Free Bobby BeauSoleil

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Baby Its Cold Outside

I just to a break from my all day Chuckie Cheese dvd and beer marathon to go get something to eat. Yes, it has bacon on it. I left the seclusion and reclusion of my apt and walked up the street for a burger. Oddly enough I went grocery shopping yesterday and returned with nothing but beer. So other than C3PO I had to talk to some one other than Mr Cheese (well, and that other person. you know who you are...don't you?)

So yeah, it is cold outside. Food for thought. There are people living out there. Some by choice, others by chance. I remember when I was living in my Corvair van in So Cal of all places. It was an ice box. There were times I had to bring the little propane tank into my sleeping bag to get it warm enough to ignite. this time of year when you are out shopping a lot of retailers ask you to buy a toy, book. or food item to give to the less fortunate. Good? Its like opinions. Mine? Make you feel guilty. Boost their sales, egos, and public image. It is funny how they report their good deeds. Seems as tho the bit about the left and right hand not knowing is side lined even when THEY claim this to be a christian time of year. I'll leave it up to you. You can feed some ones ego, or buy some one a happy meal and tell youself about it every time your feeling down.

As for the cold, Charlie had it right. Move to the desert. A further south desert.
See you in Death Valley.

TRIPPIN' WITH BOB

I suppose going to Belgium would be the furthest I went to see Dylan. Key word would. As of now the longest trip was from Flagstaff to Milwaukee. That one was quite simple however. A shuttle down to Phoenix. Flight to Milwaukee. Ride to the show by one of my siblings....reverse procedure.

Even tho many have started out with less certainty (see the post THE DEATH OF A PRINCESS from April of "08) all have had peculiarly successful results. Looking back I am rather amazed. Tho the trips in So. Cal. were short, but still there had to be some kind of faith that not all mankind sucks. I'm not sure how, but I saw Bob a couple times in Costa Mesa at the Pac Amp. Both times I got a ride straight back to Northridge. Then there were all the shows at the Greek theater in L.A.. Getting there was easy. A bus ride down the 101 to Vermont Ave, then a short walk towards Griffith park. Getting home was another story...kind of. 11:00 and hitching a ride in L.A. having to be to work at 5:00 the next a.m. For two years running he did three show runs during the week and I never did miss a day of work.

I did however skip out on one of our monthly company meetings only to walk in with a shirt showing some Viet Nam war soldiers and the quote "I ain't gonna work for Maggies brother no more". The irony here being that it was a family run business. But wait, the twist on that is I did work for the brother some more. In fact for two years, during which I quit once and got fired three times. At the risk of sounding immodest, I must say that I am not a model employee but I can kick some ass when it comes to getting the job done. After all, I am on number 47 (if you count getting fired and rehired. Yes it has happened more than once).

ILLEGAL IMMIGRANT...ME?

Yes me. This is my latest scheme. Seeing as tho I don't like the direction that this country is going in I thought "Why can't I be an illegal alien?". So here is the plan. Dylan is playing in Brussels next April. I checked out airfare, but it would be over $1000.00 round trip. Once there however I would cash in the return trip ticket and try to assimilate to the Belgian culture. (Yes, assimilate, not be an American Belgian.) After having done more research on being a Trappist monk I realize that due to schisms it would be an impossibility for me to live at a monastery. Plus, their days are regulated to the minute. I don't mind a little bit of structure, but man, poo at two?

Now, being illegal I'd have to get an under the table job. Of course it wouldn't be fair to the tax paying citizens, so to justify my existence in their country I would by beers for the legal citizens. I wouldn't cause wear and tear to the infrastructure, and promise to walk or hitch hike instead of drive an unlicensed, uninsured vehicle. Above all, I promise not to get pregnant and have the delivery paid for by others and the baby designated as legal. Wouldn't that be just the same as playing Red Rover with drug smugglers? If they make it thru the border they are free to profit off of the contraband.

Now that I think about it, couldn't I just whine that it was once my forefathers land, there by my land?

16 YEARS

It seems like only yesterday. I had a bag full of pot and killed it.
Sometimes I wonder why, but I know better. Regardless....
Hey man...I'm just happy I've gone with out . Still.., Barnes&Noble?

I have been not writing lately due too a lot iuwetbvsa in my mind.
Imagine that.

So here are my dates;
9/15/01 heroin
12/10/92 all illegal drugs
10/24/02 hard liquor

Well I do have some more, but why piss me off.

Just so you know, I have a big grin right now

The Fuzz

Hey Daddio, the fuzz came rapping at my door last nite. It was a rerun of the "When figure skating is outlawed..." post from a while back. This time instead of the Olympics I was watching "Performance", an old movie featuring Mick Jagger. Don't waste your time on it.

Also last nite I had someone ask me if I was a terrorist.

"Well, thats all a matter of perspective. You label me a terrorist, I consider myself an ambassador of goodwill."

End of discussion...so I thought.

"So whats with this?" he said pointing to my bandanna.
"You see, I have a prominent scar that people would recognize. The bandanna I can remove and burn."

I will admit that the pattern has an arabic appearance, but so what. I have had it for over eight years, and altho it is torn and frayed, I can't bring myself to part with it. It was a gift and I know that no one in the states has one like it.

The guy asked me not to blow the place up until after he had gone.
"It's a freakin brew pub man. If I'm gonna blow up a bar it will be a winery full of snobs>"
MAybe a book store.

but, yeah, the fuzz. Funny name. I wonder how it came to be.

Thanksgiving day

It is ironic that such a great nation only needs one day to give thanks. To me it is just another day. I give thanks every day. For what? Having had the opportunity to stand in one spot ( and wiggle around) (Jerry Lee Lewis?) with the clothes on my body being the only things I owned. It was a bullfrog blues moment.

Here is how my day began. I woke up under my eucalyptus tree and headed to work, the Target store at the corner of Balboa and Nordoff. I went in feeling good and kicked ass. My supervisor walked into a jewelry lock up, and as soon as she was in I clicked the pad lock. "Open it up" I heard, not just from her, but also this roop scoop from the loading dock.
"Man, I don't have the key, its in there with her!"
"Do you want to get fired?"
"No, I quit!"

Statistically I was fired, which meant I could get my check right then.
I did.
I walked by my old home, Dearborn Park, and on up to my tree. Half way there I did the pocket check. No keys or spare change in the front pockets. Back pockets were empty as well.
WHAT?
Oh yeah, the slit in my back pocket.
My wallet and last check!
180 double time.
Retrace steps...blank pads.

Thats life. Alright. Walk up to the tree.
Where's my back pack?

Gone!

Bullfrog Blues moment. LAughing just to keep from crying.
How could you not laugh!?!

Now thats FREEWHEELIN'dom

Good Head

Despite the fact that there are three brew pubs here, the tri-cities is not a beer "town". Yesterday I went to four stores looking for some beer. I'm not saying I didn't have any options, but I always end up making the same choices. Now, if any of you have the capital and would like to open your own version of Western Post Liquors, I am looking for a new job. I would be willing to work for beer and pretzels, and would even volunteer to work over nite security.

A good job, and a good beer, is hard to find around here. Last nite I even got to the point of looking up how to become a Trappist monk. I figure this would provide me with my escape from america, a job, a place to live, and an endless supply of one of the best beers in the world. As a plus I believe they take a vow of silence. I actually did go six days once with saying only one word. Then there was another time when I went three days where everything I said rhymed. It was like living in Dr. Seuss' head. Imagine not having to listen to your coworkers nonsense! Theosophically we may not see eye to eye, but I would be willing to over look their misunderstandings.

