Thursday, March 21, 2019
I long ago established that I am comfortable politically inhabiting the Left side of the aisle. My range will change some, but I am more of a home body who likes to think of Home sitting next to the tracks on one side or the other. And over the years I have consistently favored the Shack on the Left over the one on the Right.
I like knowing the Middle is usually where things end up. Not getting sucked into the extreme claims of the folks who exist on either cliff side is a number one goal for myself. I have learned to hear the wackos out, but never trust them.
Having been raised to be a Republican, my change of heart came after living through the 1950s, 1960s and 1970s. America was finally realizing Life in the States was not some Leave it to Beaver TV script. There was just too much wrong in the country and it seemed the Right was consistently on the wrong side of those wrongs. Their politics were and still are to some degree an effort to resist the Future from taking over their perception of their Past. The Left, on the other hand, seems destined to always be looking to take on the Future and screw the Past. I liked that when I was 18 and I like it even more now.
The reason I feel looking forward and evolving is better than holding onto crumbs from the Past is, if we are constantly looking for ways to improve, there is a better chance of actually doing it than sitting on our hands and telling ourselves, "Life is Perfect".
We live in/on a world that has done only one thing consistently. The one constant our world and we share is change. Nothing stays static. Nothing. And it only makes sense we all work to meet and hopefully control that change as much as possible. Looking to the Past as the Right seems determined to do only ensures we will get bushwhacked.
Tuesday, March 19, 2019
So she told me to stop drinking. Okay dear, whatever you say. I notice though you did not say anything about the doob, wondrous weed that has been part and parcel of my life since 1966, or was it 1964? I cannot remember.
Regardless, I twisted up a couple of joints of Pineapple Kush like it was going to be possible to suck down both. I sat back full of optimism but only managed two or three hits before I had to stop. Damn good weed, that Kush is, Dude. Especially on top of a couple of beers, six or seven shots of Scotch, and a couple glasses of very tasty red wine. Feeling no pain comes to mind.
There is a good reason I decided to tie one on tonight. Okay, yeah, so it may not be a good reason, but it is a reason. Not like I needed a reason. Been a couple of years since my last mini bender.
I had to put down Eyeleen earlier today. She had her run. It was beyond sanity to try and keep her alive any longer.
Eyeleen was one of a multitude of kittens born in our closets we had loaned out to the Kennebunk Animal Shelter roughly 16 years ago. She was one of the losers. She had a bad eye and a bad attitude. So we kept her cuz that's what we do here at Acton Up.
So here I am, hammered, stoned and missing a damn cat that was a tough cat to love. She had some real bad habits. But I could always get her to purr no matter what madness she had just been involved in. I guess when a life shares 16 years of my life, I oughta pay them enough respect to at least toss back a toast or two. Of course, I never could just toss a toast or two without following up with more toast tosses, often ending up with me on the floor under the dining room table, or incarcerated for the night.
Someone had to be the chump. I was perfect. I wouldn't be around long anyway. I never was. A year here, a year there , growing up always the "New Kid". The easy mark. Its those new folks from away with their loose morals and Heathen ways. That's right, I was born to be blamed for leading their good kids astray.
That was so long ago I am surprised those memories cut through the fog with such sharp edges. Though, in the long run, the experience was not an insignificant ordeal. It left its mark on me. Any pain I felt then long gone, fashioned now with fond memories and rose colored glasses. And that's fine. Remembering with a grin beats reliving a moment long gone with a tear in the eye.
R.I.P. Eyeleen. May the next world you pass through be kinder. ...................................
Friday, March 01, 2019
Regardless, the excellent cover tunes I have heard recently indicate the talent is out there, the bands just need the right tunes to shine. The YouTube video below is by a Spanish Metal band - Ankor. It is very good and does "Bohemian Rhapsody" Justice.
Bohemian Rhapsody Cover
Tuesday, February 26, 2019
After exhaustive study for 4 days I have determined ..... "It is 3 times harder to move 2 dogs out of one's way than it is to move one dog out of one's way."
Often when asked to move, they will look confused, wag their tales and in a default move, sniff each other's butt. It is like they are saying, "I see your lips flappin, but I don't know what you mean."
Though these loyal fur bearing friends mean well, they will often fail to complete requested removal and instead, take you out at the knees. If they were cats, I would be sure they did it on purpose. But being Dumb and Dumber canines, they just cannot help themselves. Dogs are goofus doofuses. And that is what makes them so endearing.
