What Stupid People Do

I cannot understand why the issue of Climate Change is still under debate. Ever since the planet consolidated out of cosmic debris and began orbiting the Sun, climate has been under constant change as it adapted to the gyrations and upheavals that it took for the planet to become what it is today.

I know Climate Change / Global Warming is nothing but a political football used to defend old school technologies dependent on toxic deforesting energies. However, continuing to take the planet for granted, is not going change the reality on our mutual horizons.

It doesn't matter if humanity is at fault or not. It doesn't matter if what is going on is a "natural" change. What matters is that while we are still pissing on each other's shoes, the climate changes we find ourselves facing are real and gaining significant heads of steam.

The planet does not give a shit about our petty political fights. In a perfect world, we would figure out that over 60 years of dicking around placing or denying blame, we would finally stop the madness and work harder to deal with what is coming. But no, we still bicker like school children.

The fact is, our parasitic behavior and our insistence on shitting in our own nests, have caused dramatic changes in our environment. Most are permanent changes, some that are in danger may be salvageable. We either get busy figuring out how to adjust to the changes coming, or we are toast.

Yeah, this is surely a doom, gloom, and apocalyptical vision of our future. Better that than being a self-denying Polly Anna dancing around playing a fiddle and acting as if this too shall pass. 

But then maybe I should not care. Maybe I should just say:

"Fuck it, you dumb fucks deserve what's coming." 

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

_________________________

No other song I can think of symbolizes better Mankind's sad and selfish abuse of the planet than John Prine's, "Paradise" .

To Kiss My Ring, You Have to Bend a Knee or Bend Over

Unquestioning loyalty is what Benedict Donald expects as his due. Eight years of perverted populism has certainly given him reason to expect it. But I wonder if finally, his unbreakable hold on the Right might not be showing some small cracks.

He has become increasingly incoherent in recent months. His threats of retribution, lock downs, and isolation in our future may actually be having an affect on the few Wingers who still have some operational brain cells left.

I know, I know. I promised myself I was not going to obsess over Trump anymore. Well, there has to be some kind of safety valve I can use to keep the build up of Trump stupidity from crowding out the few bits of rational thought I still have available. After all, it has been quite awhile since I wrote anything specifically about  the Word Salad Wizard.

I have stopped concerning myself why so many Wingers still consider this obviously deranged man a viable alternative to Sleepy Joe. They are either the most stupid people in this country or they are willfully stupid and that makes them assholes who know better, but do not care. They just want to "own the Libs"; Fuck the country.

The indiscernible Trump verbiage we have become used to has found a new level of indiscernibility. His manic expressions of hate and discontent have become so disconnected from rhyme, reason, and reality, that now whenever I punish myself by listening to him, I am sure I am listening to the rambling thoughts of a four year old mind on Quaaludes.

I make no predictions of how the next ten months will play out. I do know that if the Orange Asshole is crowned again, this country will have the leader it deserves and watch out. As Jackie says all the time, "we're fucked" if that happens.

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

____________________

Over the years, music I listened to as I grew into adulthood has now fallen into two categories for me. Music that brings me joy with the memory the tune evokes. Then there is the music from back in the day that is still or has regained top status just by being so fucking good. There were artists from my past I enjoyed that I did not appreciate as I do now. Van Morrison, Steely Dan, Deep Purple, Rory Gallagher, and Traffic are a few I have rediscovered. I liked their music then; I love it now. 

Coming down from a decidedly over dosed Acid trip, I can remember Traffic's "Low Spark of High Heeled Boys" blunted the sharper edges of the previous 20 hour fantasy. I don't remember what transpired while Snake and I stumbled our way around Bethesda, Maryland, but I do remember those wonderful hours later in his basement . We smoked joints and listened to Traffic as our minds crawled back into Reality.

I appreciated "Low Spark" then for helping me to calm down. Today, I appreciate it for being a timeless piece of great music. 

Enjoy.

