like A Wheel, Simple Dreams, and Hasten Down The Wind. Say what you will about her politics, crack all the jokes you want about her weight, the woman could flat out sing, and she and Peter Asher made brilliant song selections. Throw in the fact that the cover for Hasten Down The Wind is just down right yummy, and it's been a fine morning!

Fixing A Hole

2010-04-08T07:42:00.000-05:00

My little corgi went in for his surgery yesterday. Simon is a tough little bugger, I must say.
He's had dual perineal hernias since we rescued him from the street, and though we've treated it with diet for the last year plus, it had deteriorated to the point that it just couldn't go on. Anyway, from all accounts the surgery went very well, and he is on the road to recovery, which is 8 to 10 weeks. The Lovely Linda is currently keeping him, as he needs more attention than I can possibly give with work and all, plus she is a bit more seasoned in the whole dog surgical recovery process than I am. A big thank you to her, she's incredible.

Here's an observation: It normally takes me five to ten minutes to feed my dogs in the morning and afternoon, primarily because of Simon's food preparation. Now it takes me thirty seconds-this only serves as a reminder that my little buddy isn't here, and I miss him. For the last year, when I go to sleep, a small little fellow has gone to sleep right next to me on his own little pillow, and I miss that too. Little guy sleeps so hard, that you have to wake him up in the morning. None of that annoying dog stuff of trying to get you up at the crack of dawn with Simon. You give him a little shake, roll him over, and after a few yawns and stretches, he's ready to start his day. Definitely one of the more relaxed dogs on the planet.

Anyway, Simon has multiple supporters-never ceases to amaze me the appeal of that dog. I've had e-mails and texts and phone calls all inquiring as to his progress. It's heartwarming to know that a little fellow like him has the ability to make people care about something that ultimately has no impact on their day to day lives.

He's the best, and I love him dearly.

Chocovine, chock full of goodness

2010-04-07T18:07:00.000-05:00

There are so many things wrong with the concept of mixing chocolate and red wine...yet, like peanut butter and jelly, it works. And when it works, you get your jollies much more than you do with PB & J. Delicious and intoxicating. Life is good.

Temporary, Like Achilles

2010-04-01T20:44:00.000-05:00

What is it with the frailty of the human condition that continues to surprise me? Surely I should be beyond it by now, but I never cease to be amazed when I see relationships fall apart. Perhaps it's because there really are only two people in a relationship, regardless of outside appearances, but I never see it coming. The impermanence depresses me.

Over the last few months, I've heard of long term relationships falling apart over arguments about in-laws, over getting committed too early, over losing a "spark", too much sex, too little sex, too much time together, too little time together...what the hell are people looking for? Perfection isn't out there, but I certainly think love is.

As a veritable artiste when it comes to failed relationships, let me make the following observation-Love is NOT never having to say you're sorry. It is being able to say you're sorry and fucking well meaning it, and having a partner that understands that and forgives it. It is not having a burning passionate "spark", it is having a deep, warm glow. It isn't about being together every waking moment of the day, nor is it about being apart. It is about appreciating the time you get to spend with your life's soul mate. Even if they do get on your nerves occasionally. If you need some "me time" go mow the damned yard. And as easy as it is to say, love or the lack of it, isn't a damned thing to do with in-laws, or getting committed too early-it is true. Love is ignoring all the noise, and having the determination to recognize just what attracted you to that special person in the first place, and loving them warts and all.

Holy bat guano, I think I may just be an incurable romantic...

He Ain't Heavy

2010-03-29T06:46:00.000-05:00

But I am...update on the continuing battle of the bulge.
It is amazing how the body swings up and down weight wise. I had been steadily losing weight, almost predictably, you might say. Every other day or so, a pound would magically be gone. Well this weekend was a lost cause, and illustrates why my personal battle with weight is such a bastard.

I had been quite religious in the Weight Watchers point system, and that, combined with a regular 45 to 60 minutes exercise a day had yielded the desire results. This weekend I strayed. I would like to say horribly, but that isn't really true, and that is what makes the inevitable weight gain all the more sobering, and somewhat more depressing.