Oh yeah, good head. well they say you can judge a beer by its head. In most cases that is true, depending on the style of beer. It is said that you should be able to float a bottle cap or dime on the head of a good beer. I go with the dime because of the density. I just lost my train of thought. I may not have had one during all of this. I just wanted to post this photo. Time to go pack for Belgium..

MJ

Was it just a coincidence? That was how she signed off on her papers at work. She also provided a lot of good mary jane. That was how we met. Both I mean. Work and grass. Needless to say, she was cool and mellow. A sparkle always shining thru her narrow eyes and a subtle grin with every spoken word.Warm yet mischievous. Not really sure what attracted her to me. Maybe it was the fact that we were both on e z street. At least that is what the company we worked for was called. Maybe it is what has drawn others to me...Greg the Goiter. Okay, thats five other stories.

So one day MAry asks me if I want to hit the beach.
"Twist my joint why dont you"
I said alright, just take me home to grab some shorts. I pointed here, turn there. Pull up here.
She pulled over in front of a house on Superior street in Northridge. I got out, ran across the street, and ducked underneath a tree (the one I was living under at the time. post eucalyptus tree era). I came back out wearing a pair of red and white tie dye baggies. She didn't bat an eye. Maybe Jack Hyman, a mutual friend of ours told her, but if so all the more power to her. She could have thought "this loser lives under a tree". Obviously she wasn't that type. Many times going thru Topanga canyon gettin high. Spending the nite on the beach. My home away from my home away from my home, next to my other home on the coast.

As things went in those days I would end up getting lost or found chasing grains in a sand storm. I did get lost for a couple years, and found our supervisor a little while after that.
"Hey Bob...."
"Well...."
"Sshhhhhhhhheeeeeeeeee"

Man, I felt really bad. Maybe the worst I felt about how my actions impacted another. Maybe there is one worse. I guess its a tie. No one wins.

She no longer lived in her apt. It sucked.
even now, twenty years later it sucks.
I drove around a lot looking for her.
Would I have done any good? Did I do harm?
She was like me, and I'm sure she would say "chicken wing".
Like many we just cross paths. Sometimes its shallow prints in the dust soon to be blown away. Other times we are trudging thru the muck and mire together leaving lasting impressions after a good sun baked session.

Needless to say I hope she is alive and doing well. Living in Chatsworth and listening to Fleetwood Mac.

Cheers MJ

Ladies and Gentlemen...

...The Rolling stones! watching the Stones dvd of that title. It is from the '72 tour. I often think that if there was one album recording process I wish I could have sat in on it would have been "Exile On Main Street". Keith in his junkie glory. Mick Taylor being Mick Taylor. Sliding like melted butter down your forearms after over indulging on lobster. A recording session of over indulgence. Funkin' blues. So during this concert the lesser Mick, Jagger that is says, something about or to the affect of "not much...between friends". Friends are a funny thing. As far as I'm concerned they are hard to find. One can easily make friends if you want to compromise and play the game. Look at my space or face book. Superficial pools of piss. Every day we're forced to swim thru a world of the force feed fecal fools. I often wonder if they are allowed to chew or if they are made to swallow whole.

Actually, going back to friends, that is the reason I started this blog, to stay connected and possibly reconnect with others. So many gaps and disappearances in my days. sometimes never even saying, or having the chance to say good bye to many. Back again to myfacespacebook roop scoop mental midget mindset. If you need to seek out a million and two friends there is something lacking within. How many of those will bleed out for you? Will you bleed out for them?

Back to the Stones. Yes they were the worlds greatest rock and roll band. Check these out...speaking of stones, friends, and rock and rolling , strolling 66 looking for fights on unhappy nites, condiment car wash, grateful really grateful not dead real estate, sharon tate agents, swinging naked, duct taped to railroad guards, dingdingdingdingdingdingdingding, snowball bidet, whose turn was it to watch me any way? bar crawlin, counter top sprawlin, dont call me DAHLIN, you gotta go FLO, smith n wesson wont stop me from messin, morphine drips, strips and teases, no one ever pleases, cept the girl i met yesterday, all my troubles come back day after day, lookin for a nother way, far way, death valley

Sorry...stones and friends. So the '72 poster is from Lawallrus. It always makes me smile. For those of you who are Government Mule fans look at the liner notes of their first two cds. You will see Steve Lawalls name there as custom bass artisan for Allen Woody. The black and white 60's is one I had never seen before. There are no creases leading me to believe it wasn't from an album. Along with that no staple marks so not from a magazine. This one came from the Great Instigator. (See the post "What Just Happened" from 2/08 to meet these two)

Well I really got lost on this one. I was actually going to write about Mary Jarret. I did so last week, but after reading it the next day I realized I didn't do her justice and deleted it. I will one day soon I hope. Beyond a real friend.

HArd to find books

Yeah, I work at a book store, but 98% of the books there can feed the flames. So at the end of another lousy week at the aforementioned cookie cutter factory I have reason to smile other than Friday, Chimay, and DBT. I just checked out ebay, searching old Chuckie Cheese. There are two books on my Manson list; My life with Charles Manson, by Paul Watkins, and Love Letters to a Secret Disciple, by Sy Wizinski. Well now I only need the former. Just listed was Love Letters with a buy it now option...39.99. The lowest I ever saw this sell at was 80. Just one hour into the auction...here I am, Proud owner!

Another book I'm looking for is "Aristotle & Nietzsche Break Bread In The Alley; the greatest of culture brought to ruins by a pop culture, lemming society" written by Free Wheelin'

Other than that I am just patiently waiting for all helter skelter to break loose.

So here is a question to ponder. You may think the answer is quite obvious but there is a tremendous ripple affect. Suppose I'm in Turkey and I ingest a bunch of condoms full of heroin. I get back to the States, take a laxative and discharge the smack. Is it now legal?

BITTERNESS; ONLY ONE THING I DID WRONG, STAYED IN MEDFORD OREGON A DAY TOO LONG

I guess it was about a year ago that I started this blog. I had just hitched to Medford OR thru the Cascades amidst rain and snow. Walking on the shoulder that was two inches wide, flashing my phone when I thought a car was coming. Living as the invisible man.

I got a ride into Medford and called Jamie. Such a pleasant voice.

Who is Jamie? You know. The cats pajamas.
WELL! This is going to take a while.
Physically she is extremely pretty. To put it into perspective, if you were to see us walk in together you would think "what's she doin' with him?"

Major gap.

When I was living in Santa Fe I decided to go up to Medford and drink some beer. Howie still had my old bike and I went out for a ride on a Sat. a.m. Cutting thru a park a boy of two stepped out in front of me. I muttered under my breath "keep it on a leash". At that moment the mother grabbed the childs hand. We locked eyes. "What are you doing here?" she asked.
"Leaving" was my answer.
She knew where to find me. We spent a wonderful nite together. Sheer. It is good to hear, but from a married woman it is a gut wrencher. I had to get back to S.F. Once there I was back at work. I had nothing to say. I had a friend to run interference for me. I cried about how she was sorry and that we were meant to be togethdidn't ask, but he was kind enough. I didn't speak for weeks. I listened to Dylans "Love and Theft" cd over and over. No one writes love poems like Bob. Any poo, had I left a day earlier I never would have reconnected.

A year later while living in Flagstaff I found her phone # in my wallet. Called, spoke, parted.
Then I'm in Pocatello. We connect again. I want to take a trip. No commitments.

Back to the top.

I get there late Thurs,. Jamie and I have a great Friday nite. Saturday is spent with friends. Sunday playing fatal phone tag. Late evening we connect only for me to be the honest man that I am. FORGIVE ME FOR NOT LYING!