Season 6, Episode 9

Recently I have tried to break my normal morning routine. Instead of watching morning news while I brew and then consume my first cup of coffee, lately I have chosen alternatives to the endless election coverage and all the other crap the News media is sure I need to keep up to date on.  

I understand that at no time in my life has it been more important to stay on top of current events than now. But come on, Trump and his MAGA clowns 24/7?  No. I can only handle the morning news now days in small bites I preferably read as that allows me to sift through what I feel is important and what is not. 

The TV chooses what I see, hear, ingest. It is my opinion that the international and national news outlets don't just report the news, they manipulate the issues and facts they want us to pay attention to.

Most mornings I still turn on the tube in the kitchen, but I often choose mindless entertainment that won't fire me up for the rest of the day. Old re-runs from days gone by are a favorite. I cannot watch them for long, but it is nice to remember days when being clueless about the real world was my norm, not my exception.

This morning on the "suggestion bar" at the top of the screen, "Leave it to Beaver" caught my attention. Surely, the "Beav" would not fire me up as he, Wally, Lumpy and Eddie engaged in the harmless hijinks of middle class white kids growing up in the pasteurized, lily white1950s and early 60's. Low stress, moronic viewing for sure. 

Starting with a blank space in my head has been a great way to begin my days of late. That makes it easier to sort through and file the inevitable sensory overload I will have to deal with throughout the day. This morning's episode was from Season 6, Episode 9; "Beaver joins a record club".

As I sipped my coffee and watched Beaver get sucked into a scam, I was reminded of the time when my nine year old self fell into the same trap as Beaver, but it was stamps, not records. 

In the show, Beaver joins a record club. The cost is only 89cents a week for the selected 45 rpm record. When Beaver opens his first package, inside, along with the one record, a whole album is included "for his approval." Beaver cannot believe his luck. He pays no attention to the card that indicates he has to cancel the album or he has to pay for it. Being happy as if he has a brain, Beaver continues to ignore the cards he finds in each new package that comes. At some point he gets a letter stating that his account is past due and he owes them $17.89. Beaver doesn't have $17.89. 

At age nine, along with the real literature like Hardy Boys and Tom Swift Jr. I consumed voraciously, I was also a fan of comic books. I was more of a DC comics guy. Marvel comics were newish and I did not embrace them like I did Superman and Batman. In all the comics I read, one of my favorite sections to peruse were the ads in the last couple of pages. The ads never changed much. It was always the same vendors hawking the same junk. Sea monkeys, old coins, how to throw your voice and countless other magical wonders that could be purchased for less than a buck.

I decided after seeing the ad to the right numerous times in most of the comics I read that 10 cents was a pretty cheap price to pay for 225 stamps. What better way to add to my pitifully small stamp collection than buying 225 stamps. That would beef it up for sure.

I taped a dime to an index card with my address on it, put the card in an envelope and mailed it. I cannot remember how long it took for the stamps to show up, but they did. 

I remember the envelope seemed awfully fat. The reason became obvious when along with the 225 stamps, more than a few glassine envelopes fell out with them. Inside those envelopes marked "For Approval" were many more stamps. I remember specifically it was that purchase where I scored my first plate block (4 new stamps still attached to the sheet with the serial number).

I could not believe my luck. This was fantastic. And just like Beaver in episode nine, I failed to pay attention to the page stating all the conditions that came with my ten cent batch of stamps. Apparently the stamps in the fancy envelopes were not included as part of the 10 cent purchase. If I did not send them back by a certain date, I would owe them  more money ........ lots more money. 

I failed to send them back. About 2 months later my dad received a registered letter just as Beaver had also received in episode nine. Only instead of the $17.89 the Beav owed, my father was now on the hook for over $200. They had found him and were threatening legal action if the bill was not paid promptly or sooner.

