BACK IN THE SADDLE

Did you miss me? I fucking doubt it. I also: "Don't fucking care." You got yours, I got mine, alles equalische.

Pete Townshend and Valium go together, I have decided. This morning is a Valium and Pete Townshend kind of affair. My back muscles were tight. I slept wrong or something. It happens. Valium is great as a muscle relaxer and anti-anxiety drug. Much better than any of the alternatives. It is, however, somewhat "habit-forming" if one takes it all the time. The same goes for more innocuous substances...Alcohol, sugar, Baby Back Ribs, you-name-it. I'll take a Valium and Vodka Highball with a coffee back and some Pete Townshend on the box, any day. A Million Housewives can't be "that wrong." Or, am I missing something here?

I got pissed off at the local cable TV company that keeps targeting me for a "re-sell" because I used to have their shitty service and then, when their Head End Technician tried to sell me "a rat's asshole for a wedding ring" (Thank you, Richard Brautigan) one day, switched over to DishTV. He, Mister Head End Up His Ass, claimed that the REALLY OBNOXIOUS 03:00 EBS warnings that happened at three times the volume of whatever was on TV at that wee hour were the fault of The Networks. I know better. I offered to fix his "problem" for $5,000.00. (It's a very simple matter of installing a system wide noise "gate" by the way and would have cost them about $100.00 to fix) Did they "give a shit?' Nah. Suddenlink Communications, Inc. is one of those vulturous companies that buys "distressed markets" and runs them into the ground while all the smart people in the community are going to satellite dish setups. After you switch, they relentlessly hound you with some "fruit basket and a blowjob every morning" deal that lasts about 6 months. Then, it's back to the business of porking the Bejesus out of their customers and "fuck what THEY want." So. What did I "do?"

The Better Business Bureau is a wonderful tool, as are the FCC and the folks at ADA, etc. I am 61 years old, disabled (major back, left shoulder injury) and entitled to a mild case of "porch rage" when these buffoons show up trying to re-sell me. I haul out the index finger in the face and level my eyes over my bifocals very well, thank you. I'm a Professional at berating idiots when they get in my grill.

Besides, I have installed cable TV for the entire town of Logan, West Virginia and don't "buy" any of the horseshit stories Techies tell me. I was a Ground Crew and Sales Guy. I was also a Lighting Designer for Rock and Roll Stage Production and have had to deal with some of the most heinous villains on the Planet in that business. Bad Company's Road Manager, for instance. What a dick. He threatened to "climb my ladder and teach me some manners" one afternoon. I just waggled my 16" Crescent Wrench at him and said: "Come on up, Leather Pants." (He stomped off to find the Promoter to whine to and was told: "Leave my Lighting Guys alone. They're Professionals." I blew him a couple of kisses during the show. I alerted the Stagehands that there might be a ruckus after the show and they all said: "Don't sweat it, Man. We have your back and we don't like the SOB either. We'll take turns shoving him into a disgusting trash can, head first. Or, we could knock him out and stick a lit road flare up his ass." The Evil Stagehands, ya' gotta' Love 'em. "Never mess with the guy wearing Chuck Taylor low-cuts with a big wrench in his pocket." Stagecraft 101.

Almost as bad as Led Zeppelin's Road Manager in the late 1960's, who got his ass thrown down a flight of stairs by Bill Graham one evening. You don't fuck with The Wolfie, Limey Boy. Bill's real first name was Wolfgang, for those "not in the know." He was a Paratrooper with the 86th Airborne at one point in his life. Korea. Not allot of people know that one either. Wolfie was quite the guy. Anybody that actually "knew him" called him Wolfie. I did.

Anyway...Second formal complaint to the BBB regarding Suddenstink. They better pay attention this time. Next comes that smokin' hot Jewish Lawyer from San Francisco with great legs and a low cut blouse. She's on Permanent Retainer, as the result of a late night bar bet that she lost. I would LOVE to unleash her upon the cable company. All they have to do is fuck up ONE MORE TIME. I figure the harassment charge alone is worth about $50k. Dolly will dream up some other good shit to toss on that fire. Somebody's going to lose their job, as well. Fuck 'em. I hear Taco Bell is hiring.

