Clean Up On Aisle 9

"Mike, I saw the solar panel meme you posted on the Facebook."

Mike turned. It was Wally from over on the H Road.

" Waz up Wally? Had your sled out yet this winter?"

"Forget the sled, I wanna know why you spread lies like that meme is full of."

Immediately Mike realized a possible reason some folks post under a pseudonym. He stared at Wally:

"Damn Wally, what meme you talking 'bout? I ain't been on Facebook for awhile now."

"You know, the meme about the solar panels in space and how you claim they work just fine when you know damn well or should know it's too fuckin cold in space for them to work at all."

Mike was still struggling to remember the meme. He posted so many, it was impossible to remember one unless it was yesterday or maybe the day before. But to keep Wally happy, he put on his concerned contemplative look, stroked his beard like he was really trying to remember. He stopped mid stroke:

"No..... No. Wally, I just ain't remembering. Don't matter though. We're both grocery shopping here.  I just want to get it done and head home. How about you? "

"Well, I ain't here to shop for groceries. I followed you in cuz  I am just sick and tired of you Liberals trying to tear this country down and turn it Commie is all."

Mike stepped back and his eyes widened. Oh no, Wally slammed down the "Commie" card. "Here we go", he thought.

"You been chewing on this awhile ain't ya? ................ I don't mean no disrespect Wally, but Market Basket ain't really the place for this kind of conversation.  Wouldn't you agree?"

Wally shifted his weight from one foot to the the other and looked at the floor. He clenched his fists a couple of times, took a big breath, then looked Mike in the eye.

"Don't matter where we are. You're a liar and I want you to admit it."

"I ain't admittin nothin you dumb fuckin redneck."

Mike was pissed now. He knew if Wally opened his mouth one more time, there were probably going to be police involved. He grabbed his cart and reversed direction.

Wally was having none of it. He quickly moved around Mike and jumped in front of the cart . Wally did not anticipate how hard Mike was pushing that cart. Wally went down hard and the cart fell over spilling and breaking the bottle of capers in the cart. Mike threw up his hands and looked ay Wally splayed out on the deck. He flipped Wally the bird, abandoned the cart, retreating in the other direction.

Walking down the aisle, he noticed several shoppers and one very surprised store employ watching him walk toward them. As he passed the guy in the apron, he said as calm as could be:

"Clean up on Aisle 9".

_______________________

Not sure now where this came from. I just wanted to to fiddle with some dialog fiction. It is certainly tied to the hard feelings floating around the various social media sites. America is angry, afraid, and totally off  center. I imagine confrontations like this between friends, relatives, and strangers are unfolding every day somewhere in this country. 

_____________________

I dubbed around taste testing various songs. Songs about the grocery store, songs about confrontation. I traveled through so many genres, my brain became addled and locked up. ......... I took a break, then hit the music from my collection of burned CD's. ...... Didn't help.

Out of the smoke came a song from my past, the first song I ever heard while standing behind the speaker stacks at a concert that I was working for. To say I was floating 10 feet in the air that day would indeed be an understatement. My first tour with SHOWCO was the last leg of the Who's, North American "By the Numbers "Tour. I would drive many miles and back my rig in at many venues for SHOWCO. But no tour had the impact on me like that first tour. 

I wrote about the 2 day gig in Oakland here

Please enjoy the WHO and the song they opened with at every concert that tour. Here is "Won't Get Fooled Again". Sadly America has been fooled again. Hope for better days.

Ashamed of My Gender

Maybe back when I was young and numb I bought the lie that men were entitled to run this planet because they were, well, superior examples of the species over women. Luckily, my mom slapped that nonsense right out of my head early on. She was intelligent, definitely a match or foil, if you will, to the genius intellect my father was packing. 

Between the two of them I came into adulthood knowing women were men's equals and maybe even had an edge on them. Yeah, male chauvinistic behavior was rare in our house. It was often parodied, made fun of, etc. Never was serious male chauvinism passed on that gave me the impression women were inferior.

