A few nights ago, I mixed it up with some Anal Retentive Right Wingers, Clueless Trump Pingers, and Bible Thumping Condemnation Swingers on a political group page on Facebook. Waged war with them till past midnight. Felt good to purge and direct my anger and frustration towards the folks I find the most fault with. It gets tiring always preaching to the choir.
Woke up the next morning with over 25 nasty comments waiting patiently for me to address them. I replied to some, skipped some and laughed at some.
Put a smile on my face first thing. Been awhile since I really slugged it out.
My learning curve for doing battle with internet personalities began back in the Newsgroup days of the 128 kbps Internet in the1990s. It could take many minutes just to to trade a couple of insults.
From there, it was forums; political, bicycle, and regional. I had some of my most memorable times poking fun at the insanity of a "The South Shall Rise Again" forum. From there I found "Free Republic", a forum in which many future Tea Baggers and later MAGA-lites were created.
My time mixing it up with Freepers was too short. "Free Republic" did not tolerate opposing views. I think I lasted a week before I was kicked out and don't let the door hit you in the ass on your way out. I was in pig heaven duking it out daily with brain dead Freepers. Being kicked out put my worst inclinations on hold: gave me reason to pause and take stock.
I had fallen in love with the battle, not the victory. There was no victory, no loss, just the confrontation.
I cooled it some when I started this blog in 2004. Instead of wasting time arguing just to argue, I began to write down my thoughts, beliefs, and observations. Over the next decade I feel I finally discovered who I really was by finding what I truly believed.
I began to bait less and listen more. Call it one of my renaissance periods which I had hoped would last longer than it did. Trump came along and suddenly I was back in the ditches slinging mud with the worst of them.
Nine years later, I am now of an age that I have accepted and no longer deny the existence of that chip I have carried on my shoulder since childhood. I no longer analyze it or try to contain it. Though it has aged and is beat up some, I carry it openly and use it when I see fit.
Keep it 'tween the ditches ..................
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I am on a roll. The songs I have been picking lately have come easy. And again my choice is a song I have never heard of by an artist I never knew of either.
I am not much of a Hip Hop / Rap fan. It seems though I have had to expand my music list to include some. This tune rocks. and the woman singing reminds me of an early and brief relationship I had with a girl named Paula. She was a skinny white girl with an attitude twice her size. She laid me out once because she did not like a comment I made. I deserved it, but damn, it really hurt. The boys were sore for several days.
Anyway without any further ado, here is Delilah Bon performing "Bad Attitude". Best listened to at WOW on the volume dial.
The meme here crossed my path not many minutes ago. As soon as I read it, a specific night of debauchery from my past came to mind.
The three of us had been drinking shots of tequila for several hours at Rick's All American Bar in Baltimore in the early 1970s. Already 3 sheets to the wind, it was my turn to fetch the next round. Just as I got the barkeep's attention, he shouted, "Last Call".
In my inebriated judgement , "Last Call" meant stock up. I came back to our table with nine shots on a tray. For a moment I was a hero. The three of us tossed back the three shots each in rapid repetition with maybe or maybe not a breath between shots.
When we hit the street, we could barely walk. We did our best, all the while laughing, hooting, carrying on as we staggered back to the car that one of us would hopefully navigate safely enough to get us home.
I had my head down trying to locate safe passage on the broken concrete. I looked up for some reason and walked head and face first into a street sign post; one of those posts with the sharp edges. Knocked me backwards, I went down hard and broke my glasses in half. The first thing I remember seeing was that street sign post vibrating just like in some Looney Tunes cartoon. As I was struggling to make sense of it all, I looked up at my friends and they were doubled over laughing so hard I think they may have been crying or pissing themselves. We were that stupid falling down drunk.
Anyway, the impact opened up my face some. I didn't get stitches, but maybe should have.
That's the stuff great memories are made of for sure. .............. Riiiiiiight.
Later Gators .........................
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Only one band and their music will do for this post; Here is a live version of George Thorogood and the Destroyers along with special guest Elvin Bishop playing, "One Bourbon, One Scotch & One Beer". Again, another tune enjoyed best with the volume cranked. Enjoy.
I have a screen saver feature on my computer that kicks in after so many minutes of inactivity. I often cuss at it, as it seems to constantly kick in during those blank moments when I stare at the screen looking for that next thought to type in. The screen saver shifts activity to the huge pile of images I have been accumulating since before Jesus was born. They flash from one to another with a second or two interval in between.
Suddenly, I am distracted from continuing the current flow of thought to images from my past. The images have no order and the computer does not sift out the images I created from the ones I poached from the Internet.
Sometimes I never regain the lost thought and finish the paragraph. Now that I am used to it, I no longer cuss at it. I use it to my advantage. If I have an urgency to finish the thought, I move the mouse slightly and the thought I wished to continue pops back up on my screen. If my blank stare is an indication of an empty head, devoid of any thought worth continuing, I often sit back and enjoy the slide show for a few minutes.
The images collected in my hard drive now go back to times long before I was born. I have saved old black and white photos of family who lived in the 1800's. I have saved images of me and my family over the years. And then there are the odd and unusual pictures I found out there in the Internet ether.
Each new slide show offers up photos I have forgotten and also ones the program feels need repeating. One such repeat is the image at the top. For some reason, I can count on it on a regular basis. And every time I see it, I miss my G-Guy terribly one more time. Immediately, memories of his life with us and the way he died flash harshly through my mind.
That's the thing about memories though, sometimes even the bad ones are worth repeating.
Keep it 'tween the ditches ................................
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Memories.......... Yeah, Memories. What tune might I find that best describes my attitude toward memories?
Hmm .............
Here is a tune I have never heard before by a band I have never heard of before. "Choke", by OneRepublic. Sometimes the perfect song for the moment just appears.
