I just returned after a brief break from Facebooking every day. While I was away, my favorite FB Winger Group, "Opposing Sides", decided to pause their existence. Not exactly sure what a pause in Facebook is, but the page does not function and hasn't since September 7th, a week ago. Is it kaput, done, reached its limit, or has trying to support an undeserving hero finally proven too much for the people who administer the page?
When I first noticed the page was not working, I was momentarily disappointed. Where was I going to vent all my pent up anger at the Idiot Right and their selfish brain dead approach to ruining the country?
Now, 15 minutes or so later, I'm over it. All the page ever did was get me worked up, often leaving me taching hard over redline. It had been fun for a time....... until it wasn't anymore. Maybe now, I'll back off to hopefully reduce the anxiety level I was often left with in the Past.after all, a rousing hour or so of , "I'm not the idiot, you're the idiot" was usually all there was. Nobody won. Nobody convinced anyone they were wrong or right; just clueless flounders insulting each other in a troll fest where no conversations of any worth resulted.
Good Riddance!
Even if it does come back online, I think it will be without my participation anymore. I am so fed up and tired of the Trump Clown Show, I am no longer willing to treat any Winger with anything bordering on civility. Pwning a Winger no longer gives me the pleaasure when I was full of piss and vinegar over 10 years ago asTrump first squatted in the White House.
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I wrote the piece below on August 30, 15 days ago. It was written as I stood ready to plunge again into the socio/political battles playing out on the Internet. Instead of finishing and posting it, I shut down everything and took the break I just came back from.
Are my batteries re-charged? Is my piss and vinegar quiver filling back up? I hope not. I want to coast the next 50 days until the mid-term elections.
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Other Realities
origin - 8/30/2026
Okay. So I am contemplating heading down another rabbit hole. All my other trips to the Other Realities were unforseen and unplanned. This time I know I am standing on the edge of this hole and seriously considering giving in to its evil allure; volunteering to climb into the abyss to do battle with the red capped lunatics who reside there.
Once I accepted the fact that America is being raped and pillaged by a political ideology that has sunk into a morass of ineptitude and chaos, I feel ready. How can they continue to surprise me with new forms of stupidity and corruption? I feel this new world I exist in will be a cakewalk...... as long as I manage to avoid the many new pitfalls the current landscape has developed..........
I know what is down this particular rabbit hole, having been caught in it many times over the past 20 years. This time though, I won't be caught off guard. The are no longer any surprises to knock me off my game. I am finally in a state of awareness now that nothing will ever catch me flat footed. I know what to expect and I am ready...............
Who am I kidding? Over confidence when entering a new rabbit hole is insane, given the possible negativity that might follow me out once I have figured out I am in too deep.. My uncharacteristic show of bravado should probably be a warning, not a sign I might have everything in control. I stopped myself at the edge of this plunge into the newest lunacy landscape to pop up. I have second thoughts now. They are quickly morphing into .......
"Take a break Crum. Calm yourself. Stop worrying about that which you have no chance of changing in the short term. It's the long game we are faced with, not the petty nuisance stupidity the Right puts out to distract us."
I'm out for awhile..... See Ya soon.
8/30/26
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There is only one song to play here. It was written and first recorded by Jefferson Airplane with vocals by Grace Slick in the mid 1960's. I was really into its message, that is for sure. Those were the early days of my experimentation with whatever drug or alcohol derivative that happened to be around. Yeah, I was into rabbit holes even back then. I eagerly jumped into those mind altering moments. It would be about 10 years before I stabilized and found my center again.
I have again run into the wall where my Internet savvy ends and my all too normal cluelessness begins. If I was 4 years old, I would have figured it out already.
The problem today is I wanted to save the video below to a playlist in my Youtube video collection. I tried to find it in Youtube, but no luck. All I have is the Facebook rendition. I don't know the name of this tune yet, never mind who wrote it. I did notice a reference on the video about "A I", but I think refers to the dude at the top who is sampling the video.
To temporarily solve the problem in my typical Rube Goldberg way, is to post it on my blog. Hopefully that will work and I won't lose it. Later, I can dig deeper into the song as time allows. I am at the moment, supposed to be readying our house for window replacements...... 24 windows of replacement. But that's another story...... Or maybe this is the beginning of that story. We'll see.
If anyone out there knows the name of this song, let me know in the comments. Or not. I can usually figure it out for myself.But when I grow tired of that effort, I will begrudgingly ask my wife. And yeah, she'll make fun of me. So what else is new?
Later ................................
>>> Regarding the image of Trump and his swimming buddy, Jeff from July, 1984; well it has nothing to do with the post, well ...... I am looking for a reason that makes sense and having trouble coming up with one. Hey, sharing is enough of a good reason. Right?
I was scrolling through my "Saved Art" file for a new Wallpaper image. The current one was at least a few months old. It was time for a new image.
I did not pick the image to the right. I passed right by it, choosing instead, a different one to look at each time I woke up the 'puter. After I had set the new wallpaper, I went back to this image.
Of all the visual arts, I think I like sculptures the best. Paintings, mosaics, and other two dimensional art forms are nice and all, but I like the additon of that 3rd dimension. ............ Hmm. yeah right. Maybe I just like sculptures better than flatscreen art today. Tomorrow, who the Hell knows?
This sculpture is attributed to Hugo (Wolfgang) Rheigold and is located on Monkey Island, somewhere in China. It is a rendition of an Orangutan ( I think) sitting on a stack of books written by Charles Darwin while he comtemplates a human skull.
If I was a deeper thinker than the skin deep one I represent on a daily basis, I could imagine there is an infinite number of tangents, thoughts, and imaginations I could unpack from this one sculpture. What the sculptor had in mind matters little. What matters is what I pull from it.
My knee jerk first consideration was this is a moment from the Future. How far in the future doesn't matter. But it is from the Future. Mankind has attained our species' unwritten goal and finally destroyed ourselves. .... Kaput, Toast, Ancient History.
