Dangerously Pink - Revisited

I first wrote this almost 20 years ago in the summer of 2005. That was my first full year of blogging. I recently dredged it back up and thought I should share again as now I actually have an audience. I liked it then and I like it now. I can still smell the pink from that day.

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A woman came into Crum Cycles a few weeks ago. This is not an unusual occurrence, but how she dressed and acted was. Located in Maine, our community prides itself in reticent Yankee behavior. We dress down most days and are slow to warm to strangers. The invasion by a boisterous and buxom woman dressed completely in Pink, big hair, and enough makeup to make Maybelline bust with pride was a noteworthy event.

When I say she was pink, I mean pink. Pink pumps, pink miniskirt wrapped around a rather generous butt and a pink belly button blouse that highlighted a naval piercing with a, you guessed it, pink stone in the setting. She even smelled pink. A heavy odor of what I imagine 2 thousand pink flowers would smell like. And to top off the overall effect, a wide pink hairband that kept her Baltimore doo standing up and living large. As soon as I saw her, I thought of Divine and the movie "Pink Flamingos". The only thing missing was the "Bawlamer" accent. When she opened her mouth, the hard speech of someone from the blue collar fringes of Boston came out.

Our encounter was a comedy. She had recently purchased a couple of new bikes from some mass merchant nearby. She wanted to outfit them and her with many accessories. Racks, Helmets, locks, etc. As I worked through all the options, she took every chance she could to throw her sexuality in my face. She was obviously well versed in using her female wiles to seduce men to do her bidding. A touch here, an accidental brush there. And always that pink smell permeating the whole shop. I countered every attempt of hers to get close with tactful retreats to keep her out of "my space". I am only human and that smell combined with her overwhelming femaleness was having it's affect on me. It was not like she was seducing me, rather it was more she was winning by overwhelming me with superior firepower.

After setting her up with all the goodies she wanted and I had her safely on the other side of the counter, I began to breath easier. The 3 feet of glass and wood seemed enough of a barricade to keep me faithful to my wife and out of the madness of brief encounters with the opposite sex. She paid for her items and turned to leave. Then she stopped and turned, making sure all that could jiggle did jiggle. Dirty thoughts danced through my mind as she began to inquire about having me show her how her new bikes worked. I did not answer. And as she repeated herself, she smiled that knowing smile that she still had it. She could still turn a man's head.

She knew she had me if she wanted me. I had lost. That jiggle turn had done it. The icing on the cake. Satisfied she had another notch in her gun belt, she smiled, said see ya and left. I sat there staring at the door for several moments wondering what had just happened. It had been a lot of years since a woman had turned my head like that. The feeling was familiar but new at the same time. And then I grinned and thought, "Damn women. Gotta love em. We have no choice. They literally have us guys by the short hairs."

*** Artwork by Norman Engel

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My first thought regarding what tune might work with this post was a song from the Movie, "Pretty in Pink". I checked the songs from the flick and lookee there, a tune called, "Pretty in Pink". 

"Perfect", I thought, "Nailed it."

Then I listened to it. Let's just say I won't punish you with it. Totally forgettable: they should be sued for even playing it in public.

So what now? I reset and began what is often a lengthy dive into the world of song relevancy. Finding a tune that is even remotely connected to a post can take some time. I thought there had to be songs about pink. The first song I checked out was "Pink" by Aerosmith. 

Now I nailed it. What a great tune and the video is outrageous. Love it.

Led Zeppelin and San Diego - Part One

Google claims the distance from Madison Square Garden to the San Diego Sports arena in California is 2765 miles. My SHOWCO itinerary has it as 2770 miles . The last Zeppelin show in New York was June 14, 1977. We had four days to cover the distance. SHOWCO wanted no issues making stage calls on time. They flew in a co-driver for every truck. 

My co-driver was named Jim. A very likable guy who could not back up a tractor trailer for shit. Of course he had only been sitting in that rig for a few days at that point. In forward mode, he was rock steady, shifted clean and didn't ride the clutch. What really impressed me though, Jim was not a Chatty Cathy nor a whiner. All the way across country he pulled his weight just fine. He was from Kansas City and he enjoyed sipping Codeine cold syrup when he wasn't driving and we were in a state where it was still legal to get it over the counter. He also turned me onto a nationwide network of dealers who sold go fast pills to truckers. He gave me a card with a phone number on it. All I had to do was call that number for a location (usually a truck stop) on my route where I could score some pills. That's about all I remember about Jim.

Two drivers in every truck meant we could legally drive 24/7 across the US; well... almost legally. It could also have been a casual drive at sight seeing speeds.  Instead, one of the drivers puffed up his chest in NYC, threw down the gauntlet and loudly claimed in the hotel bar he was going to beat the rest of us to San Diego. This in our face test of our manhood would not go unchallenged. All of us were in. Each truck put up $50, winner take all.

One problem was the first truck to load out ( Band Equipment) would have an advantage of at least a couple of hours over the last truck to load out. Rather than try to work out something fair, it became an, "oh well, you lose dude...see ya later chump". I was hauling sound at 3rd or fourth in the pack.

Six trucks left Madison Square Garden dark thirty the morning of June 15, 1977. Other than one sighting, that was the last time I saw any of them until I hit the super slab outside the San Diego city limits. I saw one of our trucks heading the wrong way. I tried to reach them on the CB, but I got nothing back on either Channel 19 or the west coast Channel 17. 

When we found the secure lot for the trucks and trailers, Jim and I were sure we had won. We were the first truck there. A cab dropped us off at the San Diego Hilton on Mission Bay Drive just over 51 hours after we had left New York City. Our average speed with fuel and food stops was just shy of 55 MPH. Yeah, all the way to the Hilton we were full of ourselves discussing what we were going to spend the wager money on. After all, depending on how quick we made the trip, we could count on some significant time off before the one night stand.

As we approached the Hilton, I noticed one of our rigs pulled over to the side of the road. It was Rick's truck. He had not gone to the secure lot first. I envisioned a heated discussion over drinks about whether he and his co-driver had cheated. My recollection of the initial wager was, the first truck to park at the secure lot, not the Hotel won. He knew San Diego did not allow big trucks to park on the streets in that part of town. There would be no fudgin, 

Rick was gonna be bummin hard. As we passed by his rig, I noticed a yellow wheel lock clamped to a set of his drive wheels. The San Diego cops didn't waste any time. 