Keep it 'tween the ditches ................................................
Monday, February 25, 2019
Being a busy President, who has little time to enjoy the finer things like Russian Literature, I am sure he would be pushing titles light on words and loaded with nice images for his faithful followers out there in Single Wide Land.
Regardless, as I have not yet seen what books the Donald has on his list, I would hope that if these fine titles are not included, they should be. Of course they might be a tad beyond Trump's intellectual ability. We might have to wait for him to grow up some more before he can get his mind around the intricate plots and character studies included in these fine books.
Sunday, February 24, 2019
The Old Testament God just harrumphed and scowled in my general direction. The Jolly Life is Beautiful New testament God glanced down upon me with a beatific smile and then went back to playing checkers with St.Peter.
It might make more sense to count my blessings on Monday as Mondays usually are a tough day for most folks. But hey, I'm retired. There are no Mondays left in my life at the moment. And that just may be a place to start counting my blessings - No more Mondays in my Life.
One down and many more to go. .......... Uh, hmm, seems I am stuck. Every blessing I come up with has an equalizing "bummer dude" attached that diminishes the impact of said blessing. What to do?
The trick I think is to put the bummers out of mind. Act as if they don't exist. Smile just because. Put my faith in some mythical being no one has ever seen and proceed through the rest of my days happy as if I had a brain.
Wish I could. Casting aside the concerns I have accumulated over the last decade or two and acting as if they don't matter is not something I am able to do.
In lieu of going all Polly Anna on everyone, I figure that counting the blessings I have accumulated over the years without trying to balance them out with negative life moments is a healthy thing to do at least for a few minutes every week or so. Don't want the mean ole guy frown to freeze in place.
So in an attempt to give Being Blessed a fair shake .........................
I ain't dead yet and anything that happened yesterday doesn't matter and we all end up in the same place anyway, so smile goddammit. But most of all I am blessed that I can still have the fire of my youth to point out the error of our ways. Bitching has a place as long as we chip away at correcting that which we bitch about.
Keep it 'tween the ditches ...................................................
Sweet Maggie keeps me centered. When she can't, my wife slaps some sense into me.
Monday, February 11, 2019
I was about to close down the 'puter for the night. I decided that checking Facebook might illicit some chuckles or righteous indignation. I scrolled one last time through the "home" feed.
Amidst the many anti Trump meme's, the cute pet vids, and the "I have to have this" ads, I came across the story of a small grocery chain in Arkansas who stepped on their sanity when they posted their latest special ads in local newspapers.
I realize that Arkansas is in the heart of Bible Country. More of the faithful exist there per square mile than say here in the pucker of Maine. So it was probably not a stretch for whoever writes their copy to assume that this innocuous Christian based slogan would be welcomed.
"Heaven has a wall, a gate, and a strict immigration policy. Hell has open borders. Let that sink in."
They obviously were not prepared for the backlash. While God may indeed be a Republican, apparently many of his faithful adherents are not. They and I am guessing the few heathens living in the area got their panties in a knot.
I think it is hilarious. I think it is absolutely the best example any business should use to not mix religion and politics in their day to day activities, regardless how true this slogan is if one believes the Heaven and Hell crap.
Keep it 'tween the ditches .................................................
Saturday, February 09, 2019
"I didn’t think much about politics or social issues in my20s and the first half of my 30s because my racial and socioeconomic privilegeafforded me the luxury of not paying attention. The extent of my politicalideology was that the Republican Party was the party of God and identifying asa Democrat was incompatible with calling oneself a Christian. So I votedRepublican."
The Op/Ed is a wonderful look into the mind of a person previously brainwashed who is now realizing just how damaging her previous lifestyle was to her own well being. Her conversion to a saner and more healthy relationship with her religion did not happen over night. It came in stages with Evangelical support of Trump being her last straw. Now as she says, she has been gas lighted, ostracized, and looked down upon by those Good Christians she grew up with and lived with inside their protected culture somewhere out there in Bible Thumping Land.
I have been clear as to my feelings about organized religion. It is not for me. "Not for me" being the key words. However, after reading Elizabeth's piece regarding her life changing experience, I find some reassurance that some of the folks who never questioned their clerics, their dogma, do sometimes see the light that comes from their heaven and not from their pastor's image of that heaven.
