A Seinfeld Post

It was music and a daily suggestion greeting me on my computer the other day that broke the Facebook silence I have been enjoying most of this month. A Bobby McFerrin pop hit from way back in someone's day and now lost in the current lexicon of music that sold out to the Man; well, it popped up somehow from somewhere, maybe on the TV,  the radio or just came to mind. 

Hmm.......

If truth be told or not, I am feeling a stream of consciousness day coming into view. Go with the flow, no matter where it came from or where it is set to go. Just latch on with a firm grip and enjoy the fucking ride; Or not; or maybe, do whatever blows my dress up. For you see, I have nothing better to do than ignore that bothersome and nagging list of honey do, honey don't duties that exist on some honey's list I never read, met nor wanted to. 

It all depends on the type of day I want, a productive one or an introspective deep dive into the swamp of mindless goo that swirls in and out with the tide in my mind....... Whew! 

Not making sense is harder than it looks. The hard earned lessons of the many grammar nazis in my past, make it difficult for me to write wild like I used to. I have to think about it, not just feel it; all because I now anguish over composition dos and don'ts more than seems sane.; or fun for that matter. ....... 

Fun. ..... What is fun? A cover all word that covers participating in anything we enjoy doing; whether it be toil ending productivily or just ending with grins. Fun is what we make of it, do to it, do with it. If it brings Joy, do it as much as possible, even if that Joy in the end, makes us sad.

Sadness can rock too. Sadness can purge the stockpile of petty concerns that haunt us everyday. Or it can make them worse. It seems we need both, sadness and joy. Well, it does appear we can't have one without a regular dose of the other. The trick I guess is to look for one and accept the other. They both helped make us what we have become. ..........

What we have become? A matter of perception I imagine. I have only my own view of what I have become, by mindless reflection of what I have done, not done, thought about getting done, thought about not getting done, and what I vowed I would never get done and to date still have yet to get done. What the "collective we" have become is what we always become; a loose consortium of good actors, bad actors; actors who help others and actors who exploit others. Something tells me no matter what system of disorganization we conjour up, those realities will always hold true. They are embedded in our cultural DNA, cast in stone by eras and ages of treating each other like shit.

Which makes me wonder, just how the Hell did we make it this far? The future seems sketchy at best given how comfortabe humanity seems living on all these precipices and lines we should never cross. And because we can't help ourselves, we always settle where the flow leaves us. Somehow we come out of the self inflicted madness smelling like roses. .............

After protracted and tortuous times being our own worst enemies, I expect we will again come out into the daylight and there will be no roses to smell. Odds seem to get shorter, the longer they are in play.

It might be a good idea to start paying attention to what we are doing to ourselves.

< ~ >

I wrote this post in one big breath; no paragraphing, no spell checking ( mine is broken anyway), no thought given to any theme of any kind. Yeah, it was a big rambling chunk of words, that once I took that breath and re-read my jibberish, I couldn't stand it. I could feel the long dead grammar nazis from my past hanging over my shoulder, breathing hot and sweaty condemnations in both ears about the Hell I would endure in Grammier Hell, as I would be tasked to diagram every sentence in the US Constitution. ...... Over n over. ( It was the History nuts who threw in the clause about the Constitution. )

I decided I had to clean it up some; tossed in some paragraphs; tossed in some minimal spell checking, and shifted around some commas and periods; came up with the catchy title, "A Seinfeld Post" and voila! I was finally done.

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

_______________________

Hang in............. I have abruptly been blocked from the stream that flowed so furiously only minutes ago. ............  Finally, I picked a tune, came up with a title collage that took almost as much time as the damn post. ....... 

"Child in Time" - Deep Purple - First released 1970 - AI enhanced music video - Recently released or close to it.

How Does One Learn to Write Well?

I was exposed to the basics of writing in Grade School. By the time I left High School, I had a working knowledge of the nuts and bolts found in the discipline. It took years of intermittent scribbling before I began to notice I was becoming a better writer than I used to be.

I started a blog, "Lost in the BoZone" in 2004. At the time I considered the blog a passing fancy. After 20 years, it is apparent it not just something I just did for awhile. I am committed now. I give my attention to my blog all the credit for the major strides in improving my writing. Through the act of repetition, words began to come easier and often fell together in line just as I imagined they could.

I call writing a discipline because, if I have learned one thing, having a modicum of discipline and tenacity is what  helped me find a voice that could on occasion. make some sense.

But that was not the question, was it? 

How to write well hints are in short supply in my brain. I have come a long way since those clumsy essays, book reports, and the rambling bullshit I used in my blue book tests. If I couldn't dazzle them with my knowledge, I would beat them down with my bullshit.

There are a Gajillion Internet hook ups to find so called experts. For a small or not so small fee, they will turn you into the Stephen King you always wished, hoped, prayed you could be.