When we hit the lobby, I immediately headed for the front desk. My co-driver Jim had other plans. Told me he was hitting the bar to decompress over a couple of alcoholic pops; he would catch up later. I set him straight right away. Drivers always checked in first before any personal time could commence. Too many times there were foul ups and our rooms did not exist or were not ready. It was always soon straightened out as  SHOWCO definitely had serious pull in the Hospitality world. But we had to be there front and center to make sure they worked it out. SHOWCO spent  buckets of money on traveling and any hotels that screwed up lost their business. The tours were planned months and oftentimes a year or more in advance. Pre-paid Cash deposits with no quibbling were sent in to ensure top of the line service. 

Jim didn't like it, but he came with me to the front desk. We checked in, found our room, dumped our stuff and then I said, "Time for cocktails. Let's find Rick and give him shit for cheating." Rick had been with SHOWCO awhile and I knew his habits. He loved to hang out at the hotel bars or the closest one nearby and sip Vodka Tonics until the wee hours of the night.  He would definitely be in the bar. He and his co-driver were there as expected.

I slapped Rick in the back of the head as we walked up.

"Bet's off. You cheated."

Rick turned. The look on his face told me the slap was going too far. When he saw me, his frown switched to a smile.

"We did not cheat", he insisted. "We have been here 30 minutes at least, right?' He looked to his co-driver for back up. The co-driver had a blank look on his face and a full drink in front of him. He didn't say anything.

Rick smiled and said:

"Oh don't mind Bill... I don't think he's used to driving straight through from New York. He drove the last leg. He should probably be sleeping, but I insisted he come with me so we could laugh at all you losers when you came in behind the winner. 

Rick's grin widened:

"So where's the $50 bucks you owe us?"

" Like I said, you cheated. The winner was the first one to drop their rig at the secure lot. From what I can tell, your truck ain't at the lot and besides, it has a wheel lock clamped on to one set of the drivers."

Rick's smile went slack as he realized the headache he was about to have with the San Diego cops. They were not very tolerant of big trucks that did not follow their rules. My grin became a chuckle.

I continued, " But while you figure out how to bail out your truck, I'll sit back here in the hotel lounge and nurse a double Jack Black on the rocks." I worked up the best shit eating grin I could muster.

John got up awkwardly and staggered toward the exit. I thought he was already hammered and had been in the bar for awhile. As it turned out, he had only been at the bar long enough to order one drink and not finish it. His codriver ratted him out. His awkward exit was just him straightening out truck driver stiffness after a long run.

Two of the other trucks made it to town a few hours later, with the last two arriving the next day. Everyone agreed John had cheated and I agreed to not push the win. It wasn't about the money. It was about bragging rights and I decided to split the ownership with John. I didn't want to win on a technicality, although I had every right to do so.

End of Part One 

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Led Zeppelin is considered by many to be the greatest Rock n Roll band of all time. I don't know about that. When I bought and listened to their first album in the summer of 1969, I was positive they were Rock Gods. Not even Eric Clapton or Hendrix could carry their water. 

That initial infatuation calmed some and their place eventually settled  near the top of my all time greatest playllist. There was and still is entirely too much great music in all genres floating around this planet to make claims of "Greatest", Best Ever", etc. They were great and that is all that matters to me.

To have had the privilege to drive for their tour is one of my great memories. That tour was chock full of madness. 

One song on their self titled fantastic first album, "Led Zeppelin" sent shivers up my spine and still does every time I hear it. Please enjoy their cover of Muddy Waters' wonderful Blues tune, "You Shook Me".

If you can't or won't turn the volume up to WOW, shame on you.

The Bottom Bracket

I had a dream last night regarding a bottom bracket and how it spoiled a friendship with a long time bike shop customer who now lives in Virginia. Definitely a silly dream as most dreams seem to be, but I still woke up pissed off. It also followed the tendency my dreams have of coming out of nowhere in the middle of another dream.

I was in a quandary. My garage needed a new roof. As I stood looking up at it and deciding what action I should take, Dave S walked up to me. He had with him, his recent custom build bike I sold him not two weeks previous.

"Wazup", I said, "How you liking that new ride I built up for you?"

"Love it dude. It's a beauty alright."

The way Dave said it though, I knew there was something wrong. I had owned a bike shop a long time and I could tell without hearing the customer whine, something was wrong. 

"What's wrong Dave, something not right?"

"Well, now that you...."

Dave looked at the ground and mumbled. I could not hear him.

"Jeezum Dave spit it the fuck out...... What the fuck is wrong?"

Dave looks up. His face was not a happy face. I couldn't tell if he was mad or just sad. I reached for the bike.

"Let's throw it on the stand while you decide whether to tell me what's wrong or not."

"Okay"

Dave released the bike to me and we both went in the shop. I threw the bike up on the stand and gave it my standard repair triage to find out what was wrong. I noticed the bottom bracket was loose; not just loose but sloppy loose. Whoever installed it must have been an idiot. Since I was not an idiot, I knew immediately someone else had put a wrench to my "build".

I turned to Dave. He was still looking at the floor. His demeanor told me there was more to the story. I grabbed my crank extractor and had the crank arm off and on the bench in no time. That high end White Industries titanium endlessly adjustable bottom bracket with the stupid light alloy cups was loosy goosy.  I bent down to get a better look and noticed the soft alloy tool flats were dinged, dented and mangled so bad, I knew I was right. Someone else had been fuckin with my "build".

"Whoever messed with this Dave is a moron........ If you had a problem, why didn't you bring it to me?"

Dave was still looking at the floor.

"Speak up goddammit. We're friends ferchrisakes. What happened?"

"Uh well,.... I .... you didn't answer your phone so I uh,....... took it to that new shop in south Sanford, "Ball Cycles ......... The owner, Jeff, said he could fix me right up."

I felt this huge wave of betrayal waft over me; leaving me speechless for a minute. Before I spoke, I gathered what wits I could find and in a calm voice, almost a whisper really:

"Did he fix it, ... you know, did he make it better?'

"No. He made it worse...."