There were some very ugly moments that followed. Dad really lost it and I hid under my bed that night. It was odd, but the next day I guess he had cooled down. He came into my room and woke me up early. He apologized for blowing his top. I remember it well, because to that point in my life I had never heard him apologize. He told me I screwed up but that who he should be angry with were the sleaze bags who sent me the stamps in the first place. He went on to tell me I was in trouble and some grounding might be in my future, but I was not to worry about this, he had my back.

My father was true to his word. The stamp company was hit with a lawyer type letter indicating court proceedings would ensue should they attempt to take advantage of a minor who could not legally enter into a contract as I was under the age of consent. In other words, he told them they could pound sand, they would be receiving no money from him.

We never heard another word from them and I was allowed to keep all the stamps. And even though the ads at the back of the latest Superman issue still enticed me and made me want what they promised, I never again ordered anything from the back pages of a comic book.

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

_______________

As I considered what music to play, I remembered the best live performance I ever experienced, but was not there at the time. I first heard this version of Santana's "Soul Sacrifice" when I went to see the Woodstock movie back in college in the 1970s. I was high on LSD and, well, Damn is all I can say. I think I still have flashbacks when the 17 year old drummer kicks in his solo. 

Not playing this at WOW should be, oughta be a Federal crime.

America is Not Racist

We can all stop fretting. We can stop wringing our hands and waking up in the dark of night sobbing into our pillows.

Nikki Haley, currently the number 3 seed in the race to be the GOP Presidential nominee this coming November, has settled a question many have debated over the years.

 She has declared not once but twice in the last 48 hours that:

"America is not a Racist country."

How did this remarkably deluded woman come to this conclusion? ........... Her parents told her so. Parents are never mistaken..... right?

When I heard the news clip, I decided to check it out. She made this second claim at the New Hampshire Republican Town Hall last night. When pressed by the moderator, she back tracked and claimed she meant America was not racist because of the words beginning the second paragraph of the Declaration of the Independence:

"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights,... "

She insisted it was the "intent" of the Founders to form a free and equal society. This meant even a brown girl such as herself could rise above the petty regional racism and become what she became. 

I used to laugh about the politicians replacing inconvenient facts with the contrived "alternate facts" of a thing, event, or person in order to support their "enhanced version of the Past, Present, or flights of fancy promises for the Future. 

I don't laugh anymore. Today, the Wingers cannot survive on factual truth, so they make up fantasy scenarios, both good and bad, but nowhere close to the truth. The left has a tendency to also manipulate truth when it suits them. The Right mangles it 24/7 with no effort to get facts right. If they do say something truthful, it is by accident. They didn't mean it. 

Some Pols are good at conflating, rewriting, and embellishing the truth. Nikki is not. She's nothing but a skinny Trump in five inch heels. She certainly does not have any better grasp on this country's history than Trump, or as it seems now, any Winger from the leadership class.

What a sad excuse  of a political party the GOP has become.

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

__________________________

With no rhyme or reason, here is "Crazy Mary", a favorite Pearl Jam tune. Enjoy.

On Writing

Young men don't have time for memoirs. It is more often the older version of the young man who tries to bring life to a their younger self's story line. As I have not read many memoirs other than my brother's, "just the facts ma'am" story of his life, I have only his style and my own loose dog style to use as examples of what makes a memoir, good or bad.

When I first started writing about my past, I was too young to start a memoir. That effort came at the age of 12 when I wrote an essay in 7th grade English class. I cannot remember my grade or if we were even graded, but I do know I did not impress myself with the effort. It was just a factual rendition of my short life as I perceived it. 

The one or two page effort was full of all the neato, keen, and cool events I had experienced to that point in my life. It was most likely comprised of enhanced tales of tree forts I helped to build, trails I followed in the woods, the kids I liked and the kids I hated. As I remember it now 60 years later, it was writing one would expect from a 12 year old boy. I did not dig deep because at age 12, I had not experienced enough depths to understand they even existed.

I did not stop writing. Over the following years I sporadically wrote stories and poems in notebooks, journals, scraps of paper. Recently I found some of my old scribblings and it amazes me how far my writing has come since those early efforts.. I guess in 60 years I should not be surprised though. Do something long enough I would expect that I would have improved.