( Um, I have to interrupt this ever so fascinating opinion forming before your very eyes, but just the other day, I wanted to use the word "Gajillion" in a post. I have been trying to rein in my free range writing style so to produce a more acceptable, often boring style of writing that might please 7th grade English teacher, Ms Stanton. So. I punched up "Gajillion" and there on the screen, Gajillion was now an accepted almost real word which one definition claimed - "means more than a few". ....... So, there you have it. ...... In your face Ms Stanton. ............... Never mind...... Now, back to the points of the post I hope)

Earlier this AM, I watched Maggie go through her after breakfast rituals. She peed in one area, then moved deeper into the pucker to poop and finally it was time to check out the compost pile. Maggie is nothing if not predictable. As I sat on the compost bench out back, I caught a few tokes, sipped coffee, watched Maggie and thought about Writing Well.

The idea of  "Writing Well" is a fuzzy question with a fuzzy answer. Writing Well is really two things. There is the accepted grammatical conditions some might consider the barometer of good writing. But Grammatically correct writing only gets you in the ballpark. Good writing, in my opinion, is when someone reads something you wrote says, "Wow, that was awesome". 

When many people read your writing;  I guess that is what all of us who struggle along as so much pack fodder yearn for. I do not consider commercial success as a writer in this scenario. Much of what is printed is not "Well Written". It is "Adequately Written". 

I have to conclude then that the idea of "Writing Well" is in the eye of the person writing, while at the same time, also in the eyes of those who read those written words. I have no clue as to how well written my words are. I am fairly sure I am average and that's okay. I definitely write for my own satisfaction first and foremost. That some folks might find my words occasionally interesting is but icing on my cake.

I cannot advise anyone how to write like Steinbeck, Asimov or Mark Twain. What I do know is, anyone willing to be tenacious, patient, and self critical; they will most likely become better writers. So, stick with it. 

To all who have visited me here these past 20 plus years............. Thank You.

___________________________

The musical choice today will not have any purposeful connection to the post. I am going to begin listening to ............... Wait! 

The first song I played will most likely blow anything I might have had in mind out of the water. Here is, uh, not sure if this is the band or the tune, but here is "Penguins Groove in the Dark". It is the longest piece of music I have ever included with a blog post. The claim is, this 3 hour playlist of Jazz will increase "Creative Focus & Productivity".

All I know is, I am jumping in my chair, tapping my feet and listening to the sweet sounds of horns, drums and pianos, all rockin hard to burn down the joint. ......... My dad would love this. 

Just excellent! What a great find! ...........You are welcome.

The Future is a Hoax

 

I didn't feel very good yesterday. It wasn't anything specific, I just felt out of sorts I guess.

Age related? Nah. The same old aches and growing infirmities were the same ole, same ole's of recent years. I just did not feel right; or maybe I just did not feel right in my own skin for a time. Call it a moment of readjustment and I just needed a day to work out some wrinkles that pop up from time to time.

Yeah, it felt like wrinkle time; a feeling I have dealt with on an erratic, yet recurring cycle throughout my life. It was a familiar kind of out of sorts, one I recognized too late to fight. But then did I even want to fight it? After all, I had been here in this frame of mind before and I always came out of it fine....... next day fine usually.

And here it is the next day. The planet is still spinning, the humans are still insane, and I am back safely ensconced in  what I consider my normal frame of mind. And normal is just fine.

I have recently stepped up my blog writing. I have done it not so much to reach any specific audience, nor even reach myself for that matter. I am writing more because it soothes me, calms me down, and sharpens my focus. The time I spend taking a blog post from one end of the creation process to the final product, I am in my own world, free of the overwhelming Bullshit and pettiness of the Reality I exist in along with everyone else on the planet. 

When I write, either fiction or just commentary, I am in a safe place like when I read a book. The outside world is stripped away leaving a blank canvas for me or my chosen author to create a new imagination or momentary delusion for me. All that matters in that moment, that instant, is how what I am doing makes me feel. Self aggrandizement maybe? If so, so what?

Which brings me to another Facebook meme I came across yesterday. It is about living Life, not for the future, but for the now, this instant, not tomorrow. 

I had probably heard of Alan Watts back in my psychoactive drugging days. He was a 20th Century philosopher who was a force behind moving Zen and Buddhism in from the fringes of Mainstream and giving them some everyman cred in Western thought.

The little research I have done on him makes me want to check out some of his writings and also some of his lectures as he was a regular on some California Dreaming station in Berkeley back in the 1960s. He experimented with LSD in 1958 and spent some time smoking Pot. What he said of his psychoactive experience and why he stopped was:

"If you get the message, hang up the phone. For psychedelic drugs are simply instruments, like microscopes, telescopes, and telephones. The biologist does not sit with eye permanently glued to the microscope, he goes away and works on what he has seen."

There are hundreds of his lectures and radio broadcasts available online. He wrote over twenty books. The man was a prolific communicator. And now after listening to one of his short lectures, "The World is an Illusion", he definitely has an ability to explain stuff in ways I would never have thought of. 