Before Dave could finish his thought, I interrupted him:

"And now you will have to pay me to replace whatever parts he ruined with his ham fisted mechanics. I can tell you right now you will need new cups and bearings, but I think the Ti axle will be fine. They are more than tough, almost indestructible actually. .......Hopefully, I have some new cups in stock. White Industry parts aren't run of the mill."

I looked at Dave. He was miserable standing there with his hang dog look.

"Well, if you had answered.........."

"Don't even start. You knew I was up country for a visit with an old college buddy....... Just leave it and I will take care of it. I'll give you a call."

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It has been more than a few years since my bike shop days popped up in one of my dreams. This one was about as close to a nightmare as I have ever had. Of course, this dream was just that. Dave S never brought me a bike like that. Actually, he may have been my favorite customer. He was and still is one of my great friends.

Remain calm. Dreams may come true but so what? 

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Only one tune will fit the bill for this post. Here is "Bicycle Race", by Queen.

Ticket On an Airplane

I was enjoying my morning coffee, a couple of scrambled eggs with toast, and avoiding the news on the kitchen TV. Usually I avoid the news by watching old TV shows, "Leave it to Beaver", "The Rifleman", "Have Gun Will Travel". This morning though I stumbled across a 1954 John Wayne film, "The High and the Mighty".

I assumed it was either a western or war movie. They seem to account for a lion's share of the movies John Wayne starred in. I was surprised to find it was disaster movie of sorts. A passenger plane flying from Hawaii to San Francisco was not going to make it for a reason I was not aware of as I came into the movie past the mid-point. 

Robert Stack was the captain of the flight. William Campbell was his co-pilot and John, well I am not sure why John was on the plane, but he was also a pilot for the airline and was carrying a checkered pass that may have or not kept him from flying at that time.

It was a classic averting disaster movie that reminded me in many ways of the fine Hitchcock film, "Lifeboat". Personal stories were plugged in to make the flight interesting and not just a bunch of panicky passengers screaming they did not want to die. I don't like many John Wayne movies, but this one was well done. 

"Lifeboat" was written by John Steinbeck and "The High and the Mighty" was penned by Ernest Hemingway. The two of them were giants of 20th century American Literature. Start with good writing and that will always help a movie become more successful. 

In the end though the plot became predictable. John Wayne was the hero I guess because he slapped Robert Stack into manning up and flying the damn plane when Stack had a crisis of confidence. Robert Stack stopped being a Nancy, thanked John for the intervention and successfully brought plane into San Francisco with 30 gallons of fuel to spare.

While I did enjoy the parts of the movie I watched and will most likely search it out to see the entire film; throughout the minutes I watched, the passenger seats kept popping into my mind. Look how freaking big they were and oh look at that , some guy's smoking a cigarette. Times have certainly changed.

My days of air travel peaked during the 1950s and early 1960s. My family flew all over the freaking place, especially the Pacific. I hated it. Mom learned to pack extra air sickness bags. I think eventually I might have puked some when the would "flight" was even mentioned. Didn't like flying then and I still don't. It doesn't scare me, I just hate the whole process; especially now, with all the extra pain the ass requirements just to step on board.

As the movie wound down and the passengers exited down the wheeled staircase, the little kid on the flight came down alone. That struck me as I remember flying alone at around the same age. My mom actually pinned a scrap of paper to the lapel of my new suit with contact info should I become lost, stolen or misplaced.

If you are into old movies, I would recommend both, especially "Lifeboat".

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

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"Fly Away", by Lenny Kravitz seems it might just be a decent choice for this post.

The Cone of Shame

Maggie is now in recovery from a surgical procedure to remove a mast head tumor from her leg. Mast head tumors are very problematic. They can get ugly and spread or stay local and not bother the animal. A biopsy showed Maggie's was one that was likely to spread. So we agreed to have it removed. 

The surgery went well. Maggie seems to be handling it well at this point. But I wasn't handling it so well knowing I was expected to install a "cone of shame" to keep her from licking at the sutures, bandages, etc. I gave it one shot that lasted long enough to take the picture and began a search for an alternative solution. But first, my theory on how the "cone of shame" came about.

Over the many years of sharing our house with those four legged beasts politely known as pets, we and various pets at different times have had to deal with an evil conjured up in the darkest basements of some veterinary convention in Las Vegas, Atlantic City or more likely Philly. It was during the symposium held in an underground garage near the Liberty Bell. The discussions did not start until well after that third or fourth keg of Schimdt's had been tapped.

A vet of dubious reputation from Dallas, Texas whose specialty was midget donkeys and toy Shetland ponies suggested that the industry should embrace a new device intended to keep house pets from licking surgical sites, their butts, and pretty much anything they might hanker to run their tongues across. He called it "the recovery collar".

He claimed it would be like printing money. The pet owners would be glad to pay for this as it would be a long sought out remedy for post surgical damage done to the patients by the patients themselves. Besides, he claimed, it would provide hours of entertainment for the pet owners as they endured the frustration of trying to keep their pets tongues in their mouth where, as any polite society knows, is where their tongues belong. Never mind the extra money filling their coffers, the vet network could pass around and snicker over amusing anecdote's about the comedy that ensued. 

Well, I was having none of it this time. I attempted a brief incarceration, but there was no humor watching poor Maggie have trouble walking through doors and not being able to lick unaffected body parts she enjoyed on a daily basis. So with at least 5 minutes of thought, my eyes spotted a pair of fleece socks I wear around the house instead of slippers. Hmm. Maybe. ......  I came up with the polar fleece sock. 

So far, so good. Now she can have as stress free a recovery as I can give her. We will see. 

Keep your fingers crossed.

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Once again, I had a song in mind as soon as I finished the post. Here is Charlie Parr's version of the old folk song, "Old Dog Blue". Charlie's covers never sound like anyone else's.

Howl at the Moon Tonight

I guess we humans can't keep from nicknaming everything around us. People, animals, things, the list is endless. Think of something and there will be a catchy nickname to go along with the accepted boring name. The monthly Full Moon's are no exception.

Seems January's full moon which peaks tonight is known as the "Wolf Moon". I was sure the name had something to do with werewolves and the like, but the true story is less compelling and really no one knows exactly how or when January's full moon was first saddled with the nickname, "Wolf Moon". It was many moons ago though.