Among the ruins, this statue remains and is now cared for by the Apes. The apes though, are just smart enough to follow in Man's footsteps, but sadly, they too will fail by eventually outsmarting themselves also...... And so it goes.
I used this quick evaluation to conclude that the top of the food chain critters do not stay there forever. They will always fall by the wayside through either outsiders forcing their extinction, or more likely, they will destroy themselves because of mass stupidity just like we did.
I stopped trying to see something else in this sculpture. I was bumming myself out ........ I blame Trump.
Keep it 'tween the ditches ...................................
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Music. The End of things....End of the Line.... Future's last breath.
No band in my experience performed songs about death and End Times better than the Doors. A friend of mine called the music of the Doors as "Buzz Kill Music". Music for the Depressed.
We had a few heated fuck off moments before we stopped mentioning the Doors. I have always liked the Doors. I bought their first album as a 15 year old in the 1960s. No band in my mind created better songs to listen to while high on hallucinogens than the Doors. Soft or loud, their music always worked. The Doors rock.... and still do; thanks to the digital age.
Without any more nonsense, please enjoy, "When the Music is Over", by the Doors. Play it low, play it loud. Works either way.
When I was young, my dreams were vivid. Maybe I remember those early dreams as being vivid because I actually remembered the dreams, some of them I still hold onto. During my productive professional life, whatever it was, the dreams became memories of having them, not the specifics.What I was usually left with, were feelings of a kind of pleasure or waking unsettled and ill at ease.
Once retirement came, I had less to worry about when I was sleeping. The many problems of my day to day existence cut to a minimum, left more room in my mind to wander wherever it might while I was asleep.
I began remembering dreams again. I am not sure if remembering dreams again comes with becoming an old fart or not. I only know that having them back is one of the few perks of me being old.
Last night, I woke up laughing, the words "Self Scratching Testicles", the first words I uttered. As I floundered around looking for my glasses, I could not stop chuckling. My funny bone was off and running. As I type this, an intermittent chuckle or snort will erupt, breaking a train of thought or snap me back to the task at hand.
Seriously though, While I am not a chronic nut scratcher, I do do it. Any guy who claims they don't well, they're lying. The sac needs attention from time to time. We guys are lucky we have hands, or the occasional serious case of Jock Itch might create a sharp uptick in men doing themselves in.
Before I started this post, I considered the crassness of discussing anything related to our naughty bits. Why is today the day I even considered the notion of crassness? I had very rarely ever considered it unless it was crudely pointed out. I decided it was more important to bring attention to a problem the Genetics and Cloning folk might be interested in. By highlighting this chronic Human problem that has been around since the beginning of Humanity, it might lead to a cure if the right people were made aware of the problem. Those science geeks just love solving the unsolvable.
It might take a few generations, but I bet some genes could be manipulated, some genetic code re-written, so that eventually, guys would never have to use their hands to tend to their balls. Little fibrous growths attached directly to the nerves controlling the itch impulse in the brain, would automaticallly engage and attack the offending area. Men would no longer need to worry about being caught scratching their crotch. The Ladies would be spared the embarrassment of being seen with the ball scratching idiots who asked them out, but did not indicate their fondness for scratching in their bios they posted online.
Just another idea to help the species progress; put further distance between us and the rest of the animal kingdom.. The only thing is, could this human created change in our DNA be subverted and manipulated to design longer fibrous tentacles so that sexu .......... Uh, Nevermind.
Keep it 'tween the Ditches ..........................................................
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What tune could possibly dovetail cleanly into a post about Itching Testicles? Hmm....... I will get back to you. ...........
Well, that was easy. Googling "Tune about nuts", I scrolled down maybe 5 or 6 suggestions, when an old Roger Miller tune caught my attention. I do not remember "I'm a Nut". My guess, it was a B-side offering on a single with the hit on the A-side. There is no doubting it's Roger; his voice and tendency to include silly vocal sounds made it obvious. Most people will remember him for, "King of the Road", which I will also include today.
And here is his most famous hit, "King of the Road". I loved this song as a kid. Still do. It reminded me of being on the move all the time, which was my existence from the day I was born until I finally settled here in Acton, 30 years later.
I wrote my first memoir when I was 10 or 11. I can't remember if it was 4th or 5th grade. Regardless, the assignment was exactly that, "Write a memory from your past". Of course there was much discussion and silliness that ensued. None of the kids in the class, including me, could get our heads around the idea of "the Past". Yeah, we had heard of it, but it was something only old people talked about around the dinner table at dinner. My mom and dad often told stories of their younger days to fill in dinner conversations when the topics became too toxic or just ran out of steam.
The assignment of course was much more than telling a story from the earlier days when we were younger. It was an exercise in penmanship, thought construction and punctuation. There was no word limit to meet; It just had to be as neat as possible, with the periods, commas and spelling laid down as cleanly and correctly as possible. I cannot remember my grade, nor do I remember it being highlighted in any way by the teacher in front of the class.
I do remember the subject however. I wrote about the time I set off a fire alarm in kindergarten when I lived in Japan. The whole school emptied, I freaked and ran to the teacher outside and immediately admitted I did it. I didn't however snitch on the older kids who kinda teased me into it.
The type of fire alarms we had in that school had small thin glass windows designed to be punched inward with something thin, like a pencil or maybe even a finger. Some big kids, they must have been at least 2nd graders, spotted me looking at the fire alarm. They encouraged me to break the little glass window without setting off the alarm. They insisted that they did it all the time.
"Go ahead kid, I dare you", or something along those lines caused me to step up to the alarm and use a pencil to punch the glass. Instant Chaos erupted. The big kids looked at each other with huge eyes, turned and disappeared into the depths of the school. I remember a panic I had never felt before. I probably spun a few circles and who knows, I might have peed my pants. If I did, I buried that part of the memory deep enough to not really remember if I did or didn't.
I remember writing about it because in my young life at the time, it was a memory I had still not really gotten over. Seeing all the kids in school standing in lines out on the playground, looking at me as I had been marooned and condemned to stand next to the principal; well, I never forgot that.
