"The problem isn’t Conservatism. The problem is the CULT."
When fringe minorities in any group worm their way into leadership positions, what we see unfolding on the Right is not a surprise. It is inevitable. Fanatics will burn down their house to make a point.
I grew up in a Goldwater Republican household. My mom called us Black Republicans (not a reference to race). My parents were not foaming at mouth wackos. Who did they fear the most? Not the Left Wing losers; not the Hippy Peaceniks, not the Civil Rights activists.
They were afraid of a group even further Right than they were. The John Birch Society is an ultra-conservative Right Wing cult that made Joseph McCarthy look like a Boy Scout. I can remember my mom telling me more than once, "Keep an eye on that crew, they will ruin my Republican Party."
That was in the early 1960s. Flash forward to today and who do we see as one of the main driving forces in the current effort to turn America into a feudal state? The Koch brothers, whose father was a co-founder of the John Birch Society.
Cults are patient. Cults do not care how long it takes. Until they self destruct, they will always be around nipping at the heels of any mainstream movement, political, religious, Hell, any group has the potential to be poisoned by a cult.
The problem is not Conservatism. The movement is hobbled by its own tenets; its own goals, aspirations and insistence on blind loyalty. They set themselves up in their very beginnings to become what they have become. By its very nature, the Right is a wonderful breeding ground for destructive ideals to become part of the program.
The original idea of Conservatism appeals to me with its slower approach to change and pragmatic approach in theory to that change. That the Right stopped moving forward and is now trying recapture the worst aspects of the Past, make them an intolerable choice for me politically. Back when Reagan the Traitor ran for his first term was my last straw. Now, with their facist leaning membership setting policy and action, the Republican Party is more un-American than any American who might have a few socialist bones in theiir body.
The Left appears to be nothing but a group of loose dogs because that is just what the Left is, a bunch of loose dogs. Even with all the wokeness and PC bullshit they come up with as a group, they honestly care for everyone as a rule, not just the group they belong to. It is often easier to talk to a Libtard than anyone wearing a MAGA hat now days. That should tell us something.
I would rather support a mom with three kids living in shitty conditions than hand out Welfare to huge corporations that consume more than they deliver in the long run. I would rather support fact over embracing lies others have fed me. I would rather support a view that supportd free thinking. At this point, the Right is failing on all those points.
I am a card carrying registered Democrat who has no problem being called a Libtard or any other chucklehead name a Winger might come up with. Their twisted vision of what they want for my country makes them my enemy. It is as simple as that.
Later ................
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Again finding a tune that seemed right for today was a struggle. It didn't need to be a struggle. I certainly test rode enough songs that any one would have done just fine. I think I just wanted to listen to music and not finish the job at hand.
The wait was worth it. I came across an artist from my checkered past. He died relatively young from overindulgence of everything under the Sun. He was unique and in your face. Please enjoy Root Boy Slim & His Sex Change Band and this tune from the mid 1980s that has been graphically upgraded with graphics from 15 years ago. Enjoy "Rich, White, Republican".
I am already second guessing my decision to re-up my participation in the social media of America. I have only been back, what, a week or so? I had crawled into the shell I have always kept around when times were tough. It goes back to the days I needed to escape the alcohol infused dog fights my parents engaged in during the family's transition from a military life to the less structured life of the civilian world.
I know I won't escape; not entirely. I may have a chance, given enough time, to delude myself that the madness swirling around my small corner of Maine is nothing but a poorly contrived reality show. But that delusion is nothing but one delusion compounded into another. I'm not insane, though sometimes I like to delude myself I am. ...... Anyway, moving on now..........
This morning as I sipped some Yesterday Coffee, I half listened to the news folks droning on about the latest assholery foisted on us by Trump and his band of Brownshirts. My ears caught these words:
The Sound a Flashight Makes When it Hits the Head of an Illegal
This perked me up; made me curious what that sound was called. My aging ears or lack of attention had missed that part. The definition of something without a name is unacceptable. I immediately snatched up my coffee and shuffled my way to what I call my office. I punched up the computer and spent some minutes determining the name the statement was referring to.
Apparently the sound is called a "Tonk". No one is exactly sure who created it, but we do know where it became popular. Years ago it popped up in the colloquial group lingo of the US Border Patrol and more recently embraced by the ICE thugs. It is so popular among them and their brain dead supporters that a T shirt was offered for sale. The term is also obnoxious enough that it is banned from use by those same agents. I am sure they, being the true professionals they are, strictly follow that rule. I mean look at the high level of competence they use when rounding up those damn furriners who want to eat our pets and rape our children.
Hmm ...........
This is what we have allowed our country to turn into. When the Trump Goons finish gathering up hapless folks from away, who is next? Well, it would seem to me their next targets would be any US citizen that looks at them sidewise................ Um, oh yeah, they have already begun that part........ Nevermind.
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I might be getting paranoid, or maybe just more paranoid, but I think Google and YouTube are no longer guessing what is on my mind, they know before I even punch them up what I want. Nevermind Artificial Intelligence. What we have today is worse. It's Evil Intelligence and it is being packaged and sold as Artificial Intelligence. ........... Anyway the song that was staring me in the face when I opened YouTube was this song from John Prine, "This is How Every Empire Falls". Recorded in 2005, its message is still applicable today. I am including the lyrics because John had a wonderful way with them.
John Prine's music hit me in the gut over 50 years ago. It seems he is still doing it from his grave. I did not know this song until YouTube threw it in my face. And yeah, it made me tear up.
It seems odd
to me for a government to create a secret police force and use it primarily in
cities in Blue states while essentailly ignoring the Red States. The leadership of the Federally sanctioned secret army claim their only goal is toprotect all of usand our way of life. Again I would counterpoint, why the selective enforcement?
Their stated goal is to fish for, ambush and arrest illegal’s and
others who fit an obviously racist one size fits all profile model. Seems to me, Intimidation of the American population is the primary goal, not the pursuit and capture of undocumented aliens.