One reasonable explanation came from a BBC article I just read.

Wolves do not hibernate over the winter. They stay active and nighttime is a favorite time to chase down food I guess. And they apparently are happy to have a moon to howl at. I know when I was young, numb and shitfaced, stoned or high on LSD, I tended to howl at the moon also. 

The thing about the Wolf Moon though is that another annual celestial event coincides with it. Mars can be found right next to the Moon tonight. Same thing last night. It was awesome. But then to sweeten the deal, Mars is also approaching "opposition". Opposition is when a celestial body finds itself directly in line with the Sun. The last one for Mars was in December, 2022. Opposition means the Sun will be casting the brightest of its light on that celestial body and viewing it will be at its best. If you have a decent telescope, tonight's the night to use it if you want to check out Mars.

If tonight is as clear as it was last night, I'm digging out a yard chair, bundling up and sparking up a doob. I will be found staring at the sky for a few hours. Last night I was only outside maybe 5 minutes. But then a t-shirt and flip flops was not the right attire for sub 20's F weather.

There might be better reasons to go out in the cold cold night, but tonight is certainly right up near the top of the list.

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

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Again, another post I had no problem finding a tune to go with it. Before I even started this post, I thought of only one song, "Werewolves of London", by Warren Zevon. The word I heard was, tonight is the night the Werewolves of London rock their hardest. Better stay away from them Jim, they'll rip your lungs out.

Satanic Influences

I have no idea why many Christians don't get this about Atheists. The Christians who do get it are being disingenuous and dishonest as dishonesty and being disingenuous is part and parcel of the whole Christian message. 

The basic structure of our existence is set in Genesis in the Bible. Yet, this belief that God created all that exists is conveniently forgotten, passed over, or manipulated to fit any current twist on the original if the need presents itself. It seems that anything, any event, any person who does not fit into the current mindset is the fault of "Satanic Influences". 

If everything in the Universe, including the Universe, was created by God, would that not make God responsible for everything including "Satanic Influences"? 

Hmm. Makes me wonder why God created Satan in the first place. Was it so God could have plausible deniability when crops failed, floods flooded and Hurricanes hurricane'd? Creating his own scapegoat was a Texas leaguer, chump move; dontcha think? But as dishonest brokers in the first place, Christians would surely have set up God and the rest of it with as many escape clauses and ways to blame others for their own failings.

The Christians created a God who does not believe in intelligent followers. Intelligence does not often follow blindly. They found this quest for blind allegiance was a key part of creating a successful Religion. It's Religion 101 for most religions fer Chrisakes. The system is not set up to offer honest answers when questions arise.

Atheists do not believe in either God or Satan. They are slaves to the evils of Scientific Method, always conjuring up explanations for things using numbers and graphs so most of us have not a clue if they telling the truth or just feeding us more bullshit like the Christians do. I do like Science better than Religion because, well, I like numbers, graphs and other brainiac shit better than kneeling and mumbling nonsense while some guy in robes swings a big orb full of smoke around. I don't understand as much of the Empirical take on the Universe as I would like. My eyes tend to roll back in my head if my crazy intelligent daughter starts in too hard with her geek speak. But I can follow Science a whole lot better than the illogical meanderings of the Christian religion.

So I have a problem with Atheists, who do not believe in God and also a problem with Theists, who insist there is a God. Both believe in notions that have never been proven one way or the other. Neither should claim they know the truth, yet they always do. They often will fight one another trying prove that they do. Both use Faith to believe what they believe and try to manipulate that belief to turn it into fact. As yet, there is no empirical proof either one is right.

I sit on the fence scratching my head wondering why we humans even worry about what each other believes or doesn't believe. I will say, I am not sure which side is funnier, although the over the top fire and brimstone mentalities of the devout does give them a leg up on the boring atheists whose commitment to the idea of no God is a matter of empirical ways and means. Not a lot of humor in watching grass grow.

As a confirmed Heathen, I view the whole God / No God battle as a human comedy. I enjoy watching it play out. I will be very disappointed, if before I die, someone on either side proves they were right and the other side was not. It's the battle I enjoy witnessing, not the end result.

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

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There is only one song I can play when it comes to Satan. Here is a longish version of "Sympathy for the Devil", by the Rolling Stones. Pay attention to the lyrics, they mirror my feelings wonderfully.

After I watched it a second time, I noticed a famous musical phe-nom in the audience and then saw that Keith was barefoot. Cool. They were still on the young side when this video was recorded and so was I.

Tears to Embrace

I was on another quest to find old music I left behind. The recent Bob Dylan biopic, "A complete unknown" fired me up. Using a lyric for the movie title from what might be considered Bob's true break out hit, "Like a Rolling Stone" was inspired. While he was not a complete unknown at the time, he was not the world wide phe-nom he would become after this song hit the top 40 list on AM stations coast to coast. I remember slow dancing awkwardly to this tune with girls at Teen Club on Friday nights. Hormones roared hard back then.

Bob would reinforce his popularity with a string of awesome albums. His music touched millions and still does.

A comment under the YouTube offering of "Like a rolling Stone" came from a young man named Luke. His comment brought tears to my eyes. Memories of similar sad times came flooding in. Alzheimer's is such an evil disease. I cannot think of a worse way to die than fading away. Granny Lochary, my mother in law, was physically there, but she had left the room quite awhile ago. Anyway, here is Luke's comment responding to his Bob Dylan listening experience of  "Like a Rolling Stone".

Luke

I'm 17 and My dad died from Alzheimer's recently (he had kids late), I never listened to Bob Dylan but he loved him so much,it was all my dad would listen to, even through his bad memory, whenever we put bob on he would start smiling and get nostalgia and he would start singing along, this song is the last song he ever listened to, my sister played it for him the night he died, this time he was motionless but i know he enjoyed it, this song means so much to me now and I cry every time I play it, but im now a huge bob dylan fan, Everytime i put bob on i feel connected to my dad and thats so special to me, i know bobs gone and wont see this comment lol but i had to put this out here, thank you bob for helping me connect to my father, much love to all the old heads in this comment section still jamming out to Dylan, RIP John Burckhard Sep 2nd 1950- dec 7th 3:24 AM 2024

Even painful tears can and should be occasionally embraced.

