I spotted a recent issue of "Cigar Aficionado" sitting at the kitchen table this morning while savoring my second cup of coffee. The name on the label was my wife's accounting business in Springvale, but with our home address under the name. How she came to have a subscription to "Cigar Aficionado" delivered to our house is one of the many modern mysteries directly associated to our new high tech existence.
It appears that the publisher decided to reach out to accountants. Reach out? Why would a magazine devoted to smoking cigars reach out to an lady accountant in Maine? My wife claims she does not smoke cigars. I have no memory of ever seeing her chewing on the butt of a 50 cent cigar. I will have to take her word on that.
It must have been through gee whiz computer wizardry, the cigar market analysts discovered there are millions of accountants out there. It would follow, that most accountants must be men, what with crunching numbers being only slighlty less macho than ropin steers out on the Range. Accountants are most likely not poor. And because they wear suits, they are probably not fans of Chawin Tobacca.
Accountants often have offices with waiting areas. What do we find in most waiting areas besides chairs and small tables? Magazines. Clients who need accountants on a regular basis usually have deeper pockets. While the clients sit waiting, they might just pick up the "Cigar Aficionado" and be sucked into the world of cigars, bitches in bikinis, and guys wearing pork pie hats with names like Longshot Louie.
Using these assumptions, they must have thought they had a chance of landing more fans. There is a reasonable chance there are enough stogie smoking accountants to support the expense of sending them gratis, an obviously expensive to publish magazine. I am also guessing that a manly mag that supports the cigar smoking culture would be ecstatic to win over some these awesome examples of maledom who roll up their sleeves and fight the good fight, using nothing but their large brains and a calculator.
As I pondered all this and sipped that second cup of coffee, I noticed that the person on the cover was none other than one of my favorite Wingers to hate, Ronald Dion DeSantis, lame duck governor of Florida, the Sunshine State. And lying next to "Cigar Aficionado" was a black sharpie.
Old men, no matter how old, never really grow up. Well, I know I haven't. I can think like an 8th grader in a heartbeat. Matter of fact, the older I get, the more fun it is for me to remember the silly fun and stupid games I created at that age; not really out of childhood and not exactly a teenager yet either.
I picked up that sharpie and my awesome artistic talent took over. While I drew my masterpiece, I remembered how much fun it was sometimes to be a boneheaded 8th grader.
I looked at what I had done and laughed and laughed.
Ya'll keep it 'tween the ditches..Hear?
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I promise. I had a tune picked out not 1/2 hour ago. Just right now at this moment, I have misplaced that thought. It is understandable, given how much garbage I have shoved into my brain over the years. There's not a lot of room anymore for any more garbage. And because I am a hoarder of things physical, apparently my afliction includes stashing my thought waves also. Instead of a garbage in, garbage out scenario, in my case it's garbage in, nothing out. And before I know it, my short term memory quiver is so full, it makes the 3000 emails I have ignored look like chump change.
I have never heard of Steve Earl . He is a musician I am not familar with. I was caught by his tune, "City of Immigrants". It is excellent. A real foot tapper with great lyrics. One play and I am hooked.
Not sure how I missed Steve Earle. He was born in 1955. He began his career as a songwriter in Nashville, Tennessee. His first abum debuted in 1986. He didn't look back I am sure. As of 2026, he has recorded or been part of 21 studio albums. He plays Country, rock, folk and most likely a slew of other genre's. The man is a talent. I can't wait to taste all of his music.
I find it ironical that the Roman Catholic Church would fault any institution for using conversion therapy of any kind. Pot / Kettle comes to mind. Conversion Therapy has been been the bread and butter of the the Church since its inception almost 2000 years ago. Their early methods often included brutality and violence we can only imagine today.
The LBGTQ+ community is only one group of a multitude of groups who have suffered under the harsh use of "Conversion Therapy". There are still many, many heathens out there in need of converting. At least now, the Church seems to have retired their more zealous methods of "Conversion". But when they get on their Holier Than Thou high horse, all I can think of is the death and destruction they either abetted or were directly responsible for over the last two milleniums.
The Catholic Church will have to do more than issue a report to wash away their many sins and disguise their hipocrisy. The Roman Catholic Church is a business. Everything they do is for the Church first and the faithful second. They were my first example of why I hate organized religion. They were the model upon which the big religions of today also built their empires. They have a lot to answer for.
I have been criticized for my harsh opinion of organized religion, especially my disdain for the Catholic Church. The defenders claim stuff like The Church was a mirror of the times they were living through. Okay, but does that forgive the institution for the many blind eyes they turned away from the ugly brutal times they existed in. They are supposed to be the protector of our moral codes.The church is supposed to look over us. They are supposed to be our guides, not our exploiters.
LBGTQA+
The whole Gay thing started with a word chosen by the homosexual world to give them a designation that was positive, not degrading like Fag, Puffboy, blah, blah, blah. The word "Gay" kept it simple and I understood it.
Since Gayness was of no real interest to me, I moved on with my life, having found a satisfactory moniker for the predilection. What happens? Today, the Gay community has blossomed, or maybe ballooned is a better word to describe how big the Gay tent has become.
The next time I noticed gays had changed their preferred designation, was when Gay splintered into LBG. Okay, that was fine, they wanted to give each deviation of Gay their place on the marquee. Before I could catch my breath, it became LBGTQ. I had to ask my daughter what the T and the Q were for. She explained the differences to me in very simple easy to understand words, though I am sure she wanted to use the big words tha are always on the tip of her big brain.
Once I got my head around what the new mini-group's letter stood for, they went ahead and added a plus sign. ......... WTF? So this morning when I looked up what the + was all about, I noticed there is also a new letter tacked on, giving us ..... LBGTQA+.
