The Bantering Buffoon

A bantering buffoon stands in front of the crowded chamber that is decked out in ornate carvings and gilded pillars.  Slack jawed sycophants sit to one side and cast adoring eyes on the buffoon as he attempts to spin his way to greatness.   Nauseous adversaries on the opposing side squirm in their seats with every lie he tells.  No one believes him, but all of them are part of the show.  That is what they are there for.

The simple truths the buffoon spews forth hide the reality of the facts.  But the Buffoon does not care, he carries on as if everyone, even those who would kill him with looks, are on his page and on board.  All buy into some part of the delusion of this moment. 

The Buffoon, satisfied he has just made an awesome earth shaking point, purses his lips, turns to face his arch enemy.  She smirks and offers him the best Fuck You clap back ever.

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

Celebrities Rule, the Rest of Us Drool

Gene Simmons, formerly of the rock band KISS, has finally gotten off his high horse regarding Pot.  He is now freeing his faithful followers from the anguishing guilt they must have felt every time they lit up a joint.  In a statement recently, he stated,

"I thought cannabis was for stoners and losers and all that,and slowly but surely, over the years, the amount of research that I saw just blew me away. "

Great Gene.  Your turnabout couldn't have anything to do with you hooking up with a huge commercial Cannabis operation in Canada, now could it?   No, of course not.  Regardless, I recognize your change of view.  Thanks for being on the cutting edge.

I did not bring up Gene just to belittle him.  Lord knows, he did that himself long ago by making noise dressed up like some evil clown.  No, he is but an example of the power celebrities have over some of our lives.  So many folks wait to form opinions, join boycotts, move in almost any direction until the star they obsess over tells them to by either declaration or example.

The inability or refusal to form one's own opinion or direction only makes it easier for the evil assholes of this planet to succeed in screwing the rest of us over.  The prime example of this is sitting in the White House as I type.  His celebrity, the only tangible asset he has and it got him elected.

I am sure this is not a new phenomenon.  Idol worship seems to be part of our human DNA.  I would have hoped we had out grown the tendency.  ............ Apparently not.

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

GO PATS !!!!!!

I am still fired up over Trump and his desire to destroy our country.  I was so angry, all I could think of was his fat face and the lies he spread every minute of every day.  I stopped blogging because I did not want my blog to become a "I hate fucking Trump" blog.   Instead I allowed my Facebook page to become another "I hate Fucking Trump" page.

But along with my hate of Trump, I have found moments of respite and good cheer on Facebook.  It seems things are settling down some.  I know most folks who don't fixate like I tend to have begun to move on.  Of course I think they are being stupid when I put on my "I hate Fucking Trump" hat, but then I settle in with some cute cat or puppy vid and all the hate settles back into my anger quiver.

So here I am at another fork of sorts.  I have begun to Blog again, which means I have begun to write again.  And that makes me happy.  The next step is to dust off and re-polish what writing skills I had to see if I can once again step away from something I wrote and be happy.  It has happened in my past.  I have many favorites, some liked by others and some ignored by all but myself.

And while this post was initiated by memories tickled alive by Nancy's FB post about Roller Derby, something tells me there will be no Roller Derby today.  The first three words I wrote set me on another tangent, one that even now, I don't know how it will end.  It is so hard to know an ending when you don't know how it started.

So I will leave you this Super Bowl Sunday with no words of wisdom, no humorous story, no trip inside my soul.  Call it typing practice. ....... And Oh Yeah - GO PATS!!!!!!!

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

The Electoral College

So here I am a resident of one of the states with small testicles when it comes to wielding power in DC.  We only sport two Representatives in the House of Representatives, but get equal treatment in the Senate with our two Senators.  Needless to say, I am generally proud of the clowns we send down to DC.  They definitely fight above their weight class.

I should be a fan of the Electoral College, right?  It gives Maine more of a voice in picking the President. Yes, it does do that.  But I still think it is wrong.

It is wrong because the choice for the President should be made by the people of this country, not some archaic and corrupt system that heavily favors whichever party is on top at the moment.  Two of the last five Presidential elections were split decisions between the Power Cartels at the top and the people at the bottom.

We have Congress to represent our various state's interests nationally.  The president should represent all the people and be elected by all the people.  It is as simple as that.

I can understand the concern the Right has.  They are in a constant state of panic that their sleazy stranglehold on American politics will come to an end.  I, for one, look forward to that day.

There is a very active movement to abolish the Electoral College.  The leading effort is The Popular Vote Interstate Compact.  Essentially a state changes its rules regarding electoral voting so their electoral vote goes to whoever wins the popular vote nationwide.  There are 11 States and the District of Columbia on board with  172 votes.  Colorado's State Senate just passed a law to join in the effort.  Now it is up to the Democrat controlled State House in Denver to make it law.   This would bump the total to 120 electoral votes. The Compact would only go into effect when a definite majority had been attained.

The other big changes we should be making:

* Serious Campaign Finance Law changes.  Too much power in the hands of the 1%.
*Gerrymandering outlawed and an equitable system set up that all states follow.
*Consistent voting rules that every state follows in National and State elections.

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

Trouble

My Facebook experience with all the animal rescue sagas that rip the tears from your eyes always remind me of Trouble, an obnoxious Calico cat that became part of my life for 17 years in the 1980s and 1990s.