Yes, I will hopefully check into more about Mr. Alan Watts. But maybe not. After all, according to Alan,

 ".... the future is a hoax."

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

___________________________

I had another tune picked for this post. Then I found a personally up until recently unknown Van Morrison tune, "Madame George". I have always admired his music, his musicianship, his lyrical composition. Yes, he will always be in the top tier of my musical quiver. "Madame George" is now maybe my new all time favorite of his. It came out in 1968, which begs the question how did I miss it? .... Hmm... I started missing a lot back then I guess.

Anyway, please enjoy the song. And if you like I have attached a link to the lyrics....... they are awesome and you can find them HERE.

Can Spiders Hear You Scream?

I was punching out the beginning of a hopefully wry and funny post about Donald Trump, his licensed products, and how stupid his minions are for buying into his scams. Then my wife came into the office. She was all done up in her ready to go to work attire. She had her CPA satchels and bags hanging off both shoulders. And best of all, she had that serious "you asshole" look on her face.

"Just to let you know; another one of your eight legged friends is in the bathroom. He only lived because I saw him between the shower curtains while I was showering. When I was ready too hunt him down, he was gone. Get him out or he dies the next time I see him."

"Uh, if I am correct, most spiders we see are female." I grinned. 

All I got was a terse, " That's as it should be. Might be a good idea for humans also ..... Get it out, I have to go. See you later." She turned and left the office.

Hey, a man has to find his fun where he can. 

There are two areas of the house that my darling wife will not tolerate spiders; the kitchen and the bathroom. I would say she is not exactly afraid of them. She just hates them. And she will pull out all the stops to kill one. I, on the other hand, love the little bastards. Over the years I have cherished their existence in any home I have lived in. I did and still do what I can to protect them from the evil humans who would do them harm.

As I was on the hunt to find this animal who had had the audacity to break the morning calm and bathroom routine of my darling significant other, I wondered if Spiders could hear. I remembered someone telling me they couldn't. They did not have ears. I vowed to embark on a ten second trip through google-land once I had the offending spider in custody.

It was a very short hunt. Spiders look like they should be blessed with intelligence, what with all the eyes, the awesome set of mandibles and other scary rigging. Sadly, they are all show and no go. Slaves to instinct and tradition, they are single minded to a fault. If a spider decides that existing between two shower curtains is cool, that is where you will most likely find them next time you look. And this particular type of brown spider I have learned loves living in and around sinks. A bath tub is just a big sink. Our little criminal must have thought she had hit the jackpot. 

I spent more time finding a glass and stiff piece of paper than the time it took to trap my little friend. I took a moment for a mug shot in case she fails in her effort to learn to live in the wild and reappears in the future. I also spoke to her about how stupid it was to test my wife. You don't win when engaging my life partner in battle. I even showed the little bastard my scars. (Okay, Okay, that was bullshit, but the spider couldn't tell. She didn't know a scar from a pimple ferchrisakes) She did seem impressed. I think I saw her blink.

Once Ms. spider was safely behind glass, I took her down to the garage and released her into the Wild. It is a jungle down there. And there is a sink to cozy up to. But she better be careful. That sink has been occupied by one of her kind forever.

Back in my office, tuckered and tired from that exhausting safari to rid my home of a dangerous predator, I was feeling heroic when I googled;

"Do spiders have ears?"

It turns out spiders do not have ears. But they can hear just fine. The listen by feeling sound vibrations through the infinite number of hairs that cover their bodies. Pretty clever set up I think. 

So yes, spiders can hear you scream. But don't be a nancy. Talk to them nice. They might just not eat you that night.

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

BTW - I emailed my wife a confirmation pic of the spider under arrest. A man has take his fun where he finds it.

___________________________

I need a tune that represents spiders. This should be interesting. ....... 

Actually finding a good tune was not too much of an issue. There are too many tunes with "spiders" in their title. I had to check quite a few until I found Rainne and her song, "Spiders". The video is kind of cool too.

Reading

Another question post passed through my feed on Facebook awhile ago. I donated 2 or 3 seconds of my ever present poor attention span and considered its worth. If the posts don't grab me by then, I'm quickly a scrolling fool again. This one stopped long enough that now an hour later I am still thinking about it.

What Books Have Changed Your Life?

At first I followed directions and tried to think of the books that might have changed my life. In my mind I began to line up previous books I had read in my past. More than few held up their hands, some even shook those hands while screaming, "Pick me, Oooh ooh pick me".

As the line became longer and the titles grew more loudly anxious to be at the top of the list, I decided there was no one book I could point to that changed my life. I can only imagine their disappointment and all the expletives mumbled  as they returned to the back rows they ran down from.

Not being able to answer the question quickly and with assurance that this was the book does not mean there was no book. It means that I was caught flat footed by the question with no quick answer at the ready.

I made coffee, finished emptying the dishwasher and considered what I would surprise my wife with for dinner. I smiled then at the thought of me cooking. It doesn't happen as often as it should I guess and when it does, thankfully, I often pull it off. It would be a bitch to cook and fail. I'd be a real sad sack then. ....