They added the plus sign(+) initially to cover all the residual groups who fall outside the social norrms of today. The Plus sign should have covered it. But no. the Asexuals wanted their letter on the marquee also.
I dunno. It seems like more trouble than it is worth and at the same time causes confusion among all the dumasses of the straight world who won't be bothered to try to understand the nuances of the non straight world.
I have a solution. Can we just go back a few years , like maybe 50 years back . I remember the polite way to designate sexual identity was heterosexuals were called "Straight" and gays were called "Not Straight". Ambivalent, Innocuous, and mostly non confrontational perfection.
The marginalized of this country want a home and the LBTGQA+ community is open for business. What makes me sad is that any group feels marginalized. What makes me sad is the waste of time, energy, and resources spent on hating each other. Damn humans can be so fucking stupid.
Later gators ........................................
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How do I come up with a tune that ties in with the Catholic Church and the LBGTQA+ world? Worrying about either is a waste of time and energy. I'll pick the first song I like and be done with it.
Well, I got into the weeds again. I found a group, a trio of women to be exact, who perform Neo Rock Christian. Their sound is more of a Neo Metal Christian sound, but what do I know? Anyway, combine some AI trickery and visuals and what we have is a Christian Metalhead's wet dream. 3 hot women sportin football black under their eyes, cowboy boots and braided hair. They go by the name, Shunned at a Funeral.
There is no doubtng their righteousness. "Lay the Hammer Down" is all about driving the nails into Jesus' body parts and pressing down his crown of thorns. Here's a fragmented taste:
I was the Hammer, I was the Thorn
He Took It Tattered and Torn
But now I Temble, Grace Won't Let Go
He Wore My Death So I Could Know
Nailed Again, I Drove it in
But He Turned Rath Into a Win
The Blood I Spilled Has Made Me Whole
The Cross I Cursed Now Claims My Soul
There's quite a bit to unpack in this song. If I had one word to describe it, that word would be "creepy". First of all, Heavy Metal is not a musical genre I associate with Religion. But then with the Christian Nationalists frothing at the bit to remake America in their image, I could see how this song would work for them.
The Arrogance of Their Ignorance Has Convinced Them They Are Infallible
Recently, I have been doing a pretty good job of ignoring the daily stupidity Trump and his clown show come up with. At some point though, I do need to relieve the built up pressure inside my cranium. I don't want to blow a gasket, right? While I think I have a head big enough to handle whatever comes down, Trump and his shitshow have managed to irritate my last nerve with their constant onslaught, 24 - 7, of the worst performance of any administration in my lifetime. Trump is incompetent and a sleazy crook. It would follow that he chose people of similar mindset to do his bidding. Their focus is mostly on pilliaging everything they can while at the same time, working hard to destroy the bedrock ideals we founded this country on
The image I threw together at the top, in one sentence, sums up in a nutshell what the MAGA/Christian Nationalist movement is based on; willful ignorance comprised of an immoral ethical base fraught with rampant hypocrisy. Christian Nationalists are not a sect of Christianity, they are a political movement that has hijacked Christianity to use as their cover. The theocratic givernment they seek is not based on any god's will. It is based on their own self serving will.
Their version of "Holier Than Thou" might work in a few muslim nations, but it will never be completely successful here in the USA. Entirely too many of us remember the better days from not that long ago. Unforgiving rigid rule does not a good citizen make......
Just a short post to reset my tolerance levels. Not sure how much more of Trump I/we can take. What a complete waste of a human being he is. An even bigger failure than he was in his first term. It only took him a year into his second term to secure the title of the worst presdient the USA has ever had.
I feel better now. Ya'll have a good day ...............
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This was the first song I sampled and was my initial choice. But I never make it easy on myself. I had to check out some other tunes. An hour later, here I am back at this cover of "Higher Ground", written and recorded by Stevie Wonder in 1973. The folks at "Playing for Change" produce some great covers. Add to that that they are a charity dedicated to spreading goodwill and highlighting musicians from around the world. Afterall, the planet isn't as big as it used to be.
My mom was sure women were smarter than men. My father never contradicted her unless he was drunk. Not just drunk, but stupid drunk. As a functional alcoholic his whole adult life, he crossed the line into the stupid drunk zone quite often. When he was sober or just at the functioning drunk peak while drinking, he was usually the smartest person in any room he walked into.
So, I was raised to accept that women were smarter than men, if only to get along better with them. My father never really believed women were smarter. He did believe however they were sneakier and much better than men at laying evil plans. Of course, his record of three marriages would indicate they were smarter. At least the ones he married were. Each marriage cost him an arm and a leg that meant his General officer paygrade only elicited the pay rate of a First Lieutenant after the alimony had been paid.
My mom also thought that while women were considered second class citizens by men, she felt the effort to lift them up should have been done with better planning. Her favorite example was that living with low expectaions actually made women more powerful. She was sure women and their higher IQ's, and men's tendency to think with their genitals made manipulating men easy peasy. Coming at them like they were equals did not often work out; where "yes dearing" them often kept their men on the path they wanted their men on. Too many great men had wives who made them greater. Mom had little sympathy for the women in her circles who did not use their superior intellect to get what they wanted out of the relationship.
I love and admire my mom. But I hated her ability to twist me and my father around her little finger. My dad was a genius. But my mom? Well, my mom was an evil genius.
Which brings me to my point; a point I reached many many years ago. Women are smarter and tougher than men. Men are fighting a losing battle trying to get them back in the kitchen, barefoot and pregnant. If we men were smart ( it is apparent we are not); If we were smart, we'd hand over the keys to the Kingdom to women. The male species has proven that under the Male ego guidance, Humanity's growth has been hit or miss. We have survived in spite of the patriarchy's hamfisted way of running things.
Later Gators ...............................
