Wednesday, June 3, 2015

A Dog In Need Of A Biscuit

Sometimes, dogs bark for no reason at all. "Anonymous Sources" excite them. A passing Human's steps find their ears/paws, whatever. I'm not real clear on "what" alerts dogs. Smells, probably. It's just a guess, though.

Yesterday, I passed a Dog. First, it was rather afraid of me. Then, as I held my hand out, to let him get a sniff of my mitt, until he became more aggressive. That doesn't really bother me. I was raised around more Dogs than Humans, I like to say. Shepherds, Dobermanns, crosses. Mostly good Dogs. The oft Baddie. "Culls."

I bought The Dog, with aggressive behavior, some biscuits. Hopefully, we will create a relationship that results in kindness and empathy. If Dogs are capable of "Empathy," that is. If Humans are, as well. I like to think of myself as capable of such emotion. That I ascribe similar emotion to an animal such as a Dog, is up for grabs.

I think that my favorite Dog, ever, was a pooch that "just showed up" one day. A "Cock-A-Poo" that I decided should be named: "Itchy Brother," after the character from "King Leonardo and His Friends." A mangy lion that had less common sense than a soft brick. Itchy proved that initial assessment false. He earned his due driving the varmints out of the vegetable garden and becoming a wonderful companion. Itchy's hugs would warm the soul over many Winter evenings. He was a good companion in the cab of my J-D 955/Cat D8H, in the coal pit @ -40 Fahrenheit. Everybody needs a Buddy to share the Grateful Dead with at 04:00, when it's freezing' ass cold.

Some things warm my soul. They may be a Dog, a cool breeze, a breath of fresh air or anything. Such is the Human Condition. Not having shit blow up in my neighborhood is at the top of my list. People NOT speaking as though they need 100Db to get their message across is another. I think a guy named Max Ehrmann wrote it, in 1952, which surprises me. It is often attributed to various other authors at a much earlier time.

The full Missive:

    Desiderata

    Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
    and remember what peace there may be in silence.
    As far as possible without surrender
    be on good terms with all persons.
    Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
    and listen to others,
    even the dull and the ignorant;
    they too have their story.
    Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
    they are vexations to the spirit.
    If you compare yourself with others,
    you may become vain and bitter;
    for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
    Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
    Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
    it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
    Exercise caution in your business affairs;
    for the world is full of trickery.
    But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
    many persons strive for high ideals;
    and everywhere life is full of heroism.
    Be yourself.
    Especially, do not feign affection.
    Neither be cynical about love;
    for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
    it is as perennial as the grass.
    Take kindly the counsel of the years,
    gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
    Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
    But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
    Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
    Beyond a wholesome discipline,
    be gentle with yourself.
    You are a child of the universe,
    no less than the trees and the stars;
    you have a right to be here.
    And whether or not it is clear to you,
    no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.
    Therefore be at peace with God,
    whatever you conceive Him to be,
    and whatever your labors and aspirations,
    in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.
    With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
    it is still a beautiful world.
    Be cheerful.
    Strive to be happy.

    Max Ehrmann, Desiderata, Copyright 1952.
I tend to avoid The Loud and prefer the quiet.

Unless, it's THIS kind of loud:

Or, a Dog named: "Itchy Brother" who keeps good company in the middle of the night and warms his side of the cabin of said machine.


-Doc, "Around The Clock"



 



Sunday, May 31, 2015

AFTER your passing...

Correction. Syntax.

OF The Kilt. Not, UNDER.

Rest, Meine Freude.

-Doc

She Said: "Goodbye, Norman."

Marylin Monroe said those words. The ones in quotes. Warren Zevon wrote a song that contained the very same words. Ashes to ashes.

Earlier, yesterday evening, I learned of the passing of a Friend. It's becoming a Syndrome. Guys dying all over the place. I suppose that means I'm "getting old." Fuck. Me, next. (Back of the line, hopefully)

Ian was: A VERY LARGE Scotsman. Tossed Kaber with the best. There was a wrinkled up, used up, fucked up, penis underneath that damned garment. I jest. I'm sure his Joint was fine. Never saw it.

"Don't Let Us Get Sick." I've spoken the same words about most every Human Being I've ever known. The ones that I: "give a shit about," anyway.



I "gave two shits" about Ian. His ashes will be scattered tomorrow. Someplace that he cared about.