Whose lives and whose way of life are they protecting? All Americans? Or just White folks? And who are they really protecting us from? Furriners? People of color? No, it appears they are intent in protecting themselves from us, the us who support everyone's right to coexist without being singled out for bullshit reasons.
It goes further than just being odd. Just the formation of this clandestine armed force of thugs goes against the very system that was set for our benefit in our early beginnings. And what is the GOP, the party of "Small Government and States Rights" doing while this over the top government interference in our lives goes down? The "Small Government and States Rights" party is standing around either cheering the secret army on or they are saying nothing.
The Right
has abandoned America and is now openly supporting the owner and exploiter classes of America
and the World, while turning the rest of our citizens into enemy combatants.
It makes me sick and ashamed they consider themselves the only citizens of worth.
My fellow citizens?
No, the Right is not made up of fellow citizens, it is comprised of enemies and collaborating idiots who do their bidding. The Right is driving us towards a cliff of their making, hoping all of us will follow them over it.
I am well past being concerned what the rest of the World thinks about America's current woes. I don't have the time nor the energy to do anything but try to keep the USA from losing respect for itself. If we cannot recreate a political atmosphere that at least, pretends and sometimes works for everyone, well; we really will be living in a shit pile of a country. At the moment, we seem intent on becoming the largest Third World , banana republic on the planet.
As always, please try to keep it 'tween the ditches ...........................
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My tune for this post is a mashup of an old favorite from the 1960s. "For What It's Worth", written and recorded by Buffalo Springfield back in the days I was just finding my political self. The song did not need a "mashup" to be pertinent today. It is a timeless song about the value and pitfalls of protest. But I have to say, this version had me tapping my feet and wanting to shake a booty or two. Instead, I just butt danced in my chair. ...... Play it loud and give yourself some room to move.
Two images crossed my path in the last couple of days that have stuck with me long after I should have been done with them. Both were related to my days on the road as a super slab trailer jockey who was a legend in his own mind. As I remember those times now, that legend only grew to more unrealistic dimensions. After all, memories are wonderful at weeding out the uneeded, the unpleasant, and the puff n fluff of a time to remember. Kinda boils the moment down to what is/was the essence of the moment. Often times ego plays a big part in memory gathering, but sometimes, if we are being honest with ourselves, it doesn't.
The first image is one I snapped during my time hauling sound and light equipment for SHOWCO out of Dallas, Texas. It is an image I probably should have tossed, but didn't. I have kept it around, messed with it, tried to make something of something that was not there. It's very insistence on sticking around until now is probably a good reason to write about it. It somehow boiled down for me, just how fucking difficult it was to produce a huge Rock show. The sweat, the drudgery, the constant fatigue; this image said all that to me even though the original image was almost impossible to make out.
When I hauled RocknRoll in the 1970s, I had some seriously great times. I had some seriously bad times. Interwoven into those highlights, both good and bad, was the job; the day to day butt kicking struggle to keep my sanity and do my job effectively. And I had it easy compared to the Roadies.They were the real heroes of the job. Local stage hands were alright, but the roadies were the people who created the magic; made sure all the details were covered. The above snapshot is my tip of my hat to them.
This next Kodak moment crossed my Facebook page this AM. It is a pic of the same car stereo I carried with me as I hauled the music it played during those times with SHOWCO. I actually had two of them. The first one was ripped off from my truck as it sat parked outside a gig in Haight Ashbury. It was a three truck tour and the gig was in a high school gym if I remember right.
We drivers came out to back in our trucks for stage call in the morning, as we had hit town the night before. Parked on the curb next to the gym, all three rigs had the driverside windows rolled down to what looked like the exact same level. Each cab had been ransacked. I lost my CB radio, that radio/cassette player pictured, my cassette collection and a half ounce of Doob (It was under the box of tapes). I remember the scramble that day in replacing all three before Load Out that night. I spent many dollars on a cab ride to procure the exact same cassette player. I was in luck. the store also had a kick ass CB radio that was the best I ever had. I still have both today gathering dust in the darkest depths of gathered remnants from my past.
Funny what things bring out memories. Smells, sounds, images or something someone says in passing can dredge up all kinds of moments we lived through. At my age now, I treasure each and every one, good or bad.
Keep it 'tween the ditches ................................
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I don't have to check Google for a musicaal inspiration to add to this post. Only two songs will do.
There was one tour I missed that I always regretted. I took a vacation from SHOWCO and missed it. It was the Jackson Brown, "Running on Empty" Tour. I caught it when it hit Maryland. Much of the album was recorded on the tour. My favorite songs of course are "The Load Out" and "Stay". Enjoy the two fer.
This morning was the morning after a night of whiskey on the rocks with a few tokes thrown in just because. It has been awhile since I tipped a flask over a small glass of ice. I will say, the best way to conserve a bottle of high end sour mash is to not drink it very often. When I do, it only takes a couple ounces on ice to cheer me up and only 6 ounces and a joint to kick my ass.........
This morning I woke up hard. My ass had been thoroughly kicked. I wasn't really hung over. I was dazed and confused. The first thing on my mind was:
"Where is the coffee and do I have any left from yesterday?"
I had no "yesterday coffee". Damn. I will have to brew some. I turned on the TV while the coffee press did what coffee presses do.
While I waited, I decided the best way to turn off the after effects of too much alcohol was to spark up some doob to go with my morning brew. So I fired up some of my self made "Mutant Hash" and while the coffee released its magic into those freshly ground beans: in a few minutes I was baked and really Jonesing for that first cup.
"Morning Joe" of the newly formed, MS-NOW was all about the latest stupidity dreamed up by "Donald Von Head Up His Ass". A follow up of sorts , or maybe just a continuation of another stupidity of his regarding his Venezuela vendatta against President Maduro. I stopped paying attention a few days ago when I heard American troops invaded Maduro's country, killed 32 Cuban soldiers and kidnapped Maduro to face charges in the US justice system.