I called her a viufhgiubgyo8s,kh

She is. Will most likely always be.

She is every beautiful lyric that Bob Dylan ever wrote
I remember the day before my brothers wedding, shedding
tears over her. Happy for him. Bitter for her.

Now I feel sorry for the two of us. Her for not realizing.
Me for not having smashed that so called friend/ mother
fuckers head in. (Not hers. See "Why John Wayne drank cheap Bourbon."
one of my early post. Funny thing, speaking of dreams, I have had this
dream about three times since I last saw her. I am strangling her. Squeezing
and wringing her neck. Right when her body is about to go limp I release. Ironically
my letting go shows that I have a hard time letting go.)

Hows that for a parenthetical thought?

It is a 15 year tale wrapped up in this snippet. Buy me a beer
or ten and you'll get part of the whole story.

I used to be a nice guy. I'm working on it again. If you know a pretty
girl that likes Bob Dylan and Belgian beers, send her my way.

that photo came from her website www.jamiebutler.com
I hate her, but you'll love her.
she's a fool
Tell her that if she's looking for dignity it is me.

Man I miss Dusty!

Maybe I should get Pink to put her on a sheet of acid.

"Homeless Man Causes Blackout; Riots Ensue"

It seems as tho every time I talk with my brother the topic of fecal matters arises. Arby's, Arthur Treacher's , Lucky Charms. Don't leave home with it. It is a fact of life. What goes in must come out. Well, again, way back when I was living in my '63 Greenbriar I was awoken by an intestinal prodding. It was 3 or 4 in the a.m. My options were to drive down to the 7-11, or just step outside and take a dump.

I stepped out and saw my restroom, a utility pole. I leaned against it and dropped more than just my drawers. I wiped my butt and thru the TP down on the fresh dung heap. Needles to say, it didn't look pretty. Anyone that saw it would know who, what, where...So to disguise it I thought it would be best to burn the TP. Maybe the heat and ash would be enough to distort the human factor. I lit the TP and took a couple steps back towards the van. I saw a flicker out of the corner of my eye. Freakin eddie, the creasol soaked pole was going up in flames. The flames were up to about my chin, 5 feet. I did a whole lot of kicking. If I hadn't just gone, I would have done a whole lot of pissing. None the less, tragedy narrowly averted.

Can you now see the headlines?

A Career in Advertizing

This a.m. in the shower I had an idea for a PSA regarding safe sex. It shows the Flying Wallendas flying around on the trapeze apparatus. At the end one of them steps up and says "Even the best performers work with a net". Then the voice over, "Play it safe, www.penisnet.com".

Speaking of which, I actually sent this idea to Lifestyles condoms. There is a couple sitting on the couch drinking wine. The guy gets up and grabs his girlfriend by the hand leading her to the bedroom. Once there he opens the top drawer of the night stand, pulls out some hand cuffs. Dangling them in her face he smiles.
"What do you have in mind with those?" she queries.
"Just a little captivity" he responds.
She then whips out a condom waving it in his face.
"And what did you have in mind?" he asks.
"Just a little protective custody" she replies.
Again, the voice over.

The next one actually got a response from Nike. (Neither positive or negative)
Rain is pounding the wind shield. The person in the passenger seat is looking at a dashboard pc.
"It should be right up ahead."
"There it is, there it is" the driver shouts.
"Get closer"
A shot thru the windshield shows a funnel cloud.
Passenger again, "Here, here"
The vehicle pulls over onto a dirt road. Camera angle shows the foot stepping out with YOUR BRAND HERE of running shoes on. The passenger walks back to the asphalt, looks over his shoulder. A tornado is closing in. He starts running. The gap between him and the twister widens. Again the voice over. "When running like the wind just isn't enough....."

My Harley commercial:
A stupid little car is at a red light, thumping and vibrating, with the roop scoops inside "dancing" around. A guy pulls up next to it on his bike, looks over and smiles. He hits the throttle. The camera focuses on the car. It vibrates even more to the point of disintegration. Voice over "Nothing matches the thunder of V twin power"

Miller Lite:
On the steps of where ever the St Louis Rams play, a beer vendor walks. A fan calls out.
"Miller lite please"
Vendor opens his cooler. The camera zooms in. Its full of Miller Lite.
"Sorry, all out. How 'bout a bud lite?"
"No thanks, I'll just get a bottled water."
Post game in the vendors warehouse all the guys are sitting around drinking Miller Lite.
One looks at another and asks "How'd you do today?"
Raising his beer he says "This job may not pay much, but the benefits are great."

I also have a Culligan commercial but why bore you. Oddly enough, if you want a career in advertizing you have to go to college. It appears as tho that diploma means a whole lot. Strangely I work with a lot of people who have diplomas/degrees.

Yes, I may be a dreamer/loser, but at least I didn't pay $50,000 to get here.

Beer of the Moment

The Dissident from Deschutes Brewery
This is a 2008 reserve so I don't know
how long it will be around. The best American
impersonation of a Belgian I've come across.
A Flanders style brown ale. Great tartness. 9% abv

Pinball Wizard, Quitters never win?

This Thursday the 23rd Bob Dylan starts his fall tour. This story dates back to another Thurs in Oct. this time the 24th 2002. (Simple twist of dates?) I had recently moved to Flagstaff after having transferred there with Dillards. However after leaving SantaFe I no longer had my own little world in the suit dept. I was now thrown out in the general roop scoop population. I was always bored there and usually made my way down to Ruby Tuesdays for a quick couple of beers every now and then. This nite was different tho. I had a restless hungry feeling. Bob was playing down in Phoenix with Phil and Friends, Robben Ford being the guitarist on that nites menu. I was a little bummed, so instead of hitting on ruby I walked over to Safeway only semiconscious of what I was about to get myself into. First stop, bottled water, second the liquor aisle, vodka. Once outside, out went the water, in went the vodka.

I clocked back in from lunch and headed back to the sales floor. Nice guy that I am I offered Jenny some water. Politely she accepted and I then retreated to my corner. As the store manager made his rounds he came by to see how things were going. As I stood talking to him I picked up my water, winked at Jenny, and proceeded to take a drink or two. Well it wasn't long, maybe two hours that a fifth of vodka was poured down my gullet. I was off my rocker and acting crazy. We had just gotten some desk top pinball machines in, 18"x24" plastic numbers, and Jenny had been playing all nite. Hitting an all time high score she brought the machine over to me "Beat this". I knew I could, so I took the machine and started beating it mercilessly on the counter, shrapnel flying every where. The looks on every bodies faces made me think that they didn't see this coming. "Beat this"? That's a gift horse. After a brief nap on a counter I was escorted out by Tiani. Despite her best efforts there was no hiding my condition. Oddly enough, the last time I saw her I learned that she was working for a federal prosecutors office. Talk about a little stick of dynamite!

As you may have guess, I lost my job. Not a big lose however. If it weren't for that I never would have come across this joke. "A mexican, an indian, and a white guy walk into a bar..." At the time I never realized it, but my friends Mirales and Naha walking into a bar with me was a good lead in for a joke. Also, as you may have guessed by the title, that was the nite I quit drinking hard liquor. In retrospect I have both quit and been fired a lot. Makes me wonder what this Thursday will bring. Dylan starts his tour up in BC. It is highly unlikely that I will quit drinking beer. As for my job? You try playing black jack without face cards. Sure you can still hit 21, but the odds are slimmer, and its a matter of all the cars falling into place. I'm not a gambling man.