I met Trouble at a rest area somewhere in the Colorado Rockies.  I was on the last leg of a trip hauling the household items my mother wanted in California after my Dad died.  I had left Maine a few days earlier, swung down to St.Louis and dropped off the items my brother Joe was keeping.  I then drove to Colorado Springs to drop off the other stuff my brother Doug was inheriting.  This rest stop was somewhere west of Denver on I-70 near Clear Creek I am guessing.

The space for the rest area had been blasted out of the mountain side.  Not a lot of room to park, so I pulled over on the shoulder just past it.  I got out to stretch my legs and smoke a joint.  I didn't like puffing up in the cab, because well, the cops stop you and when they smell the weed, yadda yadda yadda.  So I am leaning on a concrete barrier I assumed was placed there to keep the flotsam and jetsam of the mountain from encroaching on the highway. A large tree trunk with one end resting on the barrier was nearby.

As I leaned on that barrier and smoked my doob, I pondered many things of no consequence, but I remember being brought out of my haze by the sound of a cat's meow.  I looked around.  Nothing but big rocks and broken trees.  I tried to revisit my lost in the Bozone mental state.  And again I heard a cat's meow, only louder and more plaintive now.

Determined to locate the source of this sound out here on the side of a mountain in Colorado, I walked towards the direction of the sound.  As I neared the huge dead fall leaning on the barrier, I noticed movement on the trunk.  There about 12 feet or so up the trunk, a half grown kitten was dragging itself down the tree in my direction.  As it clawed its way down, every breath it took was accompanied by the most pitiful meow I had ever heard.  I knew instantly this kitten was hurting.

Shit.  What do I do now?  Here I was miles from any town, it was after 10 PM and I was supposed to be in the Bay Area in two days to hook up with my mom and drop off her goods.  I had no time or inclination to deal with an injured animal.

The kitten finally found its way close enough so I could pick it up and assess the damage.  It never scratched or resisted as I set it on the barrier under the tall lights of the rest area to look it over.   I could tell right away this kitten was going to die.  Its rear legs did not work and one was obviously broken and had been broken long enough so that the bone sticking out had begun to blacken and the skin had begun to heal around it. I noticed the young cat was a female and later would find out that almost always Calico's are female.  Her jaw was skewed oddly which told me it was probably broken.   She was so skinny I figured it had been days since she had last eaten.

How long she had been out here, who knew?  It had been awhile.  I left her on the barrier and got back in the van, determined to leave her.  I remember reaching for the key to start the engine and stopping.  I knew then I had to do something for this damn animal.

I got out, collected her up and laid her on the passenger seat on one of my tee shirts.  Not once did she resist.  We hit the road.  At the first town with an exit, I pulled off the road and found the first store I could.  My plan was to get her some food and water and then abandon her in the shadows next to the store.  Yeah, yeah, I was fooling myself.  I could not do it.

I put her on the floor of the cab with food and water in front of her.  She clawed her way to the water ASAP.  I guess thirst was more important than food.  After she drank her fill, she dove in on the food.  Thankfully I had purchased canned food.  Once I saw how damaged her jaw was, I realized dry food would have been torture.

I picked her up and held her close to my face and began talking to her in soft words.  She began nursing on my neck, a habit she continued the rest of her life.  Several minutes of that routine and she had my heart, the little bastid.

As she nursed on my neck, I could feel her tiny belly churning , trying to deal with the new food she had consumed.  Luckily, I associated churning stomach with the following need to eliminate that which has just be ingested.  We sat there, her sucking on my neck and me trying to come up with a plan that would not embarrass me if someone caught me trying to help her well, shit and piss.

No scenario I came up with helped.  It was going to be ugly and it was.  She could not position herself to do her business.  The process I eventually came up with and used all the way to San Francisco was one hand supporting her while the other massaged her belly until something came out.  It was ugly, but it worked.  Food in one end and the appropriate stuff that resulted came out the other.  This told me her gulliwots were probably not in bad shape.

I landed in Walnut Creek a day ahead of schedule.  I pushed it and drove non stop in order to get the kitten I had named Trouble to a vet as soon as possible.  The next glitch however was how do I tell my mom, an avowed cat hater.  Without her help and money, I was sure Trouble would not make it.

Mom actually surprised me.  After dealing with all the anti cat admonishments and dire predictions of what cats are really like, she anted up and drove us to the local vet.  The vet advised euthanasia.  She had a broken rear leg that was infected, her other rear leg was out of the socket that had been crushed, and her jaw was badly broken.  He was not very optimistic.

My mom said, "Can you patch it up well enough to travel?"

The vet said, "Sure, but it won't help."

"Do it.  Call me when she's ready."

Back in the car, I asked why she was so willing to help?  I mean this lady had a cat phobia that ran back to her childhood.  " I saw what you had done and were doing to save it.  The least I could do was help in any way I could as long as I did not have to touch her."  And one of those amazing parent/child moments passed between us.

A couple of days later we picked up Trouble and bought a travel cage.  She was wrapped up and still could only move with her front legs.  The two of us flew back to Maine.  At our local vet now, we asked the vet to do what they could.  As it turned out, the vet out West had surgically recreated a hip socket for the one leg and set the broken one after cleaning up the infection.  Our local vet decided it was wise to see how that went before dealing with her jaw.  We never did re-set her jaw.  It healed just fine on its own.

Now we had to introduce Trouble to our growing population of felines.  How would she do with the injured legs.  would Timar the top Tom accept her?  As it turned out, Trouble took over and bossed that crew of cats for the next 17 years.  She was a bad ass.  Not vicious, she just did not put up with foolishness.  All the cats, male and female bowed to her leadership.

