The New Boots hurt, yesterday. I noticed a callous developing. Some people call that a "blister." The Marine Corps calls it: "The sensation of fear leaving one's body." Long story short: I had to call a Taxi, rather than do the walk back home from any and all festivities. It was the Rhododendron Festival and Parade, "Downtown," yesterday. Not much of a "Downtown." It'll "do," in a pinch. Portland, Oregon's, "Rhody Fest" is far more spectacular. Rose Fest, even more so.
Stopped in to my Friends' Independent Record Store along the way. The owner, who's name I may have never known: Plethora o' knowledge regarding Rock and Roll Ephemera. We have fun yakking about obscure LP's and such. We illegally smoked parts of cigarettes in front of his store. "Screw 'em. Screw the Government." (Anthony Hopkins, Legends of the Fall. Regarding Bootlegging.) We were talking about "Picture Discs" yesterday. "Whether or not either of us had a "Favorite" Picture Disc. He said: "Wizard Of Oz." (IF there is one) I said: I told him I'd bring him a Hot Poop T-Shirt, when I remembered to. My Friend, Jim McGuinn owns the Hot Poop LP and Music Store, in Walla Walla, Washington. We've been Friends since I was in High School. That, "was awhile ago."
Jim just reminded me, via Facebook, that Judy Collins is having a Birthday, today. I commented: "I STILL 'fall into' her eyes." So did Stephen Stills and Graham Nash. So many did. Willfully.
I'm "up" for the moment, contemplating my Mom's foot injury (she broke some small bones in her foot) and debating with myself whether or not "going back to sleep for two hours" is a good idea. I'm leaning towards the sleep thing, after I eat something. Sunday's are good for sleeping late, musing about what the days' activities might be and enjoying the Quiet Building.
Doo-doo-doo-dee-doot. Doot-doot-de-doot-dee-doot:
You are: "What You Are." (You know who you are, Baby. You Ruby Throated Sparrow, You.)
-Doc
"I felt like I was crossing The Border." -Donald Trump 04.28.2016 Sometime P.M.
There was a Riot. People got hurt. The Donald had to scuttle about for an alternative escape route.
Well, congratulations, Don. You just "lost" Southern California. My God, what a DICK! He reminds me of Nixon but, dumber and more dangerous.
<End of Political Rant>
Very rarely do I ever get: "Political." For me, it's allot like watching Reality Television. So, fuck that shit. Somebody else can get upset about it. I seem to like saying: "If it doesn't happen within 6 feet of me, doesn't bite, explode or stink, I don't care about it."
Yesterday, I found an "almost NITB" (New In The Box) pair of Asolo Hiking Boots at a thrift store that benefits an animal rescue shelter around here. My perfect size (11 Narrow) and maybe worn for part of a Summer and put away. The "problem" and ostensible "reason" that someone donated these boots is that: When they stored them, the laces actually "rusted" to the bottom "Speed Lacing Clips" and were, previous to meeting my Leatherman Supertool, immovable. I freed them up, loosened the laces, trimmed them and put the boots on. It was like they were made for me. These boots, list price, Retail Brick and Mortar Store, will set you back about $200.00. I know where to get them for about $50.00 less. What did I pay yesterday? $7.00. Some Rich Person didn't care to take the time to fix the lacing problem and donated them. I LOVE Stupid Rich people. And thrift stores. These boots are no longer being made by Asolo (my favorite boot company, by the way. I own two other pairs of their boots.) and are also Gore-Tex, which my other Asolo Boots, are not. The other things I bought at the thrift store were a fishing hat for my Buddy, Stephen and a "Waybacks" (A Band) CD. All said and done, I was out of the thrift store for less than $10.00. Only because I had other stuff to do. Like: Go to Safeway and get a frozen pizza, some dessert (A Boston Cream Cake) and some Decaf Soda Pop. Sunkist Orange and A&W Root Beer. I rarely drink soda. It just sounded good.
Took some shots of my neighbor's 1931 Crown Victoria Touring Car yesterday. He had it out parked on the street with its' new "For Sale" sign on it. Ready to go inland to a car show where he hopes to sell it. I'm guessing that it's a ball park figure: "$20K Car." I LOVE Old Cars, too. I've owned a few. A 1948 Dodge Custom Touring Sedan (D-24 with a '53 Driveline) and a 1952 IHC 1 Ton Flatbed Truck, just to name a couple. The list of cars I've owned in my life would take up the rest of this page.
