Long Beach - a Not so Short Post

One of, if not the most lucrative trucking gigs I had was as a Teamster driving for Lever Brothers (now Uni-Lever). In the 1970s, they were basically just a soap company at that time. Breeze detergent, Rinso, Wisk, Dove, Caress, Sunlight dish soap, and a bunch of other soap products.

I was hired at the Baltimore plant as part of a new transportation scheme using a Teamster local shop that was supposed to be a cheaper alternative than being forced to continue to use Chemical Worker Union drivers. We were new and not very popular on the dock at the Baltimore plant. The Chemical Workers tolerated us, but only because we were at least Union and not independents.

Up to this point in my driving career, I had only mingled with union workers as an independent driver. I usually got along fine with them, but some loading docks were populated by aggressive union assholes who sometimes purposefully made my job hard; the Philly and New Jersey docks were the worse.

So now I was a Teamster. At first, all I knew was, I was going to make significant coin and drive solid, well maintained lease equipment. I was hired on and put on the road as a solo act when the contract with the Teamsters insisted on a team driving set up. Problem was, the dispatcher at the Baltimore plant was having trouble finding drivers with the kind of over the road experience I had from my time driving Rock n Roll bands. 

I spent the first 3 months driving the same runs as the two driver teams did.. I kept two sets of logs and successfully kept up with the 3 other teams. It was tiring, but it was an hourly rate, not a mileage pay rate. In that 3 months driving solo, I grossed close to $50K. The overtime money was insane. My dispatcher was going to continue with me driving solo, but a snitch from the Chemical Workers bitched to someone over his head. One week at the end of a round trip run to Los Angeles, I was told I would finally have a co-driver to share the driving with. 

At first, the thought of losing all that over time made me grumpy. Once I wrapped my head around the idea that another driver would make my life easier, I was okay with it. I was told to come in for the next run a few hours early in order to meet my new co-driver.

His name was Joe I think. It doesn't matter if it was or not. I will call him Joe. Joe was several years older than I was and full of himself as most of us younger drivers were. But his experience was almost exclusively dedicated to hauling containers from Baltimore docks to docks in Philly or New jersey. 

After the introduction, I told him to throw his gear in the side pod of the truck. He told me it wouldn't fit. I wondered about that when he returned to the rig with 4 suitcases for the 7-8 day run. 

"What the Hell did you pack for this trip, everything from your dresser?"

I held up my one bag that was half the size of just one of his suitcases.

"I could live out of this bag forever bud. You need to cut some shit out. We ain't got room for your whole wardrobe. I'll give you one suitcase and that's it."

He looked at me. I thought he might start something. He was not happy about me telling him what to do. I probably should have quizzed him harder, but we needed to leave soon if we wanted to be on the road early enough to miss the serious Monday commutes in and around the Baltimore/ DC area.

It took Joe another 20 minutes to sort through his stuff and settle on what he thought he would need. He finally had only one bag. He shoved it in the side pod and we booted.

This run was not the usual straight shot to the Los Angeles plant and back. We ran some dry chemical up to the Fort Lee, New Jersey plant. Dropped the trailer and hooked up to an empty trailer and headed south to Kannapolis, NC to pick up towels meant for Breeze detergent boxes. From there we headed west.

Joe's first trip west made the usual mundane run more interesting for sure. The excitement he showed when we crossed the Mississippi made me remember my first crossing as a child in the back seat of a 1956 Pontiac. There is nothing quite like seeing the Mississippi River for the first time. Add in the St. Louis Arch and man, it makes an impression. The Arch is an amazing sight you can see from miles away.

The rest of the trip West was uneventful with the exception of a stop at the Big Texan Steakhouse in Amarillo, Texas. I thought Joe would like to see what a real steak meal looked like. He was not only amazed, he took the challenge of eating 72 ounces of steak and fixins in one hour or less. If he ate it all, he would not have to pay for the steak. 

I knew better, having already taken the challenge several years earlier. Joe tried hard, but in the end, he fell more than a few ounces short. I thought I was going to have to hold him up to get him out of there. He was a suffering bastard through the rest of Texas, through New Mexico and well into Arizona. I decided to let him lay in the sleeper and I finished the drive to the City of the Angels.

When we finally got to Los Angeles early afternoon, I dropped the trailer and found the motel. I was really beat. I told Joe to cool his heels, we would pick up our return load in the morning. Said I was going to shower and hit the hay. Wake me up in the morning.

Two, maybe three hours later, the phone in the room starts ringing off the hook. Being almost comatose, it took me several seconds or more to wake up enough to answer the damn thing. I was not friendly.

"Hello, what, what the Hell do you want?"

"Mike, Uh I..... Well you see..."

I was very awake now. Hearing Joe's voice on the phone told me he was not in the room and probably nowhere near it. I sat up and started looking for my glasses. Seems I always felt I could hear better if I had them on. This time was no different. I groped on the nightstand, under the pillow, finally locating them on the top of my head where I had pushed them back before I passed out.

"Where are you?"

I climbed out of the bed and reached for the window curtain.

" Uh, well, I 'm in Long Beach."

"Hold on."

I opened the curtain and noticed there was no longer a fairly new Leaseway GMC cabover bob tail sitting in front of our door.

"And you took the tractor, didn't you?"

A long moment of silence followed. So I repeated myself.

"You took the truck didn't you?"

"Yeah, I did, but, .... but I can explain."

I kept my cool. I had learned from my time hauling Rockm Roll that staying calm was more important than the satisfaction of blowing my top.

"Go ahead, explain to me why, what, and where..... And do it quickly."

More silence and then, "Well, you see I ain't never been to California, Hell, I ain't never been West of the Mississippi. And since we had a layover, and since you were asleep, I figured there'd be no harm if I borrowed the tractor and did some sight seeing."

The silence switched sides as I contemplated what this might mean to me, to our run, to the Universe in general. Finally, I asked the dreaded question I had been avoiding to this point.

"Are the cops involved in this "sight seeing" trip of yours?"

"Well, yeah, but it's all okay, I'll pay the ticket out of my first paycheck."

"The ticket?"

"Uh yeah, I kinda got stuck on a beach in Long Beach. Uh Huntington Beach actually.  Seems the beach I drove on was not a drive on beach. ........ I would have been fine and not been caught, but I got stuck in the sand."

"You got our 15,000 pound tractor stuck on a fucking beach?"

I was wide awake now.

"Uh yeah. but the cop , hey did you know the cops out here are real friendly, he only gave me a ticket for blocking the access lane and not the driving on the beach ticket. Says it will....."

I had stopped listening to Joe. As lead driver, I knew any blowback was heading my way, not his. Then something told me I was only getting part of the story.