The Last in a Series of Dreams: straring death in the face

As anyone that is capable of reading this is aware of, death, be it natural, violent, or random, is a part of life. I recall the death of a few older relatives when I was no more than eight. Then in my teen years a couple friends died. Within fifteen years I would see death first hand, not just once but three times. Those were dream series of their own. A good time turned bad, or a misspoken phrase in a foreign language. (another reason not to cater to mexicans!) Yet after all that I was still invincible. I had no fear of death, that is until the following dream.

I am not sure what nite the state of California performs their executions on, but it was that nite. The gurney was in the living room of Jack Hymans house in Sepulveda CA. There was a small crowd of about a dozen witnesses along with my brother and mom. Ten to Midnite (not the Bronson movie) and the director of events tells all to leave except my mom and brother. Ten minutes to do what? Apologize? Not sure who I killed, but I know I would have done society a favor.

There I am (put yourself here) ten minutes until the big gauge needle is in your arm. Time to think about it. I freaked! For so long I was ready to die, inadvertently pushing the envelope. Now I had to live. I knew the layout of the back yard. The patio, pool, and brick wall. I split.
Like thunder in the northern Arizona sky I rolled across miles.

Since then I have had many ponderings of my death. Sometimes I freak out. Oddly enough, my greatest concern is "this world is going to suck even more without me".

Recurring dreams

Often times children are afraid of Santa Claus. Personally I wasn't but I lived in great fear of a Santa Claus effigy. When I was a wee lad my Grandma had this mechanical santa that she got from, I believe, Gimbels. He had an arm that would move his glasses up to his eyes so that he could read his naughty or nice list. She would have it sitting on a lower landing of the stairs right inside of the main entrance. This thing was freaky and creepy. I wouldn't look at it. I would close my eyes or shield them with my hand. Things soon went from bad to worse...Santa moved in with us. He lived down in our basement tucked away in a corner. I just didn't trust this guy. He seeped into my psyche, and then the dreams, rather nightmares began.

My mom would ask me to go downstairs to retrieve some meat from the freezer. Hesitantly I would go, putting myself with in a few yards of this creature. Out of the corner of my eye I would see a movement. It appears as tho I was on his naughty list. At that first twitch it was lickety split time. A mad dash to the stairs followed by a panic driven ascent. Sometimes I made it up clean. Other times he would manage to take my feet out from under me, but in a scramble I would end up on the kitchen floor kicking the door shut behind me. Thats just one more reason not to celebrate xmass. One minor dyslexic episode and Santa becomes Satan. Coincidence?

Lately tho I have been having a dream where I am the tormentor. About every other month I have this dream where I am strangling this girl. My hands around her neck squeezing and shaking. Right when the body is about to go limp I let go. To me this one is obvious. It also shows me that in the fury of the moment I can be a very evil person. We all have that in us no matter how much we try to deny it. If the right buttons are pushed we can all snap. However, if reality, as in the case of my repeating dream, has time to look us in the face before the dastardly deed is completed, our internal moral majority wins out...

Heavy man, heavy.

I Get What I Desereve; Why I work at a book store

Well I have been wondering about how I have been thrown in with this group of misfits. As Chuckie says "No sense makes sense." So today I had a chat with my boss' boss. Everything was complimentary, yet I was left with the "where do I fit in?" question. "How did I end up here?"Raising questions like these in regards to a job is not good for me. I do laps inside of my head. Picking up speed with every unanswered question until I become a psychological whirling dervish.

As for karma as we or any think of it, its a bunch of rubbish. Lennon got his instant karma. In my life, and most others, it is just a matter of making mistakes and paying for them. For instance, take the post "A funny thing happened on my way to the brewery" back in Nov of '07. It tells of how/why I wound up working at a hotel. While living in Santa Fe I got a job selling suits to uptight artist/actors that had a spiritual calling or were pretty lesbians. Why? A few years earlier I bought a white dress shirt and while ironing it to take out the creases I got lost in thought. Bam! Middle of the back was a scorch mark. I still had all of the packaging so I folded it up like it was never out of the cellophane . Some poor guy got this shirt in a need to wear situation only to find a burn pattern smack dab in the middle of the back.

So what did I do to end up working at a book store? If you look back to "Hitchin' with Einstein" you will see that I had to abandon a lot of my worldly goods, taking with Dale and I only what was deemed necessary. We left in the trunk my collection of books that Dave Vick was good enough to fly out with a year earlier. My Russian writers and Nietzsche books were too heavy to carry. I abandoned my books. Now I pay the price. Working amidst geeks and freaks. Really, adult D&D players?! Suddenly I feel uncomfortably normal, seeking to be comfortably numb.

I stop there for a reason. My attempt at being nice.

The Second In A Seies of Dreams

One doesn't mean much these days. I suppose two doesn't either. Try this on for size.
(Have you listened to the Bootleg #8 series? Heart breaker"Stayed in Medford Oregon a day to long') WEll AAAAaaalright. Take II.
Dream Two
I am standing on the corner of North Avenue and Hwy 100 in Wauwatosa, the town I grew up in. My brother-in-law Jim is with me(as pedestrians) and we're waiting for the light to change. We just left Ray's liquor store that was now in the place of the pharmacy of my childhood physician that soon became a horse burger joint called "the strawberry patch" (Yes, strawberry patches occur frequently in my life) This guy in military attire approaches us and says "Hi I'm sargent Benson, John Benson, would you like to see where Jesus is buried?" Well yeahh buddy, lets go.

So he leads us to my parents house and brings us around to the spot outside of the window that I would hop out of to smoke pot. Jim and I end up digging. We're about "six feet under" when we hit something. We stop and freak. Scraping away some soil we come across a burlap sack. Freakier. As we step back the burlap sack starts to move. An arm protrudes out of the right side, and then the left. The living/dead Jesus falls back into my arms. Arms out stretched left in my feeble hands.

Again, what does it mean? You tell me.

The First In A Series Of Dreams

I can't even remember when I had this dream. '91 or '92 most likely. I think I have a post a ways back about Jenny, the girl from the Ventura '87 Dead show and our briefly deep and deeply brief history. Hold on, I have to look back and see what it is titled....

I'm back after a search and I think I never told this tale, yet I believe I have. So before I go onto my series of dreams, can anyone tell me if you have read the story of Jenny and I meeting while tripping on L in June of '87?

Aww screw it. I started this series, and unlike the Cubs I'll finish it.

So a flashback to where I lived before I moved to So. Cal. It was this big apt. complex, and the back door to my building opened up to a hill that led down to the on ramp of (siblings correct me if I'm wrong) 45 headed north. It was a divided ramp with a v-shaped island to accommodate the flow of east and west bound traffic. Big lead in I know. So hear is the dream.

I was at the bottom of the hill higher than a kite on acid. I made it across the first on ramp, but at the second I lost muscle control from the waist down. (Yes, you can get that high so as to lose control of any body muscles.) So I was pulling my way across the ramp , legs dragging behind. Halfway thru I was ready to quit. It was then that Jenny appeared and said "Get up Paul, you can do it."

At this point I look over my right shoulder and in the sky I see Jesus. It is a familiar shot. He is encompassed by about a dozen kids. The only difference is that this vision has a purple haze. As I catch sight of this I find myself able to get up and walk.

So what did it mean?
You tell me.

I can't believe I haven't told the Jenny story, or Dori and the Aunt Jemima incident yet.

So I'll thro this out. Jenny of the band Half Way Home. Long brown hair and gyrated like Janis. Got me tickets to see you play at the Roxy in Aug of '87. Are you out there? Morning Dew on my sleeping bag? Check 1,2,1,2,.