I wish her luck.
Friday, February 08, 2019
So what is it that I should have known or more to point, remembered that is notable enough to waste these precious bytes on? I remembered only after I had licked the bowl, the spatulas, and the beater paddles that licking the bowl, the spatulas and the beater paddles of a brownie mix that contains kick ass doob in it will likely create missing time in one's life.
It was just after I pulled the brownies out of the oven that I felt that familiar twinge. It was four hours later when I woke up. Whew. That is the reason I prefer smoking pot. I can gauge where my high is better than eating it. Eating it, especially when the brownie mix is delicious, well, uh , you can see the problem, right?
Since my wife was diagnosed with Breast Cancer back in the Fall of 2017, I have been baking Pot brownies regularly. I used a recipe I got online and cut the called for pot dosage in half and went with it.
BA is not a toker anymore and hasn't been since she was pregnant with our daughter 30 some years ago. I am glad I did cut the called for amount in half. A half count in the batch was more than adequate.
At first, a small 10 gram piece had her sleeping through the night. Then as the discomfort of Chemotherapy dug in, she began eating 2 pieces to sleep and one during the day to help with the pain from her mastectomy. Not once did she take the prescribed Oxy Codone. It sits in the back of the vitamin drawer gathering dust, saved for the day when nothing else will work.
Now that BA is cancer free, she has continued to consume some brownies every night so she can sleep and to help with her chronically old Rotator Cuff injury. She is also using some THC tinctures on the shoulder. It all seems to be helping.
So anyway, I have become the occasional baker of medicine. Medicine that is finally getting the scrutiny it deserves. Medicine that I know has worked for me and for more than a few people within my hemisphere. I feel that the miracles of Cannabis have only been hinted at. More to come I am sure.
Keep it 'tween the ditches ..................................................
Wednesday, February 06, 2019
The simple truths the buffoon spews forth hide the reality of the facts. But the Buffoon does not care, he carries on as if everyone, even those who would kill him with looks, are on his page and on board. All buy into some part of the delusion of this moment.
The Buffoon, satisfied he has just made an awesome earth shaking point, purses his lips, turns to face his arch enemy. She smirks and offers him the best Fuck You clap back ever.
Keep it 'tween the ditches ....................................................
Tuesday, February 05, 2019
"I thought cannabis was for stoners and losers and all that,and slowly but surely, over the years, the amount of research that I saw just blew me away. "
Great Gene. Your turnabout couldn't have anything to do with you hooking up with a huge commercial Cannabis operation in Canada, now could it? No, of course not. Regardless, I recognize your change of view. Thanks for being on the cutting edge.
I did not bring up Gene just to belittle him. Lord knows, he did that himself long ago by making noise dressed up like some evil clown. No, he is but an example of the power celebrities have over some of our lives. So many folks wait to form opinions, join boycotts, move in almost any direction until the star they obsess over tells them to by either declaration or example.
The inability or refusal to form one's own opinion or direction only makes it easier for the evil assholes of this planet to succeed in screwing the rest of us over. The prime example of this is sitting in the White House as I type. His celebrity, the only tangible asset he has and it got him elected.
I am sure this is not a new phenomenon. Idol worship seems to be part of our human DNA. I would have hoped we had out grown the tendency. ............ Apparently not.
Sunday, February 03, 2019
But along with my hate of Trump, I have found moments of respite and good cheer on Facebook. It seems things are settling down some. I know most folks who don't fixate like I tend to have begun to move on. Of course I think they are being stupid when I put on my "I hate Fucking Trump" hat, but then I settle in with some cute cat or puppy vid and all the hate settles back into my anger quiver.
So here I am at another fork of sorts. I have begun to Blog again, which means I have begun to write again. And that makes me happy. The next step is to dust off and re-polish what writing skills I had to see if I can once again step away from something I wrote and be happy. It has happened in my past. I have many favorites, some liked by others and some ignored by all but myself.
And while this post was initiated by memories tickled alive by Nancy's FB post about Roller Derby, something tells me there will be no Roller Derby today. The first three words I wrote set me on another tangent, one that even now, I don't know how it will end. It is so hard to know an ending when you don't know how it started.