Back on track Mike........ Jeezum.

I decided that it was not a book but learning to read a book that changed my life. A fact I have taken for granted these past 70 years. Of all the things I learned, how to swim, drive a car, and how to properly wear a holster when playing cowpokes and indian folks, reading is without a doubt the most valuable tool I picked up to help me make it from the cradle to the grave. 

But if I was cornered and had to pick the one book that changed my life, ................... It would be the first book I read out loud for one or both of my parents. According to the story my mom told me, I read "Little Engine" out loud before I was four. I think though, the truth of it might be that I had memorized the text after having it read to me multiple times multiple times before I was asked to read it myself. And again maybe not.

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

_____________________

Music for this post is "Paperback Writer" - the Beatles. Enjoy the memories.

Another Free Thinker

Made the mistake of stopping for just two minutes in front of the TV this morning as I prepared the morning pet repast. I heard the most recent failed Winger slogan, "Lets go Brandon". I always get a chuckle when the Winger chuckle heads come out with what they consider another Libtard owning idea, saying, or incredibly stupid crazier than any before conspiracy theory. 

I know in the scheme of Winger nonsense, "Let's go Brandon" doesn't even ring a bell. It is a wink, wink, nod, nod smile, gotcha slogan that only has wings flying around in the local internet cesspools where the self inflicted stupidity of the Winger homelands is obsessed over. 

I had forgotten about it until Joe and Jill Biden's Merry Christmas call with an Oregon father of four went viral.  Pleasantries and good tidings were exchanged between the Bidens and Jared Schmeck. Before they both signed off, Jared blurted, "Let's go Branden".

Of course the tight asses among the elite of the Left got huffy and righteously indignant. Many mounted their high horses. Meanwhile, the slack jawed coalition of the Right laughed uproariously. Everyone it appears got something out of it. What caught my attention though was the follow up to this interaction.

Jared decided he needed to clarify his remarks . He felt they had been taken the wrong way. Insisting he meant no disrespect, he followed with this:

    "Schmeck said he’s not a “Trumper,” but described himself as “free-thinking             American and follower of Jesus Christ.”   

The contradiction in his assertion caught me and I immediately thought that following Christ meant one had given up their ability to freely think. I know that the Thumpers and Trumpers will contend I am wrong and they are free to think that. But this incongruity does not jibe with my understanding of the term "Free Thinking". Apparently Jared Schmeck's notion of free thinking does not mesh well with it either. At least three well regarded internet dictionaries have this to say:

• Dictionary.com -  a person who forms opinions on the basis of reason, independent of authority or tradition, especially a person whose religious opinions differ from established belief.
• Merriam-Webster - a person who thinks freely or independently : one who forms opinions on the basis of reason independently of authority; Especially one who rejects or is skeptical of religious dogma
• Cambridge Dictionary - forming your own opinions and beliefs, especially about religion or politics, rather than just accepting what is officially, or commonly believed and taught 

I have tried to find some way to include "free thinking" with religious belief. At best all I can come with for the free thinkers who rely on religious dogma to frame their life, is they might be called "semi-free thinkers".  And it would only apply to those who follow the spirit of the Bible or Quran and not the hard core literal translations. 

In my opinion, free thinkers generally do not fit well into the boxes religion nails around them. I know from my own struggles as a kid before I tossed organized religion out of my life, the narrow path set out by religion for me to follow did not allow me the freedom to consider that all things are possible not just that which is laid down in a book written by folks who are more interested in controlling me than setting me free.

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

_________________________________

Today's musical interlude  - Fat Bottomed Girls - Queen.  After all, the World is nothing without them.

Puke Salad - Revisited

I am amazed at the ingenuity humans use to combine simple mundane ingredients, cook them and then serve them as gastronomical wonders that please tongues everywhere. How many failed recipes did Humanity have to suffer through to find the ones that separated food from just a survival tool into the dishes we have loved to get fat on?

Other than the folks who cannot get past the look of this wonderful dish, I have never met anyone who did not enjoy it. So, because of the interest shown in my wife's Puke Salad, I offer up the recipe she got from her first mother in law. It is so simple, it smacks as a recipe found on the back of a Jello box. So I doubt it has noble roots going back hundreds of generations or anything. But I bet it sticks around for the next hundred generations .............. If we last that long.

Enjoy. And while you are at it,

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

We Can't Know What We Don't Know

I recently vowed to no one in particular I would not react to the viral stupidity our elected leaders practice day in and day out. But again, that rolling train wreck that is the GOP these days is constantly shoved in my face on any number of media outlets I would happen to glance at or listen to. The barrage of lunacy pouring out of GOP mouths and propaganda sites is impossible to avoid. Some of the nonsense always slithers through even the best of defense mechanisms.

This morning was no different.