The magical moment came later at home where I had been cooling my heels in my room for several hours. My dad came home and immediately came into my room; in full uniform no less, his tie still tight and his cover still on. He sat down on the bed next to me. I fgured it was spanking time. I was not a stranger to spanking; seemed the natural "next step". Instead, my father talked to me, well, he sort of grilled me. I ended up snitching on the big kids. He looked at me and chastised me for allowing anyone to influence my decisions. He stood up and left. No spanking, no yelling, just a lecture on not allowing people undo influence on my actions. And even cooler, he didn't tell the school there were others involved. He allowed me to take the blame.
Of course, my short essay in 4th or 5th grade about that incident in kindergarten was nowhere near as deep of a dive as this post is. I just remembered now that the essay was the first memoir I ever wrote. It might have also been the first essay I ever attempted also.
To me, it seems logical that as an adult, I would follow up with over 200,000 words in 280 blog posts about shit I did in my Past.
I will add this one to the post count and move on.
Keep it 'tween the ditches .....................................
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This past weekend, my wife and I joined our daughter and her husband at another Rustic Overtones concert. It was held at Tuckerman Brewery in Conway, New Hampshire.A day sitting in comfortable chairs, swilling excellent craft beer and listening live to the band I have seen more than any other band ever. My first concert of their's was also my daughter's first concert of her life. It was held at the worst music venue in New England, the Portland Expo, a very, very large quonset hut tunnel. The reverberations in the hall made it impossible for me to enjoy the music. Lis loved it. She loved Rustic Overtones.
Almost 30 years later, we still go see them play. I guess I have seen them 20 times; Lis , many, many more. They are an old favorite.
The USA does not have a great track record engaging in warfare in any conflict since WWll. World War II was the last war we won completely, decidedly, and without question. Many US soldiers died, many civilians sacrificed; it was the last war that had virtually no controversey swirlling around it. If it is possible to consider any war "good" or "worth the price", it would World War II.
WWll, and the "Great War" (WWl) before it along with the Civil War are the only wars that seemed inevitable that we would participate in. They were the "Good Fights". Any other armed comflicts we moseyed into was by choice. And those efforts didn't always go our way. Most were failures, half failures, or just colossal wastes of money, men and time.
I felt that for most of my life, my country has either been setting up to be in an armed conflict, embroiled in an armed conflict, or just exiting an armed conflict. We can't seem to go for more than a few years of Peace, before we start jonesing for that next bomb cratering, rubble creating military clash with some group we have designated as assholes with hostile intent.
Here is a current reminder of the armed combat we could have chosen to not participate in and been much better off for it:
Korea - 3 Years, 1950 to 1953 - We could only save half of the country.
Bay of Pigs Invasion/ Cuba - 1961 - We Lost.
Vietnam - 1955 - 1975 (19+ years) - Cost 58,000 US lives. We lost.
Invasiion of Grenada - October, 1983 - 8 Day conflict - 24 US soldiers died.
Kidnap Daniel Noriega (president of Panama) - 5 weeks in 1989- 24 US lives - An effort to help win President Ronald Reagan and his ever faithful co-President, Namcy Reagan, their poorly concieved and poorly run War on Drugs. As it turns out, that war is still ongoing with no end in sight. It was a PR War failure for Reagan, but we did manage to bring Noriega back to the US to face charges. Meanwhile, some other loser stepped into Noriega's shoes and the drugs flowed like before.
Operation Desert Storm - 2 months in 1991 - Fought by a coalition of countries; The US was by far the largest force at 697,000 fighting strength. 298 US deaths -We spent $61 billion dollars. The goal, remove Iraqi Forces after they invaded Kuwait. We won and got the Hell out of there. The conflict was a set-up to trap Saddam Hussein being stupid. Hussein stepped into our trap. At least we finished something for a change.
Operation Gothic Serpent - 15months 1992-1993 - 19 US Soldiers dead. US Troops in Somalia were tasked with, well, I am still not sure what they were there for, really. All I remember is, it was ugly and American soldiers died for essentially no good reason. A great Anti-War Movie, "Black Hawk Down" was one result. But nothing good for the people of Somalia ever came of the 19 US lives sacrificed.
Operation Iraqi Freedom - Includes combat in Afghanistan - 20 years - Almost 7800 US lives. Results are mixed. We did replace Saddam Hussien as leader of Iraq, but we caved finally and left Afghanistan after failing like every other country has who was stupid and over confident enough to think they had the answer.
Trump's War on Iran - Feburary, 2026 to ? - Still limping along after 6 months. Still a mystery why Trump felt compelled to start a war with Iran. And not 2 weeks into this stupidity, Iran figured out they could own the Strait of Hormuz and stop much of the World's oil from reaching its destinations.The war was over at that point, yet Trump still does not get it. Too stupid too run a war in the first place; he is definitely too bullheaded stupid to admit defeat and pull out. Iran is definitely winning the war at this point. US Troop morale is in the shitter and our supplies of munitions are dangerously low. And now we have worse than nothing to show for it.
There have other miscellaneous conflicts the United States found itself in the middle of as a support asset. US Men and materiel were spent in varying degrees of ugliness.
I was born in 1952. I am 74 now. If I add up the total number of years this country has been in conflict around the globe, the total would be north of 47 years or over 60% of the time I have been alive. The results have been underwhelming, given the outrageous costs in men, money and materiel.
I know war is good business. Nothing like a good conflict to keep those war factories churning out machines of death and making piles of money on armed conflict and the destruction that results. I know casulaties are part of the deal. But why? Why do we spend so much time, effort and money attempting to murder each other on such grand scales?
It is most definitely a good time to keep an even keel. Stay sharp. Stay Tuned In. ................
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I know I have used the original rendition of Black Sabbath's, "War Pigs" with a post or two in the past. Well, that was then, this is now. But maybe this time I'll try to hustle up a good cover of it.