I miss Trouble.

Later gator .......................................

Our 6000 Year Old Universe

Yesterday or the day before, I happened upon a Facebook post regarding Creationism. The teaser image is to the left. 

The op/ed link is here - Teaching Children Creationism is Child Abuse. 

At this moment as I write these first words, I have not read the op/ed.  The reason I am imparting some wasted bytes from my small corner in the pucker of Maine is the Facebook conversation that resulted from my initial response.  It may still be ongoing. 

I was the first responder so to speak and with tongue firmly implanted in cheek, I wrote -

"Okay, Okay.... You Liberals and your billions of years notion of Creation. Listen up, I am only going to type this once, uh No make that twice now. Gues I am going to have to hit you folks one at a time......... The Universe is only 6000 years old. Why is it only 6000 years old? Well, because some Holier than thou guy ( it has to be a guy BTW) read some old Hebrew books and they told him so. What they don't make clear, and they should, (it would clear up things dramatically), is the period of the Dinosaurs happens in the first two weeks. God made them first, realized that critters bigger than his vacation house in Acapulco were probably not a very good idea. So he tossed a big rock down and killed them all. Then he used some common sense and created smaller beings in his own image, not ones that looked like the lizards that cavorted outside his cliff side retreat in Acapulco. Okay? Got it? Let's move on now. Subject is closed."

Steve A.  responded -

"Dinosaurs are described in detail in the book of Job as he was looking at one..... A brontosaurus to be exact. Yes. We existed together."

My response to him went -

"Steve - ".. A brontosaurus to be exact. Yes. We existed together." ...... Hmm. Maybe, but it couldn't have been for more than week or so until that big rock came down. I mean, You Thumpers really seem to insist on cramming ten pounds of Creation into a five gallon bucket of Science. But that's okay that you folks prefer the Reader's Digest version of Life and everything involved. Life is complicated enough without confusing it with the truth."  

So far, that is how far the conversation has gotten.

Whether teaching Creationism to a child is a form of child abuse , well, I have no opinion.  I do consider it stupid to insist on tales and parables for the views that make up our realities.  Life on LSD made more sense to me than the current fringe thinking of the New Christianity.  Instead of broadening our minds, many of us would stifle and shrink them back to when people thought Tomatoes were bad for us.  Science is becoming our new religion and I for one applaud it. 

Be religious for your soul.  Believe in Science for your health.  The two can co-exist.  But only if the devout stop dumbing themselves down.

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

Cincinnati Queen

It was after the second Led Zeppelin show of a two day gig in Cincinnati when I was introduced to the Cincinnati Queen.  Jim, my co-driver, walked up to me in the loading area back stage with the Queen on one arm.  She was wearing nothing but a hoochie coochie outfit consisting of a metallic bra and satin panties.  She was barefoot.  She was older.  I figured well into her thirties.

Jim was beside himself with the Rock n Roll  wonderment he had landed in after being hired to help me drive from New York to the West coast.  With a big smile he said, "She wants to come with us to Atlanta.  She's real friendly and well, can we take her?"

She looks at me and says, "Yeah, can we?"

I was not ready for  this.  I had just climbed out of bed at the hotel and was trying my best to put on my serious all business attitude.  But one look at the Queen and I knew we were going to take her to Atlanta.  "Just to Atlanta, no further."

Jim looked at her and she at him.  They both giggled and headed out towards the truck.  I walked the other way looking for the Green Room and possible treats that may be found there.  After scarfing some left over delicacies, I wandered out to my truck to get ready to load out.  I had forgotten about Jim and the Queen.  I wasn't used to a co-driver and certainly was not used to a half naked woman older than I was habitatin in my sleeper.

I opened the driver's door and stepped up on the first step and looked in. There in all her glory was the Queen, now naked and parked on the dog house, while Jim sat in the buddy seat smiling.  "What the Hell guys?  Might want to get in the sleeper."

Queen looks me in the eye and says, "Hell, we just got out."

She never once put her clothes back on until after we had gotten to Atlanta.  She never once went to sleep and her mouth ran the whole 450 mile trip.  When we were parked at the Omni and ready to find the hotel,  I asked her where her "other clothes" were, she looked at me like I had three heads and held up the metallic bra and satin panties.  

No, I was definitely not prepared for the Cincinnati Queen.

Jim set her free back stage at the Omni.  The last time we saw her, she was had an Atlanta Motorcycle Cop on each arm heading out the loading dock doors.
______________________________________

The image has been PG-13'd.  Used some large font astericks to hide the lady parts.  Not sure why, but then I am less of a loose dog now and more considerate of well, decorum type stuff I guess.  I have wanted to share this image for a long time as it represents one facet of just how wacky the Rock n Roll business was.  If I shocked anyone, well, suck it up butter cup.  I tried to ease into it.

Nicotine

It was in December 2017 I decided to finally quit smoking.  My previous half ass attempts had only been of the "just kiddin" variety.  This time dammit, I would stop sucking on butts, even if it killed me.  No prescriptions, no gum, patches, just me and my miserable self going it alone.

Several false starts later, I finally smoked my last cigarette somewhere between Christmas , 2017 and the first week of the new year in 2018.  I am claiming 13 months and not butts, even if I am off a day or two.

I can unequivocally state that giving up tobacco has been the hardest thing I have ever done and the most miserable.  In retrospect, maybe I should not have been the hero and sought some professional help or at the least some good opiods to cut the pain.