Admittedly, when hanging with the gnarly dudes, the rednecks, the bad boys, I tended to keep my mouth shut and sadly, sometimes even laughed at their degrading jokes and taunts. Then I got married. And its odd, and please don't tell my wife this, but in some respects I married my mom. Not the judgmental snobbish mom, but the intelligent, never suffer fools kindly mom. They are two peas uncomfortably existing in a different kinda pod. And I mean really, comparing Mom to my wife will not be taken kindly. My life might be in danger, .... SHH. Okay?

Over the decades that have made up my life, I have watched women make wonderful strides in bridging that gulf of subjugation and begin to take their rightful place next to, and not behind men. Progress was slow, but it was somewhat steady. As women made gains, the the chest pounding men became increasingly nervous. Now, in this new century, too many of them have turned into total assholes and are doing their best to undo years of efforts to bring women up to equal status with them.

I have been upfront about my feelings regarding women and how they have been treated for the last 40-45 years at least. I never really was able to put into words just how I felt in a clean, brief, to the point way.

Yesterday, I came across the Neil deGrasse Tyson meme above on Facebook. Yesterday, I responded and nailed down how I felt about the lopsided advantage men have over women:

There you have it. An in your face traitorous denial of the feelings too many men still harbor about women. I am just sick of backing assholes who still consider women chattel. They are not. At this point in time, they are better than men. It is men who need to rise to their level, not the other around.

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

___________________________

I sifted through  more than a few songs, looking for one that at least gave me a feeling it supported where my head was at when I wrote the post. I found it. It is simply called "The Journey to Women's Rights", by Shivani & Reedhi. The tune is catchy and the lyrics salient. The message is on target. Too bad it will most likely Fall on deaf ears. ...... Enjoy !

Led Zeppelin 1977 North American Tour ~ San Diego - Part ll Tattoos, Scooters, Avocados & Tequila

Part One - Here

Led Zeppelin's 1977 North American Tour landed in San Diego a few days ahead of the scheduled June 19th show. Having made the run from Madison Square Garden in impressive time, the first two trucks took only a little over 51 hours to drive the 2770 plus miles. The other four trucks were all accounted for by the next day. 

That left more than enough time for the truck drivers to find trouble if they were so inclined. The old saying "Idle Hands..." was never truer than during those couple of days before the San Diego show. The Devil got busy when we hit San Diego.

Usually tour schedules did not allow as much free time as the drivers enjoyed during the 1977 Zep tour. With an extra driver assigned to each truck combined with longer drive time allowances, the tour became a vacation compared to any other tour I had been on. Higher hotel bar charges resulted as bad ideas and troublemaking plans began forming in earnest. The tour from start to finish had seen madness unfold, some of it self inflicted, most it seemed at the behest of the "what can go wrong gods". San Diego was following the rhythm track laid down back in the beginning of the tour.

After that first night of non moving sleep, I was full of piss and vinegar the next morning and ready for some downtime with no trucks, no roadies, no drivers; just me, myself and I. As the day played itself out, I was glad I had detoured down that fork in the road I had in mind. 

Most of the drivers decided on starting out "tourist mode". Cabs were called and small groups set off to various ports of call around the city. The crew I was with headed to the seedy, where all the sailors flocked, part of the Mission Bay district. All kinds of fun could be found at reasonable cut throat prices. Women, Tattoos, Tittie Bars, and Greasy Spoons all in one convenient location competing for the coins in our pockets.

By mid morning I was half in the bag from drinking 3 or 4 Bloody Mary's with breakfast. Our first stop after was Tattoo Alley. Some of us wanted to get tattoos. Others were just along for support. I had planned to support, but I left the parlor sporting a 3 inch caterpillar Huffing on a Hookah. 

The image is not even a close approximation of the tattoo I walked out with. I had chosen a tattoo from the bargain list; one color and cheap. If memory serves, I might have paid as little as ten bucks for it. I had the guy etch the tat on my back so I wouldn't have to regret it in the morning.  One of the drivers from Texas commented as we left the place, "I've seen better tattoos in Jail." 