I tasted entirely too many versions of "War Pigs". Lost at least an hour checking out all the different renderings of this early Metal classic. I came back to my favorite Busking alternative band, The Big Push. Ren and his boys rock hard. Enjoy.
And because the song that followed War Pigs was their version of Sting's, "An Englishman in New York", it is now another two-fer post.
When I saw the video of Billy Strings, a favorite guitarist of mine, hit in the head with an object at a concert in Indiana, I was reminded of my own incident of be being hit in the head while on a stage in June, 1977
A quick replay:
Led Zeppelin's last US tour, June 3, 1977...... The gig was at Tampa Stadium (the old stadium). 70,000 plus fans had been waiting for several hours in the hot Florida sun to hear one of their favorite bands. 15 minutes into the first set, a classic Summertime Florida thunder storm blew through, dumping many many gallons of water on the venue.
The awning over the stage was holding thousands of gallons of water over the stage where many thick cables handled massive amps and voltage of electricity. The local Fire marshall called the governor of Florida. The governor officially closed the concert down.
Upon hearing that the concert had been canceled, many of the fans had been waiting for hours, became an angry crowd. They tossed aside the "full proof security fence" and rushed the stage. By that time I had been volunteered to help the security guys defend what was now a mostly empty stage except for the stacks of speakers that were to be loaded on my trailer.
The scene was madness. 3,000 to 4,000 people were still hanging out near the stage. They were not happy. I looked out at them and their risng anger. It was obvious what was going to happen. The rest of the 70,000 fans had already left. Security guys in black Tee shirts, SHOWCO roadies and drivers stood nervously waiting for the crowd to breach that "Impregnable" wall.
Over a thousand hands got busy and finally destroyed the integrity of the wall. Stoned and drunk fans climbed onto the stage. There were not many, maybe fifty or so. But, they were rabid. The loose crew of security types, myself included were expected to keep them back. Some of the crew were holding mic stands and were very enthusiastic with using them to keep the fans at bay. I carried no blunt instruments. I have thought about that day from time to time and today, I still don't know why I joined them onstage to defend an empty space. Young and still numb is all I can come up with.
Along with the breach, many glass bottles, parts of the wall , etc. ended up onstage. Something hit me in the back of the head. I got pissed I guess. I ran across the stage to help one of the drivers who had created his own fight by being too quick to use his mic stand on someone larger and obviouly out of it. The madness only lasted 5 minutes or so when suddenly it was over as Tampa cops poured into the field and took care of the out of control mob and the remaining hanger ons..
I cannot say for sure what hit me in the back of my head. It was thrown with enough force to draw blood and raise a good sized bump. I walked around the stage looking for what it might have been. I found the hash pipe you see in the image. While it may not have been what hit me in the head, it was on the stage when everything was over, so I grabbed it and have used it off and on since then. Next year will be 50 years since I picked up that pipe. I guess I should be grateful I found it. It has been a dependable go to cannabis consumption device when I was tired of rolling joints. And it was one of the few pipes I managed to not lose over the last 50 years.
Morons throwing stuff at the stage is sadly, a time honored tradition. Negative responses by the artists are often the result. At a concert at the Wheaton Youth Center in Wheaton, Maryland in the early 1970's, Snake tossed a lit joint at Dr John. Dr John swung his micrphone and hit Snake right in the head and glared at me like I was who he was aiming at. Geez, I told Snake not to throw it; we'd never get it back and it was our last joint.
As always, please keep it 'tween the ditches ...........................
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I'm feeling like a Two Fer musical choice for this post. First up is Billy Strings in cahoots with Willy Nelson on a tune about geeting too old to party like they did back in their good ole days. Here is 'Claifornia Sober". Enjoy.
This next video is "Good Times, Bad Times". It is from Led Zeppelin's first album, ironically titled "Led Zeppelin". It was another one of my infamous record store van purchases at Clark's Tank n Tummy filling station in the foothills of the White Mountains in New Hampshire. That was the summer of 1969. The record store guy pulled it out of one of his boxes in the back of his van, handed it to me and said, "Here, you are gonna love this album."..................... He was right of course.
However, the biggest plus of this album was its impact on my father. My dad was quite the audiophile. He had started constructing his own sound systems starting the late 1950s. He built ociiloscopes to track the sound waves. He built huge speakers and the huge amps to power them.
At the time everything going through those speakers was Mono (only one channel). He had read of stereo being the next big thing. He called Heathkit and latched onto one of their first stereo amp DYI kits. He put it together and was immediately disappointed in the music that amp delivered. He went back to his stupidly huge mono amp and that was that.
About 7 years later I had built up my own stereo system. It waas much smaller than what he had built, but it kicked ass. 20 amps per channel with some good quality 10 inch speakers i put in homemade barrel halves. When I pulugged in my headphones, it was just awesome. I figured out that the RocknRoll setero music world was way ahead of the curve over the more classic audio world.
After I bought this album and had run through it umpteen times, I decided I had to get my dad into some headphones. I made him come up to my attic bedroom and put those headphones on. I did not want to scare him, so I started with the volume on low. I waited for him to respond. He gave me a thumb's up, "Louder". I cranked it. He started to yank the headphones off, but suddenly stopped and just listened. I watched the his lightbulb go off. He smiled. He had seen the light. From that day forward, he was a Stereo Man.
Afterwards. his system building madness grow three or four fold. He started with those huge 20" inch woofers; added 8 or 10 smaller speakers and built a 200 watt stereo amplifier. When My mom wasn't home, he'd fired that system up and rattle every window in the house. I could hear it clear as a bell from Dunc's place about 100 yards down Sam Page Road; especially when he fired up his sound effects record; Trains, planes, whistles and artillery blasts.
Here is Led Zeppelin's, "Good Times, Bad Times"; the song that turned my father into the audiophile beast that was his destiny. Funny though, he would often play this song as a judge of how good the stereo recordings of his favorite music were.
Definitely best enjoyed with the volume turned up to WOW!
