05:30. Go: "suss, guess, ponder, all with a Zippo lighter..."
Quandary: Malady, disease, obsession. "Whatever." Something I do.
I'll take my coffee blindfolded, still-not-awake, habitually followed to the letter(s). Smokes, too. Slang, improper spelling, syntax and punctuation, all inclusive.
All for guts and glory, becoming semi-vertical, a bug bite and sore arm. I wake up, that meat presented, often. 15 minutes later, the coffee, cigarettes and cold water hit me. Then, I make scrambled eggs and toast. Or, an Adams peanut, butter and preserves, toasted sandwich with butter. That, coffee and couple of smokes always makes me (a) go back to sleep or, (b) wakes me up.
I make coffee, well. You're welcome.
05:30+
Quiet. Aleutian Geese Flyway. Earthquakes.TV news (feeds) w/the sound off or "reading the news". Caraway seed Rye toast, Butter, Marionberry jam and stout Tanzanian piquant Berry mud. "Observing the day come alive."
No humans, save one. A Raven or two (making that 'clucking sound' the males do...) One hand clap.
"Gone. Real gone."
Go figure.
00:00+ bliss,
-Doc
Listening to Bob welch play "Miles Away":
One of the good things was listening to early versions of Danny Kirwain/Peter Green playing: "Oh, Well." With Bob Welch playing "Studio Fills." Then, he was signed. I felt "lucky" to have worked for this lineup.
Enter Lindsey and Ms. Nicks. Turn the page. Pre-N+B:
Now, if it were myself, I'd choose listening to the song. Then again, some folks may actually find some morbid fascination with contracting the Measles. Humans are weird like that, ya' know? I was vaccinated for damned near everything as a kid. Career U.S. Navy Musician's Brat. We lived all over the place and getting sick was just part of the place-by-place, day-to-day, routine.
The Philippines is a really good place to get the measles, by the way. I'd recommend Manilla or Subic Bay.
Getting out of The Anchovy Ranch to do some pre-Superbowl shopping today and just dig the early day fog, cruise the harbor for nautical scenery, rotting kelp smells, all that good stuff. Next month's bills all paid, time to gear up for watching the Seattle Seahawks whup up on the N.E. Patriots this Sunday. My official call.
Shit, even my Old Pal, Brown Stains, (not his real name, of course) is rooting for the 'hawks and he's FROM Lawrence, Ma.. His Dad was a Boston City Cop. If THAT ain't a Patriots fan, what is? He does, however, live 60 miles north and 50 miles east of Seattle now. Brown Stains' Home For Retired Lunatic Fisherman's Heaven! I gotta' get up there this year and murder me some Salmon, drink some beers, swap some lies and chase some Tourist Gal skirt... It's a fine spot for all those activities. Plus, it's a nice Amtrak ride. Eugene, Seattle or Portland inbetween. Probably Seattle this time, to visit Rockin' Lu-Lu. I'll get hauled off to some Punk Club (or worse) while there, is my guess.
Every so often, I like to just turn the computer off and take a "vacation" from typing. Usually when my carpal tunnel syndrome is acting up or my back hurts. This time it's both.
Yea, yea, yea...I'll be "back."
Find a good book, listen to some music, watch a movie. I'll bore ya' later. You can count on it.
I am a Man of both simple and complex pleasures. I like beans and cornbread just as much as I do a 7 course French Supper, paper plates and plastic sporks as much as Silver, Linen, Crystal and China, Levi's and a T-Shirt as much as hand-tailored silk suits (No, I don't own any), watching a caterpillar emerge from its' chrysalis as much as a Busby Berkeley Style Tubes Show (I lit one of those, many years ago). Anyway, you get the idea. I've determined that most everything in life is, as least somewhat, circumstantial and dependant upon perception and the enjoyment of all possible combinations thereof. The view from a Manhattan Penthouse is NOT equal to the view from the top of a 14,000' mountain, however, whatever, whenever. I'll take the mountain anytime, every time.
Mt. Whitney, for instance:
Beat this, Manhattan:
Ain't gonna' happen.