"What are you not telling me? Are you still stuck?"

"Well, that's why I called. See, I don't know who to call out here other than you, so ......."

I remember sitting there on that tired mattress at the Days Inn and realizing that my job was probably over, no matter what I did to salvage the situation.

"Are you at a pay phone?"

"Yeah"

"Give me the number. I'll call Leaseway and let them handle it and get right back to you."

I was finally awake and up to speed and now fully engaged in my crisis handling mindset. 

"Well, that's a problem too. There's folks here who want to use the phone."

"Okay, call me back in 1/2 hour. I need a shower and some time to talk with the Leaseway folks."

Joe was more than happy to get off the phone. His last words before he hung up were regarding how he could pass the time watching the naked people at the beach. I remember sitting there staring at the phone. Finally, that something he was not telling me came into focus. He had said he was at Huntington Beach, maybe the most famous nude beach in the USA.

As it turned out, my call to Leaseway solved the logistical problems of the trip. They arranged to have the tractor towed, and when it was determined that Joe had burned up the differential with sand, they put us in a brand new, never been driven, GMC COE (Cabover) for our return trip to B-more. I was never told how expensive this fuck-up was, but from my previous experience having crashed a lease truck on ice in Pennsylvania, I knew it was an expensive mistake.

The return trip from Los Angeles was a quiet trip. Joe and I settled on occasionally grunting at each other. He was fired as soon as we landed at the Leaseway lot in Baltimore.

I was dressed down hard for the fiasco I had no part in as dispatch determined that I should never had allowed my keys to leave my person. I sucked it up and kept my mouth shut.

Joe was not yet out of my life though. A month or so later when I got back from my weekly run, he was waiting for me at the Leaseway lot. He was shitfaced and angry. He began a tirade about how it was my fault he lost his job because I didn't have his back and the only Teamster gig he could get was as a yard rat moving trailers around. Because of me his family was suffering also, blah, blah, blah.

I had stopped listening. I was dead dog tired and all I wanted to do was sleep on a mattress that was not in constant motion. I told him to shut the fuck up, that what happened to him was his own fault and godammit, get out of my face.

Then he said, "What did you do with my gun?"

That stopped me cold. I turned around and stared at him. "What gun?"

"The gun I stashed under the mattress in the sleeper."

"You fuckin had a gun with you on that run to L-A."

"Well yeah, ya never know when you might need one."

I remember staring at him for the longest time. I was astounded. I didn't know where to start.

"You know hauling around a gun as a commercial carrier is a crime and a Teamster no-no. Besides, just how dangerous did you think the road was going to be? I have over 1 million gun free miles under my belt. The only situation I ever felt the need for defense, well, my tire thumper was more than adequate."

"Fuck you", Joe said, "I don't want to hear it. Do you have my gun or not? ... I stashed it under the mattress in the sleeper."

At this point I was heading to my car.

Over my shoulder, I said:

"I know nothing of your gun. It's probably still where you left it. But the tractor is locked up in the garage now. You'll have to wait until I come back for my next run tomorrow night. I'll find it and have it for you then." 

I got in my car and left the lot.

Sunday evening when I showed up to grab my tractor to start my weekly run,  Joe was there in his car waiting for me. He was out of his car and next to my car before I had even turned off the engine. As soon as I opened my door, his bullshit picked up right where it left off the day before.

"Did you find my gun?"

"No, haven't looked for it yet." 

"Gimme a minute to check it out."

"Hey, I'll look for it."

Joe seemed in a hurry. I was not feeling very accommodating.

"You stay right here. You are not getting in my truck ever again."

I continued on to my rig, opened the door and climbed in. I found Joe's gun deep under the mattress. It was wrapped up tight in a paper bag. I hopped down from the truck, turned and gave Joe the bag.

Joe opened the bag, looked in, and then looked at me.

"What the fuck bud? What did you do to my gun?"

"What? ... I did nothing to your gun. You saw, I just found it."

"The rust guy, the rust. it's just a lump of rust."

"Calm down. It's the way I found it. Remember, you are the one who stuffed it under the mattress. The sleeper is a damp place, hiding the gun there was a bad idea. It's all on you asshole, not me. .... you're lucky I didn't throw it out. ............ Besides, the rust is superficial. Haven't you ever owned a firearm before? ..... It'll clean up just fine."

Then Joe opened his mouth one time too many. "Well, why didn't you clean it up then?"

I punched him in the mouth and walked away. If memory serves, that may have been the last time I hit a man.

Keep it 'tween the ditches .........................................

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Musical choices are probably many, but at the moment, I am drawing a blank. Something related to Trucking? Maybe Greatful Dead of Little feat? Nah. This story needs something different. Maybe some California music from back in the Day: Beach boys, Mamas and Papas, Sonny and Cher? .......... Hmm.

"Hotel California" by The Eagles fits I think. It certainly fits my mood and overall attitude about the Golden State. Here is a live version recorded at the Capitol Center in Largo, Maryland in 1977. I hauled more than a few tours to that venue.

Annie

My oldest brother's first wife died, I assume last week. She was former Senator Richard Lugar's sister Annie. I think she and Joe were married for 17 or 18 years. Apparently Annie had been ill for quite awhile. I have no other details as I have been estranged from that part of my family for years now. I deserve it I guess. I never wanted to be a part of my mom's side of the family anyway. They snubbed me as a child. I never forgave them for that.

And so different threads of my life seem to be coming home at a faster rate now. Threads I very seldom concerned myself with. And that is a shame I guess, but Life is like that. I won't waste too much time anguishing over it.

My other brother's wife, Eileen was the person who contacted me via email like I was some acquaintance who "might" be interested. Given the acrimonious relationship I have had with them, contacting me that way was the safe bet. The aftermath of my brother Joe's death got kind of ugly when I was turned away from being there for the funeral ceremonies, whatever they ended up being.

So this may be a half ass Obit, but it is how I feel. I loved Annie, often times way more than I loved her husband who was my brother. She was one of those people everyone liked and loved. I wanted to kick Joe's ass when he stepped out on her.

So Annie, I hope there is peace and tranquility wherever you are. You deserve it. You were a special kind of kind.

Keep it 'tween the ditches .................................

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I chose a wonderful piano duet by Oscar Peterson and Count Basie called "Slow Blues" as my dirge of choice for Annie. I have no clue if she like either artist, but I sure do.

Spotted a Turtle

Earlier this month, I spotted this turtle just before I drove over it; thankfully, not with the wheels. I stopped and backed up, being careful to not squish him/her this pass either. 

I stopped the truck, got out and checked the little guy/gal for damage. I knew it was not a snapper. My question was, was it a Painted Turtle? Didn't matter as I knew it did not belong in the road.