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

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Without any further comment, here is Bob Dylan's, "Like a Rolling Stone". This is for you Luke.

Educational TV of the 1950s

Okay, okay. .... There is indeed a downside to cutting oneself off from the sensory overload charitably called news these days. I leave it all behind for a couple of months and what do I find when I decided to come back? I have missed out on some seriously funny bullshit coming from the genius leader of the Right. I am sure he is only warming up for the big show on the 20th. I feel confident there's more to come and most of it will not be so funny or pleasant. 

Fuck him and his ignorant following. There is more to Life than giving him much, if any, attention. I just wish the media was not so Hell bent on broadcasting his every drooling mistake, mishap, rude remark. If they would ignore him, the news would be so much easier to take. .... And while I am at it, I heard Morning Joe and his wifely sidekick Mika caved to poor ratings and traveled south to Mar Lago to kiss the asshole's ring. Not a good look Joe. For ratings Joe? Apparently you have no self respect. Your credibility and any respect I may have had for you just took a huge nose dive.

During my two month hiatus, I filled some of the time I use to waste following the news by streaming old TV shows from the world I existed in during the 1950s and early 1960s. It was like listening to old rock songs or flipping through boxes of old family Kodak moments. 

Two of my favorite shows at age 7 through 11 was "Leave it to Beaver" and "The Rifleman". Both half hour shows were aimed at my age group and almost every episode had a positive message to share with all the little tackers who populated the U.S. landscape. Both shows were very popular. The Rifleman was the cowboy I dreamed of being. The Beaver was the kid who lived the life I was sure I wanted.

I streamed one or the other instead of the news during my morning wake up routines. At first it was an act of defiance and a show of just how disgusted I was with the results of the November election.  I was done with this country and everyone in it could go to Hell. Retreating to memories softened by the passing of time seemed a good alternative.

Then I got hooked on the damn shows. The 30 minute Life lessons were often corny and sappy, but the underlying messages they contained for still hold true today; basic ideals and ideals we all should aspire to. 

I once read, heard or maybe, just thought I did, someone say "We learn all we really need to know to live a decent life by age ten." .... or words to that effect. 

And maybe it's just me, but I think many of us could benefit watching a few "Beaver" and "Rifleman" re-runs to refresh some of the Life lessons offered us back before we became jaded adults.

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

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Musical choice today has no connection to the post. I was thinking of Harry Nilsson yesterday. Not sure why, but there it was. For the life of me I could not think of one tune by him, yet I remembered I liked his music back in the day. Thanks to YouTube, I found "Everybody's Talkin", a song he wrote and recorded for the film, "Midnight Cowboy". The movie is one of the great films of my life.

Enjoy.

Old Dogs in a New Year

I thought I had reinforced my reasons for leaving social media for the past two months. Apparently not. This morning I was purposefully bypassing any news of the Nation or the World as has been my habit these past couple of months. Inadvertently, my old arthritic forefinger accidently punched up the wrong headline on my smartphone. I guess these smartphones are only smart when the user is. Anyway, the headline read:

" Trump will not rule out Force to take Panama Canal, Greenland "

Suddenly, I was again faced with the Insanity that now passes for Reality. It continues unabated and is accepted now as normality. I had tried to make the world go away by ignoring it. The World does not disappear by covering eyes and shoving earplugs in ears. The World is like Shingles ....... It just doesn't care. It will do what it does no matter what we puny humans do.

It was somewhat disheartening that my 2 months of pouting petulance went unnoticed. But I am used to being ignored now after 72, almost 73 years on the planet. What I hoped I guess, was that I might have come out of my two month coma and awakened to a world with a different Reality. 

My hopes dashed, I realized it is always and will always be SSDD. (Same Shit-Different Day)

Regardless, I am back and will do my best to stay back and somewhat better tempered.

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

____________________________

Not sure why I picked "Can't find my way Home", by Blind faith for this post. Maybe the memories of being lost in a substance abuse fog when I was 18 years old came to mind and I realized I was again, lost in a unreality fog, only this this time not self induced.

It was in summer of 1970. I was sticking needles in my arm and on a serious trip down a drain some of my friends at the time did not make it out of whole, if at all. 

I remember coming aware one morning sharing a raunchy couch in Snake's basement after partaking in a an all night party of injecting pharmaceutical Methedrine and then hitting up back alley Smack to bring us back to earth. I hit so much Meth, I thought my heart was going to explode. Scared the shit out of me. I was listening to Blind Faith and "Can't find my way home" came on. ............ I realized I had hit a rock bottom of some kind.

Later that morning when my brain had cleared, I walked out to Old Georgetown Road in Bethesda, Maryland, stuck out my thumb and hitchhiked home to Maine. And just like these past few months, I hunkered down in my attic room and detoxed. Only this time, hunkering down did not work....... 

Oh Well.

Just to add a strong exclamation point to my re-entry into Reality, here is Bruce Hornsby and his song that slaps the fantasy right out of me every time I hear it. Here is "The Way it is". Damn, this guy can play piano.

Mom

When my mom was interred next to my father at Arlington Cemetery in 1991, I remember thinking, "There's no one left now". I was not sad as much as I was relieved. Her end of life suffering was over. We got back in our car and drove home to Maine.

We had been back in Acton for awhile and her birthday came around. That is when the pent up guilt hit me. I was not sure why I felt guilt, but I certainly did. The moments of self denial and taking her for granted descended on me and for a day or so, I was in pretty bad shape. Then Time did what it did best. As each year passed, my guilt settled into the the cracks that Passing Time seems to leave in its wake. My memories of her began to leave a smile on my face again.

I still remember the anger I felt at being treated like the red headed step child. Only now, I know, most of the pain I embraced was self induced. My mom was a good woman who passed through life as best she could. It was not her who should have apologized. It should have been me. 

Today would have been her 109th birthday. And though I often forgot her birthday while she was alive, I seldom forget it now.

Happy Birthday Mom, I hope you were right and are now enjoying a new life somewhere.

________________________________

I had decided on a wonderful and timeless Blues tune by Nina Simone for this post. But the song just did not fit how I felt. I continued to flip through my memories for a better fit. Beth Hart came to mind. Here is her wonderful tribute to her mom, "Mama This One's for You".