My climbing days are "over" though. Too many injuries, getting: "Too old for that stuff, etc.." Glad I did it all when I was younger. My advice to any young person in good physical shape and a desire to "find out what's out there" is to buy yourself a couple pairs of good boots, suitable clothing, good 4 season tent, 0 degree sleeping bag (you can always sleep on top when it's warm), stove, etc. and start walking. You'll end up "somewhere" and know more than you do now, I promise. You can mail yourself the second pair of boots to a Ranger Station along your route. Just call them and let them know you'll walk in and pick them up, before you get there. It's got to be someplace where they get mail delivered by hand though. They're used to it and will enjoy your story. You'll probably get a cup of coffee out of the deal, if you're interesting. If not, you'll just get The Boots. Terrible pun, Doc...
New collectable baseball cap coming in the mail today. Truth is, I ordered the 1949 Seals Cap before the 1940 Lefty O'Doul Model shown on the "About Me" rocker page top, right. It tales the place I buy this stuff from, Ebbets Field Flannels, in Seattle, a long time to fill orders, because: They Do It Right The First Time.
"It ain't cheap but it's GOOD." A fine rule-of-thumb. Good stuff is never cheap and it usually weighs allot.
I'm sharing some of The Delicious Beans N' Corn Bread with the neighbor(s). I always make "too much." Didn't feel like freezing the leftovers.
Listening to Stanley Clarke. I haven't heard him The Cat in a long time. Forgot how much I like some of his stuff. Particularly the straight Jazz material. Like this:
...you're from the other side. Just one thing I have to know: 'Who won'?"
I like opening line even better. "If you smile at me, I will understand. Because that is something everybody, everywhere, does in the same language." Truer words are rarely spoken. From "Somewhere," Live, a long time ago. Nice Stills solo:
The sound is a bit "soft." Run it through a stereo amp or good desktop speakers and it's fine. The mix is dead-on, just needs to be louder.
Yea, I know... It's a bunch of Granola chomping, Birkenstock wearing, Patchouli smelling, Psychedelic, Hope Against All Hope Crap. Call me An Old Hippie and taunt me with rhetorical jeers like: "How's that Peace and Love Shit workin' out for ya'?" I'l tell you the same things I told anybody that would listen back in the 60's and 70's. "It's working out just fine, for me. Thank you. Now, if there were simply a whole lot more people that felt the same way, we'd be in pretty good shape." Instead, we're fucked. Royally.
On the other hand: I have no problem with turning certain areas of the World into smoldering piles of post-nuclear rubble, waiting until they cool off to build a new Lego Land/Disneyland/Knotts Berry Farm on them." Wait a minute, we're already doing that shit. My bad. I'll stick with Plan One From Mendocino, instead. A Hypothetical, Peacenik Science Fiction Movie, wherein, Unicorns and Godzillas lay down together and there's free Kool Aid for everyone. Wait a minute, that's Scientology or EST, Seventh Day Adventist Sprecht or something. I don't know, it's so hard to keep track of all this stuff.
State Of The Union Address tonight. O'Bummer could just stand up, take a bow and say: "E.G.B.A.R." and just walk off of the stage. Then the Republicans can crucify him, or whatever it is that awaits him in their darkest of torture fantasies. Michelle Bachmann could do the "Hot For Teacher" strip-tease or something? (You know you want to, you little Misspoken, Crosseyed-With-Venom, Vixen...) Instead, it will be rhetoric and doublespeak, a bit of Rah-rah, Sis-BOOM-Bah-Humbug and then, the aforementioned bow-out.
Everything's Gonna' Be All Right. "E.G.B.A.R.." As if.
I'm being "humorous" here, not: "Political." If you can't laugh at your own Government, draw Heretical Cartoons about your Favorite or Unfavorite Deity, Give Your Congressman The Finger, or whatever, something's wrong. That's Not Really Democracy...
Will Rodgers would have had a Field Day with the current cast of Twaddles and Twats running this Dog-And-Pony-Show.
I think I'll do what I wanted to do yesterday. Go down to the harbor and just Bum Around, smelling rotten stuff, maybe kick a dead fish or crustacean and watch the boats come in and go out. Maybe take the CD Walkman and listen to some music, maybe take a book, a sandwich and a couple beers. Fred Neil, Tom Robbins, etc., go well with PBR and a sandwich, docks and rotten kelp.