I bent down to get a better look. The turtle buried its head inside its shell. Good idea I thought. Not the best idea to trust a human.

I turned it over for a second and realized I should probably not mess with it. Find a nice spot on the side of the road it had been facing and set it free. That is what I did. I spent the 3 miles driving back to the house feeling proud and full of myself. Once again I helped a needy creature out of a potentially tough situation. Yeah, I was breaking my arm patting myself on the back.

I wanted to know what kind of turtle the little feller/gal was. Google came to my rescue as expected in about 4 milliseconds. Turns out the little turtle was not a Painted Turtle. It was a Spotted Turtle and on the endangered critter list, a list that grows exponentially every year it seems. 

Their decline is so bad, they are increasingly only found in small groups scattered up and down the East Coast and inland North New York and Vermont. Apparently Acton, Maine has at least one. 

When I read this, I was even more pleased with myself. Somehow I was attaching more importance to this little creature than say, a Painted Turtle, which is not on the endangered list. That there are less of them than the others tends to give them a higher priority on the help them out lists. As I have never considered endangered in any of my animal aid moments, helping this little turtle is no more important to me than the time I saved an angry Snapping Turtle from possibly becoming roadkill. Over the years, I have been very evenhanded in doing what I can to help all critters out. Helping one on the endangered list just reinforced my policy of helping Nature where I can.

In June, 2008 I was coming home from moving my daughter up from North Carolina. I was on my road almost home when I spotted this Pissy Momma Snapping Turtle trying to successfully cross Sam Page Road to the bog so she could bury some eggs in the stinky bog goo. I had learned to respect Snappers when I was a kid in Maryland, where they get much larger than the one I interacted with that day in June, 2008. 

I decided to not try to pick her up. I had a two wheeler in the truck from when we moved my daughter, so it became a simple operation. 

Momma was not happy. She hissed and bit the steel two wheel dolly a few times. Turned out it worked great. I had her safely across the road in no time. She turned her neck and looked at me, hissed a final time and then and continued on her quest to find the perfect spot to lay some eggs.

Hmm. ...... This post has been constructed through a series of separate efforts, each one carrying a slightly different point I thought I wanted to make.

I hate not completing a post in a single effort. This post is the perfect example. I decided to finish it today without making a point other than pointing out my paltry efforts to help Nature sustain itself. And now I sit here making an attempt at a clean ending. Maybe I should just leave it here. Helping the Natural World is more than enough of a point. I should not worry about explaining myself. Maybe what I should be doing is trying to explain why I don't do more.  

Keep it 'tween the Ditches ............................

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*** I started this post the first week of October. Not sure why I have not finished it. Maybe it was that sinking feeling of doom I was dealing with as I watched Trump and his flunkies go into panic mode and threaten, lie, and predict all sorts of madness should they not be elected on November 5th. I'd like to think I am strong enough to not let their insipid, lying rhetoric I have been listening to now for over 9 years finally get to me. We are less than a couple of weeks away from hopefully throwing Trump on the trash heap of history and putting a serious glitch in the Extreme Right's plan to dominate our country. 

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It was fun looking for an appropriate tune. I listened to music for a couple of hours and toked up almost a whole joint. Eventually though with the buzz, frustration set in. I almost walked away from this post for a fourth time. I had wasted too much time on it already. Then I remembered a favorite one truck tour I drove for while hauling bands all over the lower 48. It was an Art Garfunkel tour and sadly it was only 3 weeks or so long.

I had never considered Art as a solo act until I hauled him around for a few gigs. I mean really, Paul Simon was the face and driving force of Simon & Garfunkel, right? Well......... Art shined without Paul's help. His shows were excellent...... really excellent.

I was so gonna add Art's take on this Sam Cooke classic. But after I listened to it a couple of times, I realized the Louis Armstrong song by the same name was much more appropriate for this post. No one can do it better than Satch Mo's original take. I found a "Playing for Change" version and will include it along with  Art Garfunkel's cover of the classic, Sam Cooke song of the same name.

It is indeed a Wonderful World we live on. Being reminded of it from time to time, well, ........ it's obvious from how we treat the planet, we need more reminding; a lot more reminding. 

Enjoy ..................

For Doug

I went MIA for a few days on Facebook recently. When I decided to check back in, there were over 50 notifications for me to pay attention to. I have ignored Facebook before for brief periods, but never have I had as many notifications to sift through when I came back. 

Rather than punch the "Marked as Read" button and move on, I took the time to read any comment from anyone I was not ignoring and also a few that indicated likes, loves, or hates. One of the comments I came across was from a friend of more than a few years. We are still friends on Facebook, but I wonder if that will last through the election. 

Seems Doug ( I won't use his last name because well, I am not a total asshole)....... Yeah, I think Doug may be a closeted Trumper solely based on the only indicator I have; his semi-regular criticisms of my often acerbic political views on the total insanity that is the Right now days. 

I shared a post by a fellow Mainer who calls himself the "Downeast Cowboy".  The post was regarding the "Coles Transportation Museum" up country in Bangor. His posts are always interesting and positive about Maine and the people who live here. So Doug took the time to focus on this share rather than his usual choice of one of my political opinions. He wrote:

"Finally something other than your wacked political views"

I have come to appreciate the fact that the planet is leaving me behind. I'm old and getter even older every day. But come on now, how did a Center-Left view become so un-Mainstream to now be called "wacked" in such a short period of time. 20 years ago, I was was often being virtually hanged in absentia for not being a true blue card carrying Libtard. 

I know hovering around what used to be the Center of American Politics is a thankless position. But now because of the stupidity on the Right, suddenly, according to Doug, I have "wacked" political views. Since I have no real clue other than his criticisms of my politics to go on, I can only make assumptions as to which side of the fence he hangs.

When someone does not have the balls to stand up and take a stand rather than just fling troll darts around, I have less respect for that person than before. And I certainly do not give a fuck what a troll, friend or not, thinks.

Hmm ............. Seems I do give something of a fuck what Doug thinks, just not enough of a fuck to allow his trolled  criticisms to adjust my viewpoints.

So Doug, if you bother to read this after I send you the link, man up Dude and tell me what you think; not just that you think my politics are wacked. Where are your politics? You afraid to share them? 

Well ..........................................?

______________________________

I only agonized a moment or two,

Over what song to play for you.

Punched up "Talking Blues" and

Listened to a few more than a few

Before I settled on this one tune

For you to view .............. Enjoy!

Cultural Shifts

I joined a 1970's Facebook memory page awhile back. The first thing I did was remind myself this was not going to be a page I vented my angry political crap. I had other places for ranting, raving, showing my displeasure with the world politic at this time. Some pages should be reserved for apolitical and non-religious fun and nonsense. Leave the hate and discontent at home.