That was alright. I had succeeded in satisfying one of my early kid bucket wishes. I had lusted after tattoos since seeing the tats on the crusty old non-coms at the several Air Force Bases where I spent my early years. When they rolled up their sleeves, the tattoos let you know these were real men, manly men. I was determined to own at least one. It was Pirates and Veins in my teeth stuff Dude. Who wouldn't want a tattoo?

We began our aimless shuffling after leaving the tattoo parlor looking for that next adventure. Someone suggested renting motor scooters at a rental place down the street. I remember thinking this might not turn out well as I was halfway to shitfaced at that point. It was early afternoon, and having an accident on a scooter did not seem like a fun way to finish what was turning out to be a wonderful day. I opted out, called a cab and bailed as catcalls of , "You're a pussy, You have no balls"  followed me into the cab..

The cab dropped me at the Mission Bay Hilton.  Two young women approached me. The conversation may have gone like this:

"So, are you with the Zeppelin Tour?"

I would like to think my response was as cool as I felt in my SHOWCO Zep shirt and aviator sunglasses, but I probably mumbled something like:

"Uh, yeah. ....I drive a truck on the tour..... Why?"

One of the girls said:

"Well cowboy, we want to take you out."

Just like that, I found myself with a joint in my mouth and I was seated between the two of them in a beat up mid 1960s Chevy pickup with Kansas plates. On an 8-track player behind the seat, Zep's first album rocked us out as we  headed north on Interstate 5 a ways before splitting off  onto Hwy 101 south to head back towards Mission Bay and the hotel. 

The women did all the talking. Denise was driving. Her side kick butt dancing at shotgun was named Ellie. They were from Topeka and they had time to kill. They figured they'd try to stay ahead of the West Coast leg of the tour. I was their first victim. 

The rest of my day became a fantasy unforeseen.  I never imagined a day like this would ever actually land in my existence. I was with good looking women my age who wanted to have a good time. I hoped I was up to it. 

We drove south on Rte. 101 for awhile smoking the joint. At a stoplight, a kid in a straw hat was walking up and down the shoulder selling avocados by the dozen. Ellie waved a  five dollar bill: 

"Will this cover it?"

He smiled, took the five and handed her a bag with a dozen Avocados in it; then tried to give her some change.

"Keep it", and we sped off.

When we were back in the Mission Bay area, Denise  pulled into a drive through liquor store. 

"So, what goes with Avocados anyway."

Ellie spoke right up.

"Fish tacos and Tequila". She pointed across the highway to a food truck sporting a huge sign that informed all motorists this was the spot to find fish tacos.

I spoke up. "Never had fish tacos. They any good?"

Ellie said, "I haven't a clue. We're from Topeka ferchrisakes. Let's try them out."

Denise ordered a bottle of Cuervo Gold tequila. We crossed the highway and parked near the food truck. With our tacos, tequila and avocados, we set ourselves up on a picnic table nearby. 

I don't know about most fish tacos, but the ones we set our teeth into that evening were awesome. The sauce they used on their tacos set off a gastronomical pleasure party in my mouth. I could tell the girls were in heaven also. I opened the bag of avocados, pulled out my pocket knife and opened one up.

A conversation began between myself and the women about whether Avocados tasted better than they looked up close and personal. It took some convincing, but Denise finally took a small piece from me and reluctantly put it in her mouth. Immediately her hand came back wiggling her fingers. She wanted more.

"Damn cowboy, these are great....... How come you know avocados but not fish tacos."

"My mom. Wherever we moved when I was a kid, she found a way to get avocados."

I think we were at "Dog Beach", a beach set up for the pooches to run, cavort, and be the loose dogs they were meant to be. There were certainly a lot people out with their mutts while we watched and consumed our fish tacos, avocados and shots of Cuervo Gold Tequila.