The guy that bought my '48 Dodge Custom Touring Sedan before I moved farther up the Lost Coast, knew Fred. They met on Government Cut, a jetty that sticks out into the Atlantic Ocean from Miami. I lived in South Beach, way before it became Oh-So-Trendy. All the Art Deco Hotels and such were in various stages of dilapidation. A bunch of guys from New Jersey or somewhere came in and fixed everything up and now you have to sell a kidney in Brazil (or wherever) to hang out there. I think men still wear platform soled shoes in South Beach and have their shirts unbuttoned to show you their gold chain collections. Women are almost naked, which is cool with me.
I loved that car. I just didn't count on having to sell a kidney to restore it, cosmetically. It was never going to be a real Collector's Item, at any rate. It had a 1953 217 cid L-Flathead 6 in it with Fluid Drive transmission. The precursor to: "Automatic Transmissions." It was also an amalgam of three cars: The D-24c body, a D-25 frame and the '53 engine/running gear. (One a 1947 and one a 1948, which both look the same) Two Door Custom and Family Four Door, respectively. Mine was "Carribean Blue" but looked like this. I kept one extra hubcap and the "Ram" hood ornament with its' "apron and marque badge."
The Old Guy I bought it from said: "You can fit the whole Cheerleading Squad in the back seat." Howard was right. It lives down the coast now. A retired helicopter mechanic bought it from me. I made money on the deal. "A 'good deal' is when both guys walk away thinking they screwed the other one." (Anon.) It wasn't like that. I don't do Weasely Business. All cards and money on the table.
Dodge only made this marque for three years. '46. '47 and '48. They were busy making 2.5 Ton Power Wagons and whatnot during 1941-'45. In '49, the car got a one-piece hood and a new body shape that I don't find attractive. This thing was like driving a Big Boy's Bumper Car and cruised rather well at 50-70 mph. It had more torque than a Sherman Tank and would climb a 10% grade in 3rd gear from a dead stop.
I think I'll shower, shave and head on out of here.
This is probably my favorite C,S,N album. It does not include the song mentioned in the Post Title. It does, however, have the great Stephen Stills song: "I Give You Give Blind" in it. I listened to this allot when I lived in Hawai'i, many years after its' release. It just "fit" while sitting on the docks in Lahaina with a beer in my hand, watching the Sun set over Lana'i. Good times, while they lasted. You can only live on a Big Rock In The Middle Of An Even Bigger Ocean for so long and then you run out of places to walk to and from.
Yep. Before the games and everything. Seahawks/Packers was a nail-biter. Patriots/Colts, not so much.
Actually, my clairvoyance regarding the participants in this year's Super Bowl goes back a few weeks. I just had a weird feeling about it. Besides, it was my personal preference as to whom I might be watching at that game. At home, on TV, of course. You won't find me in Phoenix, Az. unless it's in the trunk of a '72 Ford Galaxy, rotting away and alerting Security to a foul smell. Not that I expect that or anything, it's just "The Worst Thing I Could Think Of" just now. Anywhere south of Flagstaff, I want nothing to do with.
Martin Luther King Day. Just once, I'd like to hear about all the fucked up things that guy did while alive. I mean: "Yea, he did allot of really good stuff" but, "He did allot of really bad stuff, too." I'd like to hear about that Bad Stuff, just once, in mainstream media. It'll NEVER HAPPEN. Think about it for a moment though... All the Dumb Assed Shit that people like Richard Nixon, LBJ, J. Edgar Hoover, etc. (The list would fill a paragraph) did during their protracted "15 Minutes Of Fame" got write-up's. Why not Dr. King as well? You can do your own homework. I'm not about to set myself up for some horrific Spamming Episode here. Been there. Done that. Got the T-Shirt.
Somewhat relatedly: I was going to watch "The Butler" with Forrest Whitaker and (Oh, no, not HER) Oprah Winfrey in it. Somewhere between thinking about Oprah's Big Mouth and Forrest's Weird Eye, I lost interest and watched something else. I'm sure it's a great story and all but, I simply "lost interest."
"They Tell It To Oprah..."