On the heels of the Supreme Court kicking the abortion pill issue down the road for more stupidity on the same insanity in the future, Rep. Katherine Clark (D) made an appearance on "Morning Joe" with her two cents worth.
"Are we going to choose Extremism
or
Are we going to choose Freedom?"
I would have preferred her to speak, not in words wrapped in the Flag, but common everyday words even the Dimwits on the Right can understand. I would have been more impressed with:
"Are we going to choose Stupidity of the highest order
or
Are we going to choose basic Common Sense?"
That is the only question I have any interest in; Common Sense over Stupidity is what the election this November is really about. Do we cave to the ignorance and cultish behavior of a movement run by truly evil people, or do we reinvest ourselves in the type of country we have spent the last 248 years trying to get right. Do we think the "Grand Experiment" has run its course and now it is time to cave to the autocratic pressures designed to remove any vestige of the freedoms we have now?
I am fed up being brow beaten with lies, false promises, false flags and Right Wing leaders kowtowing to an obviously deranged and stupid man. I am ignoring the issues and focusing on this one question. Nothing matters more to me than defeating the orange shit stain who has actively polluted our political landscape these past 8 years or so.
It is up to you America. All that I ask is don't be stupid.
Keep it 'tween the ditches ............................
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Bob Marley and the Wailers recorded this song in the early 1970's. It sucks that it is still relevant over 50 years later. Apparently, contrary to the lyrics:
"You can fool some people sometimes
But you can't fool all the people all the time"
It appears Bob was wrong. You can fool almost all the people almost all of the time. Recent history bears that out.
Appreciation of its impact on the World is showing signs of wear and looks to sooner than later be shoved into the "Ancient History" quiver of most Americans under the age of fifty. There are still enough of us children of the "Greatest Generation" around to keep its flame alive; for ceremonial purposes anyway. But we don't seem to care anymore either.
So what did my generation do with the legacy left us?
The Boomers started off great by fighting for social, political, and environmental change so the generations who followed us would reap even more benefits than we did.
We squandered our opportunity by turning into intractable self interested mimics of the worst of past generations. We tossed aside the legacy we could have had so we could own grander cars, bigger houses, take extravagant vacations.
We could have had all that and still forged ahead by adding to the progressive legacy we were so eager to support as young citizens. Instead, it became too inconvenient to worry anymore about the things on the horizon that threatened our future well being: issues of a political nature, climatic nature, and social nature. Before we knew it, we had allowed our country to change from a country of hope and optimism into a country full up with self inflicted misery. The term "Ugly American" became something to aspire to.
The only glimmer of hope I see is that this cycle we are in has occurred time and time again throughout Human History. Rise and Fall, rise and fall, blah, blah, blah. And so far, Humanity has emerged damaged but alive on the other side. Over time, odds being what they are, at some point they go from odds to certainties.
When that happens, or if it happens is entirely up to us.
In the meantime, ferchrisakes, keep it 'tween the ditches ............................
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I re-read the above and Whew! That was a harsh and less than rosy picture. Those were the words of a Gloomy Gus. I'll own it. Someone has to. There are just too many of you assholes out there who don't seem to be paying attention.
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It's a two-fer today. Two videos, one to honor one survivor, the other to honor the song he wrote and sang a few years ago. It was briefly a chart topper.
June is National Gay Pride Month. A month for all the Non- heterosexual versions of personhood to be loud and proud and wave their Rainbow flag in our faces.
I ran into my first organized Gay anything as a high school student in 1969. Charlotte Hall Military School's junior class was on a road trip to the Library of Congress in Washington, DC.
After a morning of patriotic indoctrination and frankly, a fascinating, wonderful time in the biggest library I had ever seen, we were released to the Wild for some personal time to wander around the National Mall. It was strongly suggested we take in the National Museums and the several monuments decorating the immediate area. And DO NOT go near the anti-war demonstration unfolding that day.
Several of us of course, chose the anti-Vietnam war demonstration unfolding around the steps of the US Capitol. In dress uniforms, we approached the gathering from the south. The crowd had settled into sections it seemed. There was a vets against the war section, a blacks against the war section, a general come one, come all white hippies against the war section, women Libs against the war section and then there was the section stage right we had decided to hang out on the fringes of. We couldn't really hear the speechifying, but that did not matter, we immediately were astounded at the sight of men hugging and kissing in public.
As I remember it, we had no time to really let that vision sink in. The cops had decided to break the party up. I turned around to see a line of cops with longish batons and white helmets almost on us. One of the cops ran up to me and clocked me hard with his stick and then proceeded to give me Hell about how dare I disgrace the uniform by supporting the treasonous activities of the demonstrators. He hit me again, I went down. Before he could hit me one more time, a fellow cop stopped him and, said we were just kids in uniforms. With an extreme look of disgust, the cop got back in line and they proceeded on past us.
That one incident firmly put me on my path to becoming a liberal gay hugging infidel and all around God hating bastard. I actually do not hate God. I just question his/her, their very existence. I hate the organizations that have been built up around the notion of an almighty God.
But I didn't come here to write about an event 55 years ago. ...... Yeah, maybe I did. That was one of many defining moments in my life. And now that I have high jacked my original reason for this post, its point has been lost and is fading now that I am onto another tangent. If you're new here, you will get use to it; ...... and frankly I don't care if you do. I write for me first, share it, and then move on.
So fast forward to the here and now.
Gay folk have struggled and finally achieved more acceptance by main stream America. Sadly, those folks we now call homophobes, have dug in their heels and they have vowed to turn back the gay clock to Pre-1960 Good Ole Days . And doubly sad, is many of them have ensconced themselves in positions of power where they have attempted to move that time line backward through local and state law.
The genie is out of the bottle, that horse has left the barn, too little, too late assholes. Gays are out and they've now brought all their previously undefined buds with them. Go ahead and bunch your panties, get righteously indignant and cry, "What about the children". Your misplaced moral superiority has done nothing but create a more fertile ground for the very thing you hate. So, keep it up you clowns and do your best to stem the Gay Tide. You are only going to win a few battles, but not the war.