So what do I do next? Tell the Jenny story or go on with the series of dreams?
Life is sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo complicated.

The Loss of a Friend

As things go in this world we all have moments when tragedy strikes. The one you love the most succumbs to the frailties of existence. When our near and dear is cut down in a moments time it is not always easy to look beyond to the grander scheme of things. All of a sudden there is a void. Sometimes that vacancy is never filled. Other times it wasn't really a vacancy but an opening for a new relationship to develop, fast or slow. Today it happened within seconds.

I lost my favorite beer glass to a tragic accident. Most of the tears may have been due to the fact that it was freshly filled. Then thru bleary eyes I saw a work of art. If you look at the beer of the week you will see the glass in its entirety. Here it is in its Dali-esque form.

Hitchin' with Einstein

Well, this dates back to the strawberry patch girl and beyond. I can't recall the year, maybe '83. My sister, Sissy roonie, gave me a poster of Al, and the caption/quote of his was "Great Spirits Often Encounter Violent Opposition From Mediocre Minds". That holds true to this day. Say something about illegal immigrants or elitist politicians and you'll have some white boy with dread locks talking about the harsh realities of urban life while strapped to a tree reeking of cologne (regrettably not German), with his cell phone ringing. Oh yeah, his beautician is standing close by. His parents bought those "dreads" for him.

Well, it was Sun. the 19th of Apr. '87. The weekend had been crazy. Dale and I drove down to Irvine (whiteyville amidst browntown). We saw two acid freak outs and the death of a nation.
That was when the Touch of Grey crowd lent a hint of blackness. After the Sat show all cars had to leave the lot and reenter if you had tickets. I had my Sunday tic and it was a great show. Then time to head north.

We hit the 5 and headed north. Maybe 15 miles later something happened. I pulled my '72 Olds 98 onto the off ramp. It was dead. I told Dale to get behind the wheel. To this day I don't know how, but I pushed this boat UP an off ramp and across an intersection, into a cul de sac. A peaceful place to sleep. The next a.m. there was a tap tap tap. I knew who it was. Dale was sleeping in the front seat.
"Paul, its the cops".
The covers went over my head. I knew they weren't going anywhere, but don't give up hope. These Irvine pigs did everything they could do to mess with us. They sat us on the curb and searched the car inside and out.
"Do you have any drugs?" they asked.
No man.
One hopped out and said "I thought you said you had no drugs?"
I looked at Dale, "You been holding out on me?!"
HE hadn't. The pigs were just hoping for an "Oh yeah...."

"Well, you got to go."
"Everything I own is in this car."
"24 hours".
We took a walk to a garage. Tow it please! Just give me time to
recover my worldly possessions. We took a walk back to my car.
Dale and I grabbed what we could. Some of my clothes, a steal your
face sticker, and the aforementioned Einstein poster.

At an on ramp in OC we stood for a while. The Einstein poster now had a peel away Steal Your Face sticker on his fore head. The first ride was bitchin ' van.
TV's and microwaves. In '87 that was wild. He dropped us off in downtown LA.
I mean, skid row. Los Angeles and 5th. It was alright, but would have been better
if we were trippin. Around the block was where the Manson girls held vigil. We still had
some where to get to but no reason.

We got back to the valley and there we were. He had a home and I didn't. It didn't bother me. I don't even recall where I slept that night. Probably at his moms house, and then back under the eucalyptus tree. There I stood with what little I owned. All that We could carry. Within a month I would have even less. Stay tuned.

Police Stories continued: Professor Peabody and the way Back Machine

Way back, way back, way back, so far I can't remember the year, maybe 1983. I had a fun filled run in with the Peewaukee WI police and Waukeshau county sheriffs dept. I was a day like any other day. Not much to do except go fishing, or at least try to. Bill Hokanen and myself headed out to Peewaukee lake for the sake of killing time, whiskey, and fish. We pulled up on a side street in a residential neighborhood. You wouldn't know it tho because the houses were so far back you couldn't see them. We parked, opened up the Yukon Jack, turn up the stereo and prepared for an afternoon of seeing life from an anglers perspective. Most likely from an angled perspective.

With one bottled killed we packed the other, grabbed our gear and started to head down to the lake. We were 3/4 ths across the street when Andy and Barney, Peewaukees finest pulled up.
"We had some complaints about you guys being a little loud" they said.
"Well as you can see we're on our way down to the lake so we wont be bothering anybody" I replied.
"Alright, good luck"
Case closed...so I thought.

Now Bill, despite being a good chess player, was both Finnish AND slightly off (and a wee bit drunk). Some how he gets into a "conversation" with Andy about how he's Jesse James, a wanted man. So to appease him Andy says he'll run his name. Man, I can't help but laugh. Warrants! He had a warrant for failure to appear after having been busted for trying to lift a frozen pizza.

(Side story. This is the same guy who, this is true, bear with me. One nite he, myself and John Letellier had been doing lines and smoking pot. We went to PDQ, a 7-11 type store to get something to eat, drink, smoke, or whatever. So we get up to the register to pay and all of a sudden Bill turns to us and says, now mind you, the guy behind the counter was in his 40's if not older, "Hey, who has the P,I,P,E?" spelling it out as if the old guy wouldn't catch on. We hit the floor.)

So Barney calls in the county sheriff to pick up Bill. Shortly after two cruisers pull up. At this point I'm starting to feel what ever it was I was feeling. Feeling rambunctious, boisterous, and ten feet tall, I decided to be legal counsel for Bill. I was warned to bite my tongue, sober up, and go home. Convinced it was a set up I ranted about how they were going to wait around the corner and nail me for DUI. They restated their case and drove off. I started yelling and gesticulating, kicking the gravel in my best Billy Martin impersonation. They came back.
"Paul, this is the last time. Sit here and sober up. If we have to come back you're going in.?"
They pulled away, reached the end of the block, and then the back up lights came on. "Forever hold your peace" just wasn't , isn't, a part of my vocabulary.

Cuffs are on and I'm in the back seat. Head all the way back looking skyward out of the rear window. Having been quiet for all of a minute, concern made its way from the front seat.
"Are you okay?"
"What the F--- do you care" I yelled at the top of my lungs inside of this enclosed car.

They took me to the Waukeshau County jail, a place I had delivered milk to many times before. I had to give them my shoes so that I wouldn't hang myself with my laces. Over what? a D&D! So they gave me these slipper/sandals, both left feet. I would only wear one while walking around with the other in my hand. My reasoning being that I didn't want my feet to become deformed. (when I was a child it took me forever to get my shoes on the right feet. my mom would tell me I'd be taken to a doctor to have my feet switched to the opposite legs.) Then came the finger printing and intake interview. That is just a series of questions about prior arrest, residency, employment, and health status. Now, the guy doing this was at least 60. At the end of the list of question was "Do you have any physical concerns that we should know about?"
"Don't let me get bent over 'cause I don't want to get aids."
The old man was writing it all down until he realized what I said. He crumpled up the paper and said "Let's get serious!" Buddy, I am!

So then they took me to my cell. On the way down the hallways of the always I was taken past Bills cell. The look on his face was worth a dollar seventy five. "Whats he doing here?". I just grinned and kept walking.

A couple hours later Molly Pootsie bailed me out. The next morning/afternoon I was sitting at the table having ham and rolls with my family. I made up a story about how Bills brother came by on a boat, we went out and landed a couple Muskies. I recall looking at my hands wondering how they had gotten so dirty. Ah! It hit me and I giggled to myself. Ink!

We didn't kill any fish, but two out of three ain't bad. Right Meatloaf?