Sadly, politics seems to stalk me wherever I go in Facebook. Anywhere people engage each other, ugliness, hate, and discontent is always waiting just below the surface for any chance to ruin an otherwise pleasant and funny conversation. I fucking hate it.

So, the image to the right posted on the 70's memory page. Of the many comments I read, most were just straight up reactions to the memory, not interpretative memories that may have drastically mutated in the ensuing years that brought us to how we remember those good ole days today.

Now that I have pondered the meme awhile now, I realize the meme asked for it to get political with the words "cultural shift". 

Nothing fires up a lot of us Boomers than words like "cultural shift". Most of us are sure it was better then than it is now. Seems we want to blame some group we are not part of for the perceived sad state of affairs our world is in now. It's the kids, the rich, the Democrats, the GOP, atheists, Bible Thumpers, the brown immigrants; it's always someone other than ourselves. 

No one seems to want to acknowledge that what we have today is a group grope. It took all of us to create what we are living through now. In my opinion, no group is as bad as my Baby Boomer generation at condemning the world we helped to create. When a Millennial, a G throught Z generation punk blames us and wished we were dead and gone, well, we deserve it I guess. Many of us felt the same about our parents from "the Greatest Generation" who busted our balls during those wonderful1960's and 1970s.

The more things that change, the more they remain the same. My mom always contended there was nothing new under the Sun, just reiterations with subtle twists. And now that I have lived for over 70 years, I realize that she was right.

The story remains the same; it's the set that changes. 

Later ..............................

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A perfect song to match my mood at the moment is, "The Way It Is", by Bruce Hornsby. It is a beautiful song with a serious message. I try to resist, but every time I hear it, my eyes go moist.

I Miss Carl, the Original Space Cowboy

Two Carl Sagan meme's found my Facebook page this morning. Both were marvelous quotes he came up with many years ago now. One was so prescient, it could have been written yesterday. The other, which sits to the left, is just an observation from a man whose life was spent observing. In so few words he encapsulates the Universe we live in and how special it is to be part of it.

I wish that I had paid more attention to Carl Sagan when he was alive and in his prime. I first became aware of Carl when I watched his PBS mini series, "Cosmos: A Personal Voyage" several years after it had first aired. He blew me away by his ability to make the big complicated ideas of Science make sense to a dumass like me. Sadly, as I was hard into my self interested journey of me and mine at the time, you know, family , job, blah, blah, blah ...... I paid only occasional attention to him after that.

It was only after his death in 1996 that I came to truly appreciate what a great mind he had and maybe that he was the greatest prognosticator of the last several centuries. He was not just an observer of the Heavens, his chosen field, he was able to use the phenomenal analytical skills he developed early in his life to bring together the threads that connect everyone of us to every little thing in the Universe. Nothing happens that we are not connected to. Nothing.

His grand notion of all inclusive connectivity has not caught on with everyone, but there are enough of us who have turned on that light, that I see this realization eventually catching on even with the dunderheads who refuse to even entertain the notion that everything is connected.

Carl may be dead, but his impact I think is only beginning. RIP Carl. I miss you.

Keep it 'tween the ditches ....................................

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I thought a fitting tune for today's post would be "Space Cowboy", by The Steve Miller Band. for me, Carl was the original Space Cowboy.

The Man in the Tree Re-Visited

A seven year old image I posted on Facebook crossed my page a few days ago. No need to describe it. You can see it right there on the left. The accidental visage that appeared on this trunk gave him his name, "The Man in the Tree". It took 30 plus years for him to reveal himself to me, but he finally did.

A man of few words, our conversations were decidedly one sided; his response usually just a branch swaying or a hiss as he used the wind to convey his feelings. Regardless, he and I have had more than a few conversations over the years. His steady calm demeanor have more than a few times helped me to calm myself, regain some perspective as I shed anxiety over any current stupidity I might have been experiencing. A relief valve I guess. Yes, a relief valve.

I first met the future Man in the Tree when he was just a two inch sapling in the late 1960's. No one knew exactly what species he was as the previous owner of the house had planted him shortly before they decided to sell the house. Based on the flowers that would eventually grace our dooryard, we called it a Weeping Cherry.

The image to the right is one of the last decent flowerings the Old Man put out. Not sure, but I think it was maybe from the same year the above image was taken.

Being of a fruit variety, the tree has always had issues with some rot. It was only in the last decade the rot began to cause limbs to fall and bark to fall off, leaving deep cavities that seemed to go right to its core. And last year an invasive climbing vine found it and really did some damage.

I plan to attempt to clean it up with a dim hope of saving it. If nothing else, I am going to attempt to propagate some of the many suckers it produces every year.

I am bringing up the Man in the Tree because like him, I have had a tough few years recently. Though both of us are hanging in there, I seem or might be turning a corner for the better. If I am, I hope to bring the Man in the Tree with me. ...................... We'll see.

Keep it 'tween the ditches ....................................

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I immediately thought of a tune on one of Fleetwood Mac's under appreciated albums, titled "Bare Trees". It came out during the period when they were evolving out of a blues band and into a pop band. Though I loved their music when they played blues, I accepted their inevitable metamorphosis from ugly blues larva into their reimagined Pop Music butterfly. Anyway here is Fleetwood Mac's title track from their their sixth album released in 1972. Here is "Bare Trees".

Eating Cats & Dogs

“If I have to create stories so that the American media actually pays attention to the suffering of the American people, then that’s what I’m going to do.”

       JD Vance ~ Sept 15, 2024

Nine plus years of Trump and his drooling minions polluting the political discourse has made what were once unforgiveable actions by politicians nothing but mainstream, everyday stupidity that America has now learned to ignore. 

The question I ask now is how did and why did we allow this kind of sleazy bullshit poison our politics? I was outraged when I saw the Right fall in line with the lies, accusations and hate that Trump pandered as the new "Alternative Facts" starting in 2015. And now we do not even blink an eye when he comes up with and then doubles and triples down on a lie that is racist and blatantly false. Targeting immigrants who are here legally and are also black is never okay, yet Trump and his butt sucking sidekick, JD Vance have no problem spewing their vile lies about them on a daily basis.

JD Vance's justification for creating lies to somehow bolster his campaign to enlighten America to his twisted vision of where we are only reinforces the lack of substance his and Trumps claims have. If they admit to making up lies to support their previous lies, what are we to think about their over all attitude about Americans. They are playing us for chumps and sadly, a large number of us are drinking their swill, and even helping to push their hate and discontent. Many, if not most know their plans are based not on helping the country but helping the few assholes who own them. They just do not care.