Later gators ....................................
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I decided to use a favorite anti war song from back in the day. Here is "I Feel Like I'm Fixing to Die Rag", by Country Joe and the Fish at Woodstock in the summer of 1969. When I first saw this version in the film, Woodstock", I was high on LSD. Imagine the rushes I felt when the movie audience sang along. I was too high to sing, I just sat there with my mouth open. Awesome time.
Both the Left and the Right have always had fringe groups poking and prodding their mainstream cohorts to favor various kinds of extreme policies. That is the norm in any large gathering of similar political outlooks. And it is not unusual for the extremes of either group to carry more influence at different times based on constantly changing circumstances.
Twenty years ago when the Tea Party began rattling their tea bags, I was impressed with how much the lunatic fringe of the Right had grown. At the time I figured they would calm down some and become the GOP I grew up with: Loyal to their conservative ideologies, loyal to a fault to their party, and loyal to the rule of law.
I was not paying enough attention I guess. Suddenly, 2015 rolls up on us and the Right has embraced a criminal as their nominee for President. Oh I know, he had not been convicted of any crime, but everyone knew he was sleazy and a lowlife who had had committed many crimes.
The Left laughed; made fun of the GOP's stupidity and dismissed them as a bunch of clowns. The Democratic nominee was sure to kick Trump's ass. I was sure of it too. Again, I was not paying the close attention I should have been to the events unfolding behind the top stories the media was force feeding us at the time. Overconfident, denigrating, and patronizing rhetoric from the Left drove a huge segment of our population further to the Right and pushed the extreme Right even closer to the edge of insanity.
We Libtards blew it. We know that now, but is it too little, too late? The country shifting more to the Right in the last twenty years has isolated and actually damaged much of the liberal progress we fought so hard for 50-60 years ago. The Left was outplayed and now it will be an uphill battle to bring the country back into equilibrium. What I figured would be a twenty year swing of the political pendulum to the Right looks to have more resilience than I thought.
This battle is not over, The Left has not turned the tide. And while deep in our bones we know this, our leaders continue to evoke an elitist air and more often than not come off as insincere and aloof.
The cocky attitude of the Left is gone now. Many of us still cannot believe how the GOP imploded and became a servile organization under the heel of a wannabe dictator. Never mind all the analogies and comparisons, what we are facing is a serious shit storm on the horizon. You know you have an angry foe when no matter what you do, they want to put you in the ground for it. That is the kind of adversary the Right has become.
I am not saying we should be afraid. I am saying we need to gird our loins, dig in and give as good as we get. No more high road bullshit, no more mamby pamby handwringing, clutching of our pearls, or righteous indignation. You want to lose the America you envisioned as a kid, then sit on your asses and assume it will all work out in the end. This time, without our resistance it will work out for the wannabe dictator and his circle jerk of clowns.
Keep it 'tween the ditches ...........................................
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Green Day's song, "American Idiot "is twenty years old now. Its release coincides with the beginnings of the "Tea Bagger" movement on the Right. That this song is not outdated yet and still pertinent today reinforces my contention that the USA is in for a lengthy period of readjustment. It's interesting that this tune caused some bunching of panties among the righteously indignant Right and the quick to condemn PC packing Left.
To be fair to the teachers I experienced during my early years, most wanted to educate me. Their intentions were honorable. Only one wanted to punish me first; the educating part was not even on her radar.
At the time, I was sure I did not deserve the treatment I received. Sixty plus years later, I still feel that way. Don't get me wrong, I was a troublemaker sometimes, and on occasion ended up at odds with local school disciplinarians. However, I rarely felt I was being unfairly treated, except for that year I endured in fifth grade.
Did I deserve what I got? You'd have to dig up her grave, reanimate her, and ask her. She was hard nosed, intractable and vindictive according to my mom. Me, well I just hated her.
She is the first person I ever hated to my core. Did I wish her ill will. You're damn right I did. Did I wish she was dead. Oh yeah. She became the first adult I actively tried to make miserable. I often irritated my parents, but never with real malevolence. Pushing their buttons was part of the fun of being a kid. If they were pissed at me that meant they were taking a break from being pissed at each other. Our time in Florida was very hard on all of us.
For the life of me, I cannot remember that teacher's name or remember her face. I do remember having bad dreams about our relationship though.
Before the first week of school was over, she told me she was going to come for me in any way she could. Who says that to a ten year child, especially a teacher? As I sit here and try to remember what went down that year in school, I realize I must have personified all the evil little assholes she had to put up with for however long she had been a teacher. She retired at the end of the year. Maybe I was her last straw.
I wasn't sure why she hated me so much so soon into the school year. Years later when talking about her with my Dad over late night shots, he said maybe it was because that first week when I told her to go to Hell. Ahh,yes I remembered then. That was my first trip to the principal's office that year. In the beginning, my parents backed the teacher.
In retrospect, I guess she had a reason to hate me. I tried in the beginning to win her over. I was a pretty charming little boy. Old ladies usually loved me. I knew how to be polite, inquisitive and I had a great grin. I also had an attitude that came to the surface quickly.
She was having none of my promises to behave, to capitulate, to knuckle under. Must have been about October when I gave up and said to myself, "Bring it Teach". She held onto her grudge all year. At the end of the year, even though my grades were A's and B's, as a final "fuck you", she tried to fail me and keep me back, She claimed I was not mature enough for sixth grade.
By this time, my parents had my back. They had been through many parent-teacher and later, principal conversations that finally turned into shouting matches where the teacher was the one who lost control. I never attended those meetings, but I sure got an ear full when Mom and Dad came home. My dad refused to go to any more meetings after Christmas. And the principal actually pleaded with me to get along with her. I told her I was trying but the teacher would have none of it. My mom, who could be very intimidating when riled, straightened the teacher out and I moved on to sixth grade.
