Buried Racial Hatred

Events exposing buried racial hatred are on the increase. They are no longer just occasional moments of ugliness scattered here and there in the USA. They have become a pervasive part of our new political and social landscape.

We all knew the hate and discontent was there, but as long as folks kept their irrational angers,fears, and prejudices to themselves and others of like mind, the country was cool with it. We were content to allow it to steep, slowly build to a boil and erupt from time to time in a sporadic moment of insanity. What were once occasional fits of madness are now regular events found in every corner of the nation.

The intolerance that is still part of us has exposed itself and is fitting into and changing the social and political landscape to something looking very much uglier and meaner than what we were used to back in the last quarter of the 20th century. 

Our shift from a more tolerant and civil society into the anxious, fearful and hateful society we seem trapped in now began with 9-1-1. That is when most of us were knocked off our centers and many of us began to embrace more radical outlooks on the world as we knew it. Dormant negatives of our character rushed in to play a more dominant role in our response to everything. The world around us had not changed as much as our view of it had. This enabled the ever ready purveyors of sleaze and evil to push their agendas by using lies and exaggerations to enhance our fear and foreboding. 

I am reminded of this by an incident that played out in April, 2023 in Jonesboro, a town up Downeast Maine on the coast. After firing some shots in the air a man  named O'Brien, verbally accosted an interracial couple who were walking their dog on the private road that passed O'Brien's house.

The quote that struck me and indicated how emboldened the closet racists have become was:

"O’Brien added that he ‘should be able to get away with shooting one [racial epithet] as long as he didn’t have to bring him in to tag him,’ ......... "

Because of the obvious racist factor of this interaction, the Maine State Attorney General jumped on it and the man was found guilty of a crime. Since no physical violence actually occurred, at least the man was convicted and the crime made the news.  Good outcome I guess, but I would like to have seen Mr. O'Brien be charged with a felony, not a misdemeanor.

The sad part though, is the realization that racial , gender, and social bias run deeper and are more widespread than even I had thought. I thought our country was heading in the right direction. Now, I am not so sure. Seems all we did was bury our hate just deep enough to not be seen and shallow enough that it did not take much to whip it out to reveal our true selves. 

 When the pervasive evil and hate we embrace now finally peaks, we are in for a long period of recovery once we are on the other side. I don't think the self inflicted damage to our nation is fatal. I prefer to consider what we are going through as a necessary purging and relocation of our center. Where that center ends up depends on how many of us actually give a fuck.

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

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Marvin Gaye's song, "What's Goin On", seems a natural fit for this post. At least for me it is. The song evokes a sense of bewilderment about Life at that moment. I am certainly bewildered about what's goin on.

99 Words on Weather

Yesterday, Jacki Sue in Texas, mentioned on Facebook she was enjoying a rainstorm for the first time in months.

Comments from other mid-western areas and one from California talked about droughts and intense temperatures that plagued their locales.

I made no comment. I just couldn’t.

Summer in Maine has been different, but not as different as elsewhere in the country. Temperatures and humidity are higher, but tolerable. If anything, we have had more rain this summer than usual. My basement had water in it until mid-July.

Mother Nature’s capricious use of her wrath just proves Life is not fair.

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The first tune I checked out was my only choice. It's the video that really makes the tune work. Here is an instrumental by Annemieke van Leeuwen. It is called "Mother Nature's Anger".

Sadly, just the Same Shit, Different Day

I guess there was another mass shooting yesterday down in Jacksonville, Florida.

 ........ SSDD. 

I would have missed it until tomorrow except I watched the head cop from Jacksonville give his blow by blow version of the tragedy that unfolded. The whole incident only took 11 minutes he said. In that 11 minutes, 4 people lost their lives to gun violence. Throw in the racial motive to the mix and what we have is just another garden variety - white people acting badly against those folks they harbor some kind of clueless and senseless hatred for.

I would not even be posting about it except I was struck by something Sheriff T.K. Waters said while defending the Gun Rights side of the out of control gun stupidity we have going on right now. Don't get me wrong, I think folks should be allowed to own guns, if only because there are so many guns already loose in the hands of our citizens , any law that might be passed restricting them would not work and just anger the crotch tugging NRA boneheads even more.

The sheriff was asked if there had been any red flags raised by this 20 something racist before the shootings. He said the kid had no record and no indications of mental illness. The guns used had been purchased legally. He went on to defend the gun lobbies by saying basically it wasn't the guns that killed those folks, rather it was the madman behind the gun. I am so tired or hearing this kind of mealy mouthed response to the other mealy mouthed accusations from the anti gun crowd. Neither side seems able to even consider some kind of compromise to make our streets a tad safer. All or nothing for both of them.

Sheriiff Waters was then asked another of the stupid questions the media always asks in the immediate aftermath of an incident like this. 

"Was there anything that could have been done to have kept this from happening?' 

A look of exasperation came over his face. Then he said, "We did everything we could,' quickly following up with, "We do everything we can".

I call bullshit. The sheriff is wrong. The powers that be are not doing what they can to create safer spaces for us to live in. Law enforcement is a reactionary force, not a preemptive force. Any preemptive measures have to be created in the legislatures, state and national. Cops clean up messes, they don't stop them from happening. Only education, public support and common sense shown by both sides will slow down the madness.

The Gun totin assholes who consider owning guns as the true sign of freedom have not done shit to get some control of a situation that has been totally out of control since the day buying assault rifles were once again allowed to be owned by idiots whose only knowledge of guns came from TV and Internet Games. So spare me the crap about its not the gun, its the person shooting the gun. Stop claiming that if we pass laws the problem will fix itself. Both sides of this issue have their respective heads up their respective asses.