He recalled "Hamish" from Braveheart, to look at him. He hadn't forgotten That Rock. The sword was sharp, the shield worthy. Not that he was Mel Gibson's Pal or anything....

I have numerous stories. They shall rest, as he does now.

"The Pain Of Death Is For The Living." -Anon.

"Join me in that place where we all shall tarry." -Anon.

I don't "know" that Ian would enjoy a Irish Catholic Blessing but: "May the Devil know you're dead one half hour before your passing, Friend."

Hoist a pint! Call Spirit! Come Winds! Blow to that place where....

...A dream of you woke me.

-Doc





Saturday, May 30, 2015

Falling Asleep Too Early Or...

...Becoming A Creature Of The Night/Early Mornings.

Lots of times, I fall asleep too early. It's both an escape mechanism and/or I'm simply "tired." Sometimes, it's spicy food, other times it's a weird dream. Still other times, I just have to take a piss. Or, sleeping gets boring. The last one, I'm just "making up." Sleeping is way too cool to get boring.

Yesterday was mostly boring. I didn't bother to write anything, it was so boring. My neck hurt (slept wrong), I had menial chores to do and went over to the neighbor's house, to let her know that I was going to get some wood from her and would be in her backyard. I used to talk to her Husband, before he passed away. He used to come stand by the fence between our places and smoke cigarettes. I'd amble over and shoot the shit with him every so often. He had been a U.S. Marine during Korea, a Communications Technical Sergeant, I think.

My building recently reverted back to its' previous owner's possession and he had been over in the neighbor's yard putting up some bracing for his old leaning fence. I wondered if the Gal was still using her woodstove or fireplace and asked. She has a fair amount of well cured wood stacked up and I mentioned to her that if she wasn't going to use it, I'd like a few pieces to use for camping trips. Just enough to burn small "Indian Fires" for a weekend. I don't make "Huge, Raging, Bon Fires" while camping. Just large enough to keep warm or heat up some water for coffee or tea. Anyway, I got some wood and put it in a large milk crate to be stored in my little cubby that comes with my rental. The Neighbor Lady asked if I would mention to my 83 year old, retired High School Teacher Owner Guy that he'd forgotten to paint one of the surfaces on the braces he'd installed. I'd do it myself, if I knew where the paint is.

My Uncle, a 95 year old former Fighter Pilot during WW2, jumped out of "a perfectly good airplane" on his 95th Birthday this past month. With another guy holding onto him, of course. I sent the video out to some of my friends, being rather proud of The Old Bird. He earned that moniker. He was a "Bird" Colonel in the Army Air Corps, later to be the United States Air Force. At one point, he commanded 6,000 men, in Vietnam. He also was a P-47d Pilot, a Base Commander in S.E. Britain, First Waver on D-Day, fought in Korea and then Vietnam. Hal "Point Rolled" a B-17 with a General in the back, which he almost got "Court Martialed" for. (He "rolled every aircraft he ever flew," which was allot of planes.) Hal also worked for Strategic Air Command and at The Pentagon. My Mom's older Brother. He retired to start his own Company and do consulting work. He's written three books. I am the proud owner of a Draft, spiral bound, of one of those books. Still: "Up and At 'Em" at 95. Wow.

Uncle Hal:





Gnarly, huh? Nice: "Slide Into Home Plate!" Good on ye', Buddy.

As a much younger man, then a Major in the 506th, Winkton, U.K.:



What will I be doing on my 95th Birthday? Taking a Dirt Nap, Probably.

03:00, Saturday. What else is there to "do" on a Saturday morning? Type, drink coffee, smoke cigarettes, watch videos/TV, fart around. Kurt Vonnegut was of the opinion that that's why we're here. "To Fart Around." Hal knew/had met Kurt at a Writer's College in Iowa. Somewhere West of Iowa City, if memory serves.

Get busy, folks. We're "Burnin' Daylight."

Out,
-Doc  

        

Wednesday, May 27, 2015

"What" is CRAZY?

It's an interesting question, huh? I think we can all agree that those people who put the cat in the microwave, direct traffic while naked (unless their med's get screwed up or they quit taking them), hurt themselves or others, see things that aren't "there/here/anywhere," suggest that "the world is going to end on a specific date," have private conversations with "God," (Wherein: God answers, audibly.) or any number of unexplainable phenomena are: CRAZY. Of course, that is a sorrowfully lacking list of possibilities for "CRAZY" and may or may not suggest that your dear Author is, himself: "half a bubble off." I don't deny the possibility. It is my firm belief that the people that deny their own CRAZINESS are, perhaps, the nuttiest squirrel turds on the ranch. The most probable theorem at work here is that the "most well-rounded personality in the world," still has a bit of CRAZY in it. That's "Normal." The "Old Normal," not the New One. I have no idea what the New Normal is. You'd have to ask someone that plays a Crazy Person on TV.