Generally speaking, I am a Pretty Nice Guy. Right up until you lie to me, I catch you and then you lie some more while the LIE is costing me money, which is a precious commodity in my current financial state of relative Poverty. My Peace and Quiet is also at a Premium Price. I make the money thing "work" but, I am a penny pincher. Peace and Quiet gets no similar action and is nearly Priceless. I am also an Expert Titty Whistle Player. "Name Ten American Car Manufacturers and I'll take the Vice Grips off of your nipple." Or, just apologize for the stupid lie you just told me or the invasion of my Peaceful Kingdom. Your choice.

Done and done. The ball is "in their court", as "they" say. Whomever "They" are. The complaint will be sitting on somebody's desk tomorrow. THIS time, I want a written apology from Suddenstink and a letter from the BBB telling me that the issue has been formally and finally "resolved." Will I get those documents? Maybe. The point really is: "Do I have your full attention, now?"

Pete:

Peace, Love and Little Chocolate Legal Hand Grenades,
-Doc



       

Really "Fun" Intestinal Bug

Ever had a "Bug" that made your neighbors think you'd died? Yesterday I finally felt like a Human again.

Just short note here. I still feel kind of weak. More later, after I am fully hydrated and get some real food into myself. The only place I went was between bed and the loo for a full week. Drank about a Battleship full of water and lived on vitamins and lemon water.

To quote Sam Clemons: "The rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated."

-Doc

LIPS AND FLOWERS

Both are good. Both "speak." Both say what language cannot. Kisses. Scent. Both to be valued above words. My favorite neighbor likes both.

Music is a close second. Art an arguable third. Unless it's "Bad Art." Is there such a thing? My Wife liked to exclaim: "Fuck Art, let's DANCE!"

She was an Artist. A Metalsmith and Working Jeweler. And, a pretty good Dancer. Except when she did "that cotton picking dance thing." I have no idea what the origins of that dance are. It sort of looks like she was picking up loose change from the floor. My dance moves have their origins in Grateful Dead concerts and some annual mushroom festivals. One of which was the result of a wet floor slip and a sink being removed from a wall resulting in an "upside down waterfall." Oh, well. It was a great dance move. Mostly: A "wet sort of wiggle." Use your imagination. I was dressed as Zippy The Pinhead. It was Halloween.

I don't usually participate in Halloween Festivities. Kids are lucky if I remember to buy candy. I sure as Hell don't go to bars and have to watch other people's costumes do what they do. I'd rather have a tooth pulled.

The fog is still here. Which is odd. I would think that it has cooled off inland by now. Usually, we get fog out here, on the Coast, when its' 90 degrees out there. Maybe it still is.

As stated yesterday: "Day off from walking." Laundry and Housekeeping, instead. The Marketing is done.

Maybe Lips and Flowers, too. Right now, coffee and a cigar are on the menu...

-Doc

  

BOOTS VERSUS CONCRETE

Concrete wins, every time. Makes your hips and knees hurt, balls of your feet, etc.. Walking is good for you but...

Yesterday was "interesting." Met a Navy Vet that needed to find the Vet's Center and wasn't real happy about being "lost." New Kid In Town. From Bedford, Mass.. I would be lost in Bedford, I suppose. I was lost in some town in New Jersey once. I found the beach. You can't get "lost" while facing the Ocean. There are only two ways to go.

Another good place to "get lost" is Alaska. Hopefully, you're smart enough or have enough tools to find your way back "out." Listening for water or cars usually works pretty good. All water flows to the sea and all cars lead to a road or Village. Alaska is pretty big though. It might take you a couple of days/weeks to find either of the afore mentioned egresses.

I got lost in a City Park here in town, for about 15 minutes. Just missed that "left turn to Albuquerque" as Bugs Bunny might say. All ya' have to do is "turn around" and follow your boot prints.

I'm taking the day off from walking today. I think I'll do the laundry and vacuum the house, instead. Sounds exciting, huh?

At least I won't get lost.