Nice day here yesterday. Typical "Southern Northwestern Spring Weather." Windy, a bit chilly, some drizzle, brief moments of sun and the occasional Cherry Blossom. Rhododendrons are also in bloom. The Stellar's Blue Jays are back. As are many of the migratory birds that frequent the Northeastern Pacific Flyway. I'm smack dab in the middle of that Aeronautical Highway. You can tell what the season is doing just by noticing which birds are in town.
I also picked up a Lifetime California State Parks Discount Pass yesterday for $3.50. Because I qualify for "Disabled Status." I'll be 62 years old in a couple of months, too. Lots of people lost money on their bet that I'd never see this age. Fuckers.
Those words were said to the Phone Company Lineman the other day. It/they were in reference to a computer not being able to "do" anything that its' Operator doesn't "tell it to do." There's no magic in that box.
I discovered one of the things that was bogging down my machine. The newer version of Spotify, my Steaming Music Service automatically updates itself, if you choose that feature. In this case, to a version that loads the LP/CD Artwork alongside of the Artist's offerings. It takes FOREVER to load the rather large litany of Song Lists I have stored in their cloud. (Hundreds of hours of music) Their servers began to "not like me" and would stop loading the lists somewhere around Van Halen and Steve Vai. There was a block of performers, about 50 Artists long, that I couldn't listen to anymore and would get "error messages" during the load about. I deleted the newer version, reloaded a simpler one and it works just fine now, sans Artwork again. It even sounds better, because it isn't wasting all that bandwidth on Album Art. It could be my imagination.
Started the day with coffee and listening to Tackhead. Wonderfully Bass-y stuff with lots of multi-cultural tones. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tackhead I really like both Adrian Sherwood and Doug Wimbish. I was introduced to their music by an Artist Roommate in Hawai'i, back in the 90's. His Brother used to send him mix tapes and some of them included these guys' work. I was infected by their magic. In or out of the box. Their version of Stevie Wonder's "Higher Ground" is great! Think Red Hot Chili Peppers' cover of the song on powerful mescaline (or something else). A cover of James brown's "Funky President" is way hip as well. The Sherwood remix, especially. I hear too many influences to start naming names. Wimbish has been on so many other people's recordings that it's crazy how he even found the time to be there, recording with them and have any sort of Personal Life. If you've never listened to these guys, do it.
I have more than a couple Friends who's Art has taken over their personal Lives. All a matter of priorities, I suppose. I get caught up in my own "addictions" once in awhile too. So, I "get" how that happens. I spent weeks recording and mixing, re-recording and adding and subtracting "blips" of this and that to a song. That went on for months, here and there. I ended up calling a halt to any further modifications/additions/subtractions at some point. I had to decide upon a Final Cut. Otherwise, I was going to starve to death or develop a bad Studio Rash, Vitamin D deficiency, have a guitar pick become an actual part of my hand, headphones graft themselves to my head, or whatever...My two Housemates were "understanding" about the process and amazed at my tenacity and patience.
I still have problems with my Landline Phone. (I WILL NOT own a cell phone) I am going to have to call the Repair Guy out to the pole again. I don't know what the eventual "fix" is going to be but, at least the internet connection is better. My Friends can just send me emails in the meantime. We just "ramble" on the telephone anyway.
PG&E gave me a nice, biannual gift, this month's billing cycle. A $28.00 cut in the total bill. Yay! I can always use an extra $28.00.
It's supposed to"maybe" rain today. So says the barometer on my desk and the National Weather Service. Cloudy with a chance of Drama, is more like it. The Neighborhood Drama Factor has been Number 1, with a bullet, lately. I have headphones. Nice ones. Poof! The Neighborhood is silent and invisible.
I have Spring Organization to do. Some milk crates full of stuff I never use to move to storage. Storage space to organize. Organizations to Organize...
Coffee. Tackhead. Cigarettes. Maybe a bagel and cream cheese.