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

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"Another One Bites the Dust", by Queen seems appropriate. But then so does The Avett Brothers and their more up to date, "Bang, Bang" really nails my current feelings about the stupidity surrounding guns.

A Tale of Two Knives

I guess I was given my first pen knife when I was five or six. If memory serves, it is the small broken one I saved and is now on the wall over my work bench in the basement. It just wasn't rugged enough for my clueless and brutal treatment of it as a youngster.

I have consistently had a pocket knife of some kind on my person ever since. I have gone through an impressive number and different types of knives over the years. Some I broke trying to force the knife to punch above its weight. But I think most of the knives I have owned, I lost or they were stolen. ....... I know it was You, Bob W., who stole my brand new Leatherman back in the mid 1980's. You're an asshole Bob. I hope it broke on you, you low life.

So anyway, I have owned many blades. "Shrade" and its subsidiary "Uncle Henry" were and still are my favorite pocket knives. Uncle Henry knives had a "Lose it, Free Replacement" policy I took advantage of several times over the years.

The knife in the image on the right I bought in the late 1980's down to Springvale Hardware. I bought it because it was the perfect length to cut up 3" foam insulation. At 35 plus years old, it was showing some wear. 

About six weeks ago I was sure I had finally lost this knife also. 

It had been MIA since ....... well, a long time. I decided I would try to find another new one............... Problem ....... Shrade stopped manufacturing them 20 plus years ago. I hit the used market on eBay and found an outfit selling knives that had been confiscated at airports in the Lone Star State. I spotted the one on the left, ordered it, paid too much and 3 days later it landed on my doorstep.

Five minutes, maybe ten minutes later I found the old friend in a spot that defied logic. I must have been flying high when I decided a bookshelf 7 feet off the ground was a good spot to leave my knife. But there it was and now I have twins. ........... 

The one I bought out of Texas looks better, but it actually is not as solid as my old friend. The blade is a tad sloppy and it came through with an edge that had been insulted with a grinding wheel. Almost looked like saw blades. Took me some time to hand hone it into some semblance of usable dignity. I think it winked at me when I was done.

After I was finished with the new arrival, I touched up the edge on my old friend. I don't think I have ever seen it with a sharper edge. 

Nothing quite like a freshly sharpened blade to make a young boy smile.

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

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Only one song came to mind. I owned this song on a 45 RPM record I special ordered at a record store in Tampa, Florida. Please enjoy "Mack the Knife" by Bobby Darin from 1958. Turned up to Wow is the best level.

The Noise of Mass Insanity

I haven't posted much lately because well, I have had more to say than I could sort out and make sense enough of  to not come across as an over the edge wacka-doodle who is sure we are all fucked with no help in sight. 

Imagine a dirty, scruffy old man with a long beard, whose out of control mullet hairdo gives the impression he might just be a retired Tweaker who survived many years in a Meth Lab. He is clothed in what once may have been a nice bathrobe and is standing on a wooden soap box in Central Park. 

Through missing and rotted teeth, he verbally accosts anyone who happens by with doomsday predictions about where their souls will end up if they don't bring Jesus into their hearts. The man's eyes will take on a glow as he beseeches the Lord with upraised arms to use his mighty wrath and smite these sinful heathens down so that only the blessed and faithful will be around for the Rapture. ....................

Yeah, that is how I see myself when I want to write lately about anything remotely political or religious. 

There is so much rabid stupidity floating around everywhere in this country, the sane among us have turned off, or at least turned down the moronic rhetoric that is poisoning our interactions with each other. And though the media knows that most of us are tired of the nonsense, they continue to pile the useless and destructive bullshit on us 24/7, day in, day out. 

Yeah, I could turn off the noise, and frankly I have turned it off to the best of my ability. But it is hard to not at least peek at the million car pile up that is our country at the moment. I sure hope some sanity returns before I leave this rock full of assholes. ........ I won't hold my breath.

Ferchrisakes people;

 What about "Keepin it 'tween the Ditches" do you not understand?

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So what music might go with the mass insanity that is playing out coast to coast here in the USA? ....Hmm...........

A song written over 50 years ago for a different set of problems is still pertinent to the insanity we put ourselves through today. My whole life has been filled with people pissing on each other's shoes, blaming each other for the sadness and hurt that was mostly self inflicted.

It is not me, it is them. ...........When it's really all of us group groping our way to planet wide suicide if we don't watch out.

Here is "For What Its Worth", Buffalo Springfield, released in 1966 I think.

The Final Touche'

Caleb and a small crew showed up this morning at 7:30 AM. There wasn't much left to do on the new septic system but some aesthetic touches - reseeding the back yard and the path the trucks chewed up as they came and went.

While Caleb walked around with huge pruning shears, nipping off the few small roots that had managed to escape to the light of day, one of his crew walked around with a seed spreader flinging out the seeds that would create the new back yard. 

Caleb backed a low trailer piled high with bales of straw and what I assumed was a machine that spread the straw. By 8:00 AM, they were done and out of our yard forever. 

At 9:30 AM the predicted rain came. A steady, wind free rain; the kind of soaker seeds need to get started.

I am impressed with the job Caleb and his crew did. They had to work around a lot of rain, which created intractable conditions for several days. There were unforeseen glitches Caleb took in stride and handled. No whining, No excuses, he just kept at it and made the whole thing easy for us to deal with. 

The folks who make up "Caleb Chessie Excavation" are a credit to their profession. 

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

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Joe Cocker is always able to cover famous tunes and end up owning them by the time the song ends. Please enjoy his cover of " Don't Let Me be Misunderstood".