So I will leave you this Super Bowl Sunday with no words of wisdom, no humorous story, no trip inside my soul. Call it typing practice. ....... And Oh Yeah - GO PATS!!!!!!!
Keep it 'tween the ditches ...................................
Friday, February 01, 2019
I should be a fan of the Electoral College, right? It gives Maine more of a voice in picking the President. Yes, it does do that. But I still think it is wrong.
It is wrong because the choice for the President should be made by the people of this country, not some archaic and corrupt system that heavily favors whichever party is on top at the moment. Two of the last five Presidential elections were split decisions between the Power Cartels at the top and the people at the bottom.
We have Congress to represent our various state's interests nationally. The president should represent all the people and be elected by all the people. It is as simple as that.
I can understand the concern the Right has. They are in a constant state of panic that their sleazy stranglehold on American politics will come to an end. I, for one, look forward to that day.
There is a very active movement to abolish the Electoral College. The leading effort is The Popular Vote Interstate Compact. Essentially a state changes its rules regarding electoral voting so their electoral vote goes to whoever wins the popular vote nationwide. There are 11 States and the District of Columbia on board with 172 votes. Colorado's State Senate just passed a law to join in the effort. Now it is up to the Democrat controlled State House in Denver to make it law. This would bump the total to 120 electoral votes. The Compact would only go into effect when a definite majority had been attained.
The other big changes we should be making:
* Serious Campaign Finance Law changes. Too much power in the hands of the 1%.
*Gerrymandering outlawed and an equitable system set up that all states follow.
*Consistent voting rules that every state follows in National and State elections.
Keep it 'tween the ditches .......................................
Thursday, January 31, 2019
I met Trouble at a rest area somewhere in the Colorado Rockies. I was on the last leg of a trip hauling the household items my mother wanted in California after my Dad died. I had left Maine a few days earlier, swung down to St.Louis and dropped off the items my brother Joe was keeping. I then drove to Colorado Springs to drop off the other stuff my brother Doug was inheriting. This rest stop was somewhere west of Denver on I-70 near Clear Creek I am guessing.
The space for the rest area had been blasted out of the mountain side. Not a lot of room to park, so I pulled over on the shoulder just past it. I got out to stretch my legs and smoke a joint. I didn't like puffing up in the cab, because well, the cops stop you and when they smell the weed, yadda yadda yadda. So I am leaning on a concrete barrier I assumed was placed there to keep the flotsam and jetsam of the mountain from encroaching on the highway. A large tree trunk with one end resting on the barrier was nearby.
As I leaned on that barrier and smoked my doob, I pondered many things of no consequence, but I remember being brought out of my haze by the sound of a cat's meow. I looked around. Nothing but big rocks and broken trees. I tried to revisit my lost in the Bozone mental state. And again I heard a cat's meow, only louder and more plaintive now.
Determined to locate the source of this sound out here on the side of a mountain in Colorado, I walked towards the direction of the sound. As I neared the huge dead fall leaning on the barrier, I noticed movement on the trunk. There about 12 feet or so up the trunk, a half grown kitten was dragging itself down the tree in my direction. As it clawed its way down, every breath it took was accompanied by the most pitiful meow I had ever heard. I knew instantly this kitten was hurting.
Shit. What do I do now? Here I was miles from any town, it was after 10 PM and I was supposed to be in the Bay Area in two days to hook up with my mom and drop off her goods. I had no time or inclination to deal with an injured animal.
The kitten finally found its way close enough so I could pick it up and assess the damage. It never scratched or resisted as I set it on the barrier under the tall lights of the rest area to look it over. I could tell right away this kitten was going to die. Its rear legs did not work and one was obviously broken and had been broken long enough so that the bone sticking out had begun to blacken and the skin had begun to heal around it. I noticed the young cat was a female and later would find out that almost always Calico's are female. Her jaw was skewed oddly which told me it was probably broken. She was so skinny I figured it had been days since she had last eaten.
How long she had been out here, who knew? It had been awhile. I left her on the barrier and got back in the van, determined to leave her. I remember reaching for the key to start the engine and stopping. I knew then I had to do something for this damn animal.
I got out, collected her up and laid her on the passenger seat on one of my tee shirts. Not once did she resist. We hit the road. At the first town with an exit, I pulled off the road and found the first store I could. My plan was to get her some food and water and then abandon her in the shadows next to the store. Yeah, yeah, I was fooling myself. I could not do it.