In lieu of either I smoked dope.  Lots of dope.  And you know what, it did not help.  Nicotine turned out to be harder to quit than the heroin of my youth, the cocaine of my youth, and the alcohol I used to drink to wash all that shit down with.  Have I mentioned that nothing in my life has been harder?

So now 13 months later, I go hours at a time without thinking of tobacco.  I can walk past the pitiful groups I used to join for butts in the cold without batting an eye. But still even after these last 13 months when I am sitting quietly, I will crave a cigarette.  Or maybe when watching an old movie where everyone smoked, I will ponder their pleasure of sucking in that beautiful poison filled smoke.

But the reason I even bring this up today is "Pipe's" fault.  He commented on my last blog post and asked me how I was doing with the no smoking.  Fine Pipe, until you brought it up dammit! 

Pipe, you know I am just kiddin. 

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

Covington

I have a direct connection to Covington, Kentucky.  It is a connection that draws me back to an incident from 1978 at the Cincinnati Airport which is not located in Cincinnati, Ohio but located across the Ohio River in Covington.  I did not wonder then, but I do wonder now just how my treatment at the hands of so many state cops would have turned out had I been Black.

Upon arriving by air after 7 days in the Oakland County Jail north of Detroit, Michigan, I headed directly for the first airport bar I saw.  At age 26, seven days without a drink was inhumane torture.  I proceeded to and was successful in getting blotto in about twenty minutes.  Once blotto, as was my custom, I blacked out and well, it took 5 or 6 state cops to haul me off to jail.

My first memory upon consciousness the next morning was "Damn, my face really hurts."  My second memory was ,"Where the Hell is my Peter Bilt hat?"  I loved that hat.

Someone in the dark and dingy flat bar and old stone cell said, "He's awake." I sensed several bodies sliding up to my bunk. "Now you ain't causin no trouble this morning are you?  We ain't had breakfast yet."

I peered out of the one eye not shut from impact and said something to the effect that no, I was not going to cause any trouble. "Good".  And then a fellow wearing my Peter Bilt hat slid into the dim light and grinned a minimally toothy grin.   He looked me over and said, "You're alright.  You did give the cops and then us a damn good struggle though.  Kept saying you did not want to go back to jail"  He paused and really grinned,  "You'll like the breakfasts.  They set a good table here in Covington."

The thought of food made my mouth water.  I had not eaten in 24 hours since that cheese and bread sandwich at the Oakland County jail before I was released.  Being ravenous made the few moments before the breakfast cart showed seem like an eternity.  I was extremely disappointed when on the heels of the chow cart, a guard came in and hollered my name.  "Okay Mack-Rum, you're up first."

So without any food and a stomach full of alcohol infused bile, I was led in handcuffs to the courthouse which was conveniently located in the same building as the jail.  The pain in my head and the churning building in my stomach created a beautiful moment of projectile vomit that I was able to divert from hitting the nice cop who escorted me.  It hit the wall on the stairs and we continued up.  I remember so well the look of disgust on his face.

Once in the court room, my handcuffs were taken off and I was told to stand up.  The stern looking elderly gentleman behind the bench looked down at me.  I remember not being comfortable under his gaze.  "Mr. Mack-Rum, before we get started, I want to say that you will enter a plea of guilty to drunk and disorderly, or you will be back downstairs immediately."

I have always owned up when owning up was needed and I remember nodding my head.  "Speak up Mr. Mack-Rum.  Guilty or not guilty?"

"Guilty sir."

"Okay then.  I have your record here from Oakland County in Michigan.  It appears you had not been out of jail more than a couple of hours when you found your way into ours.  Correct?"

"Uh, yes sir."  And then I thought how odd nobody had mentioned an attorney.  What kind of trouble was I in for? Visions of Cool Hand Luke passed through my mind.

He looked at me for some moments and then pounded the bench with his mallet.  "$150 fine and time served."  Still sternly looking at me he added, "Mr. Mack-Rum I would advise you to keep your stay here in Covington as brief as possible."

"Yes sir."  And it was that easy, I was free to join back up with the Genesis Rock and Roll tour I had been hauling for.

Thinking back on this "Boys will be Boys"incident from the summer of 1978, I feel that had I been black, I would not have gotten off with such a light wrist slap.  And come to think of it, had I been black, I do not think Oakland County would have set my bail for drug charges so low and then let me go since I had no ties to the local area.

I experienced and benefited from "White Privilege" but did not appreciate that fact then.  Today I do appreciate that fact.  Does this mean I have come some distance in the right direction as a White Boy?

Hmm .........................................
____________________________________________________

Inspired by an article I found on Facebook - "In Covington I was Taught to Doubt my own experiences with Rascism"

I have a Dream

Last night I had a dream of Matt Damon, his opinion on how to ride the new skateboard I had just purchased and then it got fuzzy for awhile.  Suddenly, with Matt safely seated in the back of my huge SUV, we experienced several violent moments of road rage foisted on us by some seriously angry women.  And they were scary big women.  They side swiped my honking huge SUV and tore the right font door off its hinges. A fight ensued.............   Flash forward to the sanity of wakefulness.

There was a period in my life when I was convinced I did not dream any more.  Those fantastic adventures I had as a child when I was asleep had suddenly just stopped.  Yeah, I read about how we still dream even when we do not think we do.  I was positive I was an exception. It was all over for me.