Ever known somebody that doesn't pronounce their consonants? It sounds like they have marbles in their mouth. I notice that allot of people about 20-30 years younger than myself do that. Or, they insert consonants that simply aren't there to begin with. A peeve, "pet" or not, comes to mind. People that say: "Warshington" (or, is it "Worshington?) instead of Washington. A neighbor of mine does that, as do members of his Family. Then again, there's not a High School Diploma among the bunch. I have to believe that it goes deeper than that though. My theory is: They simply don't "care." They've made up their own, regional, ass-backwards, secret language and they're sticking to it. Frank Zappa said something similar about Truck Drivers.
Tom Robbins had a gripe/comment/observation about the overuse of slang. He said something like: "Sure, slang is great if brevity is your objective but, in the end, people end up calling one thing another and that ultimately makes them crazy." He was/is right. The other day, I was In Town and as I was passing one of the book stores, noticed that Tom has a new book out on the shelves. I still haven't got around to reading the one before this new one. Something about Savages or something... I like Tom Robbins' work. He: "turns a phrase well." Which, is a requirement for me reading anything. I tend to favor the Prose style, as you may have noticed. Most of my favorite Writers write Prose. At least most of the time.
My Internet/Phone connections have been on the fritz lately. It's annoying. The Lineman that serviced my line yesterday said there was a "leg" coming off of my line and that he was killing that off so I'd have a "dedicated pipe." All of that sounds vaguely "naughty," huh? To the contrary, it's just Secret Techie Language. "...it will make you crazy." Remember that.
Anyway, one of the things that's not working correctly is Spotify, a music streaming application. Which "kind of sucks" but, that I also don't call that much about because I have TONS of my own music to listen to already. I'm actually thinking of unsubscribing from the service. They Re-Master allot of music and that makes it sound terrible/different than the albums/tapes/CD's I already own. If the Songlists I have created don't stop "not loading" I will kill the service.
Double negative's for EVERYBODY!
I feel like there's something else I ought to be doing right now. I'm going to go find out what that is.
Big John Mazmanian, FUNNY CARS, U.S. Amphetamine Speedway! BE THERE!
Radio spots like this used to fill the AM Radio Dial back in the late 60's/early 70's. A particular radio station, in a town I lived in back then, comes to mind. If you "know" me, you know about the radio station. If not, you probably don't care anyway. I "don't care" anymore either.
I didn't listen to AM Radio back in those days. If I did hear it, it was on somebody else's car radio, which made me want to tell the driver that I needed to take a pee and never return to the car. AM Radio had, roughly estimating here, about three times the commercials as FM Radio and the announcers were either "really high on coffee, cocaine or both. The commercials didn't "talk", they "YELLED!" Buy THIS CRAP! EAT HERE! SHOP AT JEANS WEST! (Where nothing fits) You get the idea.
All the Disc Jockey's had the same hair, according to which hair style was en vogue that week. The "Shag Cut" was very popular, in my region of the country. Karen Carpenter had a "Shag Haircut." Then she died of Bulimia. You've been warned. I cut my own hair back then. It was very long. I got it wet, combed it all forward and whacked it off with a sharp pair of my Mom's Dress Making Shears, about 6" in front of my forehead. It was a kind of Modified Shag Cut. It was also free and didn't lead to an eating disorder.
Over on FM Radio, it sounded like all the Disc Jockey's were either getting allot better weed than you were. Or, were hooked up with some G.I./Sailor/Marine, etc., that was getting some of that Thai Stick Shit being brought back in coffins. I lived in San Diego at the time. There was allot of that Thai Stick stuff. There was allot of Opiated Lady Finger/Temple Ball Hash around. Mexico was a stoner's throw away and if you "knew somebody" you could actually get some pretty decent Mexican Weed. Not that $10 per lid, pissed-on, smells like Diesel crap. Of course, all of that it passe' now, with 20% THC shit laying in the streets to be picked up like candy wrappers after a Block Party. I remember picking up weed laying on the floors of concert halls after shows, just to see what was "out there." Sometimes there was money laying under a seat or the odd nice camera that Joe/Josephine Stoner had spaced out as they left. Mostly, it was black Ju-Ju-Bee's, just like at the movie theaters. I did find about a quarter ounce of some pretty good Cocaine backstage at a concert once, because I was already backstage. Some rich fucker had spaced out his/her stash and pop! Right into my pocket. "Coke? What coke? I didn't see any..."