Back in the 70's, Ronald Reagan closed all of California's "Mental Hospitals" and let the "CRAZY people" roam the streets to: Commit crimes, direct traffic while naked (which is 'sort of a 'crime' I suppose), act out in various ways, find drugs that were 'kind of like' all the bad stuff they'd been administered while in those "Hospitals" and end up in Prisons, other Psychiatric Lockdown Facilities and/or just dying. Thanks, Ron. News Flash! "NO MORE CRAZY PEOPLE!" They're all dead or in prison, where they belong.

Psychiatrists want to "help" CRAZY people. Police want to "punish and/or lock up" CRAZY people. Doctors (The Lazy Ones) want to medicate CRAZY people into submission. Politicians want to get elected again. CRAZY people want to be Left The Fuck Alone.

My ostensibly "sane'" Brother (Wife, Kids, House, owns a company, drives a Corvette, goes to Church, acts in ways that most people consider perfectly "sane,") also talks to God. So do I. Are we CRAZY? Probably a bit. In some dark little corner of our psyche, there's a room marked: "No Access." The caveat here is: "Nobody knows about that." Or: "Talking To God, takes place in private and nobody knows about it." So far, God hasn't left me a Post-It Note or anything. Not that I haven't: "Felt That Intangible Presence." It's something you have to experience for yourself. I can't "tell" you anything about it.

Note: My Brother IS completely sane. Me? Debatable. It depends upon which Doctor you talk to. A "smart" LCSW once told me: "WE'RE ALL CRAZY." It's the only "sane" answer I've ever heard...

Consider the Myth of Cassandra. If you're unfamiliar with it, read up on the subject. Use Wikipedia if you must. In Modern Times, Cassandra would be locked up in the Rubber Room, heavily medicated and subject to snickering coffee break room ridicule by her own Psychiatrists. On the other hand: "SERIOUS FUTURISTS" are regarded as "gifted and thoughtful, deserving of praise and worthy of consideration." Go figure.

I would suggest that: CRAZY is in the mind and eyes of the beholder. What was CRAZY last week is "Brilliant" the next. "Orange is the New Black." Thanks, Ron.

Wild Man Fischer? Definately Crazy. Frank Zappa? It depends upon: "Who the listener is." I think he was a Genius. Other folks think he was just CRAZY. Now, Dennis Hopper was batshit nuts. Tom Cruise? Whacko. Jerry Falwell? Totally Certifiable. Pat Robertson? Times 4. Hitler? Out Of His Mind/Off Planet/The Lights Weren't Even On. Brittney Spears? Unfortunate Mouseketeer Gone Feral. Miley Cyrus? Allot like one of my Old Girlfriends. George Bush The Kid? NUTS. Dick Cheney? Megalomaniac, Sadist, Psychopath. Mel Gibson? Talks to God. Mumbles allot. God tells him to shut the fuck up and lay off the sauce.

The Other Side Of The Coin, entirely: Capt. Beefheart? Buckethead, Most Artists, etc.. I think the term "eccentric" fits better. Fine lines and all that stuff. The list goes on for aeons...

Well...The implants in my head are twerking, my Merry-Go-Round is Boop-Booping, The Eskimo has killed the Fur Trapper and: "There's hamburger all over the highway in Mystic, Connecticut." I didn't shoot that guy in the face on purpose. I thought he was a Skeet target. God said: "Pull the trigger! It was my Inner Grimace. Yea, the one from McDonald's."

Recently, a LAW was passed in Wyoming wherein: It is now: "Illegal to share wildlife/landscape photographs with The Federal Government." Yep. It's the Inner Grimace Guy's way of telling us to piss off and mind our own damned business. Better than getting shot in the face, I suppose. Wyoming is a weird place. I know. I've spent two Summers working for The World's Worst Dude Ranch. Just look for the "Gas Pump Farm" on your way to the South Entrance. Ya' can't miss it.