By the time we had eaten the tacos and half of the avocados, the shots of tequila began to have their way with us. The sun was setting. I wanted to lay down; I was suddenly struck with a case of the whirlies. Too much alcohol, too much pot and on top of a full stomach, well, I was going to be in trouble if I didn’t lay down. So I did under the lone palm near the picnic table.

Denise and Ellie followed me over fussing about my condition. Did I feel okay? Was I going to puke or something? One of them left us for a moment and came back with two huge blankets. They spread the blankets out and both of them plopped their butts down all the while trying to entice me into joining them. Laying in the sand had to be uncomfortable they reckoned. For my part, I was feeling no pain. All I could think of was I needed to hold it together. 

It took a few moments, but I recovered enough to join the girls on the blankets The sun was still peeking over the horizon. Ellie handed me a shot and we all toasted being in San Diego and being young and numb. There were no cares considered that night. We were gloriously drunk and stoned. Life was never better. We sat on those blankets and eventually passed out, sleeping the night away only to be awakened by the beach raking guy the next morning. 

The girls dropped me at the hotel. I told them they could pick up back stage passes later. They waved and Denise hollered,  "We got your room number now. We'll be back later."

MEANWHILE

After I had bailed from the crew the day before, events got really out of hand. Apparently, the drivers decided it was a good idea to do some bar hopping with the scooters. I do not know how many bars they hit, but it was definitely more than one too many. 

While I was sitting at a concrete picnic table with two good looking women, tossing back shots of tequila and watching the Sun disappear into the Pacific Ocean, the scooter crew were being corralled by the cops and hauled off to jail. They had cut a swath of minor damages and close calls throughout downtown San Diego, the area around Broadway in particular.

Their scooter mania cost them plenty. Thankfully, it was only folding money they had to pay. But it could have cost them so much more had they not been hooked up to the Zep Tour. The hit and run charges were dropped. Any DUI charges were overlooked. They hadn't really taken anything or anyone out with the scooters. Most the damage was of a side swipe careening damage. The powers that be just wanted the tour out of town with as little negative publicity as possible. The drivers involved had some costs, some fines for damages and such. They were all back at the hotel when I came in after my night of tequila and avocados.  Some were even back in the hotel bar getting tuned up again for another loud night in San Diego.

I often think of that time in San Diego with the Zeppelin Tour. A magical night of drunken companionship kept me out of jail. I would run into the girls again up in Los Angeles. Our relationship changed dramatically then. 

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

______________________________

The morning after our night on the beach, Ellie, who was charged with taking care of the music, put on an 8-track with the Eagles 1973 album "Desperado". When "Tequila Sunrise" came on, the terrible voices of a very hung over trio belted out the tune. Damn, that was funny. I think I actually stayed in tune better than the two women did. 

Anyway, here is "Tequila Sunrise, by the Eagles.

Bad Dream

It was bound to happen. But I never thought it would be because of a conversation Bike Shop Jim and I had the other day. He sent me a text concerning a wheel build issue he was having. It felt good to be consulted; even better that my suggestion may have helped.

It should have ended there. And it did end here in the waking Reality I functioned in day to day. It was in the murky fog enshrouded alternate universe I spent sleeping in that allowed the demons loose to have their way with me. 

Most of the time I sleep unscathed and oblivious to the misadventures my brain conjures up. Not this afternoon however. This afternoon, my afternoon nap lost control. ..........

I came in on the dream after the initial fuzzy moments had already moved on. I had just finished re-spoking a wheelset. The customer came to pick up the wheelset. A heated conversation ensued over what price I promised in the initial estimate and what I was charging now. He called me a crook and said he wasn't paying. He followed up by insisting he was still entitled to the wheelset, new spokes and all.

This clown was a get over guy, a con man. I just knew it; I could tell every word that passed his lips was slippery, butter wouldn't melt in his mouth, sleazy rhetoric and most likely was a lie. I found the estimate, shook it in his face, balled it up and threw it at him. Not happy to stop there, I took the brand new re-spoked wheelset out of his hands, tossed the wheels on the floor and stomped the brand new spokes right out of the them.