Days 3 & 4 - Back on Track & Done

Having spent a good number of years laboring in the building trades, I am well aware of the unforeseen hiccups that can plague a work site. 

The hit our well casing took is one such hiccup, as is the extra material Caleb had to bring in to build a passable path for the many 10 yard dump loads of material that was needed to first clear out the crap and then fill it back in with new crushed stone and sand. 

There has been a constant stream of 10 wheeler dump trucks. Caleb keeps his equipment clean and sharp looking. He has at a Peterbilt and a Kenworth, both with tag axles. Nice looking trucks that are packing some classy touches and bling.

I saw our hawk today while the crew was on lunch break. I spotted it sitting in a tree overlooking the new leach field. Excellent. A good sign I think. When we get the clover and indigenous wild flowers covering things, there will be some good hunting ground while affording the smaller critters some cover, evening up the odds a tad.

When the new site plan was drawn up, the engineer who designed the system, called for the pipe exiting the house to be raised at least 12 inches to insure a better pitch than the old one had. Not sure what the big deal was, the old system was not prone to backing up. Regardless, it was a "must do", and it was done. 

Memories of the various glitches of the first few days melted away as Caleb and his guys finished around 4:30 yesterday afternoon. There's some minor this and that still left, but we are now pooping in a new, larger, up to date, CEO approved and ready to rock septic system. 

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

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I am too beat to think about what tune to add. So.......... Here is "All along the Watchtower" as played by musicians from all over the planet.......... "Playing for Change". Again, on this version, it is a hard rule that the volume needs to be close to "Max", or all the way to "Hurt", then dialed back a notch.

Enjoy!

Day Two - First Glitch

After all the progress on Day 1, at the end of it, the excavator backed into my well casing. The impact cracked the casing at the junction of the first two pieces.

Surprisingly, I was not upset at all. Shit happens, and the approach to the back yard is tight. Caleb assured me he would take care of it.  And he did. He called Southern Maine Pump and the guy came out and welded the casing ASAP.

At this point of the process of replacing one septic system for a new and improved one, all I thought about was the process. I was just another rubber necker blinded by the show that is excavation.

Yesterday afternoon as I sat on my bucket bench out back next to the compost pile, I sparked up a doob and contemplated the awesome display of terra-forming taking place on the other side of the rock wall. I do not know exactly what it is about watching big equipment work, but I think every male in existence enjoys watching those machines. And honestly when I drove big equipment and operated big equipment, I enjoyed it then right up until I didn't anymore.

But yesterday, that enjoyment changed to something different as I looked upon the destruction to the mini eco-system that had grown over the last 75 years behind my house. Who knows what creatures, and how many, had to find alternate housing as their home was chopped down, dug up, and hauled away. 

I felt sad. 

Turkeys used to roost there. Maggie would occasionally stir them up and chase them if they slept too long in the morning. Many winters ago, a herd of deer yarded up there several winters in a row. And recently, a hawk who I think built a nest in one of the old pines along the wall has been MIA now since last Friday. 

Displacement happens, but the positive improvement to my personal life is tempered by the fact I had to kick critters out. 

Oh Well.

__________________________

The only tune I could think of was Joni Mitchell's "Big Yellow Taxi". Just substitute the parking lot with leach field and it might make sense.

Day One

Some years back in the early 2000's, a neighbor complained that our leach field was leaking onto their property. I pointed out to my neighbors that they were responsible as they were the ones who pushed a huge boulder onto our leach field in the early 1970s. I also intimated that fixing it was a good idea, but that I expected them to share in some of the cost of the repair or replacement. In that the leak from the field was rather small, I figured they would get back to me regarding how to proceed, but they never did until........

Fast forward to a few months back. I get a call from our local CEO (Code Enforcement Officer). My neighbor had made an official complaint. They wanted the problem fixed and they were denying any fault for causing the failure in the first place. 

The CEO asked me questions. How old was our septic system? How big was our tank? Blah, blah blah. Long story short, he and I decided replacing the septic system was the only way to go. I had no proof of my allegations other than a conversation I had back in the 1990's with the fellow who was operating the bulldozer that pushed the huge boulder onto our land. 

I told the CEO I would find someone to install a new septic system and promised to keep him in the loop.

The first thing we had to do was have a site plan drawn up and then pull a permit down to the Town Hall. A couple of weeks and a sizable chunk of change later, we were ready to hire someone.

Seems here in my corner of Maine, there's an excavating operation hiding behind every tree. Sifting through word of mouth recommendations, we found Caleb C. Chessie. Big man with big equipment and he's located just a couple of miles away. He told us, sure he would love to install a new septic system. Quoted us a price and promised to get on it by the end of May.

Yesterday, August 7, they began taking down trees. In only three hours a crew of three guys had over 25 trees down and cut up into truck-able logs. Ten of the trees were white pines 75 to 100 years old. What you see in the picture is what our back yard looks like now.

To be continued ................................

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I am assuming you saw this song or one like it coming. Here is "Construction Machines", by The Bounce Patrol. ............... Enjoy!

Should Moms Be in Charge

 From the Book of Genesis via Creation.com:

So the LORD God caused a deep sleep to fall upon the man (Adam), and while he slept took one of his ribs and closed up its place with flesh. And the rib that the LORD God had taken from the man he made into a woman and brought her to the man. Then the man said, “This at last is bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh; she shall be called Woman, because she was taken out of Man.” (Genesis 2:21–23)

According to the tale of Mankind's creation as set down in the Holy Bible, God first created the heavens and our planet along with all its vegetative and geological knick knacks. He followed up with the creation of all the animals before he created the first being who would run this planet. Of course that being would be a man as it would be created in God's image because that was what God was looking at in his mirror at the time. This explains why Adam had to be white, male and modestly endowed with the appropriate equipment to spawn a species. 