About a decade ago, dreams began to work their way back into my life.  At first I struggled to remember even the slightest moment of the dream.  Broken snippets of memory ended up just meaning nothing.  I was pleased to have even these disconnected glimpses that made no sense.  It gave me hope that with practice, I could once again turn those hazy moments into real story lines upon first opening my eyes to face the day.

Some of my dreams in recent years have been unpleasant.  The one last night was both fun and scary.  Those women kicked Matt's and my ass.  We got our shots in, but yeah we lost.  And through it all I laughed while Matt threw me those evil side glances he uses when playing the bad mofo on the silver screen.

I am glad the dreams are back.  No one should ever stop dreaming.  It ain't natural. 

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

Bad Hair Day

Acrimonious confrontations increase as more of the population confirm their allegiances.  Before, it was all talk for the most part without the action.  Now people are dying and have been since the man of loud hair and diminutive penis fooled the flag wearing loud and proud he was their guy.

His drooling minions shout "Wait a sec.  What about you lowlife progressives accosting our idols while they break bread in public?  Awfully unChristian, dontcha think?

Progressives and others not under the spell of this new Satan scratch their heads trying get their minds around the false equivalency of killing folks and ruining meals.

Meanwhile, standing under the wing of one of his planes, the Oramge Man with the diminutive penis gives a news conference in the rain.  Later when expected to offer up deep and concerned words of sympathy and hope regarding another mass killing on his watch, he speaks of his bad hair day.  Then he reaches for the letter of condolence one of his stooges wrote.

Only in America.

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

Will You Be My Friend

Lost deep inside the social morass for weeks, our intrepid hero finally emerges from the oppressive shade the crowd had created there.  He takes a deep breath and realizes that for the last two weeks he has been holding his breath as he scampered here, there, and everywhere searching for someone to connect with.  Oh sure, he had friends and has had friends for years, but there's nothing like a new friend, especially a new friend on Facebook.

Our world traveler takes a few moments to make sense of his recent trip.  He would alternate grins for grimaces as he replayed the previous few weeks in his mind.  But mostly, memory of that time forced a grimace at the many embarrassments and stupid questions he had asked and then regretted.

He smiled.  "You know what?  Fuckem,  I'd do it again, but maybe next time pace myself."

Our man reacquaints himself with the real world.  He puts away clean dishes, pours water in the dog bowl, and opens the refrigerator to see if anything inside strikes his fancy.  He knows he should be hungry, but he's not.  He's an old fart now and knows hunger is on a new schedule not tuned to the biorhythms of his past.

He pulls a Tupperware bowl out and pops the top. He lifts it to his nose.  Damn! That tidbit from a meal long ago ain't passing the sniff Test.  Our hero opens the garbage can and taps the ingredients of the bowl out, then tosses the bowl into the sink.

It occurs to him around the fifth spoiled leftover bowl, he has lost some time and more importantly, lost some of his connection to the here and now right in front of him when he finally opens his eyes.  This realization shakes him to his core.  Reality was what he had worked so hard over the years to avoid.

Now he was back and so far it wasn't so bad he guessed.  After spending a couple of weeks prowling other neighborhoods, he realized no one out there in the Internet ether has any better clue than he does.  We are, as it turns out, all just Bozos on this bus.

He came away from his brief interlude between Life and whatever else is out there feeling much better about himself even after so many detours over the years from his straight and narrow plan thought up while drinking shots of Tequila with a beautiful young lady on the dunes of Mission Bay 40 years ago.

(Hold your breath and read the previous sentence.  That  is what I call long winded.)

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

Stupid History

I am constantly reminded of the circular nature of History, especially Stupid History, and our species' ingrained blind spot to it.  Reality is Reality and nothing we humans can do will alter it.  But we do have fun messing with its interpretation.

We often ignore reality,, choosing instead to live in a fool's paradise.  We change our perception of it to fit a conceptual notion of what it should be.  Then we teach it to our children and they grow up and either find the truth or perpetuate the myths.

It would appear that this is just human nature.  Bullshit.  The smart people know what they are doing.  Controlling the actions of the peons is always the end goal.  Altering facts and issuing empty promises has worked for millenniums.  As a group, we are nummer than a bag of pounded thumbs.  We are just lucky every other critter on the planet is not equipped to do it better.

So, down in our bones, we know that history repeats itself.  Time is an 8 track loop and though the clothes and idioms may change, we seem determined to repeat the same stupid shit time and time again.  The crap we keep dredging up seems to rise to the surface of the cesspool of stupid causes every 100 years or so.

Take Evolution.  It was roughly 80 to 100 years or so ago it kicked Genesis to the bench and became the star player in American schools.  Without the rise of science in our schools, we would not be the economic and scientific juggernaut of today.  Without science our upcoming fall from grace would have happened years ago.

Now, Genesis and the other silly notions in the Bible are making a comeback as "alternative" theories of Evolution.   Stupidity is on the rise as evidenced by the current political leadership.  Rather than making progress on all of the dangers facing us, they would rather regress and place their faith in a book that has let the Human race down for centuries.

No matter what, we will deserve what we get.  God will have nothing to do with it.

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

Nothing to Discuss

In my absence there has been much to discuss, much to consider, and much to just shake my head and walk away from.  I chose walking away. 

There's nothing to discuss really and very little to consider regarding the fools we fools put in charge.  Folks have their minds made up.  I know I sure do. Not much benefit to be had from preaching up my own choir.  We have all settled in around our tribal campfires and are enthusiastically whipping each other up into a lather.