I was about to pay more attention again when I took my first sip of the coffee I had brewed only a few minutes previous. Any notion of whining and complaining about another stupid Trump moment I have no control over flew out the window once I swallowed that first sip.
It was a perfect cup of coffee. It was the cup of coffee my taste buds always yearn for, but are so often left disappointed. I brew decent coffee, but the perfect brew only comes around once a decade or so. Well, maybe 10-12 times a year, but shit, who cares anyway? My point has been made. I brewed a perfect cup of coffee this morning. Anything I encounter for the rest of the day will pale in comparison.
I came to loving coffee the hard way. My parents ran through many pots a day of the stuff. They would never allow me to drink it as a child; they were convinced that little boys needed no such artificial stimulations to add more crazy to their mad hatter ways. Both drank it black, which made it an easy choice for me to not complain. I detested black coffee then and still detest black coffee now. If God had meant for coffee to be consumed black, God would not have invented cows.
It wasn't until I began driving trucks over the road that I developed a taste for coffee. When go fast pills were unavailable or I was out of them, I began drinking coffee with a copious amount of cream and sugar. Eventually I became hooked. It was desperate measures while a truck driver that led me to coffee. It was the first perfect cup that sealed the deal. I have been pursuing that same cup ever since.
Brewing decent coffee is not hard. Brewing perfect coffee is being lucky. But brewing perfect coffee to go with an early morning bake is heaven.
Keep it 'tween the ditches. ................................
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Once again the Google Gods and their offspring, YouTube somehow found the perfect tune to go along with that perdfect cup of coffee. Here is Little Stranger with their wake and bake song, "Coffee & a Joint". Enjoy.
I was hoping my return to the cluster fuck that comprises the Social Media world would be more notable than just allowing a drunken loser back in who had nothing new to say because he has decided that there is nothing good going on worthy of note.
I was hoping, but well, as you can see, I failed big time. And to make matters worse, instead of stopping at two Whiskies on the Rocks, I decided that a third one might just improve my perspective......... Does not seem to be working........... Maybe some doob, a big pull from some righteous bud from my own garden would twist the moment in a positive direction. ......... Give me a minute.
As that toke slowly settles in and that last sip of excellent sour mash warms my belly, I will now search for the appropriate image to post alongside this awesome post I have decided to write that very well may fall short of "great" and be doomed to the ash heap of drunk and disorderly ramblings from a man who has given up fighting the slow mind numbing crawl of destruction closing in on what was in his mind before, the greatest country in the World.
Every day, our current leader, "Donald Von Head Up His Ass", finds another nail to pound into the coffin we allowed to be constructed by idiots, nincompoops and really, really stupid amoral assholes who just do not care what a majority of us think. It's sad really. ......... It's sad that by doing nothing awhile ago, we created what is happening now.
I could cast blame on specific people. But I am tired of that. They know who they are and what a majority of Americans think of their evil clown comedies. ....... They just don't give a fuck. They have the reins now and are determined to fuck up this country as much as possible before they get kicked out on their sorry asses.
So, just to emphasize what we have done to ourselves, here is a wonderful example of the kind of leader we put in power.
In retrospect; as an afterword of sorts....... I had hoped to return to the Internet Jungle with a more positive outlook than the one I found myself in these past couple of months. I really hoped I could present a more postive Crum and hide the absolute disgust I have for where our culture, our society, our country is at the moment.
Hmm, seems my third whiskey on the rocks is now nothing on the rocks. I will have to remedy that.
Give me a minute ........................
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Damn. I hate the self imposed rules I inject into my own actions. I guess it was a few years ago I decided that including some music to accompany each post would gussey up the overall impression each post offered. The jury is still out on that one; yet I still insist on following the rule I set down so long ago.
Lucky Day. I punched in "Whiskey Drinkin Music" into the YouTube search engine. And like magic from some place on high, "Tennessee Whiskey", by Teddy Swims came up. Less than a minute into the test drive, I decided this song was perfect for my half in the bag state of mind. ...........
But Wait! The next song in line was another great tune by Teddy, "Lose Control". Suddenly I was faced with music that related to me in so many ways. One helped me cry in my beer. The other one reflected my total loss of control when considering what the future might be that is gaining steam and heading right for us.
I ran across this image on a friend's Facebook feed at Dark Thirty in the morning; actually a few moments ago. Lately, when I can't sleep, I wander the Internet hoping the weight of no sleep will drive me back to bed. And if I can't, at least I have something to do besides laying awake in the dark.
I saw this image and it brought back the days of my youth when I was all in with that concept. The US was involved in a nasty war in SE Asia and people my own age were coming home in boxes in droves. We lost over 58,000 American service men and women to that stupid war. When it was over, I naively thought we had learned our lesson and from then on would practice at least a modicum of restraint before we put more of our young in harm's way as standard bearers of American Might.
I am still on board with the idea, but let's just say, my total commitment has taken some hits over the years. The only lesson we pulled from the ashes of our defeat in Vietnam was, forced conscription did not create the army of killers the military wanted. They dropped the Draft which was a step, or so I thought, in the right direction. We have a volunteer military force now and the killing machine so many of the top tier leaders wanted is in place and ready at a moment's notice to go anywhere, any time and kill anyone at the drop of a hat.
The nation's aggressive foreign position is so bad today, our current asshole in chief changed the name of the Department of Defense back to the old name. It is once again called the Department of War. Not a good sign, what with the most lethal military force the World has ever seen now under the control of a lunatic who has hired other lunatics to carry out his will.
I know war has been historically a way for politicians to bolster their positions with their constituency at home. Make up a threat, push it hard, and then send troops to fix the made up problem. No better example exists than the Trillion dollar, 20 year conflict Bush the Lessor got the country involved in the Middle East. I lost my nephew to that stupidity.