It is so easy to place all the blame on Trump. But the gutless enablers of the Right are really to blame. They allowed this slimy asshole to take over their party; this monster they now cannot control. They have allowed Trump to ruin the GOP by turning the party into an anti-democratic group bent on establishing an Authoritarian State in place of the Representative Democracy we currently enjoy.

If Trump wins this November, as Jackie Sue so frequently says, "We're Fucked!

Meanwhile, do your best to keep it 'tween the ditches ..........................

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I found a list of Anti - Trump Blues tunes. It was hard to pick a favorite. After checking them all, I decided on the Rick Estrin & the Night Cats tune, "Dump That Trump".  

Enjoy!

When I Was Young

I am not the awesome physical specimen I was fifty plus years ago. I know that. Yet occasionally, my mind tries to trick me into believing I have a chance of recapturing that chiseled and ripped body I so briefly packed when I thought I would live forever.

Yeah, the reality of the me of today flies in the face of the me I sometimes still conjure up in my mind. I will never again play lacrosse at the college level, win another swimming championship, or play on a state champion softball team. And picking up a bike again is questionable now.

That I am even still here and upright after so many years of taking my body for granted is more a testament to luck and possibly some solid DNA than any conscious effort on my part to maintain the temple I was gifted at birth.

Hindsight being 20/20 and all, I realized in my thirties that the bad habits I picked up in my teenage years would probably demand some kind of retribution once I hit my old fart years. So, instead of listening to my early warning system, I forgot the alert, resumed my merry way, and continued to occasionally ingest all the tasty ugliness that tempted me, day in and day out. 

Now here I am pissin and moanin about what once was and what will probably never be again. Yeah, I have begun to fight back, but at this point, the effort is token at best. It is a mind over matter game now and I was never very good at that. Hell, it took me over 50 years of smoking before I was able to find the will to successfully quit.

Funny, the opening sentence I came up with while walking with Maggie in the woods did not turn into where I thought that sentence would take this post.  What I had originally envisioned for this post is not even close to the result I am reading now.  A best laid plan became a go with the flow result of an unintended ending. 

And so concludes another communication from the void I charitably call my mind.

Keep it 'tween the ditches .....................................................

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Since I had no idea or thought concerning a musical choice for this post, I will continue to rely on my tried and true go with the flow style. ........... This could take awhile.

Damn. It only took a few tokes and a brief visit to YouTube to find the perfect song. Here is Eric Burdon and the Animals with their excellent tune, "When I was Young".

Dreams of Tractors and Scythes

So I had a dream the other night; uh, no, make that a series of three dreams, two of which were connected. 

The first one has me and my 30 year John Deere lawn tractor with snow blower attached attending an antique Tractor show down to Iron Tails Saloon across Route 109 from the Acton Fairgrounds. 

In the Real World I exist in when not asleep, Iron Tails will have at least two antique car and motorcycle show off parties a summer. So, in my dreams, it made perfect sense that they would host an antique lawn care show. That's what dreams are for after all.

I took a stroll around the many examples of antique lawn care equipment. There were several old Yard Man riding mowers, some old Craftsman units, some old Snapper riding mowers, and a variety of push mowers with engines and without. There was even one guy with a reconditioned Scythe. The thing was beautiful.

I finished my circuit and went back to proudly stand next to my own entry. It took me a minute to notice my pride and joy was missing something. In the short 10 minutes I spent circulating around the displayed antique lawn mowers, someone had stolen my just recently renovated snow blower attachment. I was astounded and immediately pissed.

Then I woke up. The anger combined with my need to pee caused me to seek out the bathroom ASAP. During the late night pee run, my anger at being ripped off quickly turned into considerations of what I was going to do to the assholes who stole from me as long as I  was able to pick up the dream where I left off. 

I am not often able to re-enter a dream if I have awakened for any reason. This time after some fitful moments trying to fall asleep again, I was able to not only fall asleep, but I managed to pick up the dream like I never left.

Very angry now and mumbling under my breath, I began another circuit around the various displayed lawn equipment. The last John Deere 445 Tractor I came upon looked different than when I had first seen it. I bent over and looked at the impeller axle. Instead of the nice clean solid factory attachment, it looked just like my jury rigged poorly welded set up that was a signature of my snow blower.

"Damn! How the Hell did they manage this", I thought.

I looked at the kid holding down the display. He wouldn't look me in the eye. I asked him if he had stolen my snow blower attachment. No response. Just then a grown man approached and asked me if I had a problem and why was I bothering his kid.

I repeated my question, "Did you steal my Snow Blower attachment?"

The guy wouldn't look me in the eye. But he nodded in the affirmative.

I didn't ask him why, I just asked if he would return it and he said he would. That is when I woke up again. Still pissed, I headed to the kitchen for some water. Went back to bed and slept just fine until 4:00 AM or so when again a dream woke me up. This one was about GW Bush and myself sharing coffee at the kitchen table. I asked him if he wanted any sugar for his coffee. He shook his head and said, "Just pass the cream."

I passed him the cream and then again I woke up. Tired of dreaming, I decided to stay awake and get on with my day.

Keep it 'tween the ditches ...........................................

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What tune could I possibly come up with that would dove tail nicely with a post about a tractor dream? 

Apparently other than the infinite number of songs about all the aspects, god and bad, about True Love, the next over filled category of songs would be songs about dreams, dreaming and how they are often broken.

I tasted too many before I finally picked two. First up is Tom Petty's, "Runnin Down a Dream".

And for a finishing tune is one of my favorite Cranberries tune, "Dreams".

She Spanked That Ass

Former RNC Chairman Michael Steele's assessment of last night's debate was spot on. Vice President Kamala Harris did indeed spank Trump hard. She took command of the debate with the initial handshake. Trump never found his footing, he never recovered.

I am under no delusions that Harris' debate success seals her win in November. There is and will always be a sea of stupid people who will back Trump no matter what. What Kamala showed the country was she is so much more up to the task of being President than Trump ever was. She showed that her concern was for this country while Trump continued his self aggrandizing rhetoric filled with lies, hate, and discontent. Kamala showed the drastic difference between someone who wants to help all Americans as to someone who only wants to divide America in order to help themselves. 

Well done Ms. Vice President, well done!

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I found the perfect song for the debate last night. It is a tune recorded by Fleetwood Mac in 1969 under the name Earl Vince & the Valiants. It is called "Someone's gonna get their head kicked in tonight". 

He, Who Shall Remain Un-named

I have recently been trying to refrain from posting anything specifically about politics. I can feel I am probably close to my breaking point. As evidence, I am now mentioning that I am trying to not write about the political circus unfolding outside the confines of my little acre of Sanity here in southern Maine. I will do my best with this post to at least, not mention by name, the one politician who has me and many, many millions of other Americans totally fed up with his lies, his criminality, his misogyny, his word salads, and are really tired of his ugly mug on TV every time we turn the damn things on. 