Here Comes the Night?

A question was posed on a Facebook group page set up for the sad sacks who had voted against Trump.

“well peeps it’s been 2 days since our world was turned upside down- checking in - how’s everyone doing?”

I picked some answers from the 200+ answers  as of today. They seem to be a reasonable representation of the overall feelings.

KG – “I’m still feeling I was hit in the face with a board”

RH – “Worried about my son and brother who are disabled and rely on Social Security for us to live”

BW – “I’m still numb.”

AG – “I feel like Franz Kafka must have felt in Germany in the 1930s. Just the thought of living in an environment of rising white nationalism and bureaucratic oppression is giving me feelings of alienation and anxiety. I can't imagine what I'm going to feel like over the next four years -- powerlessness and fear of arbitrary authority comes to mind!”

I was one of those Sad Sacks also. I feel we are not being overly dramatic with our concerns after being so deeply gut punched. I also recognize that at some point, the grieving has to stop and the healing, if any is available, needs to begin. Sans any healing, even more anger from the Left will surely follow and build over time. If that happens, then the Right has really won. They brought us down to their level before the election and will most likely keep us there if our anger and rage rises to the levels their boot licking followers are already carrying. No better way to control the masses than to keep them uncertain, afraid and full of rage. 

Most of us won’t know how to fight at their level. ……… We might want to learn.

No matter what happens, there are some tough times ahead folks ……. For both sides.

Keep it "tween the ditches ..............................

______________________________

I decided on this great tune from my Teen Club days for this post. I was compiling a Van Morrison playlist and lo and behold, I had forgotten he had been a member of "Them". When I first played it for my list, it was the day after the election. Since I was weak from the previous day's disappointment of seeing my champion go down in flames, I could not help associating the lyrics to how I felt at that moment. It was these lyrics that did it :

Well, here it comes

Here comes the night

The long, the long and lonely night

Night, night, night, night, night, night

Please enjoy, "Here Comes the Night" , by Them, one of seminal groups of 1960s Rock.

Jim

In my opinion, the term "Hero" is often over used, abused and misused. The term can relate to a single occurrence or a chain of heroic consistencies. There are "Heroes" and then there are heroes; the difference between the two being, not one of degrees, but a difference of relevance. 

That is why I think sports figures, celebrities, and other folks of notoriety should never be called heroes. Unless of course they did something heroic other than just winning a game, showing up in a movie, or running for office. Sadly though, they seem to be the folks who garnish all the heroic attention.

A hero to me is someone who does not consider what they have done or are doing as heroic. They were there when someone or something needed them. A hero does not seek backslapping atta boys, they don't grandstand. 

Jim Driscoll, a local resident of Acton, Maine, was such a man. A friend to many, he touched a lot of lives with his dedication to doing good. He served on the Acton school board and was a selectman here for some years.

I will remember him most for his work as Animal Control Officer in the years before he became ill. I have never seen a man so focused on the needs of animals and reuniting them with their owners. He spent countless hours scouring the town for lost and hurt critters.

Jim made Acton, Maine a much better place to live with his selfless dedication to our town. To me, he was the best kind of Hero. 

You are missed Jim.

______________________________

I feel an instrumental is most appropriate for this post. Jim was not a flashy man. And neither is this fine Jazz/Blues tune from Bill Evans. It is called "Real Heroes". Enjoy. 

What Did Kamala Do Wrong?

I mentioned to my wonderful wife this morning about how the Democrats are forming support groups for those of us who are in depressive cycles over the election. At that moment she was standing on a two stepper rifling through the top shelf of the can goods cupboard. I couldn't see her face, the open cupboard door was hiding it.

From behind the door I hear:

"What gets me is all the whining about, 'What did Kamala do wrong?' "

Before she could continue her thought, I interrupted with:

"She did nothing wrong, the country did the wrong. She had two things going against her...... She's Black and worst of all, she's a woman. That is all she did wrong. Had she been born White and been a male child, well, I feel certain the result would have been different.

From behind the cupboard door:

"Exactly".

Rampant Stupidity has taken over the country and it appears that what many of us thought was originally an aberration in the political cycle back in 2016, well, apparently we are not done being Stupid. The Stupid will have to be beaten out of us or wear itself out while the Theory of Evolution plays out on our populace.

I won't dwell on this, as I promised myself I wouldn't. Just wanted to let you know about short conversation I had with my wife as she rifled around the upper shelf containing the canned goods.

Keep it 'tween the ditches..... Um, well, at least try hard to ........................

____________________________ 

I recently discovered this guy. Wish I had many years ago. I'd say we were kindred spirits, but that's just too predictable. Let's just say, we have quite a bit in common. Without further adieu, please enjoy, "Conservative Christian Right-Wing Republican Straight White American Males", by Todd Snider.

 

Nothing Less

 

I originally had this piece on automatic publish. That was just how confident I was Kamala was going to win. I made the same mistake when Hilliary ran. Sometimes it pays to not count chickens before they hatch. This was one of those times.

I was going to postpone this post for the foreseeable future, or at least until I was over the shock and disappointment of the election.

I know that wallowing in my self-pity is a no win situation. I have decided to cease and desist any more Grumpy Gus, the World can go to Hell histrionics. I'm still very unhappy, but making the decision to move on rather than wallow has had immediate benefits.

The first one is posting this bit of verse. When it is all said and done; when I weigh the Bad Times against the Good Times, the personal Truth of the verse still holds.

Besides, my good friend "Pipe" asked me to repost. Thank you sir for the poke.

"Nothing Less"

Sitting here at 72

Wondering if

My dreams did come true

Then I don’t remember

Ever dreaming a dream

I was not  already living

My Life has been nothing less

Than the dream I could ever

Hope to have come true.

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

______________________________

This piece of verse was inspired by Sierra Hull's fine song, "Someone Like You".

American Idiots

All morning I have been trying to pin down just what emotional response I should be dealing with. Oddly I have not felt any anger, just disappointment.... Disappointment that The USA was not happy to be extremely stupid when they first elected the Orange Asshole; they had to double down and put him back into office. 