The future is never a sure thing. But right now, we have even more uncertainty, as it has become apparent our current crew of leaders have finally sniffed out the possibilities of what military power can accomplish with the right kind of evil behind it; establish a dictatorship and conspire with other evil assholes across the globe to split up the world pie between them; their goal to bleed all of us dry.
Currently,we are just standing around with our thumbs up our collective asses and watching it begin to unfold. Americans should be very nervous. And the World, even more so. Once Trump has our country under his thumb, he will surely be casting an eye eleswhere.The token threats of taking over Greenland or going to war with a Banana republic are minor issues compared to the Hell he can unleash on the rest of the World.
So, I am still on board with the notion that "Teaching Peace" is the way to go. Before we can do that, we need to "Teach Resistance". Letting the situation here in the states continue its spiral down the drain is getting to a point where the current policy of doing nothing will continue to change with or without our involvement. I know I don't want to continue being a victim. How about you?
Later Gators .............................
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The only song I would even think of including is a tune form the 1960s; specifically from Woodstock. Here is Country Joe and the Fish with "I feel like I'm fixin to die Rag". It's a rouser, makes you want to join the resistance. Sadly, its message is still relevant today, 56 years later..
I just hung up the phone after talking to Michael of the ACLU. He is a fund raiser. I was having my first day of semi good health after a major respiratory/cold. I spent the last 5 or 6 days wanting to die and hoping someone would rip out my throat. This, combined with 2 weeks of dealing with one the worst Sciata pain cycles I have had since I was a mover in my twenties, stripped away any positive happy go lucky attitude I might have previously exhibited.
So, I was feeling better but not in the best mood when a phone number that had been stalking me for a good week showed up again on my screen. I had been ignoring it as the little gnomes in the phone red flagged those calls as potential spam. Like I said, I was not in a top of the world is my oyster kind of mood.
When it rang for the 3rd time this morning, I was looking forward to passing my bad day along to whoever would be at the other end of that call. Imagine my disappointment when I discovered it was a one of my favorite causes, the ACLU.
"Hello", in an even voice, or as close to an even voice as I had in me.The hesitation on the line indicated I may not have projected a positive happy place frame of mind.
"Uh", ... a moment of silence. "Would Micheal Macrum be there?"
"What is this in reference to?" Again, I thought I was being not just civil but downright jolly. I was wrong apparently, as indcated by the moments of silence that followed. I repeated myself, only this time purposefully, not friendly.
"What is this call about? Speak up or I will virtually slam this phone down on the virtual cradle I have in my mind's eye."
I did not cuss or yell as I just recently had decided to fight off the cranky old fart tendencies that have been growing inside me these last 5 or 6 years. It was actually my first test of my new effort at entertaining a more upbeat world view.
Then Michael made his 2nd mistake. After he gave me his bonfides; he was with the ACLU and working as a fundraiser for them. When he mentioned the current Trump Adminstration's attack on our land of the Free and Home of the Brave cluster fuck of a nation, I cut him off.
"Let me stop you right there Bud. Trump is an asshole and I don't want to hear his name in what you may say next."
I quickly climbed up on my high horse and in 30 seconds, rattled off a vent in one breath that ended:
"So, don't waste my time or yours trying to convince me you ACLU folks need money. You will always need money as long as evil jerkwads like Trump exist in our power structure. Don't waste your time filling me in on the daily Ethical and Moral trangressions and attacks on our Freedoms by Trump. I don't need a recap. Every day is a recap of how much of an evil asshole he is. Just give me the pitch."
I imagined later my rant may have made this guy's eyes open wider, but when I was done, hopefully made him smile.
I have been an off and on check writer to the ACLU. I have been a fan since the days they lived up to their claim they did not play partisan politics. They were set up to defend the Constitutional rights of everyone, even the evil assholes who spoil our landscape on a daily basis.
This morning I gave them $100 dollars. Not much, but because it was one of those double the donation things, my paltry $100 turned into $200 dollars. I was certain my money would be used in a way I would most likely approve of.
In April, 1977, the ACLU was asked to defend a NAZI group in Skokie, a small burg outside of Chicago, Illinois. They rightfully claimed they were being denied their Constitutional rights of Free Speech after Skokie denied the group's request to hold a march/demonstration in downtown Skokie. That the local Nazi crew picked Skokie was on purpose. Roughly 50 % of the residents were Jewish. The Nazis wanted to stir things up. Little did Skokie or the Nazis realize what would come of it.
It was a big thing back in the day. The court case lasted over a year with court filings all over Illinois, when it finally wound up in front of SCOTUS. A landmark verdict came down that supposedly cemented the notion of Free Speech being for everyone, including assholes.
"The Supreme Court's decision, per curiam, affirmed that the group's planned march was protected free speech under the First Amendment, and it ordered an immediate appellate review of the case."
The ACLU took a major hit from the Libtards who had historically been their loyal base. It was estimated they lost over 50,000 members as a result. They were tarred and feathered in liberal op/eds coast to coast. Their power structure took it on the chin after the board chose to follow the suit to it's conclusion. It was not about the right or wrong of the groups beliefs, it was about their Free Speech rights as written down in our Constitution. Just this one case made me a fan and a more dedicated Libtard than I was ever before.
The People's Right of Free Speech has never been in more trouble than it is today. The ACLU is still working hard to fight the onsaughts on the 2nd amendment and the Constitution in general because of the shitstorm spun up by Trump and his drooling minions of big mouths with small minds.
It appears Michael's call this morning was just what I needed. I haven't coughed once or felt the pain that runs down my leg at all since I started this post. Just this respite by itself, is worth the $100 bucks I donated.
And Oh, By the Way - The lead ACLU Lawyer in this case, David Goldberger is Jewish.
Helen Keller and Clarence Darrow were part of the group who founded the organization.
Ya'll have a good day and come back for another visit, ya hear?