Learning to write is the obvious next step after learning to read. At least in my case it was. After taking in so many other's thoughts and ideas, forming my own thoughts and ideas seemed the next logical step.  Writing has helped me come to grips with the realities I currently live in, which I think help me face the Realities still coming. In my mind, being able use words, not just read them, helps create the tools by which to understand what the Hell is going on, even when I am sure I will never have a clue. Writing down my moments of confusion help me to make sense of them.

Confused? Yeah well, live in my head awhile and you still won't understand, even after I wrote the words down. Understand?

I didn't think so.

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

__________________

A tune with no rhyme, reason, or tie-in to the post is what I picked today. I pulled up my playlist on the 'puter and like throwing a dart found this really nice, uplifting song from the talent of R Kelly. Never been a fan. Maybe I should rethink that.

Here is "Gotham City" from the soundtrack of one of the many Batman movies.

Buxom Bimbos

Anyone who visits Facebook has scrolled through their feeds and come across the short video sequences called "Reels". Usually very short, the subject matter covers anything under the Sun, in the Sun and outside the Sun. Serious touch your heart videos. new must have product videos, political videos, Religious videos, and of course cute cat,dog,and moose videos. Any topic you can think of can and will show up on them.

Up until recently I have been spared the Buxom Bimbo videos like the ones to the Left. Since yesterday though, my feed has been inundated with them. It reminds me of the period I was getting hit up by woman after woman sending me friend requests.

I am not so old that a nice looking woman means nothing to me. Like every straight male out there, my DNA insists that I take notice of them. Good looking women are fun to look at, but if they have nothing else to offer other than looks, I am just not interested. Disregarding the raging hormone filled days of my youth, I have always felt that way.

The video on the left lasted 10 or 15 seconds for me before I decided that a woman in overalls and no top wearing work gloves was not going to raise my interest. And the one on the right lasted maybe 5 seconds before I decided I had had enough of her and the twenty or so other bimbo reels that have landed on my feed over the last few days.

I know it is probably just my turn in a cycle created by some smarter we are algorithm. I really could not care less, I just scroll past them now. 

All this reminds me of one of my favorite images I have ever found on the internet. These melons were shipped all over back in the 1940s and 50s.

Maybe the real reason I complained about the buxom bimbos at the top of the post was I needed an excuse to post that image of the melons that really impressed me.. 

Titz Up Buckaroos, Life is getting way too intense to take it too seriously anymore ...................... 

_____________________________

Okay, okay..... yeah my mind is in a gutter and until I finish this post, I will not be able to return to my normal curmdgeoning self. I google Breast music and well, again the coffers of Google spent 0.66 seconds filling up the screen with musical suggestions.

Because the songs I might have wanted to play were so obnoxious, I decided instead to find some music about real melons or what they might infer, suggest, make subtle suggestions about. Here is "My Melons", by an artist from Botswana named Lorraine Lionheart. Excellent tune from an artist I have never heard before.

Conveniently, I found the best cut on a site called reverberation and the song is but one of a playlist you can try out once "My Melons" has stopped. Enjoy.

We Got 2nd Place

 

A quick follow up to the quality snow storm we received yesterday.

Seems Acton once again failed to win the snowfall total contest for the state. We often come close, but usually one of the loser towns around us ekes out another couple of inches than we do. But we did make the podium. 

Seems Hollis, Maine recorded 18 inches as of last night. Acton was a close second with 15 inches. ....... Always the Bridesmaid, never the bride.

Oh well.

I will say the storm was a perfect storm. Light, fluffy and dry: My snow blower laughed and giggled as it tossed that snow 30-35 feet. Maggie had a blast and didn't bother squatting to pee in the deep snow. She just peed standing up. 

So, for a day, all is right with my world. Removing snow is what I was put on this planet to do it seems. And now I can actually get back to my life's work..