God is represented as masculine. After all, men ran Heaven, so too it shall be on Earth. Besides, a woman could not have competently run this paradise. Women were created to be Man's bitches, serving his needs and bearing his children because well, God did not give women the intelligence needed to tame a world. Those abilities he bestowed on Adam and the men who would spring forth from his loins. Women bore offspring and kept the place tidy.

Hmm ...........................

As a man, I should be nodding my head here while I clean my Glock, chew on home cured jerky and tug at my crotch. Had I been raised in certain churches, I would have viewed this explanation of the universal power flow chart as logical and well thought through. Women were yucky and God knew what he was doing.

As it turns out ..............

I was raised by lazy WASP Episcopalians, who did their Christian duty to at least expose me to Christianity during my formative and pre-teen years.I was then set free to go it alone. Because of this, I spent some confusing years trying to balance the Evil I saw in the world against the notion of a benevolent Christian God who loved us because, well, he was our father ferchrisakes.

My first realization that the Good Book was full of shit was the notion that men should dominate the planet. In my family, my mother gave as good as she got. She made sure I knew that a woman's place should probably be a step ahead of men rather than the token step or two behind they had finally risen to in the 20th century.

The following fifty years have proven to me that if the Bible is Truth and God put our lives in the hands of Men, then God was/is an idiot. I am positive we would have had a much less painful evolution as a species if Moms had been in charge. 

Happy Sunday and please, at least on this seventh day, keep it 'tween the ditches ............

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I have been wanting to use a tune by The big Push, a group from over the pond. Their front man and leader I guess is a fellow named Ren. They began as a busking band in Brighton,UK and now their music is everywhere. Sadly, Ren left the group I think and maybe at the same time he was bitten by a tick and came down with a vicious version of Lyme Disease.  I hear he is making music again.

Here a two-fer - Big Push with their cover of  "Praise You", by Fatboy Slim. And to just fill anyone interested on the song's roots, here is the original"Take Yo Praise", written and recorded by Camile Yarborough in 1975. 

Climate Hell

The Climate Hell that was July began to ease over the weekend here in the southern pucker brush of Maine. The humidity has dropped to tolerable levels and the temperatures are moving in moderating directions. 

Now on August 1, I can breathe again, I can sleep again, I can look out through eyes not stinging from sweat and when I lick my lips I don't think I'm licking a salt shaker. Today , it is supposed to be the perfect Maine day; Sunny, low humidity, and temperatures here in Acton are supposed to stay in the low 70's F . I'm already well on my way to forgetting July.

Complaining about the weather was one of the first eternal truths of Human interactions when we conversed with only grunts, whistles, and hand motions. I am thinking the fact that we  have no control over the weather is what really drives the constant pissing and moaning. Too hot, too cold. Too dry, too wet. We constantly think the weather is better somewhere else. Well, today, here in Acton, it appears we own that tag, "somewhere else". This is the way Maine should be on August 1. Absolutely perfect.

I have hopes now we are entering a more normal flow of summer. I won't hold my breath.

Now days, the realization is finally settling in that the increase in ugly weather we are seeing around our globe is self inflicted for the most part. ........ Hmm...... Maybe more than the most part,  ....... but hey, Climate Change is here and what are we doing about it?

Not nearly enough. Matter of fact, seems the only thing we are good at is complaining about it.

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

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The first song I thought of was "Here Comes the Sun", by The Beatles. 

So here it is.

A Bad Day Post Script

After posting my blow by blow breakdown of last Friday's Day from Hell, I sat back totally spent, but pleased I had purged myself of the infuriating moments I had suffered through. It was a wasted day of 11 hours and over 100 miles my truck and I will never get back.

History is not just about moments from our past. History is what the Present and the following Future are built on. Without a Past, there would be no Present and certainly no Future. Our path it seems, needs all of them to cleanly move us from cradle to grave.

As much as I wanted to forget last Friday ever happened, I could not get it out of my mind. It didn't help that Saturday, I decided to begin deleting the 5000 emails I had cluttering the storage capacity of the In Box. Like clockwork, once every couple of years I attack the back log.

I was surprised that the last email I received was from the Toyota dealer who had tortured me for 4 hours last Friday. The email contained a breakdown of what my $75 dollars (1/2 hour) worth of analytics had found. There were several things they tagged as "Needs Immediate Attention"; including $330 bucks for more diagnostic time. The total for everything listed would set me back, $1675.82.  And the problem I took the truck in for initially remained unfixed.

The truck only has 8300 miles on it. It is the only vehicle I have ever purchased new for myself. Gotta say, not very impressed with Toyota Service at the moment.

Okay, okay, reading the email was causing my blood pressure to spike again, so I set diagnostic report down and tried to forget it. I could not forget it. Goddamned Car Dealerships. I have never had one treat me right. I think that is one of the founding rules found in the latest copy of "Car Dealerships for Dummies". 

Sunday, I re-read the email. One of the problems the diagnostic mentioned was "AC blower motor full of mice mess". I googled the problem and punched up a DIY video. One of the first things the tech in the video said, "This is an easy fix- good for beginners."

He proceeded to show where the blower was, how to access it and then what I should find. Of course he was using an empty blower cavity without a filter in it. He emphasized twice, not to turn on the blower while fingers were in it.

It looked simple. It was simple. But it took forever to clean out the "Mice Mess". I left the filter in as I cleaned it to mitigate the amount of mice mess that might fall into the blower motor if the the filter was not there. Leaving the filter in cut back on the space to stuff my stubby fingers into, but eventually I think I got most of it. I filled a bucket 3/4 full.