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Since this post started with a phone call, I knew immediately what song I wanted to share. Yeah, I knew the song in my head. I just could not remember the title. I strained a tad trying to remember. I gave up with shoulders slumped and let Google do the recollecting for me.
Here is a song from the 1980s that was silly and not very complex. It represents some of the best of the quality challenged 1980s music scene for me. Too bad the band seemed to fade away without much follow up.
Here is "867-5309" by Tommy Tutone. It will invade your brain. Play it loud. Then dance and have some room around you when you start.
Of all the Old Fart ailments I have to deal with, Gout is the worst of the bunch. Before I came down with it, came up with it, or found it, I knew next to nothing about it. All I knew, it was very popular in the olden days, the Dickens days, the Shakepeare days, back when Knights were bold and fair damsels were nervous.
Gout is a type of arthritus. It is caused by an accumulation of uric acid in the joints, usually the feet, but it can crop up in any joint apparently. Staying hydrated, losing weight, and avoiding purine rich foods like seafood and red meat are some the ways to mitigate it's flare ups. I have lost weight; 60 plus pounds over the last 2 years.. I drink a lot of water. Avoiding seafood and red meat though has been an issue. Regardless, the problem is nowhere near as bad as it was a couple of years ago.
My first experience was twenty years ago. I had a very uncomfortable and painful week and then poof, it went away. Since it came and went so quickly, i stopped thinking about it. Apparently the earlier Gout experience was just a trial my body decided to run by me and see how I fared. It sucked, but it only sucked for a week or so. My feet were like new once it went away.
Flash forward to the here and now. Gout roared back into my life a four or five years ago. Since then I have had it in both feet, one foot or the other, my wrists, and recently, it attacked my right knee. I know it is gout because of the way it comes on and the way it punishes and then disappears so quickly. The joints affected may differ but the overall experience is the same every time.
The Gout meds I have now do a decent job of keeping the worst of it at bay, but damn, when it hits now, it can still incapacitate me.
This brings me to how much fun being old is. Experiencing a body breaking down brick by brick and a mind begining to rust through has been and is a real hoot. Everyday I wake up to pain of some kind. And now I have learned to appreciate pain. It reminds me I am alive and at this point in my life that is a good thing. I am still enjoying existence on this side the grass.
Keep it 'tween the ditches ........................................
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To hopefully offset the bummer post I just wrote, here is a repeat from more than a few years ago. Please enjoy Iz and his medley version of "Over the Rainbow" & "What a Wonderful World". And yeah, it still makes me puddle up.
I was quite a jock when I was a kid, right up into college. I moved around so much as a youngster, injecting myself into the various sports available in the new locations was a great way to become accepted. And I was good at sports. Not great maybe, but I had some moments in the Sun.
At the time of my participation in various team activities, I really did not have an opinion one or another about the coaches I worked with. How they paid attention to me on a daily basis dictated how I felt about them on that daily basis. I guess it is a kind of compliment to have a coach yelling at you every day. If they cared enough to scream at me, I figured I was doing alright, just not maybe at that moment in time. Besides, Fuck em if they couldn't take a joke. That attitude right there was probably why I only had flashes of being really good.
There were two coaches I had that I will always remember. They could both be assholes, but like someone said recently about Mike Vrabel, coach of the New England Patriots; "He's an asshole, but he's an aasshole you want on your team." Both of them managed to get out of me all I had and onto the playing field.
They were both Lacrosse coaches. Captain Mickey Dimaggio coached me in high school. Coach Carl Runk was my coach at Towson State College. Both of them were not bashful about getting in my face. And now, many years later, I understand why I needed the sharp words and sometimes the literal kick in my ass. I had not yet lost the chip I placed on my shoulder as a child. That took place sometime shy of my 28th birthday. A real or verbal slap upside my head often brought my focus back into the moment. I was a better player because of them.
Mickey was not only a player when he was a young cadet at the same school I went to, he later played in college and became an All American and was inducted into the College Lacrosse Hall of Fame in 1993. He was an awesome middie who could score on our team 9 times out of 10 from the attack restraining line. And he was ruthless on defense. Just an awesome player.
Coach Runk's background I don't know much about. But he coached in a more cerebral way, or maybe it was we were college students and not children anymore, so it just seemed he coached our minds as well as kicking our butts at practice.
The day I told Coach Runk to go fuck himself was the day I experienced his potential for anger. He grabbed me by the neck with one massive hand, lifted me up and slammed me against the wall of the gym. I will never forget the look in his eye. I knew in that moment he could and might crush my larynx, drop me in a heap and walk away like he just swatted a fly. But then a few practices later when I took out his number one middie on a faceoff in a full pad scrimmage, he complimented me on my hustle and how easily I took out his varsity star. That day I was put in the 2nd middie unit on the freshman squad. Back then, Freshman could not play Varsity.
All in all, I chuckle at the whiners who complain about coaches. Sometimes it takes an asshole to herd a group of other assholes in the right direction. In the testerone filled arena of male sports, it takes someone who can turn on their asshole mode when needed.
Coach Runk I did not like. But he was a good coach. He did make me a better player. Mickey Dimaggio I liked. I liked him a lot. But then I had other interactions with him while at Charlotte Hall. He was also a teacher. I interacted with him on a daily basis throughout the school year.
Coaches are Teachers. Teachers are coaches. They come in all colors, sizes, areas of interest. No matter what else they may be, they all have vested interest in bringing out the best in you. Some do a better job than others. Some connect better with you and some don't. I found that if I listened, most of the time I saw some improvement, whether it was sports, math, or learning a new trade. Half of the enjoyment of learning is learning how to be taught.
Keep it 'tween the ditches ...................................
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I decided to just find a song that has been an old friend since it was released in 1973. I liked Steely Dan before this tune came out. This song however, put them in my top tier of favorite music. Best studio band of all time in my opinion. Anyway, please enjoy "Bodhisattva", off their "Countdown to Ecstasy" album.