All the back story I just laid out was unintended as I only wanted to reminisce about what the image to the right meant to me.
I have set the table and filled you in about the worst grade school year of my life. That was the year I became the GOAT of punishment writing. I was often required to stay after school to write on the blackboard. I was sent home with homework that included returning the next day with hundreds of sentences written on notebook paper. I remember well. I could cram a lot more sentences on a certain kind of notebook paper my dad had in his desk at home. The lines were closer together. I learned to become a punishment sentence machine. Other kids in the class were given similar punishments, but not a one had to endure the numbers of sentences I did.
It was never for the same reason. Teacher mixed it up. Her favorites were "I will not talk back anymore", "I will not speak out of turn anymore", "I will not get out of my chair without permission", I will not snicker in class"; you get the drift. And while most of my classmates often received warnings,, by the time Thanksgiving rolled around, I received no warnings.
I can laugh about it now. I certainly did not then. I was treated unfairly. In an odd way though, I am grateful for the experience. It was my first lesson in the unfairness of Life. And I learned that no matter what I thought day to day about my parents, I knew they would always have my back ..... eventually.
Keep it 'tween the ditches ........................
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There does not seem to be many "bad teacher" tunes out there. There is definitely a bunch of odes to teachers. After rummaging around collections of "I love you teach" or "I want to bed you teach songs", I thought of Pink Floyd's album, "The Wall". It was and still remains one of the great albums of all time. The song, "Another Brick in the Wall, Part 2" covers much of how I felt about MRS "I can't remember her name or face", my fifth grade teacher.
I decided to include their original video and also a live version from I think, their 50th anniversary tour. Both of them are worthy. The live version is awesome.
Enjoy! And oh yeah, upping the volume only enhances the experience.
This story was originally created for a now defunct flash fiction site, "Flash Fiction Friday". I wrote it over twelve years ago. I ran across it on my other blog, "Lost in the Bozone Too".
I slightly edited and replaced the original Googled image with a local image instead.
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Caleb Winters sat in his wheel chair on a dock that rudely interrupted the flat calm of Forlorn Pond. His presence and the dock, the only proof Mankind even knew of this peaceful place. A loon cried off to his left and dragonflies swarmed in manic flight wolfing down mosquitoes foolish enough to be out and about. Caleb spotted his bobber begin to bounce.
Caleb's fishing pole was stuck in the rod holder Harold had zip tied to his chair a week earlier. Learning to fish with one hand had been difficult, but over the last seven days he came up with a system and yesterday he finally caught his limit. One more now and he would reach his limit today also. He pulled the rod out and yanked hard setting the hook. He immediately returned the pole in the holder to brace it. Awkwardly he began to reel the line in.
Whatever was on Caleb's line was bigger than any fish living in this pond. His rod tip dipped hard with each crank of the reel. Caleb stopped. Could it be one of those lake trout Harold boasted about? Called them togue or something like that. He was often not sure what Harold was saying. His thick Maine accent was frequently a foreign language to Caleb’s New York City ears.
Caleb brought the rod back up with a sharp tug. Nothing. He moved the pole one way, then another. Again nothing.
No response. Caleb sat in his wheelchair and fumed. What was the use of hired help if they were never there when he needed them. Caleb sighed, tried to calm down using those relaxation techniques that flexible filly at the hospital tried to teach him. No good. He continued to rant.
Several minutes later a man stepped out of the camp nestled in the tall pines some 75 feet up from the dock. He wore a bloodstained white apron and was wiping his hands on a dishrag. He looked down towards the dock. The afternoon sun had dropped far enough he had to raise his hand to his forehead to block out its intensity. He saw Caleb.
"Caleb! Did you call?"
Caleb turned in his chair as far as he could. Over his shoulder, "Yeah, where the Hell have you been? My line's been snagged for an hour. Get down here and fix it." Harold rolled his eyes. Caleb's ranting followed him as he turned and walked back into the cottage to locate the tackle box.
"What the Hell have you been doing Harold? You got blood all over your apron."
Kneeling down next to Caleb, Harold rifled around the tackle box looking for another hook and leader. Harold spoke. "Been cleaning all them damn fish you been catching. You ever gonna eat any? If not, I know a family that would appreciate the fresh fish."
"I don't eat seafood, you know that. Just toss it out."
Harold found the leader and the hook; he stood up.
"Toss perfectly good filets? No sir I won't do it. I'll drop em off for Millie and her brood on my way to town." Harold bent over and reached for the last bobber in the top tray of the tackle box. "You keep snagging something in the same spot. Ferchrisakes, try casting somewhere else. Think all I have to do is babysit you?"
Caleb opened his mouth and quickly closed it. He opened it again. "Just fix the line dammit, It's almost sundown. One more fish and I hit my limit again. Never thought I'd enjoy wrestling fish out of the water. You know I hate seafood dontcha?"
"Yeah Caleb, you already told me. You hate eatin fish, but you love catchin them. I'll sleep in comfort tonight bein reminded of that. Thanks."
Caleb looked at Harold again. His eyes became slits. "What bug crawled up your ass?"
Harold straightened up. His back complained, his knees screamed. He was getting too old for this nursing shit.
"Well, I'll tell ya Caleb. It was you. You crawled up my ass. You’ve done nothing but piss and moan since the day I rolled you out of the van. First it was the mosquitoes. They were eatin you alive. Then you didn't like how the bug spray made your skin all greasy and shit. We get past that and after the first night all you did was complain about how noisy it was here. Trees rustling, loons crying, ....Ferchrisakes Caleb we just come up from Manhattan. You think this place is noisy after living there that last 50 years....And while I'm at it, what the Hell were you thinkin when you bought this place? ....... Spent five million dollars and for what? I know, I know, you wanted your own retreat, your quiet place to escape Humanity. Well goddammit, then retreat and shut the fuck up."