Kisses,
-Doc

(And: "Yes, it's Ginger Baker's Daughter." I own this album.)

  

A TOWN, A HARBOR, A LIFE

"Towns" tend to have a life of their own. This one is no different. They come with their own "commercials" and advertisements. Bummer. I don't care for "commercials." Fast forward to the program.

We all have "dreams." They're not that much different than "commercials," I have noticed.

"Buy this, Believe That." "Suck this, Blow That."

Does "News" last longer than 15 minutes? (Thank you, Andy)

Fuck.

I think I would rather cook something. Then, eat it.

I woke from a dream. There was a commercial on T.V.. I was in lieu of a brick.

I think I like it more when there's a guitar melody playing... "Mo and Herb's Vacation," for instance.

-All That and big bag of reeking, fetid, Cat Shit,
-Doc

A Consequence of "Walking"

Achy-Breaky Hips. No weight on, just boots vs. concrete.

Years back, I thought nothing of tossing 90 lbs. on my back and "disappearing" for weeks. These days, it ain't happening. 10-15 miles of out-and-about on City Streets with a day pack and a loaf of bread kicks my ass. Oh well. I knew it would happen, someday. Other "somedays," 15 miles ain't Doodly Squat. In fact, I usually arrive home refreshed, ready for a sandwich and "other writing." The kind I get paid for. Good boots, fresh bread or not.

It's "indoor termite" time again. They crawl across my TV and monitor and get into my electronics, in general. Some meet their desperate fate-by-hand, others are too quick. At least the Western Drought has beckoned less Hornets.

I don't like Hornets. In fact, I actually "hate" them. They stung me more than 100 times, up in the Sierra's, when I was about 17 years old. Waist length hair, bell bottoms, you get the idea. The "score" isn't equal, yet. I plan to slaughter as many as possible before I die. Outright swatting, flaming brake cleaner, hair spray, motor oil, M-80's, you name it: "They die." Having stomach convulsions, lungs trying to shut down, being temporarily blind, vomiting, etc., wasn't a party. I'm not "done." They, are. I have learned to "roll them with my palm, into the ground and then, stunned, KILL them." Bwaa-Hah-Hah-Hah.

The hair on my neck still stands up when I hear them near me. Fuckers.

I found a really nice Sierra Designs two person tent the other day at a thrift store, for $10.00. Sans rainfly, which isn't a big deal. God made 8'x10' tarps for a reason. Rain porch/cook area/make-it-yourself-rainfly. Mother of Invention, all that. A tarp is also much less expensive than a replacement rainfly. "What do you want for a cool, 10 buck 1980's SD tent, anyway?" The zippers work and the netting is intact.They, SD tents, last forever. The Aluminium poles are in "new" condition. The fly was probably knackered, anyway.

Monday. More shopping. Cold weather on its' way. Lamp oil, more candles, canned goods, haul out the Midweight sleeping bag, trim all wicks and get some more batteries. "Ugly" is just around the corner.

It could happen any day. Or, any hour. I "put the gloves on" while walking to the store the other night. Then again, there was that one Winter when "frostbite" happened, many years ago, in some uncharted area of Wyoming or, Alaska. The ends of my fingers still hurt when it's cold outside, sometimes. Usually, pockets work. I own many pairs of gloves. My digits are safe. I make sure of them.

Warm cookies and hot chocolate for ALL,
(Talk to me in February...),
-Doc

   

THE BROWN ACID IS A BUMMER, PLEASE...

Do NOT take The Brown Acid. There are people at the Medical Tent, should you find yourself a recipient of said substance... Yes, Wavy Gravy will be there. I still prefer to call him: "Hugh."

I never knew anyone that had taken The Brown Acid. I DO know some people that bought The Esteban Guitar though... Mostly people that, in their 30's and 40's, finally "came around" to: Some bullshit resolution/realization that guitar was the only instrument worthy of a credit card after the television advertisement and subsequent purchase. A bad idea and a knee-jerk flashback, of sorts. "Learn to play the guitar AND grow the head of a dog in three weeks or less, or your monkey back!" They tried to play one for a couple of weeks, found the instruction manual/CD too confusing and/or simply put the chunk-o-wood and guitar picks in the closet. Which, is a great place for one of those instruments. Sorry, "Estaban," Les Paul and Mel Bay beat you to that by decades. Still: "There's one in every crowd," to quote P.T. Barnum and Eric Clapton. At least Clapton had the good sense to put a dog on the album cover...