It was all about Greed being good during Ronald 'the Traitor" Reagan's tenure as President during the 1980s. The Capitalists of the time took that as a license to do what they wanted with our economy. Things got way out of hand and the economic upheaval of 2008 was a direct result. Now, less than 20 years later, unbridled greed not only stuck around, it is now worse than it ever was. The national coffers are being picked clean by an elected government who is now out in the open doing the bidding of the Robber Barons from around the World.
Agree with me or not, there is no denying the fact that sleazy acts and despicable policy have once again put their stamp of approval on immoral and unethical actions from both the private sector and the government sector. There is no longer any pretense. The folks we put in charge through our votes and our pocketbooks are out in the open and in many cases laughing at us as they begin to pick our bones clean.
Greed and Hedonism have been normalized, mainstreamed, accepted.
I am no prude. I have and still incorporate what I consider a moderate amount of hedonistic activities into my daily consumptions. Of course now days, my hedonistic pleasures are vicarious mostly. And to be truthful, most of what I once thought were good times, now only bore me or often disgust me. So yeah, I guess I am becoming a prude of sorts. Assuming others my age are in similar circumstances, I would call my change, a normal evolution that comes with being an old fart. But I still look back upon the careless pleasures I partook in my young and numb years with fondness for the most part.
I found the kernels of this post in a commercial I saw on Morning Joe this morning. It was an ad about coffee, but when I saw the commercial, it meant more to me than that. In my mind, it represented the major shift in the morality/ethical index of our culture. The moral codes I used to laugh openly at and privately may have felt some guilt over; well, they are gone now like they never existed. Now the code of behaviors we used to often actually follow are nothing but lies that come out of two faced lips trying to convince us there is morality in greed; there is morality in exploitation, there is morality in hating anyone who is different. Not only is it okay, we are now allowed to derive pleasure from these previously immoral and unethical actions.
Just how the Fuck did we end up here?
I don't have an answer, but I do have an opinion on how we ended up here: Selfishness.
And as to the idea that Pleasure makes us Human, well, that is just advertising Bullshit. If you buy into it, you are one of the 8 billion reasons we are where we are.
Later ...........................................
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In a first for my blog, today I present "The Greedy Python", an animated audio kid's story I think. The connection to my post should make itself clear a moment or two into it. The whole time I was watching this, I kept thinking, this is a kid's story? Really? Wow! It presents an idea in terms all ages might enjoy. So enjoy.
For those millions of fans who stop by the BoZone for the music, here is also, "Greed", by A Killer's Confession, a metal band I have never listened to before; which just proves, there is so much untapped music out there, I will never hear it all.
Not sure if I dare write a post this morning. My recent efforts at moderating duties some minutes ago were a real clown show. I thought I was approving a post for a group page I help moderate. Apparently I brain farted and sent it to Internet limbo instead of to the group page. Took me awhile to find it elsewhere again and repost it. I dutifully apologized in the comments and moved on.
I still felt my face flush, though no one saw the mistake or worst of all could not see my face. I hate embarrassing myself in front of myself. It is the worst kind of embarrasment I can imagine, ............ Uh well that is not exactly true. No, it is not even close to true. Over the many years I have been alive, I have managed to embarrass myself in front of others many times. It has been a chronic issue, always waiting just around a corner, only a misspoken word or misstep away. Some of those moments were definitely more embarrassing than the moment I suffered a little while ago.
As I grew up, I became used to my self inflicted uncomfortable moments. I considered them an integral part of my Life cycle. Some of us have to be the fools for the Hipper Cool Kids to maintain their aura of superiority.There has to be someone we they can laugh at. I stepped up and sacrificed my self respect like a good soldier many times.
What I hate though is when I cause myself to flush red and no one is looking. It seems like such a waste if no one notices; especially since years ago I embraced my tendency to create laughter in others at my expense. Doing it solo does nothing for me. It just pisses me off.
So, today I decided to admit that I spent more than a few minutes floundering around and totally screwing up the job I had been tasked to perform.
You can laugh now. It's okay. Matter of fact, I hope to see some laugh emoji's. I deserve them.
Keep it 'tween the ditches ................................
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So what song would drive home the point of my post? Don't know, but maybe my choice will add to the embarrassment I crave and deserve.
When I found this tune, I switched gears. I was going to offer up "Loser" by Beck. But then "Pepper", by Butthole Surfers crossed my feed. I have been looking for this song for many years. I just did not remember who sang it.
Well on second thought. I am including "Loser", by Beck as a bonus.
The world beyond my small patch here in southern Maine is involved in the most upheaval, hate, anxiety, and discontent I can remember since the 1960s. Just like today, bad news seemed to land on our doorstep every day. The Bomb, Segregation, Assasinations, the War in Vietnam; there was always some major ugliness to deal with; some horrible circumstances that affected our lives directly. Many Americans felt totally powerless as they watched their country go to war with itself.
I feel the same kind of helplessness now, 60 years later. Just like then, I have moved from incredibility to SSDD. The Hate and Discontent still lingers though; never far from the surface I guess.
Okay. I tell myself:
"Move along asshole, you have chores to do. You have this to consider, that to accomplish."
So I move along, all the while in the back of my mind, I still worry about things I have no control over.
Eventually, I will reach a limit and shut down. My shutdowns don't usually last very long; a couple of days, maybe a week, and occasionally longer. When I was a working man, I kept the essential parts of my life going. Now that I am retired, well, shutdowns for me can mean total withdrawals from almost all interactions with the world beyond my dooryard. My concern is, the times of normality are becoming fewer and further between the moments of unreasonable anxiety.
I make no apologies. I am not looking for sympathy. Just relating how it is for me now as I struggle to understand my place in a world that has once again, gone insane.