"Caleb's eyes were no longer slits, they were bug eyed open. Oddly speechless, he took a moment to gather himself. Finally, "Well now, I guess you can pack up your things and we'll be done with each other. No employee of mine shows me disrespect."
Harold did not say anything. He reached out and grabbed the snagged line. He cut it loose and attached the new bobber, leader and hook. When he was done he threaded the hook through the fattest worm left in the small bowl next to Caleb's wheel chair. He handed the rod to Caleb.
“Here you contrary ole fart, fixed. Now fish and leave me the Hell alone." Harold walked back up the dock and headed for the camp.
Caleb spun his chair around and watched Harold's back disappear into the cottage. He smiled. The two of them had been together for 20 years now ever since the plane crash and the round the clock care Caleb needed from then on. He loved that old Mainer, he really did. But what he loved the most was pissin him off.
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Once again, finding a song I liked for this post was a problem. I eventually came up with Joe Cocker's cover of "A Little Help From My Friends". The Beatles wrote it and sang it first, but Joe made it his own. No one ever sang it better. This version was filmed live at Woodstock in 1969 and included in the movie of the same name.. When I saw this film at the theater, I was high on 2 hits of orange barrels LSD .................. Just remembering it gives me chills. The man had some serious ability.
I first remember seeing Jeff Daniels in the movie, "Dumb and Dumber" back in the 1990's. Because I am a fan of comedy throughout most of its spectrum, I enjoyed the film, but not enough to purposefully see it again or place it on some personal "best of" list in my brain. I wrote Jeff off as a one trick pony and forgot him.
About a decade ago, Jeff popped up in the movie "Looper". I realized then, this guy has some acting chops. He wasn't just a sidekick to Jim Carey. That is when I began checking out his other efforts on the screen, big and small.
Much to my surprise, the man is one hell of an actor. His range is every bit as wide as Tom Hanks, Nathan Hale, and Robin Williams. I can't say he is better or worse, just that he can act through a comedy. a drama, and action films with equal ease. I guess it is true that making the jump from comedic acting to serious drama is easier than the other way around. My current favorite rolls he played in are "American Rust" and "The Newsroom". The opening scene in "The Newsroom" is awesome as Jeff tears down some wide eyed innocent coed in front of a large audience. It is awesome.
In my quest to catch up on Jeff's movies and TV series, I have come away truly impressed. He has an everyman quality that shines through on all the films and shows I have seen him in. Just today, I discovered Daniels is also a damn good musician also. Reportedly he has written over 450 songs and after the video I saw, he is a decent singer and guitar player. No Billy Strings or Hendrix mind you, but he knows how to pick.
So without further ado, if you haven't seen this side of Jeff, I would like to introduce you to Jeff Daniels, guitar picking fool who not only can write the songs, he can sing them also.
Keep it 'tween the ditches ........................................
I haven't written any flash fiction in quite awhile. So I came up with the following 125 word piece for a weekly challenge site I used to visit regularly. Not sure where it came from; probably the result of current affairs stewing in my brain.
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During the run-up to
this most recent eclipse, I wondered if finally ,the Rapture, End of Days folks
had finally found the right date that would end it all.
That day I was gratified
at exactly 3:30PM when I glanced out of the kitchen window and spotted Donald
Trump, of all people, floating up into the air. His back was to me, but I could
tell by his outstretched arms he was blessing us as he rose to the heavens.
“Bless his Heart”, I thought and even worked up a tear.
Just then my next door neighbor stomped up my driveway. He looked perturbed.
But then he always looked perturbed.
He squinted and side eyed me suspiciously.
“Have you seen my Trump blow up doll?”
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And though the Faithful got it wrong one more time; the odds have to tip their way at some point. For Christ's sake, keep the faith and eventually you will find yourself in a long line at the Pearly Gates waiting to get in.
People raise you hands, let the glisten in your eyes turn to tears. This song will lift those spirits that have been languishing in the squalor of Evil that has overrun the Faithful and turned all the Fallen into Devil worshipping Heathens. Turn that volume up, here is the Triumph Quartet with their rendition of that great Rapture tune - "When the Rapture Comes My Way".
Being Memorial Day and all, I figured I'd come up with a memory that would lift everyone's spirits on this somber day and maybe bring a tear to an eye or two in the Dark Humor crowd.
I most likely saw Walt Disney's "Bambi" as a child in a theater similar to the old Bijou Theater in Portland, Maine. Or maybe I saw it the first time on an Air Force base somewhere out west, in Japan, or Hawaii in the 1950s. Doesn't matter, according to family members, I loved the movie.
Fast forward to my college years at Towson College in Towson, Maryland. There I enjoyed my first taste of art films, independent films and some really whacked films, courtesy of the Baltimore Film Festival that had moved to Towson College from the University of Baltimore in 1973.
The variety of films I caught at the theater in Stephen's Hall were eye opener's for me. I saw "Pink Flamingos" there, a year after it premiered at the Film festival when it was still at the University of Baltimore. This film shocked the bejeesus out of me. I had never encountered such bizarre people before. I would later actually show up at some parties that some members of the cast were at, but at the time of my first viewing, the movie was a wonderful revelation.
Memorable films I caught at Stephens Hall in the early 1970s included Indy film, "Cattle", which graphically covered the lifespan of a beef cow from conception right through to the dinner table. Designed to turn me into a veggie loving commie, I was able to resist and to this day I eat meat with relish, though I know Vegging it would probably have been the smarter choice. I can't say I wasn't warned.
I saw "Joe" there: a stark and ugly film about the stereotypical conservative of the day clashing with the counterculture world that had grown out of the 1960s. It starred Peter Boyle as the Urban redneck asshole who wreaks vengeance after his daughter gets mixed up in the counter culture. . His portrayal made the hairs on my arms stand straight out. It was a chilling Hollywood depiction about what waited for my sorry hippy ass if I dared to enter the real world. It was two hours of exaggerated violence where nobody won; everyone died or was a total wreck by the end of the film.