I originally wrote this post on March 11, 2011, over 15 years ago. I was obviously wound up more than usual. Maybe it was the current political scene that affected me or the trials of owning a main street bikeshop. Or maybe it was just time for one the many re-adjustments forced on me or I forced on myself over the years in order to stay grounded.
Of course, events that have unfolded since 2011 have become more intense and more grave than anything that happened in 2011. Those times are looking like the "Good Ole Days" now. When I found this post languishing in the "Back in the Day" files, I told myself I needed to come up with another bit of writing that would help me regain some perspective again. Writing has usually helped my state of mind, especially when my thoughts are scattered because I was upset.
But why think up a new twist when this old Twist still represents how I want to feel about my life and its relationship with the rest of the World. Re-reading it certainly smacked some perspective back into me that I did not appreciate was missing again.
Yeah, times are tough. Just how tough is better understood when we try to walk in another's shoes.
Moving along now. Here is the post from 2011.
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Life gets in the way of the things I want to do. I try to convince myself that what I want to do is what Life should be focusing on. But no. Life has its own damn agenda and it more often than not, only includes me as so much excess baggage. I get swept along by events unforeseen and not prepared for. And suddenly the comfortable little rut I had constructed for myself has become a minefield.
I sidestep as many mines, pitfalls, and incidents that promise ugly outcomes as I can. I cannot avoid them all...................................................... And then I notice that while I have become totally wrapped up in my own puny problems, elsewhere on the planet, folks are dealing with problems of the Life and Death kind.
Suddenly I feel foolish. Suddenly I realize that for all the little irritations I have to deal with, there are people right now whose home washed away and their family is missing, or they are on a desert road with their life's belongings on their back and hoping for food and water when they finally stop for the day. As bad as I would like to pretend my life gets from time to time, I am fairly sure a sizable portion of the planet's population would love to switch places with me.
Owing more money than is coming in is a laugher when held up and compared to say, being buried up to your neck and watching the village line up next to the rock pile. Water in my basement seems a minor league distraction when watching a tsunami take out a town of 17,000. Scowling and cussing under my breath when another ATV/Snowmobile screams by disturbing my peace seems so petty when somewhere over the desert of northern Africa, fighter jets are screaming by and strafing lines of people whose only crime is trying to get away.
Being a typical American human, focusing on my problems first rather than anyone else's is predictable if not understandable. Average dimwits such as myself tend to do this. But then we really have to focus on what's in front of us. It's all we have and for the most part all we can do. We rise to occasions as needed and fall back to normality when the fires have been doused. Dealing with the mundane is what keeps everything afloat. Dealing with disaster is what we do to try and get everyone back on the boat so the focus can again be directed to the routine problems of keeping a society cohesive and moving in a good direction.
Anyway, just some early Tuesday morning thoughts after watching our latest calamities once again visit some fellow humans. Sadness settles in with that second cup of coffee and I sit stunned. My only consolation is my gratitude for the relatively peaceful existence I have been blessed with. No matter how bad we think our lives are unfolding, there is always someone else carrying a burden we wouldn't wish on our worst enemy.
Keep it 'tween the ditches..............................................
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I thought I might try a tune that dovetailed nicely with the post. Then I scrolled into a song I had not heard for over 50 years; a song from an album I bought out of the back of the record truck at Clark's Tank and Tummy, Sanbornville New Hamshire in 1969. I liked the image on the cover. The record guy said it was a Blues band from across the big pond.
I had already fallen in love with an early Fleetwood Mac album with Peter Green playing lead guitar. Blues was a new experience for me back then. I jumped on it. Sadly, all my early Fleetwood Mac albums and the ClimaxBlues Band album were among the stolen record collection I lost when someone broke into my room a week before I graduated from Charlotte Hall Military Academy in the Spring of 1970.
A two fer today. First up, "So many Roads" from the "Climax Blues Band Plays On" album. Recorded and released in 1969.
Now a cover of a Robert Johnson classic, "Dust My Broom" by Fleewood Mac with Peter green playing lead guitar. It's odd how I had to discover the Blues through the music of wankers from across the pond. The original recording was released in 1968.
Some people are Just in the wrong place at the wrong time if they live in the USA
This is the kind of safety Americans can and have come to expect from their Trump led government. Masked ICE thugs in Black SUV's are swooping into scattered communities across this nation in what seems to be just a power performance to remind America that no one person, citizen or not, is immune to their brutality. They are beyond the law, beyond any sense of justice. They are nothing but hired thugs who seem to delight in killing people.
There are so many things wrong with what ICE is doing, naming them all would take a 1000 words at the least. The most disgusting aspect of the emergence of ICE as an extra legal army of thugs is they are not only sanctioned by the cowards of the GOP, the spineless Republicans just ensured that ICE is funded through the end of Trump's term.
A 45 minute drive from my house in the quiet small city of Biddeford, Maine, another show of force callously used by ICE thugs resulted in the death of a young man who was not even on ICE's Hit List. The incident happened yesterday, Monday, July 13 around 7:00 AM.
ICE has invaded Maine before. They arrested 200 people, 19 of whom were the only ones with any kind of criminal record. Up to that point, ICE had not killed anyone in Maine; at least as far as we know. That changed yesterday in the early morning hours in an incident that on film, looked like a carbon copy of the Renee Good murder in Minneapolis on January 7 earlier this year.. Their victim this time in Biddeford, was Joan Sebastian Guerrero, 26 years old Colombian. He was legally here with a green card and a Social Security number. He was heading to work when he was murdered by an ICE agent. His death leaves a 3 year old child without a father and his wife without a husband.
Targeting folks not here legally is just the beginning. Continuing to support the Trump Agenda of fear, hate, and lies by turning a blind eye to the back water sewer Trump wants to turn our country into, is just asking for the worst to come true in our not too distant futures. Now that Trump has emboldened his fellow slime creatures to emerge, even if Trump is gone, there is now a movement solidly based on the worst attributes of America. The worst and ugliest voices of America now have a huge platform.