I put her on the floor of the cab with food and water in front of her. She clawed her way to the water ASAP. I guess thirst was more important than food. After she drank her fill, she dove in on the food. Thankfully I had purchased canned food. Once I saw how damaged her jaw was, I realized dry food would have been torture.
I picked her up and held her close to my face and began talking to her in soft words. She began nursing on my neck, a habit she continued the rest of her life. Several minutes of that routine and she had my heart, the little bastid.
As she nursed on my neck, I could feel her tiny belly churning , trying to deal with the new food she had consumed. Luckily, I associated churning stomach with the following need to eliminate that which has just be ingested. We sat there, her sucking on my neck and me trying to come up with a plan that would not embarrass me if someone caught me trying to help her well, shit and piss.
No scenario I came up with helped. It was going to be ugly and it was. She could not position herself to do her business. The process I eventually came up with and used all the way to San Francisco was one hand supporting her while the other massaged her belly until something came out. It was ugly, but it worked. Food in one end and the appropriate stuff that resulted came out the other. This told me her gulliwots were probably not in bad shape.
I landed in Walnut Creek a day ahead of schedule. I pushed it and drove non stop in order to get the kitten I had named Trouble to a vet as soon as possible. The next glitch however was how do I tell my mom, an avowed cat hater. Without her help and money, I was sure Trouble would not make it.
Mom actually surprised me. After dealing with all the anti cat admonishments and dire predictions of what cats are really like, she anted up and drove us to the local vet. The vet advised euthanasia. She had a broken rear leg that was infected, her other rear leg was out of the socket that had been crushed, and her jaw was badly broken. He was not very optimistic.
My mom said, "Can you patch it up well enough to travel?"
The vet said, "Sure, but it won't help."
"Do it. Call me when she's ready."
Back in the car, I asked why she was so willing to help? I mean this lady had a cat phobia that ran back to her childhood. " I saw what you had done and were doing to save it. The least I could do was help in any way I could as long as I did not have to touch her." And one of those amazing parent/child moments passed between us.
A couple of days later we picked up Trouble and bought a travel cage. She was wrapped up and still could only move with her front legs. The two of us flew back to Maine. At our local vet now, we asked the vet to do what they could. As it turned out, the vet out West had surgically recreated a hip socket for the one leg and set the broken one after cleaning up the infection. Our local vet decided it was wise to see how that went before dealing with her jaw. We never did re-set her jaw. It healed just fine on its own.
Now we had to introduce Trouble to our growing population of felines. How would she do with the injured legs. would Timar the top Tom accept her? As it turned out, Trouble took over and bossed that crew of cats for the next 17 years. She was a bad ass. Not vicious, she just did not put up with foolishness. All the cats, male and female bowed to her leadership.
I miss Trouble.
Later gator .......................................
Wednesday, January 30, 2019
The op/ed link is here - Teaching Children Creationism is Child Abuse.
At this moment as I write these first words, I have not read the op/ed. The reason I am imparting some wasted bytes from my small corner in the pucker of Maine is the Facebook conversation that resulted from my initial response. It may still be ongoing.
I was the first responder so to speak and with tongue firmly implanted in cheek, I wrote -
"Okay, Okay.... You Liberals and your billions of years notion of Creation. Listen up, I am only going to type this once, uh No make that twice now. Gues I am going to have to hit you folks one at a time......... The Universe is only 6000 years old. Why is it only 6000 years old? Well, because some Holier than thou guy ( it has to be a guy BTW) read some old Hebrew books and they told him so. What they don't make clear, and they should, (it would clear up things dramatically), is the period of the Dinosaurs happens in the first two weeks. God made them first, realized that critters bigger than his vacation house in Acapulco were probably not a very good idea. So he tossed a big rock down and killed them all. Then he used some common sense and created smaller beings in his own image, not ones that looked like the lizards that cavorted outside his cliff side retreat in Acapulco. Okay? Got it? Let's move on now. Subject is closed."
Steve A. responded -
"Dinosaurs are described in detail in the book of Job as he was looking at one..... A brontosaurus to be exact. Yes. We existed together."