I made the mistake of turning the TV on before I had successfully grounded myself after a tumultuous night of bizarre dreams. Before the video even came into focus, these were the first words I heard,

"We can't know what we don't know."

I knew the words were the regurgitations of a GOP butt licker of some kind; either a drone, or one of their eloquent leaders. Words this profound could never come from any other source. The Right has been formalizing and manipulating stupidity and lunacy into a fine art over the last  two or three decades anyway.

Those words should have been my warning that upcoming moments I wish had back were about to be wasted by stopping my morning routine to find out what Einstein came up with that bit of wisdom.

Apparently this happened during a debate among GOP candidates for governor of Minnesota. The question was simple, point blank, with apparently no wiggle room. It begged for either a Yes or a No answer. With Politicians though, no question is ever really asking for a yes or no answer.

The question was,  "Do you think Biden won the election?"

And the response of one of them was, "We can't know what we don't know." 

The video part of the news piece finally caught up to the audio and on the screen there stood a very earnest looking man, clean cut, and clear eyed. With no trace of irony in his voice, he repeated,

"We can't know what we don't know."

Indeed sir. Well played. You surely clarified your stand on the recent election. I look forward to more of that kind of drivel in our next encounter.

I turned off the TV and came in to cry on someone's shoulder. Didn't matter who, just someone who could prove to me the inmates have not really taken over the asylum.

Oh well..... All we ever really can do is .........

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

________________________________  @400 words

PS - a new feature on the BoZone is hopefully a regular posting of music I have loved, music I have discovered, and music that made me cry.

Today's choice is Spooky Tooth's best ever cover of  "I am a Walrus" written by John and Paul of the Beatles. I wore out my first copy of this album back in the early 1970's.

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

Factory Defects

On Facebook this morning I ran across the image to the right. My usual routine is to read a comment or two before moving on with the more important duty of finding something truly deserving to be righteously indignant about.

This comment from Daryl caught my eye:

" Without it we cannot think, ........ "

Daryl was right of course. At first I felt a twinge of annoyance at the fact he felt it necessary to point out the obvious.  

My response were the first words that came to me after my knee jerked:

"Apparently there are many of us walking around with it either not installed or not turned on."

I would not normally share the off the cuff remarks I made on some social media site, but my words stuck with me. 

This meme helped me find some clarity regarding the current period of rampant stupidity that has apparently befallen the Human Race. I decided four decades ago that while technology was always going to innovate, the Human Species was not.  We were trapped in an evil spiral of devolution which has created a revolving scenario that causes us to make the same mistakes time and time again.

And now finally, I know why. We are re-populating the species with factory defects. Many are being born with no brains installed or the brains installed are not turned on before deployment. Either way means disaster unless headquarters gets it shit together. Time is running out.

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

The Perfect Joint and a Circle of Hippies

I was on You Tube looking for some "how to" videos a while back.  One video led to another, and before I knew it, I was watching  "The 10 things not to do with a Joint."  Funny how Google/You Tube manages to subvert your original search purpose by dangling enticing titles on the side bar.  Surely ten things not to do with a joint has to be of more import and interest than how to change a spark plug in a Jonesred chain saw or the best way to replace a rake handle.

Anyway, I punched up this tutorial about the author's notion of ten things not to do when handling, rolling, passing or smoking a joint.

While some of the hints and suggestions had merit, I could not get past the pitiful excuse of a joint the young ladies used as their main prop.  I watched in horror as fumbling tattooed  talons created what they obviously considered a righteous and acceptable smoke.

Is there no pride anymore in the artistry needed to roll a solid doob?  Where is the respect to all us aging hippies who perfected the techniques needed to produce a rail free joint that burned clean from first spark to that last ember burning the thumb and forefinger before dying a noble death?  Damn Kids.  No respect for tradition.

I perfected my joint rolling in military school rolling countless Bugler cigarettes in the dark of night to be consumed out of sight of upperclassman officers who wanted nothing less than to catch me with a butt and punish me ridiculously and embarrass me in front of my peers.  

 A pack of rolling tobacco was easier to hide than a pack of cigarettes. So when the commissioned officers came sniffing around with one of their snap inspections at dark thirty in the morning, I was usually safe.  I did get caught occasionally, but nowhere as often as some of my classmates.

So I graduated from high school and headed off to college. With my solid background in rolling cigarettes, it followed that I was a wiz when it came to twisting up a doob to pass around the circle. Just another face in the freshman crowd. It was not long before my joint rolling made me stand out.  I took pride in rolling a good joint and my results proved it.  My joints more often than not smoked evenly, were solid enough to stay together and were not so tight that getting a hit was like sucking a golf ball ball through a garden hose.

Along came 2nd semester and the speech class I signed up for.  Our final grade was based almost solely on our performance in three speeches.  I only remember the demonstration speech.  The other two are lost to the dust heap of historical doesn't matter.  The demonstration speech was one where we were tasked with not just speaking, but also physically demonstrating something we thought might be of interest to the class.