We can either embrace the struggle to reclaim our country, or sit back in our barco loungers and allow our country to go down the shitter.
You decide. And just remember, no matter which way it goes, we will have deserved the outcome.
Later ..............................................
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Damn. I am so upset at the uncalled for and ruthless show of violence that unfolded 45 minutes away from my little corner of Maine, well, I am not feeling musical. I am fucking pissed, so pissed in fact, I am having trouble seeing through the anger. Calming down is not even close to being on my radar. Yet, I know finding some calm would be what I shoulld be doing instead of wallowing in my hate and anger as the country I have always loved goes to Hell in a handbasket. .............. Phew. Let's see, music huh? ..... Okay. Focus Mike, fuckin focus. ..... I know, time to put a playlist on, one of my playlists I built years ago.
Ah, that's better. I punched up a playlist from 12 years ago, "Drunk n Disorderly Mix". The first song was perfect. "Tired" by Sprung Monkey is a great mix of, "play it at WOW" with mellow interludes that let me catch my breath. Enjoy! And seriously, play it at WOW................ I feel better now.
I decided that a more recent tune would be appropriate. This song was released in 2002. The group is The Devil Makes Three, and the song is "Graveyard". Perfect song when one is drowning their sorrows; which I am not, but might be later in the evening.
With this next song I am makin it a three-fer today. Please enjoy Hank Williams crooning hard with, "Hey, Good Lookin". This song definitely lightened my load. Thanks Hank.
When The USA celebrated America's 200th birthday in 1976, I will admit I did not pay the attention to it I am paying to its 250th birthday in 2026. 50 years created a different approach from me regarding one over the other.
In the summer of 1976, I was pounding the highways of the Eastern Seaboard moving people's furnishings and lives from one place to another. I worked hard that summer. I had little time to pay attention to any birthday. I was making money I had never made before. Call it my first capital improvement period. I do remember a heightened sense of nationwide excitement from the many flags I passed and the numerous depictions of fireworks that were found in every print ad and TV commercials at the time.
In 2026, I am hard into my decapitilization period. That is, I am not actively chasing the bucks, I am living off my previous efforts at chasing the bucks. They call it retirement. I certainly wish it had come first instead of work, but then I never had a silver spoon in my mouth or even contemplated one. I probably would not have liked that either.
Back then I could put in 16 hour days, go out and party til 4 in the morning and still make it to work by 8. It seemed I had no problem having fun and working hard at the same time. Today, a night out past midnight ruins me for a couple of days.
Being retired for this year's celebration has allowed me time to investigate different aspects, reasons, and other pertinent shit regarding our country's march into the future. My first burning question was what chunk of time exactly is 250 years in the counting of time. It seems there are several words / terms that are okay when labeling 250 years. The most popular by far is "Semiquincentennial".
(I just wrote that from memory without looking it up. I will now look it up to see if I got it right. Lots letters in that one......... and more...... DAMN! I nailed it. Picture me now doing a jig, or rather, a sad slow imitation of one.)
At least now, after writng and now reading it, I know how to pronounce it. Other than that, I hate the word because it is entirely too burdensome to write or speak out loud. "250 Year Celebration" works best for me.
So, I let the Hoopla and Flag Waving pass me by in 1976. My excuse is I was numb and dumb and way too busy making the first serious cash of my life. My excuse for this birthday, 50 years later, is I am not that enthusiastic about a national birthday that has been hijacked by a slimy clown who is using it for his own self agrandizement. Trump has taken any celebration I may have considerd and shit all over it with his "Everything is about Me, Me,Me.....Me".
So please understand if I refuse to fly a flag this year. Please understnad that until Trump and the movement he created out of his ass is defeated, I will not be celebrating anything that pretends to show America as a great country. I fear we have lost that battle; and if not Lost, we are in serious danger of losing it, should the movemnt he created continues after he is laid to rest in the closest swamp available.
There is still greatness in this country. But it is a greatness that is currently under attack by some of its own citizens. Why? That's the problem. I cannot for the life of me understand why they hate our country so much, that they would want to marginalize everyone outside their narrow-minded crew's view of the world. Talk about biting off one's nose to spite their face...... Geez.
Keep it 'tween the ditches .......................
( Post note - The two children in the top picture are my niece and nephew. I had yet to even consider marriage, children, or mortgages. )
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I sat on this post overnight. Not sure why. Maybe it was because it is so flippin hot. Maine is not supposed to be this hot. If I was a Republican, I would blame Biden or maybe Obama. But I am a card carrying Libtard who votes with Democrats at the moment. I say at the moment because the Democrats are really beginning to piss me off ..... again. I don't know what they are thinking sometimes. They have a president who is self destructing before our eyes and the Democrats are still pushing their often silly Woke policies over the bread and butter issues all of America wants to hear at the moment. Table the overly progressive crap for when you fools might again have the power to institute some of them.
Regardless, this section of a post for me is to inject a musical moment to hopefully offset any panty bunching commentary I may have inadvertantly used in the main body of said post. ........ Okay.
Small town America used to personify the heart of America. Those small towns, those fields of grain and pastures stuffed with cattle were symbols of America's wide expanses and also the open hearts Americans offered everyone who was here, who came here, who wanted to come here.
Today on the Eve of the 4th of July and the 250th birthday of the country I love, America is not the shiny love is in the air country it used to portray itself. Our citizens are at each other's throats. Our citizens have become two Americas; one group wants an America that is moving forward with all of us. The other group wants to return to a past that never existed then but exists large in their minds now. You know, the America that was controlled by White folks, peckerwoods like me.
I decided that John Mellencamp recorded two songs that encapsulate the mystery that is America. So today, we have a two-fer. Up first is "Small Town", an ode to the rural small town America the World learned to love from afar.
The second song, "Pink Houses", looks behind the "Life is beautiful" America and points to some of the ugly truths America has that also plaque, in varying degrees, every country on the planet.