I'm tired of it.  Yet, like an accident I might pass by, I just have to look at the chaos left in its wake.  Not writing I thought would help me rein myself in some.  When agitated as much as I have been over this national clown show, my agitation is all I write about.

Unfortunately, not writing is leaving a hole inside.  Combine this with trying to remain calm in the face of multilateral stupidity and what I am left in is shut down mode.  Shut down mode sucks.

So I leave you with a few words regarding that which I am trying hard to not write about.  Seems I was almost successful. ........ At least I touched base.

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

Tampa, Florida

I originally wrote this in November of 2008.  I have bumped it up to today because, well, I can.  It is my blog.  So there.

What follows is a memory written as accurately as I can with dialog added to keep the tale from getting stale.  Hence the label "fictional truth".  I did not use anyone's real name except Mountain Boy and mine.

____________________________

"Mike, where ya been? We have a real cluster fuck going on here."

"I've been hassling with the boneheads at the hotel and the cops. I guess that vending machine I destroyed last night is a bigger deal than I thought it would be. You know it's gonna cost me $1500 to straighten it out."

"Yeah, Yeah, Yeah. You should have never knocked it over in the first place you idiot. You know how crazed everyone was. And why in Hell did you tell them you did it?"

I looked at Masher. He was dressed in his normal Showco Tee and the same jeans he wore everyday. I always wondered if he had more than one pair of jeans. Or just four or five identical pairs torn and frayed in the same places. His face showed real concern. That was not like him. If anyone kept his cool usually, it was Masher. I was going to fill him in on the idea of guilt and what it did to some of us. Share my experience learned the hard way that a pre-emptive confession always seemed to result in punishment less severe. But I could tell he was not on the same page anymore. I skipped it and got to the point.

"So, what's up? After the hotel raped me, they got all nicey nice and told me I had a message. A message from you. By the way, that coke machine stole my money."

"Look out at the crowd. They just got word the concert's been canceled. By the governor no less. We need all hands on deck. I think the wackos are going to rush the stage."

I walked onto the stage and gazed out toward the stadium. That high falutin custom built portable security wall set in place to keep back the crazies at outdoor gigs looked like a black wave. One end would lift and then fall. The next section would rise and then fall. So on down the line like a black snake wiggling in front of the stage. The sound of the people in the crowd was an ugly sound. 50 or 60,000 fans not happy that they would not see Led Zeppelin this day. Many had become a mob intent on getting revenge. The rest just seemed to hang out as if they had nowhere else to go. A bottle landed near me and exploded into thousand pieces covering my Chuck Taylors with what I hoped was beer or pale wine. Jumping back I tripped on the bull dick cable taped down on the stage floor and fell on my ass.

Still seated, I turned and looked over to Masher. "So why was the concert cancelled?" More objects began to rain onto the stage. Bottles, cans, even someone's hash pipe. I scrambled back out of the way.

"Look up." Masher's eyes drifted skyward and he pointed to the bulging fabric canopy hanging over the stage. "We had a screamer of a thunder storm an hour or so ago. The fire Marshall came through and said if we couldn't get rid of the water, the show was done. He was not impressed with the scaffolding fix we came up with. And then he called his guys who then called their guys and now the damn governor is involved. We need to start loading everything up before the crowd breaks through and starts destroying stuff. Get your truck backed in ASAP. And then get back here to help Security keep the crowd back."

Above me the canopy erected to keep the hot Florida sun off the pasty faces of the band was filled with water. It looked like a swimming pool's worth of water. And to be fair to the Fire Marshall, I was not impressed with that scaffolding fix either. Water dripped down at a steady pace right where the monitor board would normally be. The monitor board had been yanked as had everything else on the stage. Just the lights, some lonely looking mic stands and the speaker stacks remained. Water dripped on a bare stage and pooled under the dead cables that connected nothing anymore.

I had not been hired to be a head breaker. I was a truck driver. I didn't mess with sound. I didn't do lights. I drove a truck. Busting on poor drunken or drugged slobs definitely did not fit into my perception of my job description.

I began to run all this concern by Masher, when Bob, the head engineer on the tour came over and roared, "Get your fuckin truck and back it in. Let's move!"

I beat a hasty retreat. No one argued with Bob. He was lead engineer for a reason.

Outside behind the stadium, I was impressed with the calm compared to the anarchy I had just left. No irate fans, no tense roadies or security guys. All there was to indicate pandemonium inside the stadium was the roar of thousands of voices as if cheering a continuous touchdown or never ending home run. The trouble was inside not out here in the real World. Outside the Sun was shining, cars drove by and seagulls stood on the dumpsters next to a chain link fence near my truck.

Backing up to the gate, I did not have to get out to find someone to open it. It opened as if by remote by two security guys wearing their standard black security Tee shirts. I backed in until Masher popped out in front of the mirror and jerked his hand in a halt kind of way. Before I even had a chance to get out and unlatch my ramp, it had been removed and I saw two roadies running with it towards the rear of my trailer. By the time I had walked back, my doors were open, the ramp was down and the first piece of equipment was almost on the trailer.

I stood there considering the tense vibes all around me. My musing lasted but a moment when Dave, the new driver with the biker attitude, walked over and handed me a mic stand. "Let's kick some ass."

I stood holding this mic stand and looked at him. He was enjoying this. I don't know who made me more nervous, the out of control crowd or this maniac waiting with bated breath to lay into someone. But I kept quiet and followed him over to stage left.