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This post is the result of my wanting some words written to accompany a song I was humming in my head when I woke up this morning. Here is a cover of "Man Smart. Woman Smarter", by the Grateful Dead. Harry Belafonte made this Calypso tune and many others famous back in the 1950s. I always liked Harry's versions, but then I remembered the Dead performed it quite often. The number of their renditions on Youtube is impressive.
There is no better place to stash bodies than in a freezer in the basement.
Hmm. ..... How's that for an opening line?
That thought crossed my mind a couple of days ago when I remembered, that in my freezer, I had stashed three cat bodies. At the time of their demise, each one was placed in the freezer with loving grief. Each one died during the Great Cat Die Off that occurred over a three year period starting in 2019 I think. My excuse was they all died during the cold months and the ground was too hard to dig. But really?
Two of them had been raised together and had lived to double digit plus years. Lil Asshole was a bit younger, but he lived at least 10 years. I think I put off burying them because I knew it would painful. It always was. Never a pleasant moment when a fur member of the family dies.
Five years is a long time to wait just to delay the sadness I knew I would have to deal with. The freezer needed to be de-frosted and we could use the room that removing three cats from their frozen purgatory would give us. The ground was thawed. The spot was chosen. I dug them out of the freezer and placed them in the ground. Some tears and fond memories flowed.
First to die was Fernando El Magnifico. He died in his sleep, laying on the coffee table while I slept on the couch next to him. Freaked me out when I woke up and found my buddy dead like that. He was a great friend. And he loved me. Fernando never really stopped being a kitten.
Next in line came Eyeleen, a contrary cat, who took her sweet time to accept me and become my friend. Again, another cat I loved, even if at times it was hard to do. Towards the end of her life, she gravitated in my direction and we became a cuddling duo. She was never very healthy; all skin and bones.
Finally, Felix, AKA, "Lil Asshole" went into the great beyond by dying in his sleep on the the same coffee table Fernando chose to die on. One cat passing next to me is one thing, but a second one in three years in the exact same way.... well, I felt cursed. Lil Asshole was a tough little shit. He was a ninja cat. He'd attack feet on occasion and often decided that a hand was a chew toy. Loved that little shit.
Our home has been been a pet sanctuary for many, many years. I have never gotten used to their deaths or disappearances. We solved the disappearance issues when we stopped letting the cats out. But dying, well, the little fur buddies do that all the time on their own. We have double digit graves scattered here and there in the yard. Usually I picked a site that was not buried in the pucker brush, but close by.
I thought burying them would be tough. But nothing is tougher than writing about my dead buddies as I look through all the Kodak moments I took of them. They were missed when they died, they are more missed now.
RIP Fernando, Eyeleen, and Lil Asshole. You guys brought joy into my life and I will never forget you.
Keep it 'tween the ditches ..............................................
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Again, only one song came to mind. The genre of Primus' music is defined by some audiophile expert as "Alternative Metal". .... Now we're getting into the weeds. "Metal "has sub-genres now. I guess it had to happen once the anal retentive, everything in its place folks got a hold of it. Okay, Primus is just another group I like.Their bass player kicks ass. Their songs are unique and clever. Their music would have also driven my parents crazy. That, by itself, makes them worthy of listening to. ........... Enjoy .........or Don't. Here is "Tommy the Cat".
So it's the last day of April, 2026. Shit happened this month; mostly forgettable shit. Pretty much the same shit as March, only warmer.There were some moments when some really good shit went down. But then many more when bad shit unfolded. It was mostly the same ole shit we have been dealing with since Trumplestiltskin took over the town.
I expect May to be another month of the same ole shit, but you never know. That's what is geat about the future; never knowing what is possible. Not like the past when you rerun it, it is usually the same old shit; only you were younger when it happened.
What happened in April that rocked our world? Or was the world also stuck with the same old shit? The 3 week war / not war with Iran has now stretched into months and is quickly becoming the same old shit. That the WIngers continue their quest to fuck America has certainly become the same old shit. The Wingers will continue to excuse their fuck ups as mistakes created by the Democrats. And that certainly qualifies as really tired same ole shit.
I entered another year of life. Now into my 75th year, I hope to make it to 76. Neither of my parents made 76. Not sure why I want to live longer than my mom and dad, but there it is, any reason to keep the Grim Reaper at bay is a good one I guess.
The same ole shit is not much inspiration for a post to close April out. Maybe some odd, possibly newsworthy people, events, crimes might liven up this same ole shit I get lost in.
Gertie, a chicken residing in Portland, Maine was officially named by Guiness, the "Oldest chicken in the World". The average chicken lives three to four years. Gertie is 15 years old. In recognition of her importance in chicken lore, she has been moved into the house and now resides in a crate in the living room. According to Frank, her owner, she is partial to Jazz, Charlie Parker in particular.
Maine Turnpike Authority is placing speed detection cameras on the Maine Turnpike. If someone is speeding, a picture is snapped; a nearby Smoky is notified and they go after the speeder.
Geez, other than a few April Fools jokes, April in Maine was pretty much the same ole shit.
Keep it 'tween the ditches .............................
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Just because I like this tune. No other reason; it's as simple as that. Just because. Here is The Big Push, with their cover of "Englishman in New York". Sting made the song famous in an album from the 1980s. Enjoy.
I actually checked emails the other morning. Near the top of the piled up spam was an email from John, a fellow cadet from back in high school. John seems to be the self assigned historian of all there is to know about Charlotte Hall Military Academy. John's email was about past cadets who became famous statewide, nationally, and even worldwide. An institution that lasted 200 years is bound to have a sizable celebrity bucket.
I looked through the list. In a school that never had more than 200 students in any given year, I was impressed by the number of eventual movers and shakers who would make headlines later in life.