When I woke up and came into the Living Room this morning, Twelve Monkeys was on. Brad Pitt is a wonderful NUTCASE in films when he wants to be. (And, how in the Hell does he do that thing with his eye?) He's probably not the Tightest Wrapped Dude in the world in personal life, either. BUT, he makes lots of money, has a Wife and Kids, drives whatever car he feels like driving and is FAMOUS. ("Yay! Colonics for EVERYBODY!") Which, is probably allot like being CRAZY, anyway. Bruce Willis is probably much less CRAZY in real life. He was a Bartender in Chicago, after all. Six of one, half dozen of the other...

Some people think Buckethead is CRAZY. I think he doesn't like to talk.

CRAZY? Piece of cake. Eccentric? A little harder to pull off.

Who Loves Ya', Baby?
-Doc

Pitt and Willis:



 
Buckethead: (A wonderful piece of music)


 The Skipper: (RIP, Don.)

            

Sunday, May 24, 2015

MEMORIAL DAY

Around here, Memorial Day is a rather somber kind of day. It was actually yesterday. I tend to reflect upon those that have lost their lives in service to the United States of America, display the Old, Ragged, Glory on my door (It went up yesterday and will come down at Sunset tomorrow), usually watch a baseball game or two and otherwise just "get on with Life" and do the things I usually do. In my ideology, it's not a day to "celebrate" or "party." The whole Weekend is usually pretty low-key.

First off, I drink some coffee, smoke some cigarettes, take my medicines, stare into the One Eyed Monster (TV) and ponder what needs to pulled out of the freezer for dinner. Next, I think about what might be included in this here thang and maybe listen to some Good Old American Rock and Roll. The Grateful Dead are "up" on the TV Radio thingamajig.

I use DishTV and there is no way I would even consider using any other TV Provider. I've tried them all and this is the one that stuck to the wall. Better satellites, doesn't break up so badly in the rain/wind, my $90.00 per month package (with line "insurance") has enough bells and whistles to keep me entertained and maybe the only gripe I have about DishTV is that there's no way to format the picture in "old, square dimensions." I still have two analog TV's that just won't die, knock on wood. Both came from thrift stores. #1 is a Japanese Magnavox that was sold as a "Pro Studio/Editing Monitor" and has more inputs and outputs than ANY plain old TV had in 1985. Still has a crystal clear picture. I route the audio from Dish Box through my digital home stereo amplifier. Set #2 is an old (probably late 90's) U.S. Magnavox that also has Japanese components but is branded as a U.S. manufactured unit. Plain old TV there, no fancy this n' that's. #2 is in the bedroom so, it gets watched early mornings, late nights and I sleep with it on. a "bad" habit I got into many years back. I program the sleepytime schedule before I go to sleep so I get mellow-ness all night long. Anything with a constant flat modulated voice-over will do. AHC allot of nights, especially between 01:00 and 06:00. Animal Planet, Nat. Geo., T.H.C. 1 or 2 will do after 04:00 as well.

Yes, that was/is a shameless "plug" for DishTV. I HATE my local satellite company AND DirecTV. Both blow dead <Insert Favorite Species Of Rodentia Here>.

Hard to believe that the Grateful Dead are celebrating 50 years of playing together this year, huh? Especially when I think about my first concert attendance happening in 1966. I was 12 years old. I was with my Dear Grandmother in Golden Gate park. I had no idea "what" I was watching/hearing. I just knew it was Groovy and that I Should Be Paying Attention. When I would go up to S.F. to hang out with Granny and my Uncle in the Summers, it was always Sunday In The Park. Always ending up at the Japanese Tea Gardens. I think I went to my "final" Grateful Dead Show in 1989. Utah to Pittsburgh, Pa. in a '76 Ford 1 ton van with four Other Hippies, all of them younger than me. I really wasn't all that excited about the shows, I just wanted to get to Pittsburgh, where I was going to hang out with my Ex-Wife. It was, of course, a mistake. I think I lasted about two months before I went back to My Coast and some semblance of Normalcy. Then, back to Utah to work and play some more. Lots of Deadheads in Utah, for whatever reason. I always thought it was kind of weird. On the one hand, you have the Magic Underwear People and on the other, a thriving Counterculture.