Those days are long gone, just in case I'm being "monitored" here. I find most dope lore boring and have already satisfied any weird curiosities I might have had about: "I wonder what this shit does?" about dope, long ago. I don't even smoke weed anymore. I used to wake up and go to sleep with it. Besides, Prescription Medication is much better, from all angles. At the very least, you know what you're getting. I just take the stuff that allows me to function at a median level of proficiency and then go to sleep for eight hours. Blood pressure med's have crept into that mix, as have Ibuprofen and the occasional Valium. All "nice,prescribed" as Warren Zevon might say. He didn't die from Bulimia. He may have had a Shag Haircut or two though.
Mostly, it was all the ritualized behaviors and "Phony Indian Lore" stuff that drove me away from dope. I just got tired with listening to people talk about "which was better, which was best" about various substances and wandered off, scratching my head in disgust, probably looking for girls to chase or wondering what would be at the Midnight Movies that weekend. Not allot to do after working a show at 1 a.m. on a Saturday night. The main decision was: "IHOP or Denny's?" Go home or sleep on a Road Case with a U-Haul Blanket for 4 hours and then go home?
Dude, have you smoked any of the Meshmican (a bastardization of "Oaxacan") Weed that Little Johnny has? It's Totally Rad/Mind-Blowing/Trippy/Floral/Citrus-y/Gooey/Allot Like Turtle Cum...
I never gave a shit about what somebody "called " it, just whether or not it "worked." People still do that "branding thing" with their Dope Lore. It's incredibly boring. Somewhat like talking about a favorite Jerry Garcia Guitar Solo or the like. I once heard someone say that: "Deadheads are the most Homogeneous Sub-Species of Hippies." I knew what they meant immediately. There is NOTHING more boring than listening to some Furry Forest Dweller rave on about how Jerry's Solo at Winterland, Second Set, Dew/GDTRFB 10-31-1973 was so much trippier/gooey/turtle cum-like than the Boston Gardens Solo, First Set, Scarlet/Fire from 04.20-1983. I literally wanted to punch half the people I went to GD Shows with, or just throw them out of the van at 60 mph while driving home, after about 1972. It depended allot on how stoned/tired I was and whether or not I was driving. Usually, feigning a need for a piss stop and squealing out of the gas station in a haze of rear tire smoke, leaving Little Johnny Boring behind, worked just fine. Actually, I usually had my own car and didn't go with a bunch of other people. Me, the Girlfriend and Dog, making sure to have a gallon of wine and some Top Ramen/Peanut Butter & Bread/cheese/mustard/eggs to enjoy in the tent, if driving wasn't such a good idea. Usually, after a Grateful Dead Show, NOTHING was a good idea.
I was going to post a Grateful Dead YouTube thing here but, I've already heard too much of those guys. Kingfish? A close second for "Heard Too Many Times." I worked a couple of Kingfish Shows in the 70's.
One of the nicest things about getting older is: You can, if you want to, have COOKIES FOR BREAKFAST! Not that anyone in their right mind, would. But, I might. I also happen to think that Pumpkin Pie is part of a nutritious breakfast. It's in The Pie Group of the food pyramid.
More examples: Nobody cares if you fart really loud. Unless you live in an apartment building with paper-thin walls. Even then, you can accuse your neighbors of "spying on you" and turn the tables. More often than not, it's my neighbors that are committing the noisy offense, anyway. This is still in a hypothetical stage and remains to be proven, until I listen to the audio tapes. Move over, Milhaus.
You can listen to music really loud and claim onset of general deafness. I myself prefer headphones for this activity which, in turn, leads to me singing along like there's nobody else around. As far as I am aware, nobody else actually lives here and the "people" I see are simply imaginary. This works for allot of situations. "Nope, I didn't hear anyone killing a cat last night. It was Ghosts. They're literally EVERYWHERE!"
If you want to have really smelly fish for dinner, every night, nobody notices. Mostly because that Foot Fungus smell is overpowering it. Or dirty laundry or the dead girl in the closet or...
Along those same lines...You may, if you like, leave Limburger Cheese out to "ripen" anywhere. Like, "under the bed" anywhere. I have a suspicion that my neighbor does this. Or, it's his feet.