I agonized about this speech.  What was I going to demonstrate?  How to clean a M-1 rifle, another skill I acquired in military school?  Problem with that was I no longer had a M-1 rifle to use in my demonstration.  I voiced my dilemma out loud and all my roommate said was, "Teach em how to roll a joint.  You taught me."

Eureka! Problem solved. Waitng until the day before the speech actually worked out this time.  I was prepared by years of practice.  Now, all I had to do was write the words.

The next day, as I prepared my materials on the table at the front of the class, my introduction went something like:

"Fitting in in today's Hippie world takes more than the right tied dyed T shirt or Mother Earth sandals. If you want to hang with the long haired freaky people, having some basic skillsets in your quiver will go along way to cementing that relationship with that barefoot bra-less blond in the summer dress stuffing a flower in her hair. And while there are many things you can learn that will impress, nothing will create more admiration than rolling and passing the perfect joint in front of a circle of Hippies."

At this point I had all my materials ready.  I then began the process of rolling the perfect joint and explaining each part of the process so that anyone who paid attention could roll, if not the perfect joint, at least a passable one.  And though the instructor commented that my speech was inappropriate in a way he couldn't relate because he had never been faced with this kind of quasi illegal behavior. But he clapped, he smiled, and I got an A. Gotta love that Liberal Education.

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

Wish Us Luck

This morning on TV news, a supposed expert on crime said he and the rest of the experts had no idea the why violent crime stats have risen.  What came to my mind was it was not a Libtard conspiracy to turn us all into Comrades, not the stupid number of guns in the US, nor was it illegal immigration or pedophilia clubs run by Hilliary .

What came to my mind when I heard this guy say he had no idea was, "Damn dude, people are scared, angry, and oh so fuckin tired of being cooped up."  I went on to shout at the TV, "The current leadership and its insistence on fanning the flames of fear, hate and discontent is not helping either you asshole."  As usual, the TV ignored me, cheerfully continuing on its merry way spreading the latest serving of said hate and discontent.

Call it a perfect storm where three plus years of divisive and fearful rhetoric from Donald Trump ramped up to breakneck speed and was swallowed by a catastrophe that should have been foreseen and planned for, but was not.  And then everything really went to Hell in a hand basket because our leader couldn't think himself out of a wet T-shirt, let alone deal with a worldwide pandemic.  Mass ignorance and stupidity on the grandest of scale now has us by our short hairs.

Hang in there and wish us luck.

Smokin Joe Biden on Smokin Roaches Monday

I have been awake since 2:30 AM.   Not whinin nor braggin, just letting anyone interested know that I enjoyed a good wake n bake just as the Sun poked its lil head up in the East. I had 3 1/2 hours to think about the pros and cons.  I decided the pros outranked the cons.  Attitude adjustments should always be on the table.  Retirement definitely has its perks.

I have been waffling of late over which stellar Democratic candidate I would like to see in the White House instead of Putin's Bitch.  There are so many choices, it is hard for me to nail down one contender who makes me wet like Obama did.   In 2016, Hillary certainly did not make me swoon. But I voted for her because, well, I knew we would be in a world of hurt should The Donald take the helm.  As it turns out he is actually worse than any nightmare scenario I came up with prior to his election.  But I am getting off track ..........

So here I am trying to whittle the Democratic field of candidates down to a more manageable number, say down to two or three with Good ole Joe Biden as the default.  The prime objective for the 2020 election for me is to replace Trump and as many Republicans as possible.  They are nothing now but a gang of chimpanzees hatefully flinging their shit around.  Any notion of legislating and leading from the Right has disappeared completely.  In its place is the new-ish GOP doctrine of just say No, while whining like spoiled little brats.

I decided Mayor Pete was my current favorite after earmarking him six or so months ago as someone to watch..  There was and is no second place yet, but there is always Joe.  Good Ole Reliable Joe Biden had my back.  He would bring some class and ethics back to the Executive Branch.

Hmm........... A couple of months ago I noticed Joe didn't seem to have much spark.  Sure he was and is reliable and way more capable than the current POTUS.  But I was not as enthralled as I had been.  And then just, what, last week or so ago, he said in a speech that he would not support legalizing Pot because he was pretty sure it was a gateway drug.  Just "Pretty Sure Joe?

Good Ole reliable Joe Biden is now not even on my list.  He finally blew it for me.  Never mind that the whole "gateway drug" scenario is Bullshit anyway, his behind the times stance on almost anything keeps him from even entertaining the least progressive currents now gaining momentum on the Left.  It is time for Democrats to stop being afraid of the Right.

As the Right careens headlong towards its lunatic fringes, the Left should step off the fence and counter the Right by embracing more of the basic liberalism the Left used to stand for.

Remember ............. Let's work hard to Dump the Right in 2020.  They deserve a good spanking ...... No, they need a good spanking.