There was one ex-student who was conspicuous by his absence. Owsley Stanley was a student for one year at Charlotte Hall. He was expelled for supplying enough alcohol to intoxicate a large charge of the student body. Owsley would continue his manic way through life, upsetting conventional apple carts wherever he went. Eventually he would stock the nation with enough LSD so millions of Americans could:
"Turn On, Tune Out, Drop Out"
Owsley never graduated from high school, yet he was accepted into college. That lasted one year and he was off on his own road again, landing out west where he took a job as an engineer at some high end defense contractor. It was around this time in the early 1960s, he discovered LSD 25. He learned how to brew it up in his homeade lab and the rest of his influence on the planet became legend.
Owsley Stanley became the largest manufacturer of LSD on the planet. There is no way to know how many hits of LSD he made and distributed, but in the mid to late 1960s and early 1970s, nobody made more. I was told the Orange Barrels LSD I ate on my first trip in 1969, was Owsley Acid.
Owsley Stanley was not content to just flood the West Coast with LSD. He sponsored and gave out free acid during many Acid Test hoe downs the Merry Pranksters took on the road. The Acid Tests was where he hooked up with the Grateful Dead. They were the local band that played at most of the Acid Tests in the west.
LSD was but one part of Owsley's life. It is however, what he is most famous for. Many people consider him one of the pioneers of the modern audio world. He took a job at some point during the Acid Test Days as the sound man for the Grateful Dead. From his LSD profits, he paid for, designed and built the band's famous "Wall of Sound". It was the sound system they hauled around for awhile so the huge crowds that attended their concerts could hear them, up to a 1/4 mile away. The system had over 500 individual speakers and ran on 28,000 watts of power.
Sadly, the system's reliance on antiquated tech created so many gliches, they abandoned it after only a few years of use. But it set the bar high. The sound company I would drive for a couple of years later, owe Owsley some credit for showing what was possible.
A wonderful biography by Robert Greenfield gets right into the weeds with his book, "Bear: The Life and Times of Augustus Owsley Stanley III".
Regardless how anyone feels about Owsley's influences on the American landscape back in the Hippy days, he was a giant in the roles he chose to pursue. His nickname was "Bear" which he got while going to Charlotte Hall. I find it interesting he ended up at Charlotte Hall for the same reasons I did. He was deemed unmanageable in the public schools. Montgomery County did the exact same thing to me. I was a punk, that is for sure. My time at Charlotte Hall came at a perfect time in my life. I enjoyed the three years I went there.
Keep it 'tween the ditches ...............................
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What to play?
After some consideration, "In Da Gadda Da Vida", by Iron Butterfly, is the only song that could fit.
Spring 1969, someone asked me if I wanted to Trip. I was still at Charlotte Hall Military Academy at the time. I knew I wanted to. But where? We were stuck on campus for that weekend. The fellow who had the LSD lived in the New Barracks on the side that bordered woods. He told us there was a small clearing just a few feet into the woods. We would start there. "Start there?" What they fuck was he talking about? Where were we going?
I found out. He put this 17 minute long version of "In Da Gadda of Diva" on his record player and set it to repeat. For the next I don't know how many hours. this song blared out through his open window while we played in the woods. He said that if we got lost, follow the sound. It would take us home. I remember my anxiety level jumped a little more. Lost?... Follow the sound? Shit, what was I getting into?
He told us the LSD we had just ingested was called "Orange Barrels". It was made by Owsley. Okay. Yeah, so what? I would find out during the many LSD trips I took over the next few years, Owsley LSD was far and away the best of the best. Chemically so pure, I never had the uglier side effects of pre trip cramps and coming down was always gentle. I might wake up exhausted, but I was ready for whatever came next.
While the other guys eventually wandered off into the woods, I settled down in a prone position and watched an ant hill for what seemed like forever. Iron Butterfly's song washed over me, time and time again, raising the hair on my body and causing laughter inducing rushes to rage back to back. I never left the clearing physically, but mano - man, my brain left the planet. I was in that anthill, man... in that anthill.
I understand if one might not want to listen to the whole song. Yes, It is long, But it kept me calm in the face otf what could have been something else. Or so I thought at the time. Apparently, I was one of those people who never allowed LSD to completly take over. I certainly gave it plenty of chances.
And today, as I write this ode to Owsley Stanley, I feel a circle of sorts has been completed, or was completed on that day when I first ate LSD. The man who provided the way to a different approach to Life, had come back to reap some revenge on the power structure that had always tried to keep him down. Owsley was never tamed.
When he was a tall strapping two trunk stud, Double Dave would laugh at the harsh winds that sometimes blew in over the ridge and struck deep into his side of Mary's Woods. Dave would puff up his canopy after the storms passed and gloat about his lack of fear in the face of Ma Nature's awesome power.
The rest of the trees in the small preserve became tired of his constant bragging. They stopped talking to Dave. Everyone knew trees do not boast or show off. Trees are serious creatures; their lives dedicated to holding ground and providing sanctuary and sustenance to the many creatures and plants that depend on them. Being a blowhard is just wrong. Trees took their place in the world seriously. Double Dave was not a serious tree.
One night in the summer of 2008, a severe thunderstorm crested the ridge and roared into Mary's Woods. The canopy erupted in a panic of wild limb thrashing, as all the trees did their best to bend and not break. As usual, Double Dave laughed at the torrent hitting the preserve so hard. He called the others a bunch of nancies and told them to stand up and take it like a hardwood should.
The storm that hit intially, was just the calm before the real super cell hit 45 seconds later. Double Dave's twin trunk split and now his twin trunks were laying sad and splintered. Double Dave was done. He knew it. Before his lights went out, he declared;
"At least I didn't go out with a whimper!"
Dave never spoke another word. He did however, manage to face his death with well, not a grin, but what some trees contended was angry resignation.