Bonus time. Looks like it will be one of those sunny Maine winter days that causes pain if you don't wear sunglasses.

Gotta run, the door yard is only half done. See Ya ..................................

____________________________

Today I am sharing music my parents listened to. According to family lore, at 3 years old, I would dance around whenever Dad played his Count Basie tape. 

Please enjoy this version of  "Jumpin at the Woodside" as played by both Count Basie and Oscar Peterson, two jazz greats from the early days of swing and jazz. It's a battle of pianos. Just excellent.

Winter's Back - For a Moment Anyway

For a few moments anyway, our climate here on Sam Page Road is in a seasonally normal status. The second snow storm of the 2023/24 season may not be a blizzard, but it's trying hard to be one. The general consensus among the deadbeat meteorologists settled on 6 to 12 inches for our neck of the woods. 

This storm gets us into double digits for snow this season. At the moment we are at around 14 inches for the total. Usually we are at least in the 50 inch or higher range by this point.

It began snowing last night around 11:30PM. By 7:00 AM there was over 6 inches out there and the plows are working hard to stay ahead of the snow that is still falling. Temps are around 20' F, so it doesn't look like we will have to deal with wet snow this storm.

I have been without my snow blower for 3 years. We used commercial plow folk to clean up our drive during that time. I used to plow my drive back 25 years ago. But the driveway is not plow friendly. It curves and drops with banks on both sides. I cannot say how many plows have gotten stuck in my drive. But I know I got myself stuck many times, never mind the pay to plow guys. My drive likes a snow blower, either on a tractor or a walk behind. Does a better job.

Back in October, I took my snow blower attachment to a fellow over to Sanford or was it Alfred? One side of the town line or the other anyway. I knew I had picked the right guy. His dooryard was full of power equipment in various stages of disrepair. Tractors, lawn mowers, snow blowers, and several rusty equipment trailers took up space next to his repair barn. He told me to drop it anywhere and he'd call when it was fixed.

There were multiple issues with the 30 year old snow blower. Cracks that need welding. Bearings that need changing. Impeller shaft needed to be re-welded to the auger differential. It needed a new edge and the drive chain coming off the PTO needed replacing. 

I was pleasantly surprised when he was done, the bill was only $390. At the local John Deere store, I bet it would have been at least double that, maybe even triple. And now that I have finally had a real snow to test it with, it has not worked this well since I have owned it. Throws snow many, many feet and doesn't shake the tractor like its going to self destruct at any moment. 

Nothing runs like a Deere when its maintained.

Yeah, it felt good to take on a snowstorm again. I wonder how many more I will have before we start seeing people planting palm trees.

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

___________________

A snowed out Sunday with a football game to watch around 1:00 PM is an invitation to imbibe in mood altering substances. I sit here at quarter to Nine  AM. I contemplate if I should spark up a doob now or wait until kick off.............. Um. ....Yeah, now works. A different outlook might make picking a tune easier..... Yeah, sure it will.

A few tokes did not help. I had been in a quandary before I sparked up. Now, besides the quandary, I am dazed and confused to boot and really don't care what tune I pick.  I'm too busy watching the snow come down and enjoying one of my older playlists turned up to WOW. Each tune I listen to, I tell myself:

"Yeah Mike, this one rocks.... Use it for the post."

Then the next tune starts and I am not sure the one I picked would be right, this new one is even better. .........  And so it goes; the trials and tribulations of an aging Stoner.

Here is "Hooch", recorded by Everything 25 years ago. Nice tune.

Lip-Syncing

I recently listened to and watched a live Metallica arena video of "Nothing Else Matters". Suddenly, memories of the days when I was a cog in the Rock n Roll industry came flooding back. SHOWCO brought music to live venues from coast to coast. And I helped.

I never toured with Metallica. They found the limelight after I had been used up driving shows to wherever the next gig was.