Friday was Dad's birthday, and though I ate properly for breakfast and lunch, dinner was at Bartolino's, and it must be said I ate well. Not crazy, but I didn't really count calories, if you know what I mean. Breaded and grilled shrimp, roasted red peppers, a honking big salad w/cheese and some kind of delicious house dressing. Oh, and two cookies. Compared to my old eating habits, this was pretty light, but it still wasn't really inside WW's parameters.

Saturday saw me eat a bit more-namely 3 stick pretzels, a banana, a cinnamon scone from Bread Co, and the complete WW destroyer, a meal at Zia's-crostini, house salad, and fettuccine carbonara (of which I ate half)...washed down with my half of a bottle of wine. Add in Sunday's bagel w/low-fate cream cheese, pulled pork nachos, and large chicken pot pie (again, I only ate half of it), and that's it. To compare it to my previous dietary norms, it was reasonably healthy, and not that large a quantity. I did swim for an hour on Friday, forty five minutes on Saturday, and moved heavy furniture and scrubbed out a couple of appliances on Sunday, so it wasn't a case of lying around doing nothing.

And what did this net me? A three pound weight gain. Again-I know I wasn't eating the lowest calorie foods-but I wasn't being a poster child for sloth, and I wasn't indulging in ice cream, snickers bars, bags of potato chips, and pies or cakes, either. I ate what I would consider "normal people" food, at normal people portions. And got a decent amount of exercise. Three damned pounds...wow. No wonder I'm a fat ass. Oh well, back to the tofu and wheat germ ;-)

Celluloid Heroes

2010-03-27T17:06:00.000-05:00

This afternoon has been spent wandering down memory lane, and playing some of the records that truly made me feel good when I was but a youngster. One in particular I've been messing with is The Kinks "Everybody's In Show-Biz"...a minor classic in Ray Davies' personal canon-though it does include Dave's outstanding "You Don't Know My Name".
But I digress-the feel good songs are such things as the quirky ode to food served at turnpike/motorway service areas, "Motorway". What wonderful fodder-

"Motorway food is the worst in the world,
You've never eaten food like you've eaten on the motorway.
Motorway food is the worst in the world,
The coffee tastes weak and the cakes taste stale
And gasoline fumes are the worst to inhale,
Your stomach rolls over and your face turns pale."

And then you get to the magical whimsy of Supersonic Rocket Ship-a little dixieland-and you know Leo Sayer stole the riff for Long Tall Glasses.

And as Mr.Davies is prone to do, after a records' worth of whimsy and humor, he closes the album with the achingly beautiful Celluloid Heroes, which finishes with the observation-
"I wish my life was non-stop Hollywood movie show
A fantasy world of celluloid villains and heroes
Because celluloid heroes never feel any pain
And celluloid heroes never really die"

I love Ray Davies...the man's an F-in' genius. I still think the song Days may just be the greatest pop song ever written. Who other than Mr.Davies could write a song thanking someone for breaking their heart, and mean it?

Anyone who isn't a fan should be. I'm just sayin'

Don Quixote calls it a day

2010-03-26T17:48:00.000-05:00

In an astonishing reversal of form, today Don Quixote's agent Sancho released the following statement:

"Due to a certain world-weariness, and generally diminishing optimism, let it be known that I, Hidalgo Don Quixote of La Mancha, have decided to retire. No more tilting at windmills, no more championing of lost causes, no more brave chivalry in the face of a cruel, cold world. Not to be overly dramatic, but it has finally occurred to me that my efforts just aren't appreciated."

When questioned as to the cause of all this, the ever loyal Sancho would only say, "vete a la chingada"

Speculation is rife...

It Takes A Lot To Laugh, It Takes A Train To Cry

2010-03-23T07:06:00.000-05:00

After several years of caloric abuse, I decided that it was high time I did something about my increasingly large self. Namely, it occurred to me that while round is an appropriate shape for some things, basketballs, globes, donuts, tires, marbles and the like come to mind, it was not the preferred shape of a human being, unless of course you have the misfortune of being Tweedledee or Tweedledum.