I saw my first and only X rated animated film there. Titled "Felix the Cat", it followed Felix, who was a Cool College Cat mingling with bros and hoes, smoking pot, and fornicating his way around his city neighborhood. Black folks were represented as crows, and of course the police were pigs. I have seen the film since then and it did nothing for me the second time around. But, like "Pink Flamingos" and "Rocky Horror Picture Show", both of which played at Stephens Hall: all of them were part of the film underground of the day. Just their existence made conservative panties bunch from coast to coast. I loved it.
All of those films left a mark in my personal film archive. But the film that really pounded home the power of the Indy Film world for me was a short student film that is now rated as one of the best cartoons ever made. It is titled "Bambi Meets Godzilla". It is a very short film created as a class project I assume at some college somewhere in 1969. It is 99 seconds of genius.
Yesterday on Facebook, someone asked this question:
" Isn’t believing in a god
freethinking?"
As I so
often do, I quickly knee-jerked a response and it went like this:
“Depending on the religion, deciding to believe in a god could be the last free thought one may ever have. But then, it does not matter how anyone defines another's Freethinking habits. If a fanatical religious zealot believes they are doing it freely and without coercion; absolutely does not matter what the heathens around them think. It's the fence sitters who anguish over the idea of "free thinking" that have the most trouble. Atheists and the Faithful are positive they are the freethinkers. Me, well. I'm a fence sitter who hates all organized religion. The notion of God or No God matters little to me. Who cares? Certainly not me. God, if there is one, seems to have no interest in the petty lifestyles of the parasitic Human Race.”
Here I
paused, posted my comment and continued further into my day. The freethinking
thing would not go away. There was something more here. And being at the least,
slightly thick in the head, I had to re-read the comment later to pick up where
I left off.
If there is
a god, I feel I owe that god nothing. If I owe anyone, it is my fellow humans.
I feel my existence is all about being the best human I can be. Anything else
is just the Bullshit we spread like frosting on all the different cakes we bake up using
recipes that originated somewhere by someone as free thought.
“Isn’t believing
in a god freethinking" may seem a simple question with a simple
answer. In my mind it is not. Just what does the term “Freethinking” mean, infer,
point out, blah, blah blah?First, I define it as a freedom.
Jumping off that idea of freedom,
I would say the term is kind of useless as it points out the obvious. We are
all free to think. The thinking part is a given. Thinking cannot be controlled; not yet at least. We all exercise that right every day. The problem with
restrictions on our thoughts is when we let those thoughts pass from our lips. Depending
on one’s location and dependencies, that is where freethinking gets into
trouble. It’s about free speech, not freethinking.
The so-called
freethinkers often condemn the religious and/or politically indoctrinated as
losers who cannot or will not think for themselves.
It is not
the belief in a god that kills freethinking; it’s the indoctrination that all
too often is part of the procedural aspects of believing in a god. Many religions allow and actually encourage
people to think for themselves while encouraging use of the tenets of their
religion to help guide them through their time on the planet.
Sadly, the
religions or certain sects of the many religions who advocate free choice, free
thinking, etc. are shouted down and marginalized by the loudmouth in your face
fanatical factions. And worst of all, many if not most of the groups who allow
their congregations the most freedom of thought do nothing about the loudmouth fanatics. Their
silence is seen as enabling behavior by many non-believers. To them, enabling is
as bad as the die-hard fanaticism they hate so much.
These unyielding,
intolerant tendencies shown by adherents on both sides of the Believe/no Believe
in God do nothing to help dialog between the two. Intractability is not an
appealing feature in any group’s organization. And frankly I think when both of
them are pushing intractable arguments, neither have any credibility.
There are
just too many possibilities out there to not hold out the possibility that some
off world intelligent force created us. Diito for the inflexibly devout. One of
the infinite possibilities is yes, we could be an accident.
For Christ’s
Sake, both of you get over yourselves.
Whatever
that was, well it’s over now.
Later Gator ………………
___________________________
I spent awhile looking for an appropriate tune for this post. Finally, the last google turned up Steve Martin's, "Atheists don't have no songs". And it seems, from my over the top searching for atheist music of any kind, Steve is correct. Anyway, enjoy.
My headphones are on and plugged in. I have one of my long playlists on with the volume punched up to WOW. I think I am ready for what comes next. ...........................
Its been several minutes now and I am still waiting for the inspiration that usually comes to mind sooner than this.
I had a myriad of writing prompts on the tip of my brain not twenty minutes ago. Now they have retreated back into the shadows, the darker recesses, the back benches. All I have in mind now is a fuzzy screen with nothing on it.
Hmm. ................. Okay, fuck it. Here is the one I have had in mind for a couple of days.
Song Lyrics
Along with the thousands and thousands of songs that have played through my mind over the years, I have definitely collected snippets of song lyrics I recollect for a variety of reasons. Some cause introspection. Some make me focus on the grander schemes of being human.. And some are just so good, I am amazed at the writing. But the ones that I remember instantly are usually the inane, silly, and funny lyrics.
The silly, just havin fun lyrics have been part of Music forever. From Spike Jones, a favorite of my father's, to "Purple People Eater" in the 1950s to "Hello Muddah, Hello Faduh in the 1960s; the list is endless.
Lately, I have been trying to tune out "I'm too sexy for my shirt", a line from "I'm too sexy" by Right Said Fred. I have never heard of this duo? And actually, I do not think I have ever heard the song from start to finish; as my first run through seemed totally new for me. I had definitely heard the lyric I am fixating on, but that would make sense since this post is about it.
This brings up another question for which I have a pre-recorded and pre-considered answer for. The lyric seems to fit rhythmically well into any song I choose. Just the right number of syllables, especially for a foot tapping tune.