I've loved listening to Root Boy Slim (and The Sex Change Band w/The Rootettes) like, "forever." Past (don't have any now) roommates have threatened to: "Cut off my power" for listening to them for hours on end. Foster MacKenzie III, aka R.B.S., was a Frat-Mate of G.W. Bush, until the latter had Root Boy kicked out for "being too weird." As if.
I particularly like Root Boy himself and Ernie Lancaster, the guitarist. Ron Holloway, the sax player and the slide guitarist, Walt Andrews, are no slouches, either. The whole band just sort of "clicks" behind Root Boy Slim. He's been dead for a long while now. You can't floorboard an engine at 10,000rpm forever, Kids. RBSATSCB made the D.C. Bar Scene for awhile. They mostly played the East Coast.
Root Boy drove an Ice Cream Truck through the fence at the White House, Pee'd on The Pentagon and once stole a Street Sweeper, which landed him in a Psych Ward for a bit. Peanuts. The band did much weirder things, regularly. RBS Did "One Album and Out" with Warner Brothers and 5 others on smaller, different labels. Band members came and went. You can Google the discography.
I wish the buses were running today. I'd go down to the harbor, hang around with a couple PBR's, a sandwich, smell the rotting kelp and stuff. (Maybe kick a dead crab or something) Lots of disgusting smells around a good sized bay. I'm "right at home" there. I've lived on or near the water, near either Oceans or Bays, for allot of years now. Wouldn't feel comfortable anywhere else. There's always tomorrow. The kelp and Mushy Bay Smells will still be there. I'll do a Top Ten Smelly Bays post, sometime.
I need a couple of things at the grocery store anyway.
I have Lasagne to "put up." I let it "mature" in the 'fridge overnight. It's easier to portion out when it's cold, too. The 9"x9"x3" pan I made weighs in at about 7 pounds. Solid stuff. Sausage, 'burger, green peppers, onions, mushrooms, 2 lbs. of Mozzarella, 1 lb. of Ricotta, Parmesan, Malbec Wine Marinara sauce, the usual herbs, all baked off real slow. I'll have a good sized piece tonight (or not) and then freeze the rest. It's a good "I don't want to cook tonight" thing to have in the freezer.
Other than this drivel: "Ain't Nuthin' Shakin' But The Leaves On The Trees And They Could Be Jivin' Me Too."
My neighbor is having another one of his: "That's Not Really Reggae" days again. Thank God for good headphones. That shit all sounds exactly the same to me.
I must admit to being somewhat of a Slacker lately. I've been wrestling with a few things. The Charlie thing, the rise of domestic spawned violence, various "plots" and "Copy Cat" shite, a Creepy, General Malaise about "Where This World's Going Lately" and, most importantly, This:
The Grateful Dead's Golden Jubilee at Soldier Field over the 4th of July weekend this coming Summer.
Ten really good reasons "why" I won't attending:
1. Trey Anastasio. Because? "Ew, Trustafarians."
2. Soldier Field in July. You'll be able to smell the restrooms in Boston. Or, there'll be a tornado.
3. Possible riots when the crowd realizes that "They've Been Had."
4. Chicago, in general.
5. No additional Tour Dates. Three Dates And They're "Out."
6. I may just be Salmon fishing in Washington State anyway.
7. I hate the smell of Axe Body Spray mixed with Patchouli Oil.
8. I can watch the whole thing on YouTube, later. Or buy the DVD for half the price of going to Chicago.
9. I saw my first Dead Show, in San Francisco, in 1967, FOR FREE and NOTHING IS THE SAME.
10. $60.00 "Nosebleed Seats" will be going for $300.00 by showtime. Front and Center? Forget it.
Sorry, Kiddies. I have NEVER understood why ANYBODY likes Phish. Some people like to refer to them as "The Heirs Apparent to The Dead's Legacy." Fat chance. There will never be another Grateful Dead. Period.
Now then. I have exorcised ONE Demon. I'll save the others for when we find out "Who's Going To The Super Bowl." My heart and money in "All In" for Seattle and The N.E. Patriots. MY two teams have ALWAYS been the 49ers and Seattle, in that order.
This is a weird game, already. 10:24 left in the 1st Q. Pair of turnovers. Make it 3. Two G.B. field goals.