Last night, an 84 year old man stepped out onto the stage at the Bank NH Pavilion on the shores of Lake Winnepesaukee, Gilford, New Hampshire. The capacity crowd of 9000 or so dutifully greeted him with a standing ovation.
The man began to speak. He outlined what the audience could expect in the way of a show. It would be a two part show. The first part would be his latest music from his latest album, "Seven Psalms". He was specific, the first act would be 33 minutes long. There would be a short intermission. The second act he promised, would consist of many hits from his earlier years. The crowd roared their approval.
I cannot speak for the audience, but my initial impression of his first set was shock. I am not sure what I expected, but it wasn't this old man who was one of my musical heroes from the time I first heard "Sounds of Silence" in the1960s. He was a frail man. His tired voice sang songs wrapped in religious questions and faith. I was not disappointed. I was reminded that even Heroes grow old; Time makes no concessions for anyone.
I felt sad during that first set; selfishly sad I guess. Paul was onstage singing his heart out and I thought of my own situation. The crowd was polite. It was possibly from shock similar to mine. We offered luke warm claps after each song.
Intermission
The first set had given me a chance to accept that Paul had lost a step or two. I adjusted my expectations after the intermission.
The concert had started right on time at 8:30 PM. With the 20 minute or so intermission, Paul and the excellent 9 or 11 musicians ( Lis and I weren't sure ) who had his back played for a total of 2 1/2 hours I guess. Paul found his stride, his voice grew stronger, and his renditions of older hits created a new appreciation for the greatness of the music this man created over his 60 plus years as a giant in the American music scene during the second half of the 20th Century.
His songs humbled me, caused some tears, and left me awestruck. Paul is still plying the trade he adopted so long ago. I came away with a one word summation of what I thought of the concert...... Bittersweet.
I had no problem deciding what group or artist to highlight for this post. But which rendition do I pick? The period when Paul was part of the duo, Simon and Garfunkel, or the Solo Paul who continued to pump out meaningful and lyrical music for many years after?
There were so many songs I love from both phases of his career. After some thought, I picked a song from his time with Art Garfunkel. If I had to pick a favorite, it could easily be "The Boxer". That he performed it last night cinched it. Enjoy.
I originally wrote this post in November of 2009, a year after Obama won his first term.The Tea Party had been rattling their odeological cages, gas lighting, lying, and finding conspiracies where there were none.
The big claim - Obama was not born in the USA. It was a very popular Bull Shit story. The folks who pushed this were called "Birthers". And who lead their Charge?........ That's right the moron who has been screwing us over the last 10 years at the least.
When I re-read this post I was not surprised how much hasn't changed. I was surprised at just how successful the MAGA movement has been at ruining our country. Anyway, here is what I was thinking on Nov. 21, 2009. Things have not only not changed, things have gotten worse.
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I began a serious rant aimed squarely at the recent Right Wing hijinks and foolishness. Yes it was a scathing attack. No holds barred. Take no prisoners. No quarter given. Worked myself into a frenzy, almost becoming that which I was raging against.
I was hitting all the convenient targets of opportunity - Sarah, Glenn, the holier than thou but hopelessly brain dead Michele Bachmann, Fox Spews, and just to make sure or round out my efforts, a few below the belt shots at Hannity and O'Reilly just for the Hell of it.
Teabaggers were up front taking pies in the face. Bible thumping homophobes were getting drippy chins as I squatted and scathingly dipped my sack of condemnation and insults on their ever eager blank angry faces.
could only hold back so long when faced with this non stop parade of hateful fools leading with their chins. And I felt no shame at hurling insults and epithets and other scurrilous mutterings in their general direction. They deserved my derision, my disrespect. It was time I gave back what I have been taking for 29 years. They want to hate me. Fine. It was time I hated back.
Because I had had it. I could only be even tempered for so long and shine on the hate and disrespect all of them seem to have for my personal ideals while I tried to respect theirs. I was tired of being accused of being a traitorous loser who hates America and wants Islamic assholes and Commies to take over because I happen to like the man who occupies the Oval Office. I was tired of the hateful mean shit these jerks have been spewing from mouths filled with tobacco juice and holy water. I was tired of hearing how important guns are to my freedom. Get a damn clue you idiots. I do not need a gun to be free. Freedom is not had at the end of a gun. Freedom is not taken away at the end of a gun. The only way you can lose your freedom is when you give it away. Freedom is a frame of mind and you boneheads have no clue what that means.
But you know what? After furiously pounding out my anger and dripping gallons of mean sweat on the keys of this keyboard, I felt better. So I decided I wouldn't say those things. I had purged my hate and was now once again going with the flow. Just chillin while a contented smile came over my face.
Instead of laying into the dim wits of the Right, I offer instead, this short but to the point Monty Python clip. In 30 seconds or so you will know how I view the fools who wrap themselves in scripture, conspiracy theories and would turn us into a repressive theocracy and think they are doing us a favor.
There are two influencers in my life at the moment who help me keep the Arts part of my life. Without them, I am sure my Arts world would be mostly online appreciation. As it is anyway, the Internet is my biggest source of any chance the Arts have to catch my attention. These two ladies get me involved in real time, up close in my face live and loud Arts in action.
An accounting client of my wife is a cog in the machine/supporter of the Ogunquit Playhouse over to ...... Yep, you guessed it, Ogunquit, Maine. The playhouse one of the oldest road playhouses used for summer off Broadway productions. In business every summer season since 1933. Thousands of up and coming stars, established stars, and talent looking to invigorate emerging careers have played there.
For the most part, the music and plays favor the musicals from my parents era. In recent years, a change to include a more current treatment on plays and musicals is beginning to dominate. I am impressed of the new versions of the old satndards of 60-70 years ago. BA's client has been kind enough to give us a chance to see quality live entertainment for th elast ten years at least.
been a soource over the last 10 years free tickets to the shows. So, for 10 years I have been reintroduced to much of the entertainment my parents, through different avenues, exposed me to as a child.