The Metallica video captures the essence of a huge arena show. There was something grand about walking into an arena or a stadium and listening to 50,000 music fans greet the band many of them had driven hundreds of miles to see. I liked the smaller tours more I guess. Less trucks meant less pressure and on several tours it felt like I was on vacation. But I have to say looking out at the madness of a festival seating gig from the stage left an impression.

The picture upper left is one I took while driving for a Zep Tour in 1977. 

What stands out in the video and struck me just as it did in the mid 1970s was how many people lip-synced with the songs. True fans. And it's odd. If the band was a chick favorite, most of the lips flappin in time with the tune were chick lips. Bands that appealed more to the dudes than the dudettes had the boys trying to keep up. Guys always struggled with lip syncing. The girls were born to it.

I know I often write about my time driving Rock n Roll trucks, but hey, that time of my life left an indelible imprint. I picked up some scars while working for SHOWCO, but the great times I had more than outweighed the drudgery that came with the job.

The list of awesome experiences I crammed into my time with SHOWCO is endless. And now when I dredge up another new memory, it does not matter if it is a sad or happy memory. They all make me smile now.

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

________________________

Of course a song for this post has to be the live version of  Metallica's, "Nothing Else Matters". But just for chuckles, also enjoy this live version of the Kinks performing "Lola". It is from a concert in Providence, RI in 1979, after I had left SHOWCO. I drove for them twice. Hands down, no matter how out of it the boys were, they always brought the crowds to their feet with this song. Enjoy.

Another Dreamscape

So another dream remembered that I can now share. 

I never know if my dream posts will pan out. Oftentimes, as I begin to put words to the visual cues found in my sleep dimension ..... well, as soon as I begin to write, my mind goes blank. Or, I will only remember the reminder moment that has stuck with me until after morning rituals are satisfied.

Today, my reminder moment had me on my knees pulling some kind of fir or pine seedlings out of a specially designed back pack and shoving them into the ground. Nearby, across a barren acreage of cutover land, a full scale logging operation is in play. The latest in Forest Harvesters are tearing what's left of this stand of trees a new asshole. I assumed I was part of the state mandated reclamation part of the operation.

My cell phone rings. Its my boss. She asks if I am alright. I reply that I am.

"Then why the Hell aren't you hauling pulp logs to the paper mill in Rumford?"

The scene shifts, or I miss the transition, and now I'm back behind the wheel of an ancient Mack pulpwood truck carrying a 15 foot tall load of pulp  wood. 

I was also back to hating my life and all that was in it. I'm bouncing down a tote road, the truck is rocking side to side hard and I'm wondering if I am about to have another tip over. The last thing I remember is hoping this time I tip on the right side. It's easier to crawl out with the truck tipped over to the right.

Whatever else happened in the dream is lost now. I am happy though, because this dream I think I can explain.

A few months ago I watched a video on Facebook that highlighted the new gadgets the forestry industry was using. The machines in my dream were close facsimiles of what I saw in the video. 

And while I never drove a pulp wood truck, I did pick up scrapped rolls of paper at several Maine paper mills in a beat Mack straight truck with a picking arm that leaked a gallon of hydraulic fluid every week. Hated that truck.

The planting trees thing is also based on a story I read about planting trees in the forests of North America. I read it many years ago. And whenever I was feeling down, I often thought of that job as the perfect get away from Reality job. Planting trees, smoking dope and living in a tent. I was sure nothing better on this planet existed.

In retrospect, I was probably right.

Keep those Titzup Buckaroos .............. See Ya

________________________________

Once again, my musical google prompt turned up too many choices in too few seconds. I decided I would not dawdle. I picked an old tune by the Byrds. "Drug Store, Truck Driving Man" is a song only connected to the post by the word "truck" in the title.

When I heard it after so many years I remembered that this tune is best listened to and even better, listened to being sung by four drunk and disorderly college football players like I first heard it back in my college years.

Hungry Alligators

"The alligator is always hungry ....... Stop feeding it."