With that said, I defy anyone to not tap their feet to this tune.
Keep it 'tween the ditches .............................
My wife and I were both amazed back in 2015 when The Orange Shit Gibbon secured enough support to actually become President.
As he squatted in the White House for four years, our incredulity over his impact has only grown in the ensuing years since then. Many discussions ended and still do with both of us shaking our heads at the rampant stupidity spread across this country today.
I had not been able to nail down one word that really describes how I currently feel about the USA; that is until the other day when I caught a meme on my friend Jackiesue's Facebook page.
"Pisstified" is the perfect word that covers my befuddlement with, well, pretty much everything that is currently playing out politically, religiously, sexually, climately, and educationally of late. The World seems to have embraced stupidity and willful ignorance as the primary source of policy and power moving forward.
The planet and its occupants appear to be headed down a path I am not sure will pan out as well as most of us hoped. By then I will most likely be ashes scattered on Blue Job when the bill for our current stupidity comes due and my feelings will not matter then just as they don't matter now.
In the meantime, I am battling this old fart tendency to be angry all the time. Defining it has helped. At least now I know what to call it. I am Pisstified; Lost in an evil never ending cycle of Pisstification.
Keep it 'tween the ditches ..........................................
__________________
So the first tune I taste for this post is one from Limp Bizkit. The video is an experience all right. Here is "Break Stuff". Play it loud.
I was recently dressed down in a PM regarding my less than supportive words about Democrats. I won't mention any names, but they had a point. I am increasingly frustrated and angry by the Hillary mentality that seems to again be grabbing many Democrats by their short hairs. Many seem to think winning the White House this next November is a slam dunk: just as they did in 2016.
In the meantime, the chronic hand wringers in the Democratic party are afraid if we act with the same anger Republicans use to keep their base fired up, we have somehow become that which we hate.
Maybe they are right. Maybe the Left is becoming as harsh and hard as the Right. Maybe that is exactly what the Left should do. When in a street fight, Kumbaya mentality doesn't cut it. The "can't we just get along" Democrats don't get it. The Right has no interest in "getting along". They are intent on burying liberalism and thus Democracy deep in some swamp somewhere.
It would seem many Liberals think the means is still more important the the ends. I would tend to agree , or at least I used to. The Right long ago adopted a "any means" approach to winning. The Left does not have to adopt the same policy, but they should stand up more and call out the Right for their evil, sleazy ways.
The Left needs to lose the PC mentality when dealing with the Right. If a Winger is lying, call them liars. If a Winger is a hypocrite, call them a hypocrite. Pound these jerks hard with language average people understand. No more using terms like "misinformation". No more using terms like "our esteemed colleagues on the Right". If we think they are being assholes, call them assholes. Americans understand and respect bald faced anger better than the pussy footing anger that is so popular with the politer Left. The time for gratuitous civility is over. The Left needs to give as good as it gets.
The Right wants to destroy liberalism in this country. That is currently their stated goal. We should believe them. What we should NOT be doing, is constantly holding out our hands trying to win them over. The Right has decided that this is the time to finally put liberalism on the dust heap of history and beckon in a new era of world wide autocracies that serve the few over the many.
That does not mean everyone on the Left needs to be an asshole. What it means is we need attack dogs; people who have big mouths and can talk to the GOP base in the simple words they can sometimes understand. Talking above them is seen as an insult. We need pols who get in their face. That seems to be what they admire the most.
Bipartisanship should not be lost; only tabled until the liberal movement re-establishes itself as a worthy foil to the worst tendencies the Right is currently championing. The way back for the Left is doing a better job than the Right and making sure America knows about it. The "speak softly'" garbage the mainstream Left favors is not working.
In Politics, nice guys more often than not lose the high ground while fooling themselves winning is not as important as how the fight is managed. The Left needs to consolidate and push as hard on the Right as the Right is pushing the Left. The time for Kumbaya moments should be put on pause until such time the Right has become sufficiently humbled enough so they return to the playground and play nice again.
America is a country full of angry, unhappy people. Everyone, Right and Left, are primed and ready to blow. Allowing the Right to drive the messages is a recipe for disaster. The Democrats need to stop their petty infighting and offer a united front at least for the foreseeable future until the Right is soundly defeated or if by some miracle, they rein in their current idiocy of their own accord.
Whew!
I could feel the pressure. My ability to hold my tongue on anything political has a very short rope. But I feel better now.
Keep it 'tween the ditches .......................................
_____________________
Nine Inch Nails recorded this tune in 1989. It is certainly more pertinent today that it was then. Or maybe it is still as pertinent as it was then. Anyway, here is "Head like a Hole".
On our walk over to Mary's Woods yesterday, Maggie took me out at the knees. I am sure she meant no harm. Just playing. Problem is, it hurt like Hell. She hit me at full speed on my right knee and drove it backwards. As I went down I remembered thinking this was going to take awhile to heal.
It is now the next day and I was right. The knee is stiff and swollen and complains with every step. I try to limit the discomfort of being 72 by first, not falling down and second, not taking any kind of hit on my knees, ankles or hips. Yesterday's tumble it seems has created unhappiness in all three joints.
Just fuckin great.
This morning I was determined to not cave to the aches and pains I woke up with. Maggie and I headed across the road and I gimped and limped my way through a 45 minute walk. I didn't cover much ground in those 45 minutes, but Maggie sure did. She came home happy. I came home.
While we were traipsing around Mary's Preserve, I decided to check on the small cluster of Rattlesnake orchids that have existed 70 feet off the trail for over 50 years. I was concerned as the last snowstorm turned southern Maine into a FEMA site. Acton specifically, was close to, if not right on top of Ground Zero. Lots of branches down. Lots of trees uprooted. The deadfalls were everywhere.
Because these little orchids are hard to find, especially in the Spring and early summer, it took me a few minutes to locate them. Their site had been spared any major disturbance and I was happy to see the Rattlesnake patch doing well. There may even have been some expansion.