Back to the Police Stories series

When last we left I had been released from the Devonshire division jail ( see post title good cops bad cops). Despite the detainment I made it to work with minutes to spare. So life went on as usual, that is until one day when the very job I hustled to get to on time was lost due to an involuntary termination... at least from my perspective. This was the beginning of a bizarre love hate relationship that found me quitting once and being fired three times in the two years I was with the company.

Any hoo, I was scheduled to have a meeting with the president of the company one afternoon to see about getting back on the job. My friend Louie loaned me his car, and my other friend Scott, who also had time to kill that morning, and I were sitting in his car smoking some pot. I saw some cops in the rear view mirror going down a side street. It was time to go. Sure enough they turned back. They were at least a block away but I knew what was on their minds. I turned, they turned. I turned again and so did they. It was cat and mouse until I finally lost them. I made it to Roscoe blvd and was going to turn right. While checking to look for a clearing in the traffic I looked across the street only to spot the boys on the other side planning on a left turn. The mouse was caught.

If you recall, at the end of my last police story I was admonished by the fuzz to take care of my warrant. Surprise! I hadn't. I also didn't have a license. Scott was taken in for skipping bail on a weed selling charge. So I was taken to the west valley division with only an hour or so to go before my meeting with the prez. I called a friend at work and told him the situation. All I needed was $200.00 and I would pay him when we spotted the nearest atm. He should up pretty quickly and sprung me. As he was driving me back to where Louie's car had been left I said, "Thanks man."
"Don't thank me" he replied.
I knew right away "Nooooo".
"Yep, she bailed you out."

Now heres the kicker to this story. As mentioned earlier we had been smoking and Scott had been drinking some beer. When I got back to the car, on the floor mat right under the steering wheel was some pot, a pipe, and a beer. No charges for any of that, or driving without a license.

So yes, there are some, maybe even mostly, good cops out there.

Speaking of Sharon Tate

Earlier this morning someone reminded me of a bit of trivia that I had forgotten about. Not sure if I mentioned where I am now living. If I haven't I am in Richland Washington, a two minute walk away from the Columbia river. One of Richlands famous residents was none other than the beautiful Sharon Tate. She moved here 1954 while in seventh grade when her father was transfered from Texas. Good move. When she was a sophomore at Columbia he she was voted home coming princess. Then, note the date, on August 9th 1959, she was named Miss Richland. How is that for freaky. Exactly ten years to the date before she was killed. Its a sad thing that she had to die so young...and pregnant. By the way, she was expecting a boy and had chosen the name Paul for him.

Charlie on Acid

For a while I have been planning on having some Charlie Manson t-shirts made and selling them on line. I had about six of them, consciously avoiding the use of the most famous cover of Life magazine photo. A few days ago I came across the pic in a 1x1 inch format and thought it would be great to use that picture repeating as tabs on a sheet of acid. I sent an email to Pink Lloyd, who you may remember from previous post, and below is the mind blowing result that he sent me. Tho it will be a few months until I can get this done (capital) all I need , well one of the things I need to do is figure out what color t-shirt the below graphic would look best on. Your input would be greatly appreciated. I have been thinking black, grey,white, or an electric blue. I am open to other suggestions also. Oddly enough on this post it is just the right size for a sheet of blotter. Maybe red would be the best color shirt.

Corey Feldman

Just a freak little thing. I came across this photo of Corey Feldman, and it may just be a predisposition, but I swear he looks just like Charlie Manson. You be the judge. Am I wrong? I'm not sure if this was done for a new movie role, heck, even Lindsay Lohan was going to play Nancy Pitman in a movie about the Manson girls. She eventually bowed out (LOSER) due to "scheduling conflicts". None the less I would let her join my family any time. Call me Lindy Lou.
I don't mean people should call me Lindy Lou, SHE should call me. (976-STA-LKER) In many ways I'm still Free. Yes, despite myself and the attempts of others to dispose of it, I still have a sense of humor.

50 Years

To some it may sound as tho it was a sentence. To a couple others it was a commitment.

This Sunday, the 7th, my parents are having a 50th anniversary party. Needless to say I wont be there. It was just bad timing, and an indecision as to whether or not there would be a party. Shortly after I moved here the word was no. Then after I got a job the answer was yes . Life goes on.

So I thought about making my presence felt even tho I wasn't there. A life size cardboard cut out of myself. My camera is lacking about 2,000,000,000 mega pixels. So how about those edible bouquets? The arrangements looked like the sticky flowers on the bottom of a bathtub. I asked Amy what I should do. She suggested a trip to Disneyland. I told her that I think my parents hit there on their honeymoon. And just like a gold Lamborghini it was out of my reach. So bemoaning another of my many plights in life I kicked pebbles around...thinking.

Out of the blue it hit me, or was told to me. I have only been at my new lousy job for five weeks now, but in that time I twice heard similar comments , the last of which made me decide what I could give my fearsome twosome for this rare occasion.

I believe all parents would like a return on their investment. Or maybe I should say I would like to give my parents a return on their investment. Fiscally it is an impossibility for me, so I can only do it intangibly. I hope it will suffice. So in these words, more or less, I was told "you're a pleasure to work with. You have a good work ethic, and always say please and thank you". My retort was "thank my parents".

An apple may roll down the hill, but that doesn't mean it didn't fall far from the tree.

My parents and I are three different people, and for years it was awkward to say "I love you", but I do. I don't say that to many people, maybe ten in my 43 years. With the exception of those two and a few others I've been let down. In this day 50 years is beyond what most marriage's and I were ever expected to survive. Today the word "congratulations" is just an amalgam of letters said to every one who quits, starts, survives, ends...So I won't throw that out at my Mom and Dad. I guess I'll just say I love you.

In my words "it's a freakin' mind blower,

Good cops Bad cops

Angie and Porky were the good cops. Here is a story of bad cops.

It was a day like any other day. 9:30 a.m. and I'm walking down Nordoff in Northridge CA on my way to work. I was headed west and so was the cop car that cruised past me. It turned right by Dearborn park. I saw the front of the car reappear from behind a wall. They turned left headed back east but were again in the west bound lane. The car skidded to a stop along side the curb about 10 to 15 feet in front of me. The driver hopped out with his revolver drawn and the passenger aimed a shotgun across the roof of the car. Obviously something pretty heavy was going down and I wanted no part of it. I turned to walk in the other direction only to hear "freeze", and see no one else behind me. It is funny how powerful a word freeze becomes when you have guns drawn on you.

Well, pork isn't the only white meat. It seems as tho a KFC was held up. Who would plan to rob a chicken shack in the a.m. and I'm assuming before they opened. Any hoo, hoopdie doo, I was led down to the corner and told to stand at a certain angle as another cruiser came by. There were two people in the back seat, and tho I wasn't supposed to see them I got a very good look. A white girl with brown hair, and a light skinned black guy. They both shook their heads no. Free at last, free at last, thank God almiiii....what? Not only did they catch me with a pipe, was that a crime, but this one pig kept going on about the devils weed. Picture this scene in black and white and you have "reefer madness". Any square headed screw like that wasn't going to get away without my opinion. It seems as tho that endeared myself to him because he didn't want to go away without me. While the drive by id was going on my name was ran. Oup, we have a warrant out for your arrest.

Sit down while I start a new paragraph.