So, for the fourth time in my life, I have launched the great quest for something approaching fitness. I've taken up swimming, and am trying to be more active in my day to day life, as well as (loosely) following weight-watchers program. So far, it's been a success, as I've dropped (as of this morning) 30 pounds since January 4th. But, believe it or not, as much as a sycophant as I want to be to myself (is that possible?), this isn't actually about me. It's about image, perception, and what we and others see in each other and ourselves. I just brought up the weight bit as an illustration.

Last night I was speaking with a fellow weight crusader, and she is quite concerned about her relative lack of loss. Now, my initial reaction to this is, she's being ludicrous. In my view, she is a little hottie, and while I'm sure if she rummaged around for awhile she could find a pound or a few ounces to drop here or there, it isn't as though she needs to. But here's the rub. Who cares what I think? It is about how SHE feels about it. You can tell her she's fine as much as you want, but if she doesn't feel good about it, that is what's important. And when I step back, that's crystal clear. I mean, I don't care if I ever look like Michael Phelps, in fact, I'd be perfectly happy with a Jim Belushi build, but that's me. There are assuredly any number of people that would think me a fat bastard even at that size, but I don't care. I'd be comfortable, and that is what is important. And if she said she's gushy in the middle and doesn't like it, then damn it she's gushy in the middle.

So the next time a friend of yours is complaining about being overweight, or having a big nose, or small boobs, or wants to lose that pesky 3rd arm, remember-it is their comfort and self-image that matters, not your vision of them. Don't argue with them, encourage them to do what they need to feel better and improve themselves in their own eyes.

Just sayin'

Sympathy For The Devil?

2010-03-19T23:14:00.000-05:00

There's a health care debate raging, and it is pretty hard to pick sides. On the one hand, you have an expansion of government, which I'm pretty much against at every turn, and on the other hand, you have the opposition, as it were, whose proposal is "everything's just great". Which it clearly isn't.

So, here's a tough proposition. How about taking away the preferential tax treatment companies receive for offering medical benefits? While it would need to be implemented over time, unless you wanted to throw everything into complete disarray, it would, if done in concert with the opening up of all insurance avenues to competition, allow the public to purchase what they wanted/needed, and not what was foisted on them via some PPO, HMO or what have you. Perhaps all you want is catostrophic coverage? Surely that would be much lower in cost than insurance designed to pay for every doctor's office visit?

Some will point out that this idea still doesn't insure everyone. And they're right. It doesn't. We don't have a RIGHT to health care. Get over it.

A wildly unfounded story

2010-03-18T06:50:00.000-05:00

Did you know that St.Patrick, the Englishman in charge of civilizing Ireland (you can look it up!), was a serious boozer, that preferred Stag beer and honey liqueur to Guinness?

It is true. And because of this, yesterday I spent a lovely afternoon, in the company of a lovely little person, celebrating the Saint's passions.

We drank to the legend of St.Patrick and the grizzly bear, as well as St.Patrick steals the bee-hive. And who could ever forget the bold tale of "St.Patrick and the neon beer sign", in which he was confused, and thought he'd found the holy grail, only to discover that he'd stumbled upon one of the few taverns in all of Ireland that sold Stag? Being the man's man (not to mention cad and drunkard) that he was, he boldly strolled in, and ordered two (for it was happy hour), even though he had no money. Upon demand of payment, St.Pat showed them his special "disappearing snake" trick (a rather vile performance, best not described in a family friendly atmosphere)and in the confusion/revulsion that followed, he beat his retreat. But not too quickly, for he. like the rest of us, must dine. Which led him to Charlie O'Gitto's for a quick meal, paid for by the people of McDaniels town, who were only too happy to pay him to leave their table.

After toasting Pat's many exploits, we boarded our chariot, and lit out for home...

Parts of the preceding story are fiction. I'm just sayin'

What's Going On?

2010-03-15T22:17:00.000-05:00

Why is it, that you just can't question certain things, and still be considered polite?
I was watching a documentary on black comedians on Showtime, and it was ridiculous. The words of choice for the current crop of black comedians, as most who've turned on a tv in the last 20 years know, are variants of the words "fuck" and "nigger".
Pardon the language, but isn't that sort of fucked up? Is that what guys like Dick Gregory hung their ass out on a line for? Is it funny? Do I just "not get it"?