From day that forward, he was known as "Mr. Grumpy Tree".
________________
I remember that storm. I am just not sure I have the year right. The storm took quite a few of the biggest pines and hardwoods out. Double Dave was not alone.
I did not notice the face until day before yesterday.
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Just found this tune. Here is "Banty Rooster", by Ashspider? It may be an A-I song. Don't care, I like it.
No matter how I try to ignore organized religion, I cannot ignore the massive pain and suffering organized religions have caused Humanity since the first time someone thought it was a good idea to make up an imaginary figurehead to run things. I say imaginary, because tangible proof of a Heavenly Father has yet to exist.
That declaration I just made might indicate I am an Atheist. If nothing else, it is a basphemous statement that should insure I will be hunted down and mightily smote down in the next thunderstorm. But I am not an Atheist. I am an Agnostic. My pocket Webster dictiionary I used in school defines Agnosticism:
Atheism and Theism depend on contrived and unproven absolutes. The Universe, the planets, and all of us assholes who live in said Universe could have had a creator, but as of this moment in time, it is Faith that people use to support their steadfast belief in a creator or not a creator. Both views depend on speculation.
I have no gripe with either train of thought. Believe what you want. Don't believe what you want. My only gripe is when religious people organize themselves into an organization; Religion can quickly morph into very strict hierarchial systems that can be easily turned into ugly times for millions of people. Oftentimes, religious dogma can be twisted through forked tongue rethoric and become the driving forces of governing systems of brutality and intolerance. It has been an all too common tendency since the beginnings of organized religions. Is there a theocracy existing today that is not draconion in many ways. Organized religion can become communities of exclusion not inclusion.
The extremists of Atheism are no better; though I will say, the numbers of Atheist extremists are miniscule compared to the huge numbers of religious extremists. For most Atheists, it is enough for them to not believe. Any extension of that into action seems to die on the vine.
Over the years and the many thoughts I wasted over Religion, I decided that if indeed we had a creator or creators, the only interest they might have had was to get this whole shit show started. Once they got the ball rolling, they moved onto other projects or maybe just retired to the big bar n grill in the sky where they fed their faces and drank cocktails with umbrellas in them. They don't seem to care what we do. Remember, the Christians believe we were handed "Free Will". That let the God crew off the hook and gave them plausible deniability should we screw the pooch and destroy ourselves.
Humanity created Good and Evil after milleniums of interactions with each other. We wrote the 10 Commandments. We wrote the Bible and then re-wrote it for white men who decided it was to their benefit, if they portrayed God and his only begotten Son as Blue eyed blonde haired WASPS from Connecticut. Of course not to be outdone, those pesky Babtists down South had to make Jesus into a Chuck Norris impersonator with a strap on Glock and a big buck knife sheathed but ready for close contact battle when the godless heathens managed to get in close.
Organized religion, particularily American Christianity, has become a joke. The different sects can't seem to agree on what makes a good Christian. They look down on each other, yet are not prone to criticizng the worst overreaching of the more extreme groups. If someone claims to be a good Christian, they don't have to live it. All they have to do is claim it.
What makes it so very funny and ironical lately is the Christian Nationalist Right insisting the Pope should stick to theology and leave politics out of his sermonizing. I am guessing this contradiction goes unoticed by them as they also seem prone to excuse the many contradictions found in their rule book, the Holy Bible. Stretching the truth to them is as easy as breathing.
Don't get me wrong. I understand that the majority of church going Christians are fine, regular folk. But unless more of these fine regular folk step up and call out the worst extremes of their religion, the fine regular folk will be looked on as enabling losers who are allowing their religion to be taken over by assholes.
That is all I have this mornin...... or make that, this afternoon.
Keep it 'tween the ditches ........................................
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I first heard this song when I was driving for SHOWCO, hauling Rock n Roll music from arenas to stadiums to wherever and back again in the mid 1970's. I was in one of my country music phases and would tune in to country stattions on my FM radio as I pounded the super slabs.
I think I was in Arkansas after leaving Dallas. This song came on and played. It struck me so funny, so Country, so much like Texas Redneck High School booster music would; the first chance I got, I found the album on cassette and bought it. Bobbi Bare was one of the old guard country singers who had his share of hits, but never quite made it to Merle Haggard levels.
"Drop Kick Me Jesus Through the Goal Posts of Life" reached #17 on Billboard's Country Chart in 1976. ....... I repeat, it hit #17 on the Billboard Country Chart. But it's classic country like I grew up with and I liked it. I would occasionally get shitfaced and start singing it. It was even more fun if folks around me joined in.
When I write a post for the BoZone, I often try too hard to be pertinent and clever. I tend to blow by the point I wanted to make by including extraneius bullshit that is no way pertinent to what I sat down to write about.
While my wish is to be clever and pertinent; sometimes , no make that oftentimes, I see a butterfly in my mind I haven't chased lately .... and off I go on a point destroying galavance........ just like I did at the outset of this post.
For me, the original goal of the BoZone is to have more relevance and less galavance. If nothing else, haa at least one point of connection to me; the times I live or lived in; something relevant others might be able to identify with and not the rampant inanities that often flow in and out of my mind on a regular basis. I tried to tell myself that by writing it all down, my focus on the point became clearer when I read it later. I convinced myself that writing helped me navigate the mania that exists in the world I have to live in. And because a lot of living is based on belief, If I think it helps me, it does. Just maybe not to the degree I imagine.
( NOTE - I thought I had created a new word - "Gallivance". Sadly, just more proof of what my mother claimed all the time, "There really is not anything new under the Sun, just tangents of the same old stuff". Gallivance is more commonly known as Gallivant or while out on a Gallivance, one is Gallivanting - roaming aimlessly without a clue.)