A few months earlier I was walking back to my tree after work. I was hitching up that very same street, Nordoff. Walking along the curb, spinning around to show my pretty mug to my perspective chauffeurs. Give 'em a good look at my honest face. As things happen I took a few steps into the street...at the wrong time. This time its old cop young cop. Bwoop went the siren. What the... The two Billie's stepped out. The old donut holer started yelling at me "drop whats in your hand".
"Its a can of soda."
"Drop it."
"It'll explode."
"Drop it."
(Freakin pig)
I flipped it back so it would land on the grass. The vet cop went on about how it is illegal to hitch in the roadway. I tried to explain that I was walking along the curb and just had stepped into the road briefly. "Well the law states......blah blah blah." He looked at his rookie partner and said "It's up to you." Well who do you want to impress more some homeless loser or the guy you will spend the next year with? ( It's funny how I got cited for stepping onto a street that my tax dollars were paying for, yet everyday hundreds of illegal parasites drive up and down that road in unlicensed, uninsured vehicles).

Back to the initial confrontation. So I was cuffed and put in the back of the car. I was driven to the Devonshire division, a five minute drive. These guys freaked the piss out of me. Left turn, right turn, right again, then two lefts. This was two years before King, but I thought for sure I was in for a beating. Alas, I was oddly relieved to be at the station. I was taken in and sat down on a bench. Cuffs were put on my ankles, and on my wrist behind my back. But wait, theres more. Then they took a chain and ran it between the ankle and wrist cuffs. I had no idea what the big deal was, that is until a door opened up and from behind it entered a co and a lady followed by about 20 6 or 7 year olds. It all clicked. She told her students not to stare and I menacingly grinned and said " yeah thats right, I'm Charlie Manson (we go way back)".

This all happened in an hours time. I was finally told that the computer system (1988) had gone down and there was no way to know how long it would take, one hour or all day, so they couldn't hold me. I was released with the admonition "take care of this as soon as you can". I hustled and made it to work on time. Man, talk about a good work ethic...or maybe blind ambition.

Did I act responsibly and take clear my illegal status (with a bogus green card) ? Stay tuned and find out.

canned heat baby, canned heat.

Angie Dickinson and Porky Pig, Parts One and Three

It was a nite like any other nite in Reseda CA. The usual suspects were hanging out on the sidewalk and accomplishing a whole lot of nothing. Smoking some pot and making fun of each other. Talking about better days that were sure to come. Sometimes I still think they will. I was time to smoke a little more so a few of us hopped into a car. The other three had beers, I was just in it for the weed. Just as we got done smoking the cops pull up. I can't say that it worried me. At most it would just be a ticket.
We were all asked to get out of the car and sit on the curb. I was feeling good and mellow and was more than happy to comply. It seems as tho they didn't pick up on the aroma of the weed and just wrote tickets to the others for open containers. Unfortunately on of the other guys wasn't really happy about. He kept calling the Police Women, sir. The more she corrected him the more defiantly he called her sir. Never did find out what crawled up his butt, but after a few belligerent minutes he was put in cuffs and given a seat in the back of one of the cruisers. After he calmed down they released him and handed him his citation, Angie Dickinson riding off into the sunset.

It was gravity that pulled us apart, but destiny that brought us back together about a week later. Dale and I were kicking back on a lazy afternoon, sitting in my '63Corvair Greenbriar (not the one in the pic. Mine was a faded beach yellow with some bitchin rims.) smoking some Indica. Alas, here comes the fuzz! Two cruisers pulled up and we stepped out on the sidewalk to talk with them. There stood Angie Dickinson in all her police woman glory. For some reason she gave me the stink eye. Then she said "Oh, you were the tough guy giving us a hassle last week". Well I wasn't about to correct her so I let it slide. Fortunately another cop from the previous shake down was there and spoke up. "No, it wasn't him." So then the pat down. Porky (I call him this because he actually resembled Porky Pig) searched Dale, Angie searched me. The only reason I recall this is that Dale's pat down took about ten seconds. Mine seemed like two minutes. I remember dale and I smirking at each other while Angie was on her knees checking below my waist. We made small talk and one of the officers looked in my front seat. "Whats this?" he said as he pulled out my Chilum (a strait pipe often used in India). "Just a little green bud" I replied.
"I know that, but what are you smoking out of? How do you use it?" I took it from his hand, cupped my hands together with the stem tucked between my knuckles. I showed him how it was used and handed it back to him. He put it right back where he found it. At that time Porky chimed in. "You guys would have loved being with us a little while ago. We busted this guy with four pounds fresh off the vine. I could see you two pulling out that Cheech and Chong album and rolling one big joint." It was really quite an experience.

At that point in time the local police were mainly concerned with crack heads and burglars. I guess one in the same. You know with the Rodney King incident and other beatings, cops, L.A. cops in particular, get a real bad rap. They have to put up with a lot of anal brains, and most of the people beaten have it coming. So don't be a fool and they'll be cool...most of the time. Even Charlie Manson treated the police politely. When being arrested for the last time in Oct of '69 he stepped out and said "Hi, I'm Charlie Manson".

Lost in my parents kitchen

Do you remember where you were 21 years ago today? I do, but thats another story. My point is sometimes a date is meaningless, probably 300 plus out of the year. No anniversaries of any sort. At least none that stick out in your mind. So how do I know that in Oct of '89 I got lost in my parents kitchen? Easy, the S.F. earthquake at the start of the Giants/A's world series game. I was just east of Sac when it hit. A few days later I wound up in Milwaukee.

So one day I get in contact with my friend Dave Vick. I went to his place, hung out, smoked pot, and listened to the Dead. Before leaving he gave me five hits of acid. I took two, then two more, and thought "why hang onto one". Five hits in an hours time. So I hopped into my brothers mean green machine, and old Suburban, and headed to the house that I grew up in. The yellow submarine. My parents were out of town at the time, but my brother, oldest sister, and her now husband were there. Watching the baseball game that nite was like watching a video game. The nite ended and my sister and bro-in-law left. My brother crashed. As for myself...well. Alright, a few hours later I thought I should go crash. Now I just needed to navigate my way from one end of the house to the other. Easy. The only problem was getting from the family room to the dining room.

So here I am at the doorway of the family room and the dining part of the kitchen. I had to look off at a 45% angle to see the doorway of the cooking area of the kitchen and the dining room. Hand on the lite switch I have a direct route mapped out in my head. One strait line. Two or three steps into the kitchen I distracted myself. The room is beyond black. My pupils are wide open but no lite is coming in. I start feeling my way around, arms out stretched. Finally the curtians at the sliding door. I pull them back only to see a lightning storm. It wasn't really there...but it was. From there I could feel my way along the walls and cupboards. Dining room, lite switch. Hallway, turn on the lites, turn off the dining room lite. Ah, bedroom dead ahead. Lites on, then off in the hall.

As anyone who has tripped knows, you can't sleep on acid. Half an hour later I hear an alarm go off. 4:30 am, my brother the truck driver is getting up for work. Here is the really odd thing, the song that was playing when he turned on his stereo was ...My mind just went blank. It was Rod Stewart. A song Robbie Robertson also did. Help me out hear folks. ..AH... Phil Lesh did this song also...Broken Arrow

I still don't sleep much, even finished my laundry at 4 this am.

Malibu PCH

Yeah I had just hit So Cal, had a ruff hewn X on my forehead while hitchin down PCH. It seemed as tho all of the street lites David A Vick and I walked past shorted out.Walking down PCH. Despite that we covered a lot of miles, and smoked a lot of Hash. Red, black, and blonde. I hope he fared well. The last time I saw him was in Oct of 89. This is a lead in to the story of when I got lost in my parents kitchen.