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

Anaxyrus americanus

Ran into this little guy on the trail across Sam Page in Mary's woods this morning.  He or she hopped into my leg as Maggie ran by us hurrying to whatever smell came next to the stupid canine.  So, I had my Kodak moment for the day without looking for one.  I like it when the image of the day just appears without any thought or planning on my part.

According to The Frog Lady, This little guy or gal is an American Toad, the only species of toad we have here in Maine.  I had one that lived in my basement and garage for over a decade.  He got so big, he could only manage a couple of inches when he hopped.  Eventually he could not make it up the three steps to the garage and I found him all shriveled up at the end of a winter.  Miss that little guy.

It would seem I only have a talent for snapping pictures of critters or plants too slow or stupid to beat feet when I am near.  I really like plants, they sit still for the most part.

So, its the slow, numb, and dumb I am able to chronicle.  And  and that's just fine. 

Remember, Life may be better under a Sunsetter

On the other hand, Life is worse in a hearse.

Don't Mow Til the Black Eyed Susans Come

I had written up an elaborate tale filled with near death escapes and being snatched and whisked away to another dimension.  All in an effort to get around the fact that what is really to blame is I had  become less than a slug, lower than a sponge clinging to a reef, but just above a comatose sloth.

It was just three or so days ago I took off the snowblower and attached the mower deck.

I know.  I know.  I have heard it all before.  I have rationalized it all before.  The fact is   I just hate mowing grass.

This year's excuse was,

"I don't want to mow until the Black Eyed Susans come."

My wife just rolled her eyes.  But you know what, I'm gonna go with it.  The picture tells me I'm right.  Besides, I want a new cover photo for FB.

Keep it 'Tween the Ditches ................................................

Crum's Law of Following Dogs

So, this past weekend we baby sat Lis and Mike's pets while they did who knows what down in the Philly Area.  While the experience has many cute pet tales to tell, it was an observation I made concerning removing dogs from my path when there was more than one.

After exhaustive study for 4 days I have determined ..... "It is 3 times harder to move 2 dogs out of one's way than it is to move one dog out of one's way."

Often when asked to move, they will look confused, wag their tales and in a default move, sniff each other's butt.  It is like they are saying, "I see your lips flappin, but I don't know what you mean."

Though these loyal fur bearing friends mean well, they will often fail to complete requested removal and instead, take you out at the knees.   If they were cats, I would be sure they did it on purpose.  But being Dumb and Dumber canines, they just cannot help themselves.  Dogs are goofus doofuses.  And that is what makes them so endearing.

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

Being Blessed

Despite my contention we all are going to Hell in a hand basket because we have put greedy self serving idiots in charge and despite the fact that the media apparently insists on focusing our attention in such a way as to come to the aforementioned conclusion, I will take a break and do my best to count my blessings.  It is Sunday after all.

The Old Testament God just harrumphed and scowled in my general direction.  The Jolly Life is Beautiful New testament God glanced down upon me with a beatific smile and then went back to playing checkers with St.Peter.

It might make more sense to count my blessings on Monday as Mondays usually are a tough day for most folks.  But hey, I'm retired.  There are no Mondays left in my life at the moment.  And that just may be a place to start counting my blessings - No more Mondays in my Life.

One down and many more to go.  .......... Uh, hmm, seems I am stuck.  Every blessing I come up with has an equalizing "bummer dude" attached that diminishes the impact of said blessing.  What to do?

The trick I think is to put the bummers out of mind.  Act as if they don't exist.  Smile just because.  Put my faith in some mythical being no one has ever seen and proceed through the rest of my days happy as if I had a brain.

Wish I could.  Casting aside the concerns I have accumulated over the last decade or two and acting as if they don't matter is not something I am able to do.

In lieu of going all Polly Anna on everyone, I figure that counting the blessings I have accumulated over the years without trying to balance them out with negative life moments is a healthy thing to do at least for a few minutes every week or so.  Don't want the mean ole guy frown to freeze in place.

So in an attempt to give Being Blessed a fair shake .........................

I ain't dead yet and anything that happened yesterday doesn't matter and we all end up in the same place anyway, so smile goddammit.  But most of all I am blessed that I can still have the fire of my youth to point out the error of our ways.  Bitching has a place as long as we chip away at correcting that which we bitch about.

Keep it 'tween the ditches ...................................................
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Sweet Maggie keeps me centered.  When she can't, my wife slaps some sense into me.

Fuck Trump

I have decided to try and write every day, either here or over to "BoZone ll", my fiction blog.  Now that I have lapsed and come back more than a few times, I find it easier to write when I am doing it regularly.  Long layoffs are not good for my brain.

The glitch is like "Pipe Tobacco" mentioned a few days ago on his blog, Trump's presence has really cramped my style.  Each time I sit down to write, most of the time my brain is not cleared of Trump stupidity and it is hard to think of something other than Trump to write about.

So, as Robert De niro said at the podium of the Tony Awards the other night, "Fuck Trump."

I will do my best to keep any mention of Trump to a minimum.  It will be difficult, but I think I can do it.