When I consider my situation and begin to wallow in the worst parts of it, I realize that I am nothing but a sniveling whiner who has had up to now, lived a life many people would have loved to have. I had to deal with trauma, and loss as kid. But not much trauma and loss. I have never been hungry; at least not in the swollen belly, haven't eaten in weeks type hungry. I have always had a roof to sleep under if I wanted it. And I have enjoyed a small circle of good friends and family who had my back when I needed it. The basics of my life have always been covered. Many folks on this planet don't even have that.
For the most part, Life has been a breeze for me. I am one lucky sumbitch. For so many others, Life has definitely not been a breeze. Maybe I should feel guilty, but well, I often fall back on the tried but true Life lesson, "Life is not Fair". As soon as I do, the guilt comes back.
Now that I am on the downstroke, over the hill, looking towards the end, I no longer fear for myself and what might happen to me. My fears have now shifted to the future my daughter and everyone else will face twenty years from now. Where are we headed? What the Fuck are we doing about facing what might be in the future? From all the indications I am witnessing at the moment, the vision of the future I scare up is more often than not, a very dark future.
( Picture me shaking my head as I realize that what I just wrote is not what I intended to write)
I will leave this bummer of post right here and get on with my day. I do feel better though.
Later Gators ....................................
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I made finding a tune that fit the Blues I felt this morning much harder than it should have been. The post above came out of nowhere. There was no good reason to feel so down in the mouth. I had a great dream last night. I frolicked with friends next to a body of water, some times it was a stream, somethines it was a lake or pond. I rode down impossible trails and caught a humongous fish I could not identify.
Why then, when I woke up did I feel so off. I had good news from by the doc after having my colon checked out. And just the other night I cooked a chicken and gravy meal and absolutely nailed the gravy. It was awesome. I really do not have a right to piss and moan.
I finally gave up the search and returned with my go to my favorite song about feeling down. I have used it before and will use it today. Most likely I will use it again. Here is David Bromberg with "Someone Else's Blues".
Well, it appears America has given itself a small moment of relief by dominating what elections there were yesterday. Nationwide, it was a bad day for the Right. And that is as it should be. The Wingers have been flaming assholes for far too long. America needed a glimmer of Hope. Yesterday, we got that glimmer; faint though it may be. Good job America, good job.
Mainers sure did their part. We bested those pesky Wingers on both of the statewide referendum questions. Even my Right Wing leaning town voted with the saner citizens of Maine.
Question One was but another out of state Winger boilerplate referendum written by Republicans from away. The GOP is trying to own elections, by creating voting choke points. The list of new rules in Question 1 look reasonable at first maybe. Take more than a glance, and it is a another effort by the Right to restrict the vote; the referendum was really about restricting access to Absentee Voting. More citizens are relying on Absentee Voting than ever before. A major reason might be the constant attacks from the Right on In Person Voting; closing polls; removing absentee boxes, the list of attacks is endless.
Mainers won't be falling in line with the fiction of voter fraud. With few exceptions, our elections have been free of problems all the years I have been a voter. I love that for the most part, Mainers are sensible folk who hate being manipulated. Well done Maine, well done.
Question Two came about as a direct result of Maine's 2023 mass shooting in Lewiston-Auburn, or LA as we locals call it. 18 people lost thier lives because of a crazy person with a gun. This crazy person had been broadcasting his insanity for a long time; years in fact. Yet, no one, not even the Federal Government who knew he was wacked, instituted any preemptive measures to stop his slide into insanity and dangerous behavior. His family had been asking law enforcement and mental health people for help for a long time.
I struggled with this one. Preemptive removal of the rights of anyone for any reason is cause for concern. But in the long run, having this tool to use in future situations might help save lives; but only if the state uses it as intended. Stopping crazy people from doing hurtful and damaging things before they act makes sensse.
All in all, I see this mini wave of Democrat victories as a moment of relief from the nine month onslaught on our Country by Tump and his gang of morally bereft asshole compadres.
Yesterday was a good day; enjoy and savor it. But don't waste too much time dwelling on this small victory. The real shit is yet to come.
Later .........................
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I found this song. It blew me away. Enough said. Here is "Call Me Antifa", by The Resistance ( I think).
Not sure how this post will end up, finish, shit the bed, meet its demise.
I spent this last weekend prepping for another colonoscopy procedure that went down yesterday at 12:20 PM at Southern Maine Med in Biddeford, Maine. Like most folks I guess, I hate the prep worse than the procedure.
With my third colonoscopy under my belt now, I can say I have more than a passing aquaintence with the tubular TV camera they shove up.... Well, running that image through my mind conjures up all sorts of horror scenarios and unfounded concerns; but they knocked me out and when I woke up, I did not care about anything. My only question was, how did I end up back in the recovery room with a wonderful buzz I wish had been more awake for?
The rest of my post-op day was spent prone on the couch, falling in and out of the sleep I wish I had gotten 24 hours earlier. I was exhausted and very hungry. As a good ole boy somewhere, sometime must have once said:
"I was hungry enough to eat the ass out of a dead skunk."
So, between my moments of slumber, I cleaned out the refrigerator.
Today was the first normal day I have had since this butt peek gig started last week. I was busy today. I was uncharacteristically productive even if I did it in Low Low gear. 5 loads of laundry; then some puttering, laundry folding, and some more puttering. About 5:30-6:00, while I cooked dinner, I starting hitting the bottle of Skrewball that has been sitting on a shelf in the kitchen the last 3 or 4 months quietly waiting for some attention. I don't usually tolerate falvored whiskey of any kind. My one exception is Skrewball. It is unique and quite tasty, especially on ice.
Over the years, I have become a casual, moderate, almost teetotaling loser. I can still hold my liquor if I stop at 3 or 4 drinks. My championship drunks are many many years behind me now. By the third tumbler of Skrewball on ice, I was borderlined shitfaced.
To my credit, the spaghetti and meatball dinner turned out fine. The mess I left, well, not so fine. I guess I should be thankful I did not have to clean the floor.