I wondered, like I always do, how do critters from the neighborhood manage to find their way into any of my vehicles. This time was no different until I looked closely at the cover, I noticed chunks of it were missing from both ends.. The little bastards had chewed their way in. The next question is how did they pack in some of the debris I pulled out. There were several sticks over six inches long. Yeah, I wondered long enough to realize it didn't matter how they did any of it. So I stopped worrying and moved on with my life.

Besides the filter, I am going to have to also replace the cover. This means it will cost me twice as much for parts, yet still be cheaper than the cost of buying the just the filter from the dealer. And I saved the $155 labor rip off, the dealership over on the coast was going to tag me with.

Parts should be here soon. Maybe by Wednesday. It doesn't matter. Just knowing I was able to fix it empowered me a tad and my anger at Toyota has disappeared. Now I am just disgusted. Some might call that a step forward.

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

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Just what kind of tune would dovetail into a post about "Mice Mess in the Blower"? I am pretty sure that particular problem has never inspired any song writer anywhere, at any time. So I let my ears take a walk and listen to covers of  "Fat Bottom Girls" originally by Queen. It is one of my all time favorite tunes.

I listened to quite a few versions, finally settling on a cover by who I thought were going to be the "Red Hot Chili Peppers". Imagine my surprise when the first sounds I heard were bag pipes. I didn't know the Red Hot Chili Peppers had done a bagpipe tune. But then it was an instrumental and the only people featured were kids and men in kilts. It was not until I had listened to it twice when I noticed that band name on one of the drums was "Red Hot Chilli Pipers", not Peppers.

Anyway, enjoy this Scottish version of a great song. I included the original also because it deserves a spot. Loud and proud is where its at.

A Day to Make Me Appreciate All the Others

It has been a long time since I had as shitty of a day as I had yesterday.

The one thing I needed to get right was being on time for a 10:00 AM doctor's  appointment in Kittery. There were no glitches. The hour drive was uneventful. I was 15 minutes early. I sat in the lobby and eagerly awaited the upcoming poking, prodding, and bloodletting. I was finished by 11:00 AM. 

Because I had been promising myself for over a month to get a haircut, I made an appointment with a barber on the same road. I have never made an appointment for a haircut before. I probably won't ever again. The appointment was for 12 Noon. The barbershop was half a mile from my doctor allowing me to be early twice in one day. I thought about marking the date with an asterisk because even small victories seem fewer and farther between than they used to.

This is when my day turned to shit.

I decided to get some lunch first as I had been fasting for the Doc since the previous night. I hit the drive thru at Mickey D's out on Route 1. I munched on a Quarter Pounder and listened to some music. I was successfully seated in the barbershop waiting room with 1/2 hour to spare ........... 

Yeah, that's right, the barbershop had a "waiting room" with 2 kinds of magazines neatly spread out on a honking big coffee table.  One row featured Guns, ammo, fishing and hunting mags. Oddly, the other row held an equal number of Wine appreciation periodicals. .......... 

Only on the coastal side of the Turnpike would this occur. Out my way in Acton, miles from the coast, there are probably local ordinances banning wine appreciation magazines being allowed out in public spaces. Wearing sweaters smartly draped over shoulders and loosely tied, while not illegal, are seriously frowned upon. 

My hair cutter, a bubbly young lady, bumped my appointment for a client who had missed their appointment earlier. My 12 Noon appointment became a 1:00 appointment. That created a smidgen of attitude on my part, but I was civil.

While I cooled my heels waiting for the haircut to happen, I remembered I had been wanting to stop at the Toyota dealer who sold me my Tacoma in 2019. It seems that when a battery dies on one of the newer Toyotas, simply charging it up is not enough. When I started the truck after charging my battery up, several of fancy "perks" I never used or planned to use decided to warn me in no uncertain terms with a constant loop of flashing reminders that they may of been no use to me in my past, they were now , without a doubt, not going to ever work even if I wanted them to. The basic functions of the truck worked fine. The flashing lights irritated me and the online fix was useless. I decided it was dealer time after a dozen attempts to change the outcome of the previous 11 failures to launch.

I called the dealer 20 minutes north just off the Maine Turnpike a few miles. They told me they could work me in at 2:15 PM. It was 1:20 PM. I had almost an hour, but I figured that a Friday in the summer anywhere near the coast could be a challenge to navigate, so I jumped on the turnpike immediately and headed north for maybe a minute before the 3 lanes heading north ground to a halt. Traffic was backed up over 15 miles. I made my car appointment with only minutes to spare. It was around 2:10 PM

And still the real fun had not really begun yet.

Up front, the repair rep, a skinny little long haired fellow with the worst effort of a goatee I had ever encountered, told me it would be $75 to run the basic diagnostic to find the problem. 

"The truck only has 8200 miles on it. Shouldn't that be under warranty," I asked.

"No. Sorry, your warranty is only good for 36 months or 30,000 miles for this kind of problem. Your warranty ran out 4 months ago."

Temperature is rising, but I held my tongue and agreed to the $75 charge. They take the truck into the garage and I park my butt inside the dealership at a Wi-Fi desk and begin roaming the World Wide Web on my phone. It is 2:30 PM

After an hour I grow antsy and asked at the service desk for an update. 

"Sure thing sir, I will check right now". He disappears through the door to the massive multi-bay repair area.

Around 4:00 PM, he shows back up and tells me the repair rep with the long hair and the worst goatee in New England will be with me soon. 

4:30 PM; my repair rep comes back to tell me that they have not found what the problem is yet and it will probably cost me another $300 (2 hours) of diagnostic time to find the solution.