My response to him went -
"Steve - ".. A brontosaurus to be exact. Yes. We existed together." ...... Hmm. Maybe, but it couldn't have been for more than week or so until that big rock came down. I mean, You Thumpers really seem to insist on cramming ten pounds of Creation into a five gallon bucket of Science. But that's okay that you folks prefer the Reader's Digest version of Life and everything involved. Life is complicated enough without confusing it with the truth."
So far, that is how far the conversation has gotten.
Whether teaching Creationism to a child is a form of child abuse , well, I have no opinion. I do consider it stupid to insist on tales and parables for the views that make up our realities. Life on LSD made more sense to me than the current fringe thinking of the New Christianity. Instead of broadening our minds, many of us would stifle and shrink them back to when people thought Tomatoes were bad for us. Science is becoming our new religion and I for one applaud it.
Be religious for your soul. Believe in Science for your health. The two can co-exist. But only if the devout stop dumbing themselves down.
Keep it 'tween the ditches ............................................
Monday, January 28, 2019
Jim was beside himself with the Rock n Roll wonderment he had landed in after being hired to help me drive from New York to the West coast. With a big smile he said, "She wants to come with us to Atlanta. She's real friendly and well, can we take her?"
She looks at me says, "Yeah, can we?"
I was not ready for this. I had just climbed out of bed at the hotel and was trying my best to put on my serious all business attitude. But one look at the Queen and I knew we were going to take her to Atlanta. "Just to Atlanta, no further."
Jim looked at her and she at him. They both giggled and headed out towards the truck. I walked the other way looking for the Green Room and possible treats that may be found there. After scarfing some left over delicacies, I wandered out to my truck to get ready to load out. I had forgotten about Jim and the Queen. I wasn't used to a co-driver and certainly was not used to a half naked woman older than I was habitatin in my sleeper.
I opened the driver's door and stepped up on the first step and looked in. There in all her glory was the Queen, now naked and parked on the dog house, while Jim sat in the buddy seat smiling. "What the Hell guys? Might want to get in the sleeper."
Queen looks me in the eye and says, "Hell, we just got out."
She never once put her clothes back on until after we had gotten to Atlanta. She never once went to sleep and her mouth ran the whole 450 mile trip. When we were parked at the Omni and ready to find the hotel, I asked her where her "other clothes" were, she looked at me like I had three heads and held up the metallic bra and satin panties. No, I was definitely not prepared for the Cincinnati Queen.
Jim set her free back stage at the Omni. The last time we saw her was with an Atlanta Motorcycle Cop on each arm heading out the loading dock doors.
The image has been PG-13'd. Used some large font astericks to hide the lady parts. Not sure why, but then I am less of a loose dog now and more considerate of well, decorum type stuff I guess. I have wanted to share this image for a long time as it represents one facet of just how wacky the Rock n Roll business was. If I shocked anyone, well, suck it up butter cup. I tried to ease into it.
Sunday, January 27, 2019
I can unequivocally state that giving up tobacco has been the hardest thing I have ever done and the most miserable. In retrospect, maybe I should not have been the hero and sought some professional help or at the least some good opiods to cut the pain.
In lieu of either I smoked dope. Lots of dope. And you know what, it did not help. Nicotine turned out to be harder to quit than the heroin of my youth, the cocaine of my youth, and the alcohol I used to drink to wash all that shit down with. Have I mentioned that nothing in my life has been harder?
So now 13 months later, I go hours at a time without thinking of tobacco. I can walk past the pitiful groups I used to join for butts in the cold without batting an eye. But still even after these last 13 months when I am sitting quietly, I will crave a cigarette. Or maybe when watching an old movie where everyone smoked, I will ponder their pleasure of sucking in that beautiful poison filled smoke.
But the reason I even bring this up today is "Pipe's" fault. He commented on my last blog post and asked me how I was doing with the no smoking. Fine Pipe, until you brought it up dammit!
Pipe, you know I am just kiddin.
Saturday, January 26, 2019
Upon arriving by air after 7 days in the Oakland County Jail north of Detroit, Michigan, I headed directly for the first airport bar I saw. At age 26, seven days without a drink was inhumane torture. I proceeded to and was successful in getting blotto in about twenty minutes. Once blotto, as was my custom, I blacked out and well, it took 5 or 6 state cops to haul me off to jail.
My first memory upon consciousness the next morning was "Damn, my face really hurts." My second memory was ,"Where the Hell is my Peter Bilt hat?" I loved that hat.