Andres Segovia once said: "The guitar is perhaps the only instrument that I will never Master." Let that soak in for a moment... Six strings (or 7, or twelve), five (or ten) digits, 24 frets. You're going to "Master" that? Good luck. At least a piano only has 88 options and a limited amount of "inflections." A visual aid:

A representation of my favorite guitar. Mine's a 1959, this one is a year or so newer. Mine does not have the "Magnatone" swirly at the top of the fret board. Otherwise, it's a fairly accurate representation. Dark Emerald Pearloid. My strings "pass through" the body, as well. I swapped out the machine heads for faux Grovers (I kept the "Empire" pegs) but, otherwise, it's a "stock" unit. I favor this instrument over my "other ones," a Korean made Epiphone Custom Shop reproduction of a 1957 Les Paul Junior, "TV Yellow." The next candidate is a 1949 Magnatone/Dickenson Lap Steel. As I age and my fingers become less cooperative, the '59 Magnatone is much easier to play and shall never see the inside of a closet. At one point, the LPJ was relegated to the care of my Local Guitar Guy though, to fix the "backwards" ground on the p.u.. Koreans read right to left.

Yes, Honey... Sometimes I DO: "Love my guitar more than the dog." Unless it's a cold night and the dog is "out and about." I jest. Your Rosanne Arquette nose/lips and Marylin Monroe hips are preferable... You will never suffer the fate of the closet or replacement parts. Of course, the Magnatone doesn't sass me or tell me to take out the garbage. I will never buy my guitars dinner or bring them flowers. I promise. I will also never wake up with my arm, dead asleep, under their head and not care to wake them.

Women, Guitars. Hmmmm... "How do I Love Thee? Shall I count the ways?" Not if I want dinner, a kiss, pleasant conversation, pointed argument, a good cuddling or a song. Notice that I placed you first, more than once, Dear. Please. The "song" part might just be You, too. I never need an apology for screwing up a chorus, making a bad sandwich or being out of coffee with a guitar. It all works out, in the end. Guitars don't give me The Look That Turns My Soul To Warm Marmalade from across a crowded room, Kiss Me Goodnight, Keep Me Warm with a simple wink or bring me The Perfect Cup Of Coffee. Then again, you never screech feedback, handle a Wah-wah pedal or Roland Workstation with finesse... Even Steven. The guitars don't have "names" and look silly in makeup or a nice Polka Dot dress and silk stockings. You, make my Chuck Taylor's stick to the floor when you laugh. The guitars do not offer any "thanks" for a four hour marathon of stroking. I have never complained that you needed re-stringing or a trip to the Luthier. You win. By hands, head, heart and soul.

The '57 Repro (O.K., this one is a Gibson...):

 My Epiphone actually plays better than the original. It also cost about $10,000.00 less.    

Up at my usual Captain Insane-O Hour: 05:00, with a cup or cups of coffee and cigarettes, news articles, bad TV programming, no birds (yet) and "General Peace and Quiet." I woke from a beautiful dream with the lyrics to "Splendid Isolation" in my head. My dreams Love me more than I Love myself. My dreams Love Somebody Else more than they Love me. Or, are too engaged in songwriting/weird Architecture/fish with Kangaroo heads, etc., to notice that I washed my face and hands before crawling into their Realm. Something like that... I switched to my Winter Sleeping Arrangement last night and kept the window over my head open a notch. After The Neighborhood became quiet. It's been the Queen Biscuit Drama Hour around here, lately. Neighbors. Asch. Who "needs" 'em? I'd make a pretty good Hermit. Of Mink Hollow, of course.

"Lock the gates, Goofy, take my hand":

Y'er Buddy and First Mate if and when ya' get too fucked up to drive the vessel or change the music...
-Doc