Friday, October 31, 2014


I punched up Clapton's "24 Nights", poured myself a beer and drank a shot or two of the Demon Rum.  Actually it was some Devilish sour mash ............ Satan tempts us with so many evils, it is a wonder we haven't caved to his, or is it her wishes,,,,,,          Hmm ,,,,,,,,

Oh Yeah. ........ We have God in our corner.  God will protect us, save us from ourselves and lead our worthless souls down that Righteous path.  Yeah I forgot about God what with all the hate and discontent that swirls around the planet like the wind.

I figure I can't be blamed for feeling like Beezlebub is breathing down my neck, looking over my shoulder, trying to back seat drive my life.  The Antichrist seems to be everywhere all the time.  But look for God and I guess Big Guy only goes to church on Sundays or visits the occasional Mosque every other week or so.  And floppin to our knees and praying to him seems hit or miss, mostly miss.  But I hear he can carry a Helluva tune.

I know many many folks take their religious beliefs seriously.  I respect that.  You do what you have to to make it through this sad existence as sane as possible.  I will do the same.

I tried to take religion seriously.  My parents exposed me to it, Hell I went through a period when I was 14 or so contemplating what it might be like to be an Episcopal priest.  I don't know who saved me from working every Sunday herding a flock.  It might have been God.  But then it makes more sense it was Lucifer wooing me down the dark path.  ..... OF course my puny considerations, wishes and hopes most likely did not even create a ripple in either camp.  Whatever I did mattered little to either of them.  They had lands to lay barren, droughts to get on with, pestilence to get rolling.  ........ Other fish to fry.  Busy Spirits, one in charge of at least one Universe, the other apparently intent and focused on destroying it.  

I wonder sometimes ...... which one is in charge of which?

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

Wednesday, October 29, 2014


It is the political season.  I have done my best to switch off the noise. ....  to no avail.  I cannot deny my roots.  Political discussion was one of the staples of family dinner growing up.  I was taught to respect the process as it is the only game in town and any refusal to participate at least at the ballot box served me up just what I deserved.

Mom more than once while watching Huntley & Brinkley on NBC, " If they don't vote, they have no right to complain".

Dad would grunt his agreement and continue reading his paper, his book, his notes on the latest garden plan or Heathkit electronic gadget he was putting together.

So here we are a week or so from the Mid-term elections.  What to do?  Vote for an individual?  Vote my ideals?  Vote a straight party ticket?  Or vote as I have for at least the last 15 or 16 elections and cast my vote in defense.

I have always felt most comfortable in the middle.  Straddling that imaginary fence that divides Left from Right.  Held in low esteem by the lock n loaded believers on both sides during much of the year, yet come election time, both sides try to schmooze my vote from me by cranking back the hardline rhetoric they use most of the time.  Suddenly they become "moderates" and I am supposed to throw my straddlin the fence sad self on their side on the first Tuesday of November every other year.


Both the Democrats and the Republicans are responsible for whatever it is our country is now.  They share equally in my mind the good times and the bad times they have put us through.  ....................  At least up until the Right went off the deep end some years back and allowed the John Bircher-Koch mentality to hijack their message.   Because of their "I won't play unless we use my ball" mentality, I am voting against them from now on.  .......  Hmm ....... Actually I guess I started voting this way a couple of elections back.  Regardless, no Republican will get my vote.

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

Tuesday, October 28, 2014

Better Dead Than Red

I did not pay as much attention I guess to the politics swirling around during the Vietnam era.  I was younger and dumber and totally self absorbed as so many late teen/early twenty somethings are.  In retrospect I have to say that the polarization at the rank and file level was as extreme as it it is today.  Maybe more extreme because Americans were dying at the hands of other Americans..  Anti-war/Civil Rights v. My country right or wrong mentalities.  Some crazy shit went down for sure.

One of the popular slogans that grew serious legs was "Better Dead than Red".  Originally thought up by John Bircher Right Wing alarmists during the Cold War of the 1950s, it was dragged back out  to bolster support for the Vietnam War.  It insinuated that should we give up on Vietnam, we would all fall under the Pinko Commie umbrella.  

Saturday, October 18, 2014

Ohio - Post Script

I have typed many words describing the drama, the comedy, and the hum drum of my first trip anywhere on an airplane since the mid 1990's.  There is a rather detailed and slightly twisted travel log wasting away in the draft section of this blog. .......................