With a full belly and more than several Skrewballs on ice mingling with the pasta, meatballs and sauce, I came in here to my office, my man cave, the small room I waste time in; and I sparked up some doob. I had no goal in mind, just riding the buzz for all it was worth I guess. As it turns out, the doob might have been one or two tokes over the line. I ended up on the couch with the Whirlies. ........ I'm better now and trying to make some sense of this day that got away from me and the previous week that still haunts me.
Keep it 'tween the ditches ......................................
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It'd be so easy to pick one of my go to tunes that glorify the Demon Rum. Before I use a fall back choice though, I will spend some time looking for music I have never used before.
My search did not last long. I remembered a tune from my favorite Bluegrass and Blues artist in the 1970s. Here is David Bromberg with "Sloppy Drunk". Definitely a great whiskey sippin song.
So far, I have really enjoyed the prompts on Sammi's "13 Days of Samhain" Challenge. So far, each one has elicited different approaches and results.
Last night I considered this post's prompt, "Kill or Cure", while I watched an old Ray Miland movie from 1962, "Panic in the Year Zero!". I remembered it. I saw it as a kid in a local movie theater.
It came out the same year the Cuban Missile Crisis unfolded in October of the same year. The World was actually but a bonehead mistake away from Thermo Nuclear War. To say the planet was on edge would be an understatement.
I wondered about what folks might discuss after an apocalyptic event. But then the twisted section in my brain pan stepped up and took over .... again. Time to channel Harlan Ellison.
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Call Me Cowboy stumbled back into camp. Draped on his shoulders was a puny tick infested mule deer whose death was probably doing it a favor. Times were not just tough for Humanity, times were even tougher for the rest of Life still living on the planet. But now that over half of humanity was fertilizer, the planet had a chance to recover.
The mighty hunter dropped the carcass onto the last blue tarp the group had. Cowboy walked over to what looked like a bundle of rags and kicked it.
"Get up ..... Deer to clean."
The bundle of rags slowly moved. Arms appeared out of the pile and the bundle sat upright.
Everyone in the group had a purpose. There were no freeloaders. People pulled their weight or they became a rib roast at the next group banquet. The bundle of rags knew and understood this reality. If she was to avoid the big pot, she had to make them want her around. She certainly was not there as a sex toy.
She could cook though. Before the Poc, she had been a chef who owned a 4 star restaurant in Portland, Maine. This woman could make dog shit taste good. She also was a born survivor. There was nothing she would not do in order to survive.
When the group first captured her, her future as a food source seemed imminent. Before they were about to gut her, she convinced them to skip her and pick the next loser in line. She promised them the best meal they would have since the Poc took everything and turned it to shit.
Red Rufus, the leader at the moment, gave her a chance. He handed her a knife, released the next victim in line to become lunch and told the Chef to take care of it. Of course, once released, the future meal took off into the pucker brush. All the boys laughed. The girls not so much; they saw no humor in anything these thugs and brutes came up with. But then as women, they had only a few options available to avoid the stew pots.
The next meal had a good jump on the Chef. But she didn't hesitate, she dove into the pucker after her quarry. Only briefly did she consider running away. She understood that they were faster than she was and could catch her again at their leisure. And if she was free, another, possibly more brutal group, might find her. The group that had her now did not seem to enjoy extreme torturous routine and sadistic behavior. She made a decision, caught their next meal and made it walk back to camp.
"Do we have a tarp ...... One without any holes?"
Red Rufus spoke up.
"A tarp? What for?"
The Chef looked at Red Rufus. She had all she could do to not turn away from looking at him. His face had been horribly wounded, leaving an unhealed gash open on his right cheek. She held her ground and her stare.
"Well, you assholes are wasting good food, the way you do it now. A good leak proof tarp will catch all the blood. Blood is not only a good source of nourishment, it can add extra flavor to the meal if used properly."
By this time, the Chef had the whole crew's attention. The eight of them gathered around her as she pushed the next meal onto the tarp. They all watched dispassionately as she killed, gutted, skinned and picked the body parts she would be preparing for supper. Not a one of them turned away. But then it had been over two years since the Poc. Any survivors still alive had become desensitized to the realities of the new age they found themselves in.
That meal sealed the deal. They called her Chef from then on. She was still occasionally kicked, punched, and impersonally mistreated. She had to remember her place. She was not one of them. She was owned by them. She was their slave. All she knew was being a slave beat being one in a pot over a fire.
Chef looked at the pitiful excuse of a deer laying on the blue tarp. Privately she was ecstatic. Finally a real game animal to cook and not some stringy old fart found wandering aimlessly around the Deadscape. She decided this meal would be transformative for the group. She would feed them like they had never been fed before. Yes, a meal they would never forget; or remember for that matter.
That evening, the boys were so eager to eat real game, they jumped all over that meal and soon were squabbling over seconds. All of them even took time to compliment the chef; even Slow Like Joe, who the Chef had only heard speak once or twice before. None of them took notice that the Chef did not partake of this grand feast. Not a bite. They were too wrapped up in their own gluttony to see her sitting quietly with a cat ate the canary look on her face.
Nobody kicked the Chef awake the next morning. No one demanded her presence for this or that minor chore she was expected to perform when not cooking. As a matter of fact, when she awoke to a silent and calm camp, she almost felt a pang of guilt for poisoning the whole lot of them.
Almost guilt was but a fleeting concern. She took her time cherry picking the best choices for her to scavenge and walked away from that camp without looking back. What she left behind she forgot as soon as she spotted her next meal limping along what was once a highway.
The Chef was a survivor for sure. - @ 950 words
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Picking a song this morning was suspicsiously easy and angst free. Is it because my almost lifelong soulmate, housemate and roomate has touched down and is back in New England this morning?
........... Nah. Shit happens is all. Here is a tune from a band I have resisted liking in the past. Is it they just seem too popular and successful? I could dwell on this question for awhile. But I have a Pat's game in an hour or so.
Here is Imagine Dragons and their song about things Apocalyptic. Here is "Radiation".