Now - The point I had considered before I derailed myself right out of the gate
A Trump created commission, the Religious Liberty Commission, has decided that the clause in the Constitution covering the Separation of Church and State is a lie. They call it an attack on people of faith.
My first objection to this "commission" is that it was created by the government at taxpayer expense with the sole goal of eroding more of our faith in the Constitution. To me, the commission's very existence is a violation of the Separation Clause in the First Amendment :
"Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof"
So what is this lie the Bible Thumpers are referring to? How does this clause inhibit the freedom of religion. Just like their nonsensical "How to be a Christian in 700 befuddling and Illogical pages", their sad attempt to undermine a law that benefits everyone only points to their ultimate goal of creating a theocratic state where no one is free.
On that note of relevance, I will halt this gallivance and .......... Gallivant on.
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I am getting better at finding music that fits my posts. This tune took only a few minutes to locate. I have never heard of TX2. They are an Emo/Alt band from Colorado. They are relatively new to the big league music scene I guess. Damn. Look at me, Mr. Hip who's up to date amd not late. I am still somewhat fly for an old fart guy. ;)
If some future posts seem hurried, well, they just might be. I find myself more interested in being outside and working my body than inside making a mockery of my mind by attempting to convince myself I have something important to share.
My inerita in the effort to beat back the jungle and improve the property has not just continued, the momentum has picked up in intensity. Each morning lately, I wake up with new aches and pains. They are the familiar pains from a life of blue collar labor; aches and pains from physical world not from the nasties, real or imagined, living inside my body. I know how to deal with pains that result from just being inactive. It's the new chronic level of aches and pains that exist no matter what I do.... they eat at me for sure.
Once I talk myself through the early morning discomforts, I look forward to working the muscles that have been dormant for so long. It's been awhile.
There is one new twist in my life that might have something to do with my emerging new mindset. I find I am not smoking the doob as much. Lately, if I take more than a toke or two, all I want to do is sleep. In other words, it's Wake an Bake in the morning and then nothing until the evening....... usually.
I read or heard somewhere it takes 21 days to break an old habit or pick up a new one. I am not sure how that specfic time frame came to pass, except that it seems humans have a need to build boxes around everything; create beginings and ends. Understanding something only happens if the idea has specific parameters. We do this unconcsiously in all aspects of our lives.
Defining everything helps us to fool ourselves that we are a logical and reasonable species. We do it with our writing. We do it with our properties. We do it with our borders. We do it with our lives. We do it because we have convinced ourselves that without clear lines, Chaos is the result. And if there is anything that makes most of humanity uneasy, it is Chaos.
Deep down, we know we are not the reasonable and even tempered species we pretend to be. Just the hate, discontent and pain we force on others shows our true colors. There are no such people as assholes if the whole population is comprised of assholes. At least, we seem to keep our assholery down to a dull roar most days.
Because I just confused myself and it is early in the day... And I have yet to Wake n Bake, I will leave it here.
Have a Super Day ...........................
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Hmm .............. I googled "Songs about Parameters".
What popped up surprised me. for the first time ever when playing Youtube music, I found not just one, but two tunes that had never been rated by anyone. The first one deserved to be ignored I guess. The second one, "Parameters", by Lost Perspective (I think) had only been posted a short time ago. I was the first to rate it. I liked it enough to share it here. It was the chorus:
"We are bound by Parameters"
"Holding the line"
"Respecting your hand"
"And respecting mine"
Seemed to fit into what I had in mind, so I am sharing it, I think, for the first time anywhere. The more I listened, the more I liked it. Played loud, played soft, works either way. .....
Spring comes to Maine later than it does in parts south. Yesterday, I saw my first Butterfly of this new Spring. I was over to Mary's Woods on my first official walk of the Spring with Maggie. She was shivering with exceitement when she realizied we were headed across Sam Page Road instead of to the back of our property for a quick P,P &S. Maggie lives to run in those woods across the road. Dog Heaven for sure.
What struck me was how more in tune I am now to the subtle changes in the yearly cycles Ma Nature puts my part of the planet through. As a kid growing up in so many different locales, I never had a real chance to settle in and notice the small changes that signal what is coming. Or maybe, it just took me years of being settled in one place to see the fine print that had been there all along.
Salmanders were one of my first signs of Spring here. My dad had warned me to watch out in basement early Spring:
"Watch where you step...... The Salamanders are horny. ...... Don't want to kill any, they're good luck you know."
There were other indications warm weather was actually going to return to Acton. The months old snow cover begins to shrink and the snow fleas show up. There are countless indicators I mostly missed, that now let me keep tabs on what previously dependable cycles to expect.
Yesterday, while over to Mary's Woods with Maggie, I was again reassured warm days lay ahead when the pictured butterfly landed on my knee as I sat on a log. It only sat still for a second or two before it was off again in flutter mode and heading where, I have no clue. It chased the Sunlight that flashed through the bare branches of early Spring. It seemed a tad cool for a first butterfly sighting, but well, what do I know?
After Maggie and I finished our walk, I looked up the butterfly. It is a "White Admiral" , a regular every Spring who climbs out of the larva it wintered in.
I was wondering why it seemed so disoriented. I mean, how can one tell a disoriented butterfly from an oriented one who knows where and what it is doing? Well, the normal appearance for these White Admirals in Maine is late May, early June.
Hmm........ Maybe this one hitch-hiked up from Maryland.
Keep it 'tween the ditches ................................
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I thought of a song perfect for this day. The Rascals released it in 1968. I was 14 and though it seemed a chick song, I always liked it ........ And still due. "A Beautiful Morning".
This post is about my dog, Maggie. Pet posts are always safe. Besides, it is National Pet Day; not to be confused with International Dog Day which occurs on August 26.