I knew I was close to losing it, but again, I held myself in check. In no uncertain terms I let him know what I thought of the dealership and their scamming ways.I was civil but in his face. I think he now had an inkling of just how pissed I was as I informed him I would not be throwing anymore good money after bad into their scamming pockets.

The waiting room was full of people turning in our direction now. Yeah, I turned some heads, but I had been civil, just in a louder than the usual civil tone that ensured everyone within earshot got an earful. 

Repair Rep seemed to shrink in front of me.

"Well sir, I am going back to the garage and tell them you want your truck back without taking advantage of the service  suggestions offered up by that first 1/2 hour diagnostic."

Then he disappears back into the deeper, darker parts of the dealership. It was 5:15 PM before I got out of there with my problem still not fixed and now my wallet had a $75 dollar hole in it. 

Before I drove the 45 miles home, I called my wife at her office. Good. She was still there. I Suggested that I stop in Biddeford at Firehouse Subs to pick up dinner and meet her at her office for a take out dinner. 

The Biddeford Firehouse Subs is nestled in a small cluster of new-ish attached storefronts where the back of the buildings face the road, Rte 111, and the front doors are in the back facing a parking lot hidden from the road. I pull around and I do not see many cars parked. I actually am able to park in front of the sub shop. I can see it is dark, but I get out to read the hastily handwritten sign taped awkwardly to the inside of the door:

"Closed Due to the Sinkhole"

That was all it said. I looked around the almost empty parking lot. No sink hole in sight. Looked into the darkened spaces of the sub shop and saw no sinkhole. .... Hmm

Because my day had been so full of disappointment, I accepted the truth of that sign immediately. Somewhere nearby there was a sink hole and these people were either afraid of it or closed their doors to go rubberneck near its edge. Regardless, the lights were out and nobody was home.

My mouth had had 20 minutes to wrap it's mind around a foot long "Hook n Ladder".  And now it, like me was totally dejected, rejected as our shoulders slumped in unison when I gave the doors a token rattle , just to make sure they were not fooling.

Okay, so another change to another Plan B. By now on this day, I was used to the inevitable disappointments, bottle necks and and undeserved happenstances I was forced to deal with. I called my wife and said it was going to be Wendy's, but I would add two small chocolate Frosties.

At Wendy's in South Sanford, the drive thru line is tied up almost back to the road. I was barely able to get off South Main St. and in line. As congested as the line was, going inside would be worse. The drive thru was always faster at that joint.

A few minutes into my wait for the line to perform the stutter movements as each car orders and then moves forward, a Road rage incident unfolded between the car in front of me and the car in front of them. Yes, the idiot two cars up was not keeping a tight formation with the others in line. When he stopped there was always a bus length space between him and the next car. The guy in front of me finally laid on his horn. 

A car door was flung open and the space waster got out looking punk ass mean. He began telling the horn honker in front of me how he was going to kick his ass if he honked his horn again. He stood there, hands on hips and a punk-ass scowl on his face.

The door of the car in front of me opened slowly and the biggest man I have seen in a long time extricated himself from his car. He aped the other guy's posture and 30 seconds of what looked like a showdown was about to unfold came to a whimpering conclusion as the space waster slithered back into his vehicle.

Meanwhile, all three of us then moved up quickly in the space created during the stare down. I ordered the grub and headed north on Main St. 

I had one more obstacle to overcome. Apparently there was a parade, a celebration of some sort, or Sanford just closed the street in front of Town Hall so young couples with strollers, babies in slings, and old farts using their walkers could strut around in the middle of the street. I never did find out what it was. This added more minutes to the trip to Springvale, I arrived at my wife's office with cold grub and 2 milkshakes instead of 2 Frosties.

My 11 hours of Hell was finally over. Some days it definitely does not pay to get out of bed.

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

___________________________

I decided a tune about a bad day was just me wallowing even more in my own self pity. So, here is an interesting cover by Steven' Seagulls of Metallica's, "Nothing Else matters". It is damn good in my opinion. The silly presentations aside, Steven' Seagulls are serious about their music.

Enjoy. As always, louder is better than the alternative.

Executive Order 9981

It was 75 years ago today that President Harry S. Truman (D) initiated Executive Order 9981, ending segregation in all of the US Armed Services. From what I can tell, this was one of the first nails pounded into the coffin of the Jim Crow Era.

I know, I know. Many people think Jim Crow never died. He just hid deep inside the intractably inbred stagnant back waters of what has now evolved into our current version of White Supremacy. They are probably right, but what we have today is a far cry from the Jim Crow of the mid 20th century.

Current manifestations of Racism today are more insidious, and systemically embedded than ever before. It is harder to root out than the worse chauvinistic and racist attitudes paraded around during the so called "Good Ole Days" of Jim Crow.

July 26, 1948 was the date. I was born four years later into a career military family. I knew nothing of segregation as my first years on the planet were desegregated years.I was rudely awakened in the years immediately following my father's retirement in 1960. Yeah, 1960 is probably when I began realizing the "Leave it to Beaver" world I thought would continue as before was over. The perfect life I had enjoyed as a wee one was done. I would have to get used to the harsher realities of the civilian world going forward. Those next four years in Florida ensured I would be brought up to speed about some of the worst ugliness that existed in everyday civilian life here in the USA.

I remember a conversation with my father, "the General", when I was twenty something and he was an old fart like I am today. We shared most of a bottle of Old Grand Dad and talked. It was one of more than a few alcohol infused conversations I had with him in his last years.

We talked of many things. One topic we shared were recollections of our time living in Florida. 

