Sitting here at just after Noon O'Clock, listening to Tom Waits, having a third cup of coffee to go with the second painkiller and just watching the day fritter itself away. Typical. "Spring" in Temporarily Humboldt County. Another quasi-obscure reference with its' roots fully sunk into the 60's. Spring in Humboldt is like "Winter" in Panama. It just doesn't seem to mean much. There are TONS of those kinds of "ism's" in the World. Don't get me started, you'll regret bringing it up in the first place.
Panama has been "In The News" of late. A couple of Heads of State losing their jobs and some Chinese guys getting their Tiny Little Commie Dicks caught in the proverbial wringer. Couldn't happen to a nicer police lineup of Cavalier Financiers, huh? I betcha' Donald Frump has a few offshore accounts out there. (I know, I know, I promised, forever ago, that: "This thing would never get Political.") Sue me. I know Donnie Dearest would. As a parting shot: Who, in their right mind would vote for that fucker's hair? They can't be voting for The Man... It's gotta' be the Crazy Hair.
So. Tom is spouting off, Poetry Slam Style, "Spare Parts." It, the song, reminds me of seeing/hearing him in Sandy Eggo, somewhere around Horton Square, in some vomit-floored Sailor Piano Bar (It's all Gentrified nowadays but, you can still find a joint with Vietnamese B-Girls hustling Sailors and Marines for $20.00 Champagne Cocktails if you really try to.) Back in the early 70's. Tom had been drinking, not The Piano. God only knows what else he was into in that crap-washed Border Town. I hated living there. I console myself that: "It was a long time ago."
"...The jukebox has to take a leak..."
"...The telephone needs a cigarette..."
"Not me. Not me. Not me. Not me. Nooot Meee..."
-Doc
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