When Stubby passed. I did not want to replace her right away. Actually I decided I did not want another dog. Watching them die was just too painful.
2017 came. I sold my bikeshop, quit smoking and discovered I was hard into fighting another tick borne disease. I dropped into Depression mode. My wife decided what I needed was another dog. She found one at a local shelter; a four year old bitch from a puppy mill somewhere south of the Mason Dixon Line. She thought we two might get along. I was skeptical, but in respect to her efforts on my behalf, "Okay, okay, let's check her out."
I would go through the motions.
I will always remember our first encounter at the Kennebunk Shelter. BA went into the place to get Maggie while I sat on a bench in the cold and waited. She handed the leash to me:
"Take her for a walk, I have to fill out the papers."
I had not yet said okay, but said nothing. Maggie sat down near me, but not next to me. The leash was stretched out.. We looked at each other for some moments sizing each other up I guess.
I stood up. Maggie stood up. Good start I thought. She was the right size and seemed even tempered. I wondered how many litters she had to endure before she picked up heartworms and the puppy mill got rid of her. All the while she just looked at me. When I looked at her, she responded with a tentative tail flick, but not much else. No barking, no sounds at all.
I began to walk. She caught on immediately and kept pace with me. When I stopped, she stopped. Cool, at least one of us seems to know how to walk a dog. I certainly was not good at it. All of our dogs to that point very rarely had to endure a leash. We live in the sticks and voice commands work most of the time.
That day turned into a nine year mutual love affair. Like every pet we have shared our lives with, Maggie was unique combination of the times and trials in her life before we hooked up. She decided she loved me and gives me a daily hump to show her affection. I did not know female dogs carried on like brain dead males. Learn something everyday. Life is like that if we pay attention.
Keep it 'tween the ditches ..............................................
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How's the Yardwork going - So far, 20 plus hours and a trailer full of pucker hauled to the dump.
Tomorrow, I start on the mess roadside.
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I immediately thought of Charlie Parr's song "Dog". Enjoy.
I recently decided that I was going to stop embracing the "woe is me" mindset regarding Old Age. Eight or nine years ago, I picked up another tick borne disease and next, within a year I had the worse run of gout I had ever had. I also chose that time to quit smoking tobacco. I was a mess. I hated Life. I figured selling my bike shop and retiring was the thing to do. Functioning like I used to was not happening anymore. My weight ballooned to 306 pounds. I became a chubby lizard on a sad rock, fat and not happy.
In 2024, the negative effeccts of the tick borne illness lessened and the gout was under control. The off and on again Depression that came with the medical issues dissapated. I was ready or so I thought, to re-emerge full of piss and vinegar again. I had already lost a serious chunk of weight, dropping forty pounds.
For the last two years, the positive swing I had been on stalled.... many times it stalled. Since then I have only lost approximately 16 pounds or so. I was still not exercising, telling myself, my knees and hips just weren't up to the task anymore. I remained an unhappy whiner who has had no one to blame but myself. I bet in the last two years, I have promised myself once a week, I was going to Man Up, say "Fuck the Pain" and actually get over this mental plateau I created for myself.
I have made headway with the diet problem. But diet without exercise does not a complete weight loss plan make. I was unsure if I could ride my bikes, as my balance had become shaky over the past 8 or so years. What to do?
I remembered a friend in the area who began a fitness program by working his property using as little machinery as possible. Get a workout and make property improvements. I have considered this idea before and even promised to start doing it "next Spring", but for several years, it has been an empty promise.
Finally, over the last week or so, I have been outside poking at the obvious yard issues. At this point, I am concentrating on cutting back the jungle, particularily the recent invasion by a vine from away, called Asiatic Bitterseet. The best time to attack it is before the leaves show.
Since I started, I have dropped another five pounds. I have worked through the pain and now with each new day of grunt work, I find I hurt less when I get up in the morning. I won't say I am back or claim "Mission Accomplished" yet. I am not even close, but maybe I have turned the broken promises into a "Maybe this Time".
In an effort to carry this effort through to a satisfying conclusion, I also hope to record my progress here in the BoZone as the warm seasons pass by.
Later ......................................
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I am just picking a tune I like. ....................
I got lost. I Googled "Number One Hits of........." First up was 1963, then 1964, 1965, ...you get the picture. I tasted so many Teen Club hits from those years, my brain numbed out and the smiles I was enjoying made my face hurt.
I was looking for the one song that defined that Teen Club period of my life. Finally, as I began to write this, "My Girl", by The Temptations hit the target. No song represented the awkward intensity of learning how to deal with young girls as a young teenaged boy. Clumsy moments of making out outside the club, sucking down some of the first alcohol of my life, and smokin my first joint. ...... Yeah, "My Girl" is a good choice alright.
I have a blog that does not allow comments to be edited after they have been posted. It is an old blog; been around over 20 years. I imagine the software that created it is a tad out of date. The smart thing to do would be to create a major makeover, maybe even switch to Wordpress from Blogger because I am told that anyone still using Blogger is a loser, a dinosaur, a dimwit who can't keep up with the pace of the World today.
Let me just say, I am guilty on all counts. I have often experienced periods of "Loser-ness"; maybe not enough to place me anywhere near the top ten; afterall, I am no Donald Trump. At 74 years of age, If not a dinosaur, I think it is safe to say I have successfully made it to the land time forgot. I sure party hardy with them. And regarding being a dimwit; that would be directly related to who you might ask. The Wingers would certainly agree. Hell, I would often agree. But then I don't care what people think of me other than my family and a friend or two. Long ago, I lost the battle to convince my wife I am of sound and coherent mind. Others in my family, again, it would depend on who you might ask. My over the edge MAGA brother.... you can imagine.
But back to the topic. It is damn frustrating when the shiny objects passing by can't be resisted. Anyway ......