After re-reading the blow by blow, I decided that posting it as it was would be akin to making the neighbors sit through all 300 slides of Jack, Diane and the kids having the time of their lives in the Disney-Six Flags- Harry Potter Universe.  Jack and Diane and the kids have seen all 300 slides five times before and they still can't wait to run through them again. The neighbors lassoed into sitting in uncomfortable chairs and smiling while tossing in the occasioanal Ooh or Aah  just to be polite.  They would rather have a pick stuck in their eye, .....  but hey,  what the Hell, Jack 's pouring drinks and Diane's keepin the chip bowl filled....................

Friday, October 10, 2014


Up until 6:00 AM yesterday morning, I had successfully avoided setting foot on an airplane of any kind since 1996 when I flew out to the Left Coast to deal with the death of my mother.  I was not and still am not afraid of flying.  I just hate the whole process.  A childhood spent logging untold passenger hours in the belly of an Air Force C-47, the Goony Bird, soured me early on the magic of flight.

Flying has always been a hassle, but I guess now, with all the stepped up security, sardine seating, and bags of peanuts that yield single digit numbers, Flying has entered a totally new dimension of travel Hell.  For the last decade I have listened to the horror stories.  Outwardly, I appeared sympathetic and full of "Gee that sucks" comments and all the while really thinking, "Better you than me".

I was beginning to believe I was going to hit the grave without having to fly ever again.  Right.......  As soon as my daughter found a job teaching at Xavier University in Cincinnati, my wife hatched plans to visit.  Being the dumass husband I am, I innocently agreed that we should head south as soon as we both could spare some time.  Little did I know, my darling significant other was scheming to make me take this trip via the friendly skies with some low cost, buy way ahead plane tickets from the masters of cattle car flying, Southwest Airlines.  Any dreams of reliving my truckin glory days with a spin on the super-slabs of America's Heartland were crushed before I could even begin wet dreaming them.

So yesterday at 3:35 AM, my wife and I climbed in the Ford Ranger and headed to the Manchester Airport to catch that cheap flight leaving for Cincinnati at 6:00 AM.

I have lived most of my life since my truckin days in my own time zone I call Crum Time.  As I hit Sam Page road at the end of the drive, I said, "Well, we seem to be gettin an early start."  BA just looked at me with that "you asshole" stare.  

"What?......... Look it's 3:30.......... "  The "you asshole" stare continued.  "Hey now, if we were on Crum Time we'd have 15 more minutes to start out late."  In my mind we were on time, even a tad early for my tastes.

"It's 3:35."

I didn't hear her.  I should have left well enough alone.  Instead I said, "What? I didn't hear you."

Louder now. "It is 3 fuckin thirty five.  I don't consider that early or even close to on time.  But I'm used to it now........... Just drive."

Oops.  Never tease a grumpy bear.

More to come...........................

PS - I am using an old laptop my wife gave me.  I has no mouse, just a swipe spot.  Between that and the new configuration the existing program displays, I have yet learned how to include images.  I had a good one, but well, better to publish now than lose the moment.

Saturday, October 04, 2014

Marking My Territory

As much trouble as it was to get hooked up to the inter webs tonight, once I plugged in, I felt an obligation to put pen to paper.  I need not say anything important or profound.  Just waste some bandwidth leaving a blaze out there in the WWW Wilderness.  Akin to to lifting my leg and marking this back wash of the "Net as mine................ not yours, not his, not even her's. .....................

Of course I could have done this with a tweet, an email, or an Internet Fax.  Tweeting I don't get.  Email's are so 1990's, and well, Faxes date back to at least the 80's, pre Grunge. ............... At my old shop I remember that big honking Fax machine that used to on occasion go manic and print out a ream of faxes in one night.  ........... Learned to hate that fuckin machine.  Kinda soured me on the whole Fax thing......... SO it's the BoZone or nothing.

I was listening to 'The Blimp", our classic rock station.  Seems there was a contest. Frickin Rock Stations always seem to be putting on some "be the 4th caller" trivia, name that tune from one word challenges.  Anyway, some lucky young listener won a real vinyl copy of some classic rock album.

"Hmm" ........... I thought.  "A vinyl record?" ............ I  smiled, .........  "Poor bastard.  Glad I missed out."

Like Twitter, I don't get the fascination with playing vinyl records.  Grew up playing 45 records on my Donald Duck record player.  Moved up the Audiphile ladder to own some of the nicest stereo equipment out at the time.  And even though I learned to treat records gently,  damn vinyl never stays pristine unless you don't lay a needle on it.

Give me the digital renditions.  Clean, precise, no snap crackle and pop.

I had hopes that while I was wasting bandwidth with meaningless dribble, I would have a mild epiphany and actually say something worth reading.  Apparently I was wrong.

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