I admitted to him I had defied his and Mom's order to not go anywhere near an upcoming civil rights demonstration and march. I went anyway and was witness to just how ugly the fight for civil rights could be. 

On a back street near the Capitol in Tallahassee, blacks were prepping to join the demonstration.  I watched, as a group of white thugs swarmed around them and beat them with bats and big sticks. Meanwhile on the same street white cops turned their backs, leaned on their cruisers, sucked on toothpicks and had genial conversations with each other like nothing odd was going on further down the street.

My father admitted he had dropped the ball when it came to preparing me for some of the realities that would be part of my life going forward. But he did not apologize. He told me that there really is no good way to prepare anyone for Mankind's ability to be evil. Talking about it means nothing compared to witnessing it first hand.

So, here is a tip of my hat to Harry S. Truman (D), who struck the first positive blow in the fight to bury Jim Crow. It was possibly the first step in turning the Democratic Party away from being the Party of Jim Crow and moving it to the Party for Civil Rights. 

What pisses me off about all this is we should have moved on from the divisive bullshit of Racism many, many years ago. Many of us white people thought it was. I was one of them for a long time.

I began to realize 30 years ago Racism was still there like a nagging headache that would not go away. I also began to realize that the autocratic, capitalist enclave that really has us by our short hairs do not want to lose Racism. The divisiveness it creates keeps us off our game and thus easier to control. Keeping us at each other's throat is an easy old school, been around forever tool by which to control the drooling masses. Give them someone to hate and they won't hate you.

Anyway, Happy First Desegregation Day.

______________________

I immediately considered Bob Dylan's "Blowing in the Wind" as my musical choice.

There must be fifty million ga-gillion covers of "Blowing in the Wind"  by fifty ga-gillion musicians since Bob first recorded this tune in the early 1960's. It was a song that set the tone for many protest songs that came after. In my opinion, this song may be the greatest protest song of all time. 

I made the mistake of listening to too many covers and could not decide which one I liked other than Bob's original recording. So here is a short list of some of the versions I listened to:

• Neil Young
• Johnny Cash on David Letterman
• New Christy Minstrels
• Peter, Paul & Mary
• Marlene Dietrich

Enjoy!

Now & Then

Today I am parked in front of my computer, sitting in my own sweat and trying to find my voice again. It's hard to think when the sweat runs like piss. But I finally remembered why I sat down. ............

Hot enough to breed sheep temps and what many fellow Mainers consider blistering , Hellfire weather from the Satanic hinterlands further south. 

While in Florida, many may claim it's not the heat, its the stupidity; here in Maine, it is definitely the humidity. Unlike Florida being permanently stuck on stupid, the stupidity  here 'bouts comes and goes.

Yep, a nasty sweat dripping summer has a clenched grip on our short hairs here in Vacationland of late. Life passes us by in the Slow Lane most days. With this imported heat from away, my pace has slowed to an middlin crawl. I know I would like to see the pace pick up some. Lookin forward to Fall, I'll tell ya.

I would like to look somewhere, anywhere in America for some sympathy. I can't do it. Not with a straight face anyway. I am pretty sure I have it better than most. Matter of fact, given how dire some situations are currently, I have no reason to complain.

Everyone anywhere, near and far from the everywhere we all suffer together in, are trapped into what appears to be our new normal instead of the old, odd and seldom seen weather. Those "storms of the century" are now occurring every year somewhere.  No one it seems, has escaped some version of extreme climate conditions. Large populations of suffering bastards from coast to coast are feeling the sting of Mother Nature's wrath.

It didn't have to be this way; ..... No,......... but that's all I'mma gonna say.

The Music Library that came with my trusty Windows 7 PC so many years ago has been dying in fits and starts. I believe it is not long for this world now. The missing and dead parts have overwhelmed its ability to do anything more than play from the lists I created and the CDs already ripped into its gulliwots.

One more reason to replace the PC with that rejuvenated and jacked up Windows 10 tower I have had gathering dust for I guess, a year or so now. But, I hate switching to a new computer. Takes forever for it to get used to me. .... Hmm, I guess workin wounded doesn't make much sense either. ..... We'll see.

The great music crash in my PC has left me with over 7 hours of unnamed music stuffed into one folder the computer has decided to label "Unknown". I opened it and found some of the playlists I had lost. They were intermixed with no discernible plan or organization. What was worse, most of the tunes were only marked with a number; no name or titles.

I decided that I was still recuperating from the last weekend or maybe even the one before, so I sat down and began to play each song and type in the appropriate names. The first song up was "Old Folk's Boogie", by Little Feat. If I had to pick only one CD to take with me to a desert Isle, it would be the Little Feat Live album. I always liked "Old Folks Boogie", only now I not only like it, it has more meaning for me than ever before.

So I am happy happy as I begin writing this post and listening to the mish mashed 7 hour playlist from Hell. The 10th song came up. It was and still is my favorite song of all. No equivocation, no doubts, "Willin", by Little Feat was my inspiration when I was young and numb. I stopped typing and just listened...... Then I listened to it again.

It occurred to me that "Willin" and "Old Folks Boogie" were appropriate tunes to define my path from the cradle to the upcoming grave somewhere, sometime when I least or maybe will expect it.

When I was twenty, I could, would was "Willin" to take on any challenge; 

... if you give me; weed,whites,  and wine

And you show me a sign

I'll be willin', to be movin'

And now days, "Old Folks Boogie" says it all.

  ... you know that you're over the hill

When your mind makes a promise that your body can't fill

_________________________________

Please enjoy this Little Feat "Two-Fer".  One is about the past coming back and the other represents the in my face Present.

Oh, Turning them up to WOW is mandatory as long as you have the room to tap your feet.