You may, if you like, NEVER VACUUM THE RUGS in your house. Dead skin is also: EVERYWHERE and allot like ghosts. Even MORE like ghosts, in fact. This same ideology works for dishes, taking showers/shaving/Q-Tipping your ears/changing your underwear, etc.. Especially if you live alone. Shit, of course you live alone. Nobody else wants to smell the cheese under your bed or between your toes.
I have a "thing" about toe cheese. I do not care for that smell. It's like "death." Or, the dead cat in the laundry basket that you thought was simply out for a good walkabout. Then you got that Postcard from Hawai'i, telling you to make a Doctor's appointment. Damn Cat.
Breakfast time is also a great space, a safe space even, for composing naked, flatulent, smelly/ obscene, Haiku's. Can a Haiku fart? Sure, just squeeze it again...Haiku's can be, given half a chance, the Poo-Poo-Cushion of the Poetry World.
You can tell yourself jokes or watch Cats Playing With Dead Mice videos on YouTube for hours and nobody gives a shit. Nobody even knows about it. Except Google, The Feds and your ISP. Hopefully, all of those people have given up watching you because you're an old, smelly person. Or, you're just a boring guy wondering what cats do when nobody's looking.
Things in your refrigerator are also fair game for all manner of Personal Bad Habits Science Week experiments. The tomato you thought just might be the cat, which is in the laundry basket/clothes drier/under the sink or in your pillow case. (They both have the same hair. "Catmato.") Which explains why your pillow cases smell funny at 02:30. I like cats. I am also allergic to them. They know this and want to sleep on my face.
Ah, "yes." Getting Old(er). If I had known what lay in store, I would have done many, many, more risky things and had much, much, more unprotected sex, eaten that thing that exceeded the 3 minute rule for food hitting the bathroom floor, owned faster motorcycles and driven cars into snowbanks while drunk off of my ass, a case of generic beer on the floorboard on the Driver's Side and a lit cigarette burning a hole in the seat cover between my legs, with regularity. I only did that one time, honest. Hey, I was mad at my Girlfriend who was in turn mad at me for not wanting to "settle down." I showed her. When I woke up in a deserted campground at daybreak, birds were singing and all was right with the World. Time for a beer and a Road Flare ignited camp fire.
Unfortunately, "Getting Old is simply what happens when you don't die young." Punishment for all the ants you burned with a magnifying glass and the time you flicked a match at the girl who called you: "Fat's" hair, which "accidentally" caught on fire. What the fuck did you know about matches and hair? You were 9 years old. You weren't really "aiming for her" anyway. Notice that I'm not claiming personal responsibility for this, or any other, "Act Of Childhood Mayhem" I may or may not have committed. "No Film, No Act.", to quote Bill O'Reilly. That's a first. Quoting that Asshole, I mean. Why nobody has started a camp fire using a Road Flare that just happened to be stuck up Bill O'Reilly's Ass, I don't know.
A couple of people, a long time ago, suggested that I "turn myself in to" (and PAY FOR) Werner Erhard's Re-Grooving Pogrom. Many years later, I found out that Werner is "on the lamb" in Costa Rica from Scientologists that want to kill him and/or he owes back taxes to Uncle Sam. Swell guy, otherwise. I wonder if he's still honoring back order replacement for his Permanent Light Bulbs? His First BIG SCAM. Before the Self Help Stuff. He was probably a Used Car Salesman, too. The folks that took his "Trainings?" They're all Thetans and Totally Obnoxious Movie Stars, now. I once did a search of All The People That Took E.S.T.. Amusing. They might just be YOUR NEIGHBORS! They look pretty normal, on the outside. Inside? See: Road Flare, Camp Fire, Drunk Driving.
Next:"Hell." (Or: "The Post-Nuclear Man Cave.") Sure to be an improvement, with appropriate medication...
"Who Loves Ya', baby?",
-Doc (Yes, I'm wearing a Telly Savalas mask in my Roger Ramjet Pajamas @ 02:40. Smoking cigarettes, setting the cat on fire, again, and drinking Russian tea. Sue me. Do it! The Fake I.R.S.People's Robot Calling Lady sure wants to.) "People's Robot Calling Lady." Hmmm. I wonder if that has anything to do with that time I slammed the door on My Communist Avon Representative? If "Everything really is: 'connected, like Hippies and Microbiologists' claim, it's not that far-fetched.