One can only watch so many "Leave it to Beaver", "Perry Mason", and "Have gun, Will Travel" re-runs. At some point I have to come up for air and there he is, still right in my face with his drooling knuckle dragging Cultists hanging on every idiotic word that spews from his pie hole.

 

Over the past 9 years when he first slithered and slimed his way into the politics of mainstream America, my first reaction was laughter. What a clown, I thought, what a buffoon. No way America would be be stupid enough to allow this guy anywhere near 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue in Washington, DC.

My laughter died when I realized that yes, there were enough gullible idiots in this country who had no problem with him and his sleazy con man chicanery that he was able to sneak in and squat behind the Resolute Desk in the Oval Office for the next 4 years. Okay, I thought, this was an aberration. Surely America would wise up for the next election and vote him out. 

I was right. We did vote the flim flaming asshole out. But  he didn't go quietly. Instead, he fired up his traitorous citizen army and they tried to overthrow the election and the country. Unapologetic, this self serving traitor doubled down and continued to punish America for the next 4 years with his stupidity, hate and discontent. We watched as he tried to steer our ship towards the rocks and tear us down in order to remake this country into the totalitarian paradise he has had wet dreams about for so many years. He failed but not before he caused real damage to our way of of life and our national soul. 

Hmm..........................

I sit here close to my boiling point again and wonder if his presence in my life is punishment for some misdeed or slight I may have had a part in far back in my checkered past. Did I insult Karma at some point? Or is it that America did?

All I can figure now is we deserve this man in our lives. We allowed him to poison our culture, bad mouth our cherished institutions, people and tenets that comprise the core of our national soul.

And now, 9 years after he first polluted the political landscape, he is still here spewing his inciteful gibberish and keeping the cups of of hate and discontent overflowing. We have a chance to put him down and I hope we do. But sadly the slime and shit stains he will leave behind will be with us for a long time. 

Good Job America. Way to go. Look what we have done to ourselves.

Later gators ..................................... 

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My choice for a tune comes from Tracy Chapman with her song "America". I am including the lyrics. I feel  they fit quite well with this post.

Labor Day Weekend

Labor Day. .......... Why was it created and when? From a U.S. government website :

"...... in 1882, Peter J. McGuire, general secretary of the Brotherhood of Carpenters and Joiners and a co-founder of the American Federation of Labor, suggested setting aside a day for a "general holiday for the laboring classes" to honor those "who from rude nature have delved and carved all the grandeur we behold."

".... to honor those who from rude nature have delved and carved all the grandeur we behold"

Hmm. Eloquent sentiment that describes what wage slaves do to meet the needs of the Rich to feed their ever growing silk lined pockets. 

No one can argue with those words really. Ownership in and of itself creates nothing tangible, physical, nor edible. All ownership does is create the focus of the energies of a group to one specific goal; producing the physical needs and wants of the larger group they are all part of. And for that, ownership grants themselves the largest piece of the reward pie. Fair or not, that's how it works.

Don't get me wrong, I have no axe to grind with ownership in and of itself. The Capitalistic model works, but not very well without at least a modicum of oversight. Left to it's own devices, without any restraints, Capitalism is a no win proposition in the end for everyone, the owners included. They are just the last ones standing. Eventually the system will be replaced by one that is more often than not, more draconian and brutal.

I understand I am using broad strokes to attempt to describe the economic model we use in this country. It is not so straight forward as my first remarks might indicate. There are many influences, good and bad that can create or enhance the over all impact on the culture the economic system exists in.

The broad strokes though, in my opinion, fit into too many scenarios that have already played out many times in the past since Capitalism began its rise from the ashes of  Feudalism during the Middle Ages. As a layman, former blue collar guy, and now, retired small business owner, I am thinking the failure of unrestrained free markets are as bad, if not worse than free markets operating under too many odious government restraints. The best results it seems, fall in the middle between the two, where Capitalism is the base system with a government that continues to rein in the worst excesses of the system. At the same time, The government does what it can to help maintain a healthy base economy.

A well managed forest will be more productive over the long term, than a forest cutover leaving nothing but stumps. 

This weekend we celebrate the hard work of all the worker bees who built and continue to sustain the greatest Economy in the last century or so. A day only celebrating our workers isn't enough really. But like good worker bees, we take what we can get and go back to work on Tuesday.

My father once told me there is nobility in any type of work. Carrying one's own weight through the labor of their backs or minds is where the real pride comes from, as opposed to the false narrative that defines us through how much we own. As I said earlier, ownership produces not much by itself. Without a workforce, there would be no riches to own.

Enjoy the rest of your weekend and please -

Keep it 'tween the ditches .............

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I thought I would search for a good labor tune. As I began my search, I remembered my favorite song of all time. "Willin", by Little Feat exemplifies my attitude towards work, pushing envelopes, and holding on. For me, "Willin" describes the the can do attitude of American Labor. It definitely described my attitude during the days I drove trucks over the road. 

When I played it again, I realized  "Willin" didn't dovetail nicely with the sentiment of the post. I will include it anyway, just because, well, it is my favorite song, ever. 

To be more in line with the idea, the struggles, and promises our labor force has been part of, here is the original version of "16 Tons" as written and recorded by Merle Travis in 1947. 

As promised, here is "Willin", a song that carried and sustained me through my years of pounding the superslabs, dodgin 4-wheelers and Smokies. It was the perfect finish to a precarious youth. I ended up having too much fun and finally got caught being stupid. 

It was at that point, my life really began.

A Weekend Post

Saturday

For me to write the best I can, I have to treat writing like exercise. More writing usually brings with it better writing fitness. The longer I go without writing, the more barco-lounger lazy I become. Then when the mood finally reappears, it is often like pulling teeth to get back into any groove at all. So this post is more for the exercise than any particular point I might have had in mind when I sat down. A point may happen, but it will be an accident. 

The one rule I have for this post is "No Politics". ............. Yeah right. That might be an impossible dream.

Speaking of some dreams being impossible. How about that Kamala? ........... I knew I shouldn't have set any rules, especially regarding politics. I decided I might as well break the stupid rule early and be done with it.

Now that that is out of the way, I can get on with the exercise.

Went to an excellent restaurant today with my wife, daughter and her man, Mr. Man. The Village Tavern in West Kennebunk is located in the old Cummings Market which has since moved to a new location 200 yards away into a modern day set up more suited to Suburbia, anywhere else other than West Kennebunk, Maine. But the Cummings folks are happy as pigs in shit. Besides the great operation they had as just a mom and pop store, now they have more than few gas pumps and they sit just a wheel turn off the Kennebunk exit on the Maine Turnpike. They are printing more money than ever now.