I heard this statement on a morning news show today. It was a thought voiced by a Mr. Rossenberg(?), a hired talking head who's opinion is respected by the hosts of the show because well, they asked him to swing by to toss some more barbs at Trump and the three ring Republican clown circus the "Orange One" runs now.

The quote refers to, and I am only assuming here as I was busy doing morning domestic rituals, ..... uh, the quote is in regards to Maine's Secretary of State plan to to toss Trump off the Republican primary election ticket on March 5th this year. 

His point I think was that all this saber rattling and threats of denying Trump a chance to run is counter productive. Trying to kick Trump out of the Maine Republican Primary is only enhancing Benedict Donald's image among his rank and file GOP drooling fans. It makes an already convoluted and extremely complicated political season that much harder to navigate for the slobs on the ground like me. If this was his point, then I am with him.

The court battles, the political games, and the unfathomable stubborn loyalty of Donald's base will not change in any meaningful way unless Ex-President Spanky McLiarFace is beaten at the polls in the General Election in November. Everything so far is nothing but political theater in front of an audience of frightened Alligators who will turn any event or claim against their leader into more fodder to bolster their blind allegiance to the sleaziest politician of my lifetime. Beat him in November and anything after will be gratefully anticlimactic and hopefully throw him under the bus of American bad choices.

I grew up with politics a part of many family dinners. Along with the obligatory glass of "California" wine and cigarette smoke, I was exposed to political discussions that often left family members with hurt feelings, angry moments to get over, and me with confusion rattling around in my brain until I was , uh, I guess somewhere around age nine or ten. I had learned by that time to not lead with my chin, as the age of the debater mattered naught. Open your mouth and you were fair game. No mercy, no special treatment of the innocent child. Consequences were handed out quickly to the weak.

I remember one of the first successful contributions I made at the dinner table was when I asked my father why he did not vote. Joe, my oldest brother added his stamp of approval with, "Yeah dad, why?" I knew I was safe from the ever eager reprisal Joe loved to heap on anyone he considered weaker than himself.

My father said it was because he had spent most of his adult life in the US Air Force. He felt allowing politics into his mind only made serving his country that much harder. He was hired to protect the country, the Constitution and do what his commander in chief wanted within the confines that it not go against the oath he took when he joined up in 1929. 

Not voting for over 30 years simplified the work he had to do as a high ranking officer. Politics was for civilians. Defense of those politics, no matter which side they favored were his obligation to protect. Some years later when I was of protesting age, he supported my participation in the protests as the one thing he felt the proudest of protecting. He might not agree with much I believed in, but he damn well was going to support my right to do it. That, he said, was the sole reason he made the military a career.

His reticence in joining in political debate around the dinner table did not really change even after he had retired. He was quicker to address blatantly stupid comments made without thinking, but overall, he keep his mouth shut unless provoked for an answer. 

I think he would agree with Mr. Rossenberg(?). Politics is nothing but comic drama until it becomes a tragedy. One way to keep the tragedy easier to handle is not feed it with unnecessary bullshit.

I learned a lot by listening to my father stay silent. I sometimes I wish I had been able to be more like him in that respect.

Happy New Year and please keep it 'tween the ditches........ They are deeper and steeper than ever.

____________________

Once again I am impressed another word that when Googled, opens up so many possibilities that I end up wasting my precious "Screwin the pooch" time sampling song after song until I realize an hour has passed. Shit, It only took me 45 minutes to write the flippin post .... Oh well.

Here is the original song from a record one of my brothers had in the 1950's. "See You Later Alligator" , by Bill Haley and the Comets was the perfect tune for a six year old me. I stole it from my brother and wore it out on my Donald Duck record player.

It was also a tune that helped the then "New" music called Rock n Roll solidify its grip on the short hairs of American music. It was highlighted in the movie "Rock around the clock", a nonsensical movie tribute to the new music White Kids were being ruined by. It was "race music" gussied up for white folk consumption. And white folk sucked it up in huge quantities.