We had plenty of warning. We had more than enough righteous reasons to kick his sorry ass out of our politics. Not enough of us were paying attention, or is it there were too many of us who loved being Willfully Fuckin Stupid so much, they elected him a second time.

What comes now?

At this point I do not care anymore. Whatever happens, we will have deserved it. I am not holding out much hope the results over the next so many years will be very positive.

Don't bother keepin it 'tween the ditches. you  Fascist Lovin American Idiots.

You just drove our country into that ditch.

_______________________________

I tried my best to not use Green Day's, "American Idiot", as I have used it before, maybe more than a few times. But then there really is no song that covers the last 30 years of our country's slide into rampant stupidity better than it does. 

Play it Loud. Play it Angry. It probably won't help. But it gave me a moment of contentment. Oh, and I included the lyrics. They are so appropriate for how I feel.

Idealism

Idealism gets a bad rap. I don't understand why. It seems humans love to focus on what is wrong now, what went wrong in the past, and what will surely go wrong in the future. And the whole while they forget or resist to infuse a little hope into their outlooks just to balance things out. Without some brightness, we continue to live in the dark.

Idealism is a natural extension of Hope. It is the next step from dreaming to making that dream a reality. If we ever hope to rectify old wrongs and prevent future sorrows, Idealism is an integral part of the process. Yet, Idealism is often frowned upon, deemed impractical in the Real World. But without the idealistic notion that there has to be something better around the next corner, Humans would be in a much harsher world of hurt. 

Today, we vote. Today, the stark differences between the two political sides is unmistakable and has been since one man forced his way into our body politic almost ten years ago.. He has offered us nothing but doom and gloom scenarios, telling us our country is a garbage pit, that some of our citizens are our enemies, and generally pitting us against each other over issues that should not even matter: Race, Religion, Education, Gender Issues and Sexual Orientation issues should not even be part of our conversations, yet the Orange man has managed to make those issues all many of us think about.

None of those topics should matter in the scheme of running a country. Running a country should be about fixing shit, not tearing it down. That's what today's and future elections should be about. 

Those are the bare bones of my political views. Everything I want for Me, for my Family, for my Country, for my World is about fighting off the dark to let in the light. Idealism I feel, is the only way to begin that process. Without Hope, we become nothing but a population waiting to die.

So, I will head down to the Acton Town Hall today and vote. It is the least I can do to help reconnect us to Hope and then put some positive Idealism into action. Hopefully Y'all will foilow suit.

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

______________________

I figured an old favorite would fit my post today. Here is Bob Marley & the Wailers with their iconic anthem, "Get Up, Stand Up".

And Yes, sometimes Idealism means getting into a fight.

WFS

It is the day before our next Presidential Election. The two candidates have been using up all the oxygen in whatever room, hall, or arena they were able to cram loving supporters into. It is rumored by both sides, that the other side is not only hiring buses to haul the faithful to venues, the campaigns are paying those supporters to show up. One rich asshole, who tries to blame Autism for his lack of connection to real people, but is just another ex - pampered silver-spooned baby like his spoiled brat candidate buddy, the Orange Haired Village Idiot; is actually dangling real money in front of the Red Capped Dumb Ass Brigade to entice any undecided  brain dead citizens into their fold.

Am I fed up, disgusted, shocked, disappointed?

 Hell, there are not enough adjectives to describe how fucking unhappy I am about American Politics at the moment. Am I nervous, anxious, on edge, and suffering from TDS? You are damn right I am. No apologies. The Orange Shit-gibbon has infused the nation's soul with nothing but animosity, deceptions, and warnings we should believe that this time he'll fuck us good, not just diddle us a little like he did when he really did not have a clue. 

I like how the drooling minions on the Right love their little jokes. They came up with TDS (Trump Derangement Syndrome ) to go with all the other juvenile sayings, comparisons, etc they had collected because that's all they had. No coherent reasons for their cultish boot licking adoration of the biggest village idiot the World has ever known.

But I have to give the red capped bootlickers their due. Many of us have TDS. There is no better description of the anxiety, hate, and disappointment of so many citizens regarding the serious lack of intelligence and WFS a large charge of our population suffers from. Frankly, I cannot understand why all citizens of voting age don't have TDS. 

Most of MAGA Theresa's followers are just stupid. They have no interest in critical thinking. Many have been programed through the dishonest preaching of the Christian Gospel. Programmed to cede their minds to someone behind a pulpit. They don't get a pass, but they do make up a sizable portion, if not a majority of Adolf Twitler's rank n file. 

The Wingers who do know better suffer from a condition I have named WFS. That is, they are being "Willfully Fuckin Stupid", or as it used in politer circles, "Premeditated Ignorance", an offshoot of "Willful Ignorance". Bottom line; anyone who supports Trump, supports a proven traitor. That should be enough to cancel his sorry ass tomorrow and toss his sorry worthless self on the trash heap.

We will find out tomorrow. 

Does Willful Ignorance win? Or does a more stable and calmer administration continue the wonderful economic recovery and fight to restore rights  created by the Biden Administration. Or do we allow one deranged and incoherent douchebag to take control again and do his best to take take us down one of the many roads to Hell like he has promised.

_________________________________

I thought of the song and the image I wanted before I wrote a word of this post. The image supported the song I felt covers wonderfully, some of the times we are dealing with today. It was written by Paul Simon over 60 years ago and recorded on Simon & Garfunkel's first album as an acoustic track and then again remixed on their second album , "The Sounds of Silence". It is an all time iconic song that many, many artists have covered over the last 60 years. No one has created a better cover than "Disturbed".

Enjoy........... I recommend a volume level of... as LOUD as you can stand it! .............. Or not. It works just fine at lower volume also.

The Long Anguish

I told myself a short while ago to cease and desist any inclinations or urges to post anything about politics until after the election next Tuesday. As usual, I again caved to my dark side and posted a mildly acerbic post about "Flag Wavers'" 3 or 4 days ago. I started out with an iron will to not write about Wingers, MAGA idiots, or the Orange Shit Gibbon. Couldn't quite do it.

For that failure to perform I should probably apologize...... Hmm...

But who should I apologize to? You folks, who might read my words on occasion? Apologize to myself, because I let myself down and once again caved to the ugly and hate that resides in the darker corners of my mind? 