We were warned to get in line at the Village Tavern early before they opened at 4:00 PM. We were there by quarter to four and lined up maybe 20 diners back from the front of the line. Because we we were early enough, we scored the much desired seating on the long front porch outside. The day was beautiful and the breeze made it perfect.

I always have fun when I spend time with my wife, my kid and her man. They are hands down my favorite people in my life at the moment. Smart, funny, and a liberal sense of humor. We always have a good laugh at least once every time we hook up. I don't even mind when it is at my expense, which it often is.

The menu was not huge. It was not small. It had something for most everyone, even the kids. The prices were not cheap, but we expected that. I have no problem paying the freight at a good restaurant. And let's just say, the Village Tavern turned out to be better than the hype. Just their sides were awesome, never mind the Entrees. A gastronomical pleasure I have not had in a long time. All of us were more than impressed. The service was excellent and even though there was a line outside, we never felt pressure to get up and leave.

A great feed with great company. Life was as good as it gets at the Village Tavern today.

Sunday

Well, it's closing in on noon this beautiful Sunday. 75' F and only 55% humidity. In other words, I need to get outside and do shit. Too nice a day to spend indoors.

I have a hard cover for my pick up bed. It has been taking serious room in my already over stuffed garage for over 6 months now. It is time I stopped walking around it and install the damn thing. Besides, two days ago, I spent an hour scrubbing down the inside of the bed with installing the hard cover in mind.  In the meantime, please enjoy the two Yip-Yips of Sesame fame. My daughter found time to crochet them for me and my wife. Their story is they are from Mars and they hate computers and generally tech of any kind. They might be onto to something.

Wherever you are this gorgeous Sunday, please enjoy yourself .....................

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As nice as it is today means only one tune will do. Here is "Day dream" by the Lovin Spoonful from back before the dinosaurs in 1966. Enjoy. I advise a loud setting, but you may do as you like, I guess.

A Study in Contrasts

When Trump hit the political bricks in 2015 with his doom and gloom rhetoric about America and the sad shape he falsely claimed our country was in, I was puzzled at first. Then I was angry. Immediately I understood what his game plan was. Spreading hate was easier than spreading hope.

Sure, ever since 9 / 11, America seemed off it's game. We had been horribly attacked so we went to war and the following 15 years were filled with more war news, soldiers dying, soldiers coming home maimed and we once again were sucked into a situation there seemed no escape from. 

Yeah, we were not a happy country. But we were coming round until Trump opened his pie hole. Instead of using rhetoric that was positive and held out hope for our future, Trump seized on the negativity that permeated our collective soul and amplified it through never ending pessimism about America, Americans and where we were headed.

I knew he was wrong for our country then and the following 8 years proved me right. He has never stopped denigrating and hating America. His speeches now are even more hate filled than his doom and gloom sermonizing back in 2015. His "America and Americans Suck" schtick was new and fresh in 2015. Now it's like a sitcom that has been on the air way too long. The only idiots still hanging on his every word are the folks who love to hate and probably have wallowed in hate their whole lives. His covey of political opportunists are beginning to waffle in their full throated support of him. They are acting like nervous rats who think their boat may be sinking soon and are considering exit strategies now.

The image at the top is a screen shot I took of a "Morning Joe" segment while sipping coffee at the kitchen table yesterday morning. It beautifully represents the contrast between the two political parties at this point in time. The Democrats have climbed out of their funk and are back to business as the party of hope for the future, The Republicans are still wallowing like pigs in their hate filled sties created from dreams of a Past that never existed as they now remember that Past through their warped rose colored glasses.

No matter who you may vote for, please vote. Keep in mind that it is possibly a better idea that a vote be used with the Future in mind, not the Past. No matter what, we can never, nor should we want to, return to the Past.

Keep it 'tween the ditches .................................

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Time for music. What to pick, what to pick? My mind is blank and clueless this A.M. ....Hmm......... Guess I need some headphones on and a few minutes chasing songs on the World Wide Web.

In a token effort to at least check the latest hip tunes, I allowed YouTube's "Trending" tune of the day to take up space in my computer. Limiting my musical choices to the music of my past is good and all, but that denies there is no "good" music out there and just comes off as another crotchety, old fart, get off my lawn knee jerk attitude. Over the last 10-15 years, I have discovered wonderful new music across all the genre's out there. Sure, most of it is shit. The same held true back in the day when music was what my generation thinks now was the best ever. Separating the chaff to find the wheat is how it has always been.

So, here is Teddy Swims wearing a suit, a tie and tats from head to, I assume, toe. The man has some serious pipes. Enjoy "I lose Control", a very good newish pop tune.

The Enemy is Us

It bothers me we humans waste so much time, money and focus on the petty, the "never should have been a problem" problems, all the while ignoring or worse, denying the more than likely Humanity Ending calamities heading our way.

Maybe there is nothing we can do about the climatic tragedies, the over grazing, and out of control polluting. But then maybe we can. To not try harder to mitigate the upcoming damage is giving up. Status quo token efforts just won't do. We either go all in with our attempts to save what we have or we are done. It is no longer if, but when. The window to affect any change is closing at a faster rate than ever before. 

What do humans focus on while they exploit the planet to the point when the planet can no longer support our stupidity?  Their focus is on what can they buy that will help them stay erect, what can erase those lines etched in their faces and surely losing one's hair is more of a crisis than watching a desert grow where trees once stood. 

Based on our self-infatuated lifestyles, we know there are more important issues than saving the Race. Besides, we have plenty of time. And BTW, short term goals always upstage long term planning. Living for now is so much more important and easier than living with our children's futures in mind. Leave them lots of money if we can, the only plan. Besides the price we might pay for our efforts now will probably be painful. And we all know pain sucks. And besides, we have plenty of time.

The politics of saving ourselves should not be complicated. The problem is not complicated; the solutions are. Yet, the opposing sides of this issue would rather waste their energies pissing on each other's feet than pulling together to meet the biggest challenge we will ever face. 

One side wants to continue our reliance on old polluting technologies and keep their heads shoved up deep into their respective asses using denials and yo momma, fuck you, we don't care policies. Their opposites wring their hands and while supporting efforts to change, their worries about the inconveniences and disruptions to their pampered lives make them hesitant. And besides, there's plenty of time left.

Pointing fingers at everyone else without calling out my own planet saving efforts or lack thereof would be disingenuous. And while I often get on my high horse and look down my nose at the careless and ignorant people who have no clue or feel no need, no obligation to help us save ourselves, .... I have some cred, but I could and should do more, give more, and put a bigger dent in my personal carbon footprint. There is always room for improvement.