Just then the barricade broke. The crowd had finally found a weak spot and quickly threw it to the side. A sea of long haired fans streamed through the opening. They jumped on the stage. Several were more intent on the victory of the breach than paying attention to the defense mounted against them. A few danced in circles with arms raised. Dave laid into the closest one with his mic stand. Caught the poor bastard right in the kidneys. He went down and Dave moved onto engage his next unlucky target.

I looked over to stage right and two security guys were having their way with another fan. It was mayhem; Violent and instant mayhem. All I could do was stand there and watch.

"Where were the cops", I wondered? "And why were our guys so damn violent?" It just did not make sense to me. Any of it. It was then something solid sailed right at me. I turned but not quick enough. I felt the blow, but adrenalin had kicked in. I turned back and looked for the source. All I saw were people in various states of grappling violence. Anger came in a flash. Tossing down the mic stand, I ran to Dave's rescue. I pulled two guys off him and kicked another one hard. Dave extricated himself and all he said was, "I had it under control bud." And he was off again rushing another fan who had violated our space.

I threw up my hands in retreat and backed up to where a group of roadies and stage hands had gathered just outside the circle of pandemonium. If I had to guess, I would say we all stood there with the same thing on our minds. How crazy was this? Just look at those guys. They are beating people because they like it. What the fuck?

Wanting nothing more to do with this stupidity, I retreated towards the Green Room. On the way, a stagehand popped out of the bathroom and walked by me. 

"Hey, there's some chick in the men's room giving everyone head. Get in line."

I shook my head and continued to where I knew food and hopefully some quiet place could be found for me to escape this day that had started so wrong for me. Finding the the Green Room, I quickly filled a paper plate with leftovers and plopped into one of the over stuffed chairs. All the while the noise outside the door continued unabated.

At some point I noticed it was not as loud as it had been. I figured the worst was over and I left the Green Room's false security. Back behind the stage I saw cops streaming by and people in handcuffs with bloody parts trickling blood being led away. A whiff of Tear Gas lingered. The crowd had been controlled. The security barrier lay in ruins in front of the stage. And the bulging canopy continued it's steady drip drip drip of water. Out in the stadium, riot cops were busy clearing the fans determined to hang out. There was no hitting, just determined lines of uniforms moving everyone towards the exits.

Masher found me. "I had Mountain Boy pull your truck out. Are you okay? I saw that shot you took. I don't blame you for leaving. Find the ambulance, they'll fix you up."

"What shot?" I looked at Masher. I had no clue what he was talking about.

"Feel the back of your head Mike." He turned and left.

I reached back and felt my head. A large bump had formed. My hand came away red. I found the ambulance. They cleaned me up and cut me loose.

I sat in my truck, numb from the recent craziness. I tried to digest the day and come to grips with what I had just witnessed; what I had just been part of. All I could do was think about that damn stagehand coming out of the bathroom and informing me some chick was giving everyone head. I started to laugh. Deep chuckles that started at my asshole and purged all the anger and fear built up over the last 30 minutes. In all the chaos, hate and discontent, Life still moved in predictable ways. The flow of what was normal, SSDD, always found a way to coexist with any upheaval placed in it's way. No matter what madness existed, people still ate, people still got head. Some parts of Life just happened naturally paying no mind to whatever else was going on. It was then I realized this business of rock n roll was going to be one of the most memorable times of my life.

The Traitor Revisited

 "an unfortunate Man, bore down by popular prejudice."

In December of 2011, I did some research on my ancestral beginnings here in the New World.  I found a lot of information, but none of it complete.  Seems trying to retrace steps made by others 200 plus years ago is not that easy.  At least for this dimwit anyway.

I forged ahead and collected quite a bit of history on my great, great, great Grandfather, John Roberts lll, previously of Lower Merion, Pennsylvania. On November 4, 1778 he was hanged for high treason by the then provisional government set up by the Colonists in Pennsylvania.

As it turned out, his execution was more about personal vendetta than treason.  The US government agreed later and returned some seized property and also provided an annual pension to his widow.

Anyway, I recently attempted another search on the Mill that bore his name.  I was rewarded with even more information and images from the archives of the Lower Merion Historical Society.

The letter at the left is one of the finds.  It is a letter penned by my forebear sometime before he was hanged.  I am having trouble reading it, but from what I can gather he was facing up to his fate with backbone and acceptance.

The quote at the top from this letter pretty much sums up his sad end.

If anyone would care to know more based on my previous posts:

The Traitor

The Traitor or "Republica v. John Roberts - a different perspective

The Haunted House

The site I got the letter from - Lower Merion Historical Society

So I actually posted something not angry and with no mention of ....................

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

Dana Loesch, a Woman Any Real White Man Would Love

Apparently, the only person to read racist overtones in the recent addition of "Nia" from Kenya to that children's programming mainstay, "Thomas & Friends" was Dana Loesch, conservative host of NRA TV.   Yes, it appears Thomas and friends are updating the content to include simple notions of diversity.  Loesch completely runs off the rails with her implication disguised as a question, Is Thomas and Friends a racist show and are they now trying to overcome their racist notions?

Darling conservative whore Dana, you are the one who put the KKK hoods on the trains, not Thomas and Friends.  All they did was introduce a train from Kenya.  It had the same gray face all the other trains had.  So stop the bullshit Dana, you just wanted an excuse to push your own brand of white power by trying to use a children's program to do it.

What a fuckin loser.

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

Fuck the G.O.P.