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

Hopefully this is the video of De niro at the Tony Awards.  I never assume my cut and paste skills are up to the task at hand.  We will see.

Mansions in Heaven

The Pew Warmer

For someone who scoffs at the notion there is actually a God who gives a shit about us and our petty lives, I sure think about religious stuff more often than one would think.  My feet are firmly planted on the maybe there is a God and maybe there is not fence. Why?  Well, this God has not introduced themself to me in person and basing my loyalty on faith is a crap shoot at best.


The Bible is the Lord's word written down by humans setting up a framework that neatly explains, excuses, and condemns every last one of us to the role of slack jawed minion to one of two masters.  I won't belabor the point, but I think organized religion is bullshit.  Done more damage over the ages than it has helped.

But that does not mean there is no Creator.

Regardless, the notion of Rapture has popped up it's silly head recently.  I checked my favorite Rapture website for the latest and well..................

Apparently, moving the US embassy to Jerusalem is another sign the End is just around the corner.

Add to that now we can expect China to invade the Middle East in our near futures with a 200 million man army, while Israel will ally itself with Russia to , well, I guess I am not really sure, but you can bet they are gonna whip someone's ass.

 Oh yeah, and Bill Gates is responsible for the latest Ebola outbreak in Africa.  This site has its fingers on the pulse of ........ hmm, not sure whose pulse or what pulse, or is it they just like to make shit up.  Anyway, the site is a hoot.

I spent some time on "Rapture Ready"  .  After all, it might behoove me to prepare myself some.  I won't need to bring clean underwear I guess.  All that will be provided when I step up to the allotment counter just inside Heaven's Gate.  That is where all Christians find out what neighborhood they will be living in.  The site's page, "Mansions in Heaven" set forth the type of home one can expect based on their level of piety and subservience to the Creator.

The Quitter's Mansion

Unfortunately I do not rate even the "Quitter's Mansion".  Apparently this is the heavenly home of those who  ......  was a believer in name only. Angels began to build him a mansion, but they stopped work when it was clear the client had no intention of fulfilling his commitment.

Sadly, based on the choices available to me and the time I have left to maybe get in God's good graces,  it looks like it will be a cardboard box under an overpass for me.  And that is if I am lucky.  Most likely scenario has me deported south of Heaven's border where Satan knows how to deal with heathens like me.

And I do believe in Satan.  I have not met him yet, but I have seen him on TV.  He has orange hair and is the greatest president in like forever.

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

Man in the Tree - Too

One of the positive takeaways from my Acid Days was learning to look past the first impression of an image and find those smaller images that lurk just beyond the outer surface.

It was mine and two others first trip in 1967.  We swallowed some microdot Strawberry Fields.  I sat and watched an ant hill for maybe a couple of hours.  Maybe more, Time takes a back seat when under the influence of LSD. I was so focused with my eyes but a couple of inches from the ground, the ants loomed large as they went about their scavenging.

In retrospective, that might give appearance I was just another drug befuddled and bewildered teenager with nary a whisper of a clue whatsoever.  I mean, who in their right mind would think watching an ant hill for a couple of hours was a normal activity.

Well Duh People, ...... I wasn't in my right mind.  I was tripping fer chrisakes.  My experiences on LSD became much wackier over time. LSD definitely twisted my normal take on the existence around me.

So anyway ......... those years tripping the light fantastic were not a complete waste.  I learned some patience and better appreciation of the beauty around me.  LSD always intensified every situation I was in, whether it be dancing in the pucker or cooling my heels in a local lock up.  Not always pleasant, but always interesting in retrospect. Each were experienced outside what would be considered my normal sanity center point.  Since I was convinced perception is the key ingredient needed for Reality to exist, then it was not me who was trippin, it was the World beyond my eyelashes that was.  ............... LSD only helped me see the world for what it really was ...............  Nothing but a Fig Newton of my imagination.

I derived the above image out of this rather pedestrian Kodak moment in my dooryard.  I snapped a picture of the weeping cherry that has graced the front of my house for the last 50 years.  It has been on Death's Door for at least the last 20 years.  Yet each year, it tosses out new growth.  I think it comes back every year because there is a creature living inside it just below its outer surface.

He has yet to introduce himself.

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

Things Do Go Bump in the Night

When I was a child I was sure there were indeed things that went bump in the night, monsters under the bed, and closet creatures just waiting with bated breath to snatch me up and take me to their lairs.  My parents would be understanding  but firm about it being my problem, not theirs.  My dad would grunt, "Go back to sleep Bug, there's nothing to fear."

Nothing to fear?  Who was he kidding?  Sinister Evil hung out in every nook and cranny of my room.  But I would suck it up and cringe under the covers until the need to sleep overcame the need to be scared.

Eventually I learned to not fear the figments of my imagination.  Rather, I embraced them,  let them play out their worst case scenarios and then parked them in the dusty file marked "Get a Grip Mike".

Yet even now, when the flashlight is on, those figments often find its beam.

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