Typical weird 2015 weather outdoors. Fog. Low clouds, which, may or may not burn off during the afternoon. If you don't like the colors Green and Gray, you're not going to enjoy The Lost Coast, Man. 51 degrees right now. Flannel pants, a Jerry Garcia Handprint ball cap and a "Dolphin Club, S.F." sweatshirt on. Giants game @ Rockies, 13:00 PST. We "won one/lost one" in yesterday's Double Header. Down a peg to two games behind the Dodgers. Who cares? It's only "almost June." Lots of games left. 2+ hour rain delay start last night. The weather in Denver is all fucked up, too. There was hail @ Mile High (I refuse to call it "Coors Field") Stadium yesterday. "Too" because it certainly is FUBAR around here, weather-wise.

"I'm goin' where those chilly winds don't blow..." -Traditional/Guthrie/Monroe/Garcia/Hunter/etc.

http://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Going_Down_The_Road_Feelin%27_Bad

"Wave It Wide And High!" (Apropos For Today)
-Doc



The upshot of the Evening is that M*A*S*H is on TV tonight. On the other hand, the Giants got their asses handed to them in Denver. Tit for tat.

I Love watching Robert Duvall crack up and lose it. Never get tired of watching it. The progression of (Hawkeye and Company) screwing the poor guy right into the ground is a delight, even all these years later. Seems like everytime I watch this, I forget that Bud Cort (Harold and Maude) is in the film.  I've never decided which of the three guys is funnier and I don't care. Last night, Kelley's Heroes was on. I watched part of it. Enough to hear Oddball (Sutherland, again) do his "Other Dog Imitation." Donald, I like allot. Can't stand his Kid though, ever since he started doing the Jack What's-His-Name-Act. He was much better in "Flashback" with Dennis Hopper.

 



     

Friday, May 22, 2015

Let's Bury The Turkey and "see if it grows."

So. I have decided to just bury the Bering Star crap and get on with my Bad Self to other frontiers. The story is only interesting to me, probably.

Today, in Grist Magazine, a blurb-ish kind of news featurette I receive once a week in the Inbox, there was a piece about a Family Of Idiots being confronted by an Actual Nature Lover because the FOI was defacing a railing with their "Name Graffiti" in a State Park in Oregon. Deschutes National Forest to be exact. I made a few "comments" using one of many alternative venues for spew and venom via email. I read. Allot.

The Family Of Idiots were actually "defending their right to deface the railing" because it was "Their Park, Too." Huh? Let me share a quick anecdote. For any of you that have worked in or near a National Park or other such Recreational Area, this is an Old Yarn and quite common...

I was standing on the South Rim of Grand Canyon National Park when a "Fat Guy In Bermuda Shorts With Black Socks And White Tennis Shoes" tossed a soda can over the guard wall and into the Canyon. I approached him and asked: "What did you just do?" He couldn't remember. I reminded him. He didn't see anything "wrong" about tossing said soda can into a National Park. "It's j'es a big ole' hole inna' ground, Son." I corrected him on his use of the moniker, "Son." I told him he could refer to me as a National Park Ranger. (I was lying) I furthermore explained that he ought to haul his 300 lb. ass down into the Canyon and retrieve his trash. There was a recycle bin about 50' away, as well. He started mumbling off some excuses and apologies while explaining that he "couldn't possibly haul his immense girth over the Canyon Wall and get the can. I concurred. I asked him if he'd prefer the $1,000.00 fine instead. More stammering. His bulbous Kids were eyeballing the ground. His Wife was pretending to take photo's of something in the other direction. I stepped back and took his photograph. I explained to him that, since I was "off duty" I'd have to go find someone in uniform to deal with him. He offered me a bribe. I declined. I told him that I felt like I had shamed him "enough" and reminded him that these are Public Lands, NOT YOUR Public Lands/Garbage Can and was going to "let him off with a warning." I then climbed into the

Anyway, this kind of stuff goes on, every night, every day, in ALL of OUR State and National Parks, on BLM Lands, National Forests, etc., etc., ad infinitum. The ideology seems to be: "The World is OUR garbage can and we paid for it so..." Fucking Idiots. Ya' just can't fix: "STUPID."

I have "Done My Time In The Trenches" raising funds for most all of the easily recognizable names in the conservation and environmental field. The whole alphabet soup of people saving The Planet from morons, a dollar at a time, a day, minute and second at a time. It was a viable alternative to being in the Army or what have ye'.

Things to do, people to eat. Squawk To Ya' Later,
-Doc "Tree-Huggin' Sumbitch" Anchovy


Another fine recording (with a fine full combo, no video, just good music.):

https://archive.org/details/wz1982-10-22.Capitol_Theater.flac16