I have no problem with someone having conservative views.

What I have a problem with is a political party that has lost any notion or clue of their ethical or moral base by supporting a leadership so evil, sleazy,self interested and traitorous , they are causing real damage to the institutions of our government.  The USA is taking some severe hits because of the G.O.fuckin  P.

The spineless GOP honchos have no problem with sucking up to a foreign power who once said they would destroy us.  To them invasion of our cyber borders is not traitorous behavior just like Iran/Contra was not treason either.

They think the criminal residing in the White House is okay, Their idea of bipartisan is to fall in line, its their way or the highway, while they do everything they can to undermine any perceived threat to their majority status.

All the while they insist they are closer to God's ear than anyone else and know what real patriotism is because they wear a flag pin and bitch about people exercising their kneeling rights when listening to the national anthem.

The G.O.P. has no clue what a good citizen is or the stewardship they were elected to practice.  The Leadership should be ashamed to show their faces in public, let alone open their mouths.

And while I am at it, ......................... The slack jawed drooling minions who voted them in can hop on the go get fucked wagon also.

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

Medicine

So, I just put a batch of pot brownies on a cooling rack and set it on top of the refrigerator.  This is the third batch I have made since October, 2017 when my wife discovered she had breast cancer.

At first, she was eating only a 10 gram chunk to help her sleep. That first batch lasted her until about six weeks ago.  I made the second batch and then she began Chemotherapy. Chemo has been such a fun time, her brownie consumption has tripled. ........ Yeah, Chemo has been quite a party. ......................... Hmm

It isn't that she has no AMA approved prescriptions to deal with the deep down in her bones pain during those first few days after a session.  Among the countless new bottles of cancer associated drugs she has collected, there is the obligatory to any self respecting collection of man made drugs, a bottle of opiate based pain pills waiting to not curtail the pain, rather just create a "I don't give a shit" attitude.  And you still wake up with severe debilitating constipation.

The bottle sits unopened to this point.  We have decided to attack the pain, sleeplessness, and general bad attitude with Pot.  And so far it seems to be working as well as anything to come out of a lab.  Upping her intake of brownies as needed with a little help from Tylenol seems to have made this journey tolerable for her.

A heated debate from just a few years ago is now beginning to simmer down as Cannabis claims rightful presence in the cornucopia of acceptable white folk medicines.  I hazard a guess that the benefits found once serious eyes hover over serious microscopes will be awesome and cause many tight ass ministers in the AMA some serious embarrassment.  And even though government will never apologize for ruining people's lives for years because of their use of what will turn out to be a major source of j\healing wonders, well, godammit, they should, fuckin assholes.

And yeah, I use anecdotal evidence to support my use of Cannabis.  It isn't second hand evidence. All the evidence I need is what I have personally witnessed after 20 plus years of helping folks score and use pot to help with cancer, Parkinson's, and severe back pain.  The factt that it is a hoot to use is but a side benefit.

Spark one up.  Life is too short to criticize something you might not understand.

Embrace the Doob. ............................................................................

Summer 1963

 

The State Theater was located on the north side of College Avenue between Monroe and Adams Streets in Tallahassee, Florida.  I remember it well. It was just four blocks down from the Travelodge motel my father managed in the immediate years after he retired from the US Air Force.

Being from a military family who moved at the drop of a hat, exploration was always first on my agenda.  Knowing the layout of the land was an imperative first step in acclimating to new surroundings.  Having a movie theater just down the street seemed a good place to begin.  I would start there. 

The family's military lifestyle did not prepare me for the  nastier aspects of the world I would now exist in.  My parents and I had become used to the protective bubble a military life offered.  There was no such thing as segregation in my world up to that time.

I stepped up to the ticket window and bought a ticket. I remember the black woman inside the ticket booth asking me not once, but twice if I was sure I wanted to go into the theater.  I was adamant.  I was 12.  It was Saturday and I was burning daylight while the matinee was well into its first serial.  She handed me a ticket.  I went in, bought some popcorn and a coke and went into the theater.  Not long after I had settled into my seat, I sensed a presence settle into the seat behind me.  The presence leaned over the back of the seat next to me and whispered, "Boy, are you sure you are in the right theater?"  

I turned and there was a very unfriendly looking black man staring at me hard.  I remember being frozen and slack jawed, unable to respond.  I was scared shitless but did manage to tell him yes, I was in the right theater.  I lived just down the street at the Travelodge and my name was Mike.  I ended with, "We just moved here."

"Son," his voice had become friendlier, "you really are in the wrong theater. ....  You need to leave.  We don't want any trouble here."

I stood up and looked around.  It finally dawned on me there was not one white face there other than mine.  And it seemed to me all eyes were focused on me and not the screen.

I left and walked the four blocks back to the Travelodge.  When I got home, I told my dad I had been kicked out of the theater by a very scary black guy.  He looked at me.  He did not ask what I might have done to deserve getting the boot.  He just sighed and told me to blow it off, we would talk later.  I think he knew but had forgotten how the real world worked.

Thus began my exposure to the very real and ugly world of segregation in the US South in the early 1960's.  That summer I witnessed white people beating on black people while white police leaned on their cruisers sucking on toothpicks.  I was shamed by a public librarian for drinking out of the wrong fountain.  I was told in no uncertain terms that my kind was not allowed to sit in the back of the bus.  And at a nearby rib joint, I was refused service again because I was white. It was an eye opening coming of age summer.  One I have never forgotten.