As usual, I build problems up out of nothing and then begin the long anguish that always ends up in a ranting tirade, which is my go-to remedy to relieve the pressure that has built up inside me. Today I won't do that. While I have an infinite number of real world concerns to go over the edge about, I ain't doing it. No, I have resigned myself to just talking about losing my mind instead of actually losing it. That seems like the safer bet, considering I have a duty to perform this coming Tuesday. And it is a duty my friends. Voting is the least we can do for our country. To not vote makes one a free loading, useless piece of.... well, calm down Mike... Take a breath ferchrisakes ............. Whew!

When the election is over, it will be a whole new world on the other side. We'll either be living in Mordor or the Shire.

Remember Voting Blue all the way through is the least you can do if you have any hope of stopping the hate and discontent MAGA train that is barreling down the tracks at us.

Keep it 'teen the ditches ........................................

*** Just a note regarding the collage at the top. I created it because I truly believe if we vote Trump in, our country is in for a world of hurt.

________________________

Free Your Mind

And the rest will follow

Be color blind

Don't be so shallow

This is the refrain from a great tune by En Vogue back in 1992. I had forgotten it. I can't think of a song that covers one of the chronic and incessant stupidities that has had our nation by the short hairs for at the least 160 years, if not the last 400 years  when owning another human was par for the course.. 

That makes this tune relevant. And that makes me sad.

Mickey Mouse

 "Leave it to Beaver", episode 16 of Season 5, brought up a painful at the time memory. 

(NOTE - I was going to explain why I even know about Episode 16 of season 5 of "Leave it to Beaver". Once I considered it, I feel no explanation is needed. I watched it sipping coffee day before yesterday and this post is the result.) 

In the episode, Beaver is tasked with wearing a bunny costume for some kind of play, pageant, whatever. He was mortified that his peers would see him wearing it as they had much better costumes to wear like lions, zebras, leopards. Before he even put it on , his buds were calling him "Cotton Tail" and making jokes about hopping here, hopping there. .............  

Maybe I need to back up and set the stage, create the premise, state my reason for a post titled "Mickey Mouse". I haven't mentioned it, but this post will also dovetail nicely into our current ghosts and goblins season.

My family settled at 5302 Augusta Street the summer before I attended 2nd grade at Wood Acres Elementary School in Bethesda, Maryland. There were kids everywhere in the neighborhood. I settled on forming a bond with the two biggest troublemakers on the block, Jimmy and Chuckie. Chuckie lived across the street from me; Jimmy lived a few houses down on my side of the street. We got into all sorts of stupid kid crap that still lives in my mind as one of the best kid years of my life. We were inseparable that summer.

When school started, my life changed. Jimmy and Chuckie were going into 3rd grade. I was going into 2nd grade. There was an immediate unspoken break up between us that first month of school. They were bad ass 3rd graders. I was still a little kid because well, only little kids go to 2nd grade.

As usual, I blew it off as I had become well versed in being shunned having moved 7 or 8 times already in my short to that point life. But it still hurt every time I saw them. And we saw each other every day. Geographical proximity insisted on it.

It was maybe the first week of October or so before the two of them agreed to let me walk to and from school with them. They made it clear though, once we entered the school, I would be ignored until we walked home in the afternoon. I was happy. I was sure I was back in the crew then.

I did not know that Wood Acres Elementary took Halloween seriously enough to sponsor a goblin and spook parade for all the kids at the school. We were all asked to wear our Halloween costumes to school on the Friday before Halloween which I think was early in the next week. I was very excited. That meant I would have a chance to wear my new Mickey Mouse costume one extra time besides on Halloween. Yeah, it was going to be a lot of fun and I was sure I would have the best costume there. I loved that costume.

I had no clue about how cruel my 3rd grader buddies could be. I found out as soon as we gathered as we always did in front of my house to begin the heel scuffing drudgery of walking the mile or so to school. And no, the only hill was barely uphill and it only lasted maybe 100 yards.

I will always remember running down the steps in my spiffy Mickey Mouse outfit to meet Jimmy and Chuckie. As soon as they noticed me, they started laughing. Not just snickering or tittering, they were out loud laughing hard enough, my ears felt like they were on fire by the time I reached street level. 

The laughing stopped. I cannot remember who spoke first, but the first words I heard were, "Look, it's Minnie Mouse. So Minnie, where is Mickey?"

I was crushed. My future manhood had been called into question. I replied by asking something about why weren't they wearing costumes.

"Only babies wear Halloween costumes", one of them said.

The embarrassment of that moment lives with me still. My face became very warm, I could feel tears beginning to well and what really pissed me off was if I cried, then I was being a baby. So, to hide my anguish, I knocked Jimmy on his ass and went after Chuckie who tossed me in the bushes near the curb. I tore my brand new Mickey Mouse costume. When I saw it, the tears could not be stopped. I began balling.

Crying in front of the tough guys of 3rd grade only amplified the reciprocal taunts, teases and torments. All the way to school they were on me.  "Look at Minnie, she sure cries easily." "Do you want a Kleenex little girl";  shit like that all the way to school. And all the way to school I was crying. But at least I managed to remove the Mickey Mousse costume, toss it to the curb and then stomp on the mask.

The results, or should I call it the epilog of this tale set the memories of the moment in stone. My so called friends continued their teasing for what I considered  to be an inappropriate amount of time. My mom was really pissed I ruined the store bought costume I had brow beaten her into buying for me. She made me fetch it out of our bushes  so she could try to repair it. The mask was totaled. And oddly, my dad suddenly became Beaver's Dad as he helped me navigate the stress of that learning moment. It was a growing up moment that helped me learn to find perspective about how arbitrary and unfair Life could be. An early life lesson that helped to thicken my skin for the future.

And it was an early, if not my first realization that most disappointments are not the end of the World. Jimmy, Chuckie and I were hard core buddies again well before Thanksgiving. But then sometime after  Christmas, my family suddenly relocated to a brand new house 4 or 5 miles away to Ogden Court. But that's a whole different story.

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

________________________________

The "Mickey Mouse Club Song" is the only logical choice for my musical treat today. I was not a card carrying member , but I would have been had I known it might be possible. Without any more fanfare, here it is. If you are old enough, I hope it makes you smile. If you are young enough, I still hope it makes you smile.