I have stated I cannot edit my posted comments on my blog. The software won't allow it. This morning I replied to one of my few commenters:
"I take intermittent breaks from playing with the brainless Winger Buffons"
I did manage to catch my error before I hit the "publish" button. As I corrected it, I considered the mistake, "Buffons". If "Buffon" was a real word, I imagine the definition would go something like :
Buffon - A person or persons who practice the fine art of Buffoonery. They are proud of their buffoonery; so much so, they refer to the most talented among them as "Buffoonerists".
No group has currently embraced Buffoonery as wholehearedly as the Right Wing of American Politics. They revel in thier buffoonery, yet, they get pissy when called Buffoons by anyone other than fellow Buffons. It's one of those tribal prerogatives. It's okay when they use it, but no one outside the tribe can. Severe pantie twisting among the faithful ensues, mouths are likely to foam and generational revenge plans are laid to someday pay back the offender or their offspring for the insult.
The Buffons of the Right have become so emboldened, they are now allowing more of their group's buffoonery to leak out into the light of day. Why, just a day or two ago, someone leaked pictures of the husband of their own Kristi Noem, the ex- head of DHS. Apparently her husband is a cross dresser with a fondness for big boobs....... wearing them, that is.
I personally do not care what anyone chooses for a wardrobe. But then I am an avowed dimwitted Libtard who just wants everyone to get along. The Tribe of Buffons are dismissive of any criticisms even though his prediliction for ladies wear flies in the face of their public image of God Fearing, Straight Shooting Missionary Position, Church Going Puritan Lifestyles. It is no wonder us dimwits cannot figure out where their heads are really at. I mean within their ranks, they seem to sport a high percentage of convicted pedophiles, election fraud practioners, and scam artists, who have chosen hypocrites to lead their assault on America.
Keep it 'tween the ditches ..............................
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The perfect song for what our nation is dealing with today was written for the 1973 Broadway musical, "A Little Night Music" by Stephen Sondheim. The song seems to draw a parallel to Life's struggles when things are not panning out. "Send in the Clowns" in stage speak, refers to a play or musical that is struggling....... time to "Send in the Clowns".
It was first sung by Glynis Johns in the musical and later became a song many top singers wanted to cover. Some folks consider Judy Collins' and Frank Sinatra's covers the best of the bunch. Being at heart, a RocknRoll, Blues kinda guy, I searched for a RnR cover.
I found that there were precious few RocknRoll covers of "Send in the Clowns"; actually not more than one or two recent covers anyway. I tasted over ten songs and none of them hit even close to how good Judy Collins' version was in my opinion. Here is Judy Collins' cover from 1975.
I found a very interesting and yeah, biased video regarding the primary battle between the two Maine Democrats, Janet Mills and Graham Platner; both running to replace Susan Collins, the Queen Republican Party Hack in the Senate. It features the controversey of a Mills TV ad about misogynistic statements made by Platner in his past. It then does an excellent job of defining the stark differences between Progressive Democrats and Establishment Democrats.
From the video, I picked up more insights into the overall insanity that makes up American politics. It always pleases me when I learn something, even if it is something I should have been aware of in the first place.
The video begins with the Janet Mills TV ad that has fired up Democrats all over the state. So, don't think it is another Youtube commercial moment and skip it. It is important to watch in order to appreciate the context found in the rest of the video.
I really like Jane Mills; she is one of my favorite pols of all time. But like me, she is an old fart and a dyed in the wool estabishment Democrat. Trying to hold onto the Center rather than attacking the Right is what is at stake I think. Short term goals before long term ones. What do we do? Stay course with the only goal, defeating Trump and his movement? Or do we get back to the party roots from 60 years ago and once again push for change that makes sense in the ever faster spinning wheel that is our culture today? The Republicans want to return to the past. The old skool Democrats don't seem to object, except for the brutal measures the Right wants to use to get there.
There is no reason we can't do both, except for the obstructions caused by traditional intractability of a well established hierarchy's policies. The Kids want to change directions. I am coming around to the idea that we should let them. After all, how successful have we been using the "handwringing, why can't we just all get along" style. Civility and polite banter has no affect on the rabid dogs of the Right. They want blood to run from every encounter now. The Left needs their own rabid dogs to take the lead. It's sad and I hate it, but the Left's tactics of the last decade have failed.
This excellent video has me thinking, "Just what kind of Democrat am I? Establishment, play it safe, don't rock the boat too hard like Kamala and Joe did? or do I take the plunge and put my support behind a movement just beginning to rise up out of the political devastation created in the Democratic Party by Trump?
I know the answer. The answer began to come to light over twenty years ago with the rise of the Tea Party. I saw the handwriting on the wall, but I was not close enough to read it well. As the Right moved further and further to the Right, I straddled the middle less and began to move further Left; which brings me to where I am today; a very pissed off Liberal who is unhappy with the Democratic Party and absolutely hates the Republican Party, the party I was born into and supported for a short duration as a young adult. The only thing that keeps me with the Democrats is they are the only group still standing in the way of a complete meltdown of the country I grew up in, raised a kid in, and lived the last 74 years in.
The Kids are right. New blood is needed. It is time to pass the torch.
I need to stop now. I need a break from this topic. I need some air, maybe a toke or two so I can unwind from the angry man I wound myself into this morning.
Thanks for listening ......................................
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I created a political playlist in my Youtube collections. Videos ,songs and commentary pieces all jumbled together in a group that reflects my loose dog way of living. I don't remember adding this song to the list. Figures. Anyway, here is an an A I video from "Mr. Newberger's A I Funnies", "Straight to Hell".
Enjoy it or don't. But no matter what, the volume should be turned up to WOW! Or not; in case it is music you want to fall asleep to.
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