And then there my daughter; my kid; my best example of having been a good man at least some of the time. Lis is an energizer bunny. She usually juggles many interests, resposibilities, with a married life shared with a man both she and I approve of. Well, she may have approval than I do. But the Jarhead is okay I guess, even though he is an ex-Marine.
One of Lis' big interests is music. Not the Top Forty Pop, Rock, or Country, but an eclectic variety of I dunno, Bluegrass, punk country, Old School Rock from back in my day, and music from all over the globe. Anyway, she keeps us apprised of live concerts in our mutual areas to possibly go to. Every year, I get to see musicians from my past, new musicians I never heard of before, and venues that either knock my socks off or just remind me of how bad some of the halls can be.
This coming Tuesday Paul Simon is playing a nice venue in New Hampshire; the NH Bank Pavilion in Gilford, New Hampshire. I have never seen Paul in concert or as part of the duo that brought Simon and Grfunkel fame back in the 1960s. I did haul the sound and light equipment for a tour his ex-partner, Art Garfunkel. It was a low key one truck tour. I loved the one truck tours. Laid back leisurely runs usually with plenty of time to make it from one venue to another. It was as close to a vacation I had the years I drove for SHOWCO in the mid 1970s.
In a couple of weeks we are also going to the "Jeezum Crow Festival" at Jay Peak in Vermont. What a great venue. Laid back, relaxed, low key fun in the Sun. This year, the two day event will have two stages and more bands than before. Like last year, the four of us are renting a Vrbo somewher close by. Last year we did and I won't go back again on a one day out back from Maine.
And just when I think the summer could not get any more crowded, Lis noted that Rustic Overtones is playing up in North Conway, NH coming in August I6, I think.
Rustic Overtones is a Maine band that BA and I took Lis to for her very first concert. It was the early 1990s at the Portland Expo in Portland, Maine. It was Lis' first concert. She was 13 or 14. Since then I guess she has seen them over 20 times. BA and I have only seen them perform maybe 15 times.
Portland Expo has the worst accoustics of any hall I have ever been in. It is an echo chamber. Reverbation makes it tough to follow the songs. And even worse, it's festival seating. Once I hit my 60s, I refused to see a concert that did not have assigned seating or they allowed chairs to be brought in.
Damn, lots of music this summer .....Excellent.
Later ......................
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I was going to include some music from one of the groups that will be performing at the Jeezum Crow Festival. The I decided that playing a Charlie Parr tune was more fitting. He has been at the Festival I thin ksince its inception over a decade ago. And his music is great. I am not sure how to categorize his music, so I won't.
Please enjoy "Over the Red Cedar", by Charlie Parr.
HEADS UP- what follows is a silly piece of flash fiction I came up with. If it offends, so be it. It's a joke ferchrisakes. Calm down. Any relation to a current leader is purely coincidental........ Really.
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When Dwayne was a child, he quickly established himself as the dim one of the brood. He was born with glazed over eyes that followed him throughout his life. Having been born and raised before the woke culture of Political Correctness took over from Simple Civility, Dwayne's parents were not very tolerant of his failure to launch as what they considered a normal child. His parents did love little Dwayne. He was cute in his dimness most days. Usually, they tolerated his lack of a clue regarding the world around him.
When Dwayne was around the age of 10, he approached his father, who was on his knees pulling weeds in their garden.
"Dad, whatja doing?"
Godfrey Machump looked at his son. For a moment he marveled at the “no one home look” that was always behind those blue eyes. Godfrey had long ago given up on Dwayne growing up to be anything but a dimwit. He smiled.
"Son, I'm pulling weeds in your mother's garden."
Mr. Machump returned to pulling weeds, thinking the conversation with his son was over. Dwayne never showed much curiosity and more often than not would nod or shrug and then move along.
"Can I help?"
Somewhat surprised, Godfrey looked at his son again. He was caught off guard.
"Uh, well I ...... Sure, why not?..... Here let me show you how?"
Dwayne did not hear or pay attention to his father. All he heard was, “Sure, why not?”
He immediately began yanking out any plant he could get his hands on. Weeds or garden plantings, it did not matter. Dwayne was an equal opportunity plant puller; and he had a gift it seemed. Before his father could corral him, Dwayne had yanked half of the onions and was well into the carrots before his father gathered him up and placed him roughly 15 feet away from the garden. Dad had a hair trigger temper, and without thinking,
"Christ on Crutch Dwayne, don’t be such a Dumb Ass."
That was the day Dwayne acquired the nickname that would follow him in one form or another the rest of his days. And though he actually acquired a few more IQ points along the way, he only became smart enough to know what people really thought of him.
He became determined to show them. He realized he was not one of those Savants that everyone talked about; idiot or otherwise. He could not juggle numbers well. He could not multitask at all. What he could do, was focus on one thing at a time, even if that focus was created from a poor understanding in the first place. To that end, his lifelong focal point was to make the world pay for calling him a Dumb Ass.
After his ascension to leader of Didushakurboutie, in the wilds of Africa, he often stood at one of his gilded palace windows and scanned his kingdom. Often, in these moments of self aggrandizing musings, he would repeat the mantra he created to defend himself from the harsh criticisms and teasing he had to tolerate as a child.
"I am not an Idiot Savant. I am a Dumb Ass Savant....... And one day I will rule the World."
(537 words )
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This little piece of fiction just fell out of my brain in 20 minutes. Whether it is good or bad does not matter. I again was able to write something without the hint of anguish or struggle. What's sad is I felt the need to place a warning at the beginning.
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A Facebook comment I made somewhere sometime in the recent past made a reference to Carly Simon's iconic song, "You're So Vain". I don't think I have ever used this tune to accompany one of my posts. So here it is, the song that was as great as it was mysterious. For years people tried to figure out who she was singing about. There have been many guesses, both good and bad. At age 77, James Taylor admitted the song was about him, thus creating a nationwide of "I told you so's" across the planet.
Regardless, please enjoy one of the great pop tunes of the 1970s.
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