Someone in the dark and dingy flat bar and old stone cell said, "He's awake." I sensed several bodies sliding up to my bunk. "Now you ain't causin no trouble this morning are you? We ain't had breakfast yet."
I peered out of the one eye not shut from impact and said something to the effect that no, I was not going to cause any trouble. "Good". And then a fellow wearing my Peter Bilt hat slid into the dim light and grinned a minimally toothy grin. He looked me over and said, "You're alright. You did give the cops and then us a damn good struggle though. Kept saying you did not want to go back to jail" He paused and really grinned, "You'll like the breakfasts. They set a good table here in Covington."
The thought of food made my mouth water. I had not eaten in 24 hours since that cheese and bread sandwich at the Oakland County jail before I was released. Being ravenous made the few moments before the breakfast cart showed seem like an eternity. I was extremely disappointed when on the heels of the chow cart, a guard came in and hollered my name. "Okay Macrum, you're up first."
So without any food and a stomach full of alcohol induced bile I was led in handcuffs to the courthouse which was conveniently located in the same building as the jail. The pain in my head and the churning building in my stomach created a beautiful moment of projectile vomit that I was able to divert from hitting the nice cop who escorted me. It hit the wall on the stairs and we continued up. I remember so well the look of disgust on his face.
Once in the court room, my handcuffs were taken off and I was told to stand up. The stern looking elderly gentleman behind the bench looked down at me. I remember well not being comfortable under his gaze. "Mr. Macrum, before we get started, I want to say that you will enter a plea of guilty to drunk and disorderly, or you will be back downstairs immediately."
I have always owned up when owning up was needed and I remember nodding my head. "Speak up Mr. Macrum. Guilty or not guilty?"
"Okay then. I have your record here from Oakland County in Michigan. It appears you had not been out of jail more than a couple of hours when you found your way into ours. Correct?"
"Uh, yes sir." And then I thought how odd nobody had mentioned an attorney. What kind of trouble was I in for? Visions of Cool Hand Luke passed through my mind.
He looked at me for some moments and then pounded the bench with his mallet. "$150 fine and time served." Still sternly looking at me he added, "Mr Macrum I would advise you to keep your stay here as brief as possible."
"Yes sir." And it was that easy, I was free to join back up with the Genesis Rock and Roll tour I had been hauling for.
Thinking back on this "Boys will be Boys"incident from the summer of 1978, I feel that had I been black, I would not have gotten off with such a light wrist slap. And come to think of it, had I been black, I do not think Oakland County would have set my bail for drug charges so low and then let me go since I had no ties to the local area.
I experienced and benefited from "White Privilege" but did not appreciate that fact then. Today I do appreciate that fact. Does this mean I have come some distance in the right direction as a White
Inspired by an article I found on Facebook - "In Covington I was Taught to Doubt my own experiences with Rascism"
Friday, January 25, 2019
There was a period in my life when I was convinced I did not dream any more. Those fantastic adventures I had as a child when I was asleep had suddenly just stopped. Yeah, I read about how we still dream even when we do not think we do. I was positive I was an exception. It was all over for me.
About a decade ago, dreams began to work their way back into my life. At first I struggled to remember even the slightest moment of the dream. Broken snippets of memory ended up just meaning nothing. I was pleased to have even these disconnected glimpses that made no sense. It gave me hope that with practice, I could once again turn those hazy moments into real story lines upon first opening my eyes to face the day.
Some of my dreams in recent years have been unpleasant. The one last night was both fun and scary. Those women kicked Matt's and my ass. We got our shots in, but yeah we lost. And through it all I laughed while Matt threw me those evil side glances he uses when playing the bad mofo on the silver screen.
I am glad the dreams are back. No one should ever stop dreaming. It ain't natural.
Monday, October 29, 2018
His drooling minions shout "Wait a sec. What about you lowlife progressives accosting our idols while they break bread in public? Awfully unChristian, dontcha think?
Progressives and others not under the spell of this new Satan scratch their heads trying get their minds around the false equivalency of killing folks and ruining meals.
Meanwhile, standing under the wing of one of his planes, the Oramge Man with the diminutive penis gives a news conference in the rain. Later when expected to offer up deep and concerned words of sympathy and hope regarding another mass killing on his watch, he speaks of his bad hair day. Then he reaches for the letter of condolence one of his stooges wrote.
Only in America.