There are several kinds of Rattlesnake Orchids. The patches I find in the woods around here are specifically named "Downy rattlesnake-plantain". They exist in odd spaces and blend in so well, they seem to be invisible; that is, until the end of summer when they might produce flowers. I have only seen this patch produce flowers a few times. Another bunch further into the pucker on private property is larger and I always find flowers there when I check in August.
Downy rattlesnake-plantains are found throughout the USA and southern Canada. Maine recommends leaving them alone as they are not common and very rarely are they successfully transplanted. Their nutritional needs are specific and don't exist many places.
So there you have it; another successful post by MRMacrum that does not mention the orange shit gibbon or the total clusterfuck that makes up current events today. I hope to continue my boycott of all things MAGA. Each day I do, I can feel a little more sanity creeping back into my soul.
Later Gators .................................
_______________________
I definitely created a monster when I decided to add a musical number to each post. Some days it is easy; the post points to a tune or a tune points to a post and finding a song is the easiest part of of creating the post. Other days like today, I am floundering hard. ........ What song works here?
It took awhile before I had an epiphany. A song I have always liked came to mind. Not only did it fit my mindset, It gave me the title for the post. Please enjoy "Wildflowers" by Tom Petty.
This morning while I walked with Maggie across the road in Mary's Woods, another Rite of Spring slammed me hard as I approached the lower section of the preserve. I walked right into my first seasonal cloud of black flies. And yes, this years crew is as numb as all the others who have passed in my lifetime. It only took a second or two for three of the dumb little bastids to get caught behind my glasses. Frantic and with no where to go they beat themselves silly before I was able to remove my glasses and set them free.
Spring has finally set up shop as it always does. I don't know why the cycle surprises me each year. I always seem a little taken aback when confronted with the first onslaught of Black Flies.
Unlike mosquitoes, I cannot ignore black flies. Their stupidity and anarchist ways make them the ultimate pest. I might be able and do ignore their bites, I cannot escape their stupidity. Flying into my ears, mouth, nose, and becoming trapped behind my glasses drive me crazy. Thankfully their season is brief.
I look forward to all of Nature's annual traditions, including black flies. They are an irritating comfort to me even as I cuss and fume when they find their ways into parts of my body usually left undisturbed. They remind me that the Cycle of Life will always carry on with or without my permission.
Can't wait now for Deer Fly season.
Keep it tween the Ditches .........................................
________________________
I found a black fly song by Randy Spencer. It has a catchy title, "Black Flies" and was written while Randy was in Grand Lake Stream, Maine back in 1980.
I bought a corded Makita circular saw and a corded Makita drill over 40 years ago. The circular saw accumulated many hard miles as I used it at home and as my go to saw on the job as a carpenter. Both tools still function, albeit a tad noisier now than when they were new. I have changed the brushes in them several times.
Then, a little over 30 years ago I bought a cordless Makita drill. I beat the shit out of it on the job and at home for a long time. The first set of batteries finally shit the bed around 2005. I bought two knock off batteries, as that was all I could find quickly at the time. Makita had moved onto a newer, better, and more expensive drill with a different battery. The drill still works fine but one of the batteries finally died and the one that still holds a charge is only good for a short while before it tires out.
I had hoped these Makita tools would be the last ones I would ever need. They came close. But I now find myself in need of a new cordless drill. ..........
God Dammit ................ I'm having a Hank Hill moment here.
Picking out a drill is not as easy as one would think. If anyone thinks it is easy, they have not a clue about the necessity to feel many different drills in their hand before they take one home.
Finding a drill is only the beginning. If a long term relationship is being considered, one needs to hold the drill, fondle the drill, stroke it and and whisper sweet nothings into the keyless Jacobs chuck. Only after several drills have been caressed, can one really make the right choice. How does it feel in my hand is the first thing I look for. Any other consideration can follow, but how it feels is most important. And yes, holding a perfect tool can become a very sensual moment. If nothing else, if the tool reminds you of a thigh you once caressed years ago, you might want to go with that one.
I became very anxious when I knew I would have to learn to like a new power tool after so many years of using the old one. When I checked on what was available, I found the variety of cordless tools has exploded and the prices range from stupidly low to over the the top expensive. Back in the day, Makita was well thought of. They were considered well made and were known to last. My own experience with them is my anecdotal proof of their durability and dependability.
I expected Makita would be offering a nice cordless tool now. It is compact and my hand loves it. But there are others that have been trying to turn my head and dammit, most of them feel good in my hand also. Some are cheaper than Makita. Some are more expensive.
I tabled any drill decision while I checked into cordless chain saws. I thought having a small one would help some of the pruning I have been ignoring for the last decade because my hands just don't have the power they once had. Just as the Cordless Revolution had taken over the power tool world, so it had also made major inroads in the lawncare world. I did not realize what a rabbit hole I was dropping into. There may actually be more cordless gizmos for lawn care than there are for woodworking. It is maddening how many choices exist.
After a month now of intermittent internet browsing in the many cordless tool pages, I finally chose a chainsaw; a sweet little 6 inch cordless Imoumlive. Imounlive is a brand I do not know. It is a cheaper brand than mainstream chainsaws, but when I compared everything, Price, battery power, tool internals, Imoumlive hit most of the high notes. What sold me was their tools use the same battery configuration as Makita. And because of that I also ordered up a new Makita cordless drill.
Maybe this Makita will be the last one I ever need. ....... Hope not.
Keep it 'tween the ditches ....................................
_________________________
Music for this post is courtesy of Tool. Here is "Sober" from their 1993 debut album, "Under Tow". Just a fun little ditty about the downside of substance abuse. And if "Sober" doesn't pick your day up, maybe "Right In Two" from their "10,000 Days" album will bring a smile to your face as it points up the "we're all just monkeys on this bus" characteristics of Humanity.
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