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

D. Hard Swallow

Last Saturday, I went to the 8th Annual "Jeezum Crow Festival" at the Stateside Amphitheater located at Jay Peak Ski Resort up yonder in northern Vermont. It was quite a road trip for me as I have made it my goal to not wander far from my home toilet in recent years.

All I had to do was make it to my daughter's house and the rest of day and night I was allowed to be as loose as I wanted. Mr. Man and Lis took over and baby sat. It was great. They were great, I was grateful. The Day was one of the best of my life in recent memory.

We arrived around 2:00 PM. The first act, "Soulshine Revival" were into the back half of their set. We found our spots to set up the chairs. We sat down and enjoyed 8 hours of truly fine Bluegrass-ish, Country-ish, and Blues-ish picking and grinning. There was not a band I did not enjoy. 

While the second band, Sicard Hollow was setting up, my daughter turned to me. Because of the ambient noise that is part and parcel of events such as this, combined with my old fart ears failing to clearly hear, what I heard actually shocked me for a moment.  My daughter is no prude and has an expert grip on the complete range of obscenities that float through and around the American lexicon. But when I heard her say "Dick Hard Swallow", well, that rudely brought me out of my Pot edible/alcohol haze. 

I asked her, "Did you just say 'Dick Hard Swallow' "? 

She busted out laughing. And maybe she was also a little surprised that I also said those words. She was just telling me the name of the band that was setting up at that moment. Their name is "Sicard Hollow", but from now on until the end of time, they will be "Dick Hard Swallow" whenever I think of them. They are very good and don't deserve such a name, but well, sometimes its a cross a band has to swallow.

It was a great time. Once I sat down around 2:00 PM, I didn't move for 8 hours. I was hoping to not have to hit the head and I almost made it. But around 10:00 PM, I knew I had to hit the toilets ASAP.

My growing insistent call of nature had finally turned into an ugly inner turmoil of panic and promises from within that should I forego use of a toilet, things would most definitely get ugly. I stood up, stepped around my chair and almost fell backward down the hill. People jumped to save me and I imagine some jumped to escape. But as it turned out, my body was only fooling. With a smile and a "I got this"gesture, I stumbled up the hill to the ski lodge where the toilets were. I am sure the folks downstream from me had they known of the horror show of what might have been, would share my relief that I did not become a boulder with arms and legs gathering steam as I crushed and left them in my wake. .... You're welcome.

Damn, getting old sucks.

______________________________

Because I had fun mangling their name, I figured I should hi-lite "Sicard Hollow" with a musical number of theirs. Here is their tune live in Nashville, "Grass is Greener"

These dudes rock! ............ But to me, they forever will be "Dick Hard Swallow".

Sorry dudes. 

Jeezum Crow

My daughter and my son in law, Mr Man, are taking me to an outdoor concert in Vermont at the end of next week. More than a few acts will be taking the stage. Lis offered to get tickets because Charlie Parr is on the venue.

The 8th Annual Jeezum Crow Festival is a two day event kicking off Friday evening with a couple of acts. The bulk of the acts are playing on Saturday. Charlie Parr is scheduled to hit the stage at 4:30 PM. We hope to be there by 12:30 PM when the doors open so we can possibly sit on real seats ....... Hmm...... Now that I think about it, might not those wonderful folding chairs I bought a couple years ago be more comfortable than hard arena seats? ....... I'll have to bring this up with the Kid.

Charlie Parr is one of my new-ish favorite musical artists. He has been on my A-list for some time now. He is primarily a solo act who plays and sings songs of Regular Folk and their Blue Collar lives. A little country, some Bluegrass, and a healthy dollop of folk with a some blues tossed in for good measure. 

I struggled at first deciding what genre folder I would put Charlie's music in. He ended up with two folders, one was Blues, the other was Folk. Neither one pinned him down. Then this morning my daughter texted me with the name of one of the other groups at the concert in Vermont. 

"The Devil Makes Three" is their name and they hail from California.  They are scheduled to play around 10:00 PM I think. Hope I can hold it together that long. They are really good also.

Their claim their music is in the "Americana" genre............... I had never heard of the "Americana" genre, but as soon as I heard the term and then their music, I knew Charlie Parr would slip right into that "Americana" genre bucket. Both artists compose and play music rooted in the music of the heartlands of our grand country. 

Existing on the fringes of the established, for profit music industry, both bands have enjoyed success during their time in the smaller limelights. They exist successfully on the fringes of the establishment music industry. They don't pack stadiums or arenas. They play smaller venues usually and that suits me just fine. They have very dedicated fan bases.

It has only been in the last 10 years that I have become acquainted with the new Folk, Hipper bluegrass, and bygone Blues spiced up with new twists. Every week or so, I find new artists from the fringes who are playing wonderful new music that can still take me back to the days of concerts in fields and the sun baking my brain as a joint and a bottle of wine was passed around.

Of course, the loose dog festivals from back in the day when not many rules applied, well, they are long gone now. Nothing more than myths, tall tales, and drunken recollections left now. 

Can't bring a bota bag filled with Boone's Farm wine now days. Certainly,  there will be no passing of joints accompanied by stoner mumblings. And ferchrisakes, don't bring Fido. It's a new age and a new culture with rules that will not be broken.

 That's okay, I always find ways to break rules I don't agree with. Its part of the fun of livin.

Please, if you can't keep it on the road, at least...........

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

_______________________

A two-fer with this post -

• Charlie Parr - "Cheap Wine"
• The Devil Makes Three - "Gracefully Facedown"

Looks to be an alcohol connection here. It was, as I used to say when I was small, a Cwinky Dink. Arbitrary, did not plan it.