Is there plenty of time left? .......................... We'll see.

Keep it 'tween the ditches ........................................

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The song for the post I found well before I finished writing the post. I was listening to a YouTube Blues compilation. I think the song is a cover of Lightening Hopkins, "One Eyed Woman". It is performed by Gary BB Coleman who used to back up Hopkins near the end of his career. Pour yourself a shot or two of sour mash before you punch it up.

 

Hope I Die Before I Get Old

It would appear I blew it. That horse left my barn sometime ago. But I do remember embracing these lyrics after I saw The WHO perform "My Generation" on the "Smothers Brothers Show" in 1967. Their performance blew me away. I was 15 years old and had a seriously large chip on my 15 year old shoulder. The lyrics became my teen years anthem. I was going to damn well try to live up to the commitment. Old people sucked. Middle aged people (my parents) were worse. They didn't understand me or what Life was like for me at age 15.

I hoped many times I would not make it past 50, so I entered my "don't give a fuck" period and there came times when it appeared I was living up to the challenge.

Somehow I survived the years of living dangerously and became domesticated. Self preservation replaced Self destruction and the next thing I know, I have a wife, a kid, and I am no longer just living for myself. And though my crazy years were excellent overall, I am so grateful I settled down and became a positive cog in the world around me. My life as a husband, a father, and now a burgeoning old fart have been and are the best years of my life. 

As it turns out, hoping to die young was a fucking stupid idea.

Keep it 'tween the ditches .......................................

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Lock Up the Librarians

Texas never seems to have a problem punishing a freedom. Ever since Governor Abbott polluted Texas State Politics with his Christian Nationalist terrorism, a state I actually liked at one time, is now lower on my visit list than even Florida. I have lived in both states and will now never go back to either.

Granby County, Texas constable, Scott London spent two years and filled out an 824 page criminal report while investigating the evil doings at school libraries in Granbury, Texas. Apparently, the officer was ready to bring criminal charges against 3 librarians for having 6 books on the shelves that he deemed as obscene. He also wanted the names of the students who checked them out.

He did say the librarians did not have to speak with him without lawyers, as the investigation was criminal and not administrative. They refused. The investigator filed his report with the local District Attorney. The DA refused to file charges, using a "lack of evidence" excuse. 

Now this may seem like good news. They dodged a bullet and were not taken into custody, handcuffed and processed like some petty criminal. Actually, this kind of "Big Brother" bullshit should scare the bejesus out of all of us. There are so many things wrong here, legally, politically, and most of all ethically. But this is the kind of activity a single person with minimal authority can feel emboldened enough to take part in once they feel they have the backing of the government.

Limiting what we can read is a cornerstone of a totalitarian society. It doesn't matter if that totalitarianism is waving a flag or carrying a cross. There is absolutely no justification for this kind of heavy handed bullshit.

I leave this here with a link to the NBC video. You can judge for yourselves.

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To accompany this post, I chose Incubus', "Talk Shows on Mute". The big reason is besides the political message, is I just like the tune and have for years.

Regarding Organized Religion and LSD

Yesterday morning while I was having a late breakfast, a large Jehovah Witness accompanied by a much smaller Jehovah Witness knocked on my front door. I opened the door. I forget the large Jehovah's name, but the cute little Jehovah in the summer dress was named Maddie. Maggie our dog was right there, as she always is, ready to greet strangers, thieves and other lowlifes with her tail wagging and a smile on her mug. 

Maddie seemed intimidated at first, but she relaxed as I listened to, I am guessing here, her father's latest twist on God. Large Jehovah and I exchanged niceties. He asked me, and I paraphrase:

"What do you think of all the suffering around the World?"

A serious question for sure. Because I was feeling friendly, I searched for an answer that would not come across as mean or dismissive.

"To suffer seems an integral part of the Human Condition."

I wanted to say more, but he just looked at me and handed me the pamphlet. It was not the full blown issue of "The Watchtower" they usually distribute.

"We'd love to see you in church."

We shook hands and he and his mini cohort left.

Anyone who has known me for any time at all knows I hate organized religion, especially organized religions who would force their way into my life through Theocratic rule, like the Taliban, Isis, but most of all, the homegrown Christian Nationalists who are intent on totally fucking up what America has worked so hard to build.

Knowing this, it would not be much of a leap of logic to assume I hate Jehovah Witnesses. I don't hate the Witnesses. Yeah, they knock on my door at least once a summer, sometimes more. They hand me copies of "Watchtower", bend my ear for a few moments and then leave me to return to happily wallow in my heathen squalor.

Jehovah Witnesses are not political. As a matter of church doctrine, politics is not on their agenda. They only recognize "God's Kingdom" and cannot be bothered by the petty, selfish activities that swirl around them as they devote their lives to their god. They rely on face to face persuasion to bring more of us infidels into their flock. Compare that to what the Christian Nationalists will jam down our throats should they have the power. No contest, the Witnesses are hands down, how an organized religion should carry itself. Leave the politics home.

I can co-exist with any religion that does not interfere in my own vison of pursuing happiness.

Keep it 'tween the ditches .....................................

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I have had trouble finding tunes I like about or referencing religion in some way. I decided today I would find something else, maybe a reminder of times past when I was in my LSD phase. I was sure I saw God that night.

I was first introduced to Jimi Hendrix's take on "All along the Watchtower", during Easter Break, 1968. I was in military school in southern Maryland and my family had moved to Maine by then. I spent Easter Break with Snake and his grandparents in Bethesda, Maryland, my old neighborhood. 

Snake and I were new to LSD. We had only a few trips under our belts at the time. We scored a bunch of Orange Barrels. The guy we bought the hits from warned us to be careful. He advised we split one hit and see how it goes.

Being overconfident noobs, we mishandled our dosages; badly mishandled our dosages. We had been swallowing LSD for a few weeks by then and decided we knew what we could handle. We did not respect the potency of the Acid we had bought. We each ate one barrel, waited maybe 20 minutes and convinced ourselves we weren't "getting off" (feeling it), so we each ate another Orange Barrel.

By this time we had retired to Snake's basement, which was his room. He put on "Electric Ladyland". That was the last thing I really remember well until 12 or 13 hours later when we came out of it. "Electric Ladyland" was still playing. I was sure that night, Hendrix had been sent by God. And I was positive LSD was God's gift to the World.

As it turned out, it wasn't God. It was too many mics of LSD.

So here is Jimi's version of Bob Dylan's "All Along the Watchtower". To this day I am sure it is the greatest version that will ever be. I know, I listened to it all night long that night in the summer of 1968.