In the meantime, the customer and a sidekick grabbed a thrashed Barco-lounger I had in the back corner of the bike shop and ran out the back door with it. I chased, flinging harsh and threatening words about what I was going to do should I catch you, you sleazy fucks.

Out at their vehicle, the customer comes into better focus. It is Donald Fucking Trump. His sidekick I still don't identify. I am in a rage now and ................ police are called, I end up in handcuffs for why I am not sure. As the cops drive me away, my last glimpse of Trump is him sporting that shit eating smirk on his face he so likes to use.

__________________

This is the first dream I have had with the Orange Shit Gibbon as the main character. In the last decade of him polluting the political conversations,  I have no memory of him haunting me in my sleep. It had to happen I guess.

I admitted long ago that Trump owned part of my brain. I couldn't quite get him out of it, so I owned it, went with it, always hoping for relief. Ten years of allowing him rent free space in my mind is long enough; too long actually. I never should have let him in. 

I'll figure this out. I always have. Fuck Trump. I bet a shrink would have a field day with this dream.

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

_____________________________ 

Google "Songs about Dreams" and what pops up are entirely too many songs to pick from. My first choice was the Everly Brothers, then Roy Orbison and then  ........ I tasted 20 tunes at least. It finally came down to choosing between "Sweet Dreams are made of this", by the Eurhythmics or "Enter Sandman". by Metallica. "Sandman" is about fear and nightmares." Sweet Dreams are made..." is about, well, I am not quite sure. Couldn't make up my mind, so I picked "Dreams", by the Cranberries" just so I could end the debate going on in my head. 

Enjoy ...................

Celebrate

I long ago gave up wondering why people decide that everything has to have its own day, even if it means sharing it with another undeserving thing.

Today is "National Peanut Butter Day" and  "The Farmer's Almanac" thinks we should all take a 30 second moment of silence as we cover our hearts, remove any head wear, and stop scratching our crotches, in order to pay Peanut Butter a modicum of respect. After all, it's the least we can do; way less than what Peanut Butter deserves, that's for sure. 

This recognition of something so common as peanut butter got me to wondering just what other mundane, common, almost invisible thing could or would share this day, or for that matter, any day.

I decided to take a minute or two to exhaustively search through at least two Google hits and get right back to you with my well researched conclusions...... Be right back.

After a 30 second slog through the mire we know as Google, I have found that January 24 is not just a day of celebration for Peanut Butter, but the 24th is "National Beer Can Appreciation Day" and "National Compliment Day".

I decided that finding 3 days in 30 seconds was where I get off. If I keep looking, before the day is through, I will have too many things to celebrate and it will be time to hit the hay. 

So I'll just stop here and celebrate. I won't celebrate Peanut Butter, Beer Cans or the lost art of Complimenting. I'll just celebrate because I can.

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

_____________________________

Only one song will do. Here is Kool & the Gang with "Celebration". Back before good sense and sobriety kicked in, I tipped back many a shot when I heard this song.

Dangerously Pink - Revisited

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

________________

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

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

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

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

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

*** Artwork by Norman Engel

___________________________

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

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

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

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

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

Led Zeppelin and San Diego - Part One

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Bet's off. You cheated."

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

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

Rick smiled and said:

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

Rick's grin widened:

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

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

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

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

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

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

End of Part One 

____________________

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

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

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

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

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

The Bottom Bracket

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Well, now that you...."

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

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

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

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

"Okay"

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

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

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

Dave was still looking at the floor.

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

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

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

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

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

Before Dave could finish his thought, I interrupted him:

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

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

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

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

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

Remain calm. Dreams may come true but so what? 

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

Ticket On an Airplane

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Cone of Shame

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Keep your fingers crossed.

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

Howl at the Moon Tonight

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Satanic Influences

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tears to Embrace

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

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

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

Luke

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

Even painful tears can and should be occasionally embraced.

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

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

Educational TV of the 1950s

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Enjoy.

Old Dogs in a New Year

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh Well.

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