He was, is a good friend. I am sorry that I got lost.
Anyone that knows of David A Vick from Milwaukee WI
say hey

Pismo Beach, high tide, black hash, sand stone, hypothermia

Bitchin

truth IS stranger than fiction The final chapter

If you look back at the original Truth IS stranger than fiction post from back in April you will read about the girl I knew that had a strawberry seed stuck in a socket from an extracted wisdom tooth. It was sealed over and started sprouting. Well directly from that girl, Kirsten Ashton of Pocatello ID is the revamped version of Botticelli's Birth of Venus. I hope you had a successful harvest.

Soundtracks to life

We have all had those moments in life when the music in the background compliments, and even sometimes echoes what is happening. Unfortunately we forget so many of those times. For better or worse I have to occasions etched in my mind. Oddly enough they both involve cops and black musicians.

Episode One: February 1990, Sherman Oaks CA. The Band, Culture, the song, We Der Still. The tape was playing in my car when undercover cops came up as I was relaxing with some reggae and a joint. Well, whats a joint gonna hurt. They searched my car and decided to arrest me on a weapons charge, which technically was legit but was practically unfounded. Back to the soundtrack. So as I'm getting busted for pot the above mentioned song was playing. One of the lines rings out "Rastas chalice been taken away and his ganja has been burned but we der still". After that day, or few days, I had to thoughts. #1 Get a tattoo saying Question Authority around my anus. #2 Why would they want to look up my butt? How many people go thru day to day life with contraband shoved where angels fear to tread.

Episode Two: 1994, Medford OR. The Artist Mavrin Gaye. The song, Trouble man Ironically my landlord called the cops on my neighbor who was usually loud and a prick. Well this nite I decided to "enlighten" my neighbor. Hearing the clamor the landlord phoned the boys and they showed up only to find me "teaching" this guy about neighbor etiquette. I wasn't too concerned, but it did strike me as funny that Trouble Man by Marvin Gaye was playing while the cops were getting ready to haul me off. Its a good thing Pete the landlord stuck his head in to see "whats goin' on" and say that I was the good guy. If only I had gotten that in writing.

I guess this might be an appropriate segue to my police stories series.

A pictoral of my new town

To start with I live in Richland WA, just a couple blocks from the Columbia River. Google 1878 Fowler Street and you'll see how close. No skyline here, just some bridges that I find fascinating. Also some of the local wildlife (actual animals). Some may look like Canadian Geese, but they are actually a subspecies called Columbia Geese. They find the climate here to be so nice that they never migrate.

Just want to run this by you

Do you remember when you were a kid and went to buy a new pair of sneakers? You couldn't wait to get home and lace them up. Once on you went outside, and sure enough, you were running faster than you ever had.

That's all for now. Hopefully my apartment will be ready by the end of next week and I'll be able to update the beer of the week, video bar, and fill you in on my new town, along with some more mad capped misadventures from my past, including police stories, real life sound tracks, and getting lost in my parents kitchen. Sometimes are wonder what the stories that I can't remember were like.

Sun, Snow, Sand, & Seagulls

It was a day like any other winter day in L.A., sunny with a blanket of snow on the Angeles crest. A couple of the Contreras brothers, Dale Keyes and I headed up into the mountains to play in the snow. After a few hours of sliding down ravines, nailing each other with snowballs, and smoking pot thru even more snowballs we decided to head back down the hill. Next stop the beach. We were sitting on a section of beach just north of Santa Monica participating in our favorite past time. Yeah, even tho we were back at sea level we were still pretty high. Then we noticed these noises in the sand,poof, poof, poof. To find out what it was we only had to look up. There was a giant flock of seagulls dropping bombs on us. This was both scary and funny. We scattered about, holding our guts in fits of laughter, trying to run across the loose sand. I only wish I could have been an outsider watching this scene unfurl. The Keystone cops spend a day at the beach. Fortunately I can report that there were no casualties.

It does make me wonder how many people get hit with bird poop. I know that my mom did once, and Edgar on "The Deadliest Catch". But that is only two people out of the thousands that I have known. I hope I didn't just put a curse on myself. After all there are a lot of seagulls around here. Even scarier than that are the geese. Their turds are bigger than a chihuahuas.

The sound of a pump action shotgun

We have all heard it. Whether it is in person, or on the television or movie screen. It is a sort of muted crescendo. A dramatic scene ending with a chk-chk. Now imagine hearing that sound just a couple feet behind your head. A rather discomforting thought isn't it? Now imagine that it is four o'clock in the morning, you're sleeping in Dearborn park in Northridge CA and are awoken by that sound. I must admit my initial reaction was "oh s...". In a tenth of a second a scramble ensued and I found myself running across the park... in a fit of laughter. As it turned out the sound wasn't made by a shotgun, but rather a giant rain bird sprinkler that was just a few feet a way from me. Everywhere I looked I saw great steams of water erupting from the grass. Hurriedly I hopped out of my sleeping bag, picked up my back pack and ran for dry land. Running just seconds after waking is not that easy. Couple that with laughing and getting nailed by a few high pressured blast of cold water and you have the makings of another odd ball game show. Believe it or not that was not the only time I found myself running and laughing, but this other time I allude to occurred on sand with a sense of, well stay tuned for my next post, and another simple day gone wrong.

Think Pink

Last nite I couldn't help but think of Pink Lloyd (bartender at the brewery in pocatello) as I sat at the Ice Harbor Brewing marina location. The bartender brought my dinner to me, and there on the plate were four bacon wrapped tenderloin medalions, cooked rare of course. Let me tell you, if I had money to burn I'd have that every nite. So why does Pink Lloyd come to mind? He is of the opinion that bacon goes good with anything. usually I will argue a point just for the sake of pissing someone off, but here I can't. Bacon is the be all and end all. Peanut butter and bacon on toast, wrapped scallops, tenderloin, shrimp, even celery. So at your next meal, whatever it is, add some bacon and see if it isn't true.

BS

No, It's not what you think it is going to be about. One of my first business ventures was selling bumper stickers. They were quite simple. Black with bold white lettering that plainly stated "Illinois Sucks". Which with exception of the blues, it pretty much does. Come on, Chicago named one of its teams the Cubs! A cute, harmless animal. They are also known as the lovable losers, and even worse, their most ardent fans refer to them as the cubbies. What a vicious opponent.

Needless to say I have come up with many others since then, most of which I have forgotten. (Did I just hear a global sigh of relief?) I'll never forget the day I found out about the meaning of those rainbow stickers. I was in NH at the intersection of Elm and Bridge streets. I was riding with Chris Charuck talking about heading back west. We were stopped at a stop lite when he noticed a car in front of us with a CA plate and said "I'm sure he'd be willing to give you a ride."
"What makes you say that?"
"The rainbow sticker."
"What?"
"Yeah, its a gay symbol."
Well I find rainbows to be a fascinating natural phenomenon and felt a little violated. Maybe that was their intent. In short, I came up with my retort "It takes a bent person to straighten a rainbow". No, not very PC, but since when have I been concerned about that.

We have all seen the "I don't get mad I get even" sticker. My response is "I don't get even I get odd". For the last several years I have been waiting for an oddball super star third baseman to arrive so I can put out my "I'm not out in left field I just play a deep third" sticker. Maybe I could follow Jesse Jacksons lead and come out with an "Uncle Barak Otoma" sticker.

I do like the one The Great Instigator told me about, paraphrasing here, "with the exception of slavery, fascism, and communism, what has war ever solved".

There are lots of them out there, sadly the good ones are forgotten and all we can remember is "honk if you're horny" and "if you get any closer I'll flick a booger on your windshield". Isn't it time we bring back "save gas, fart in a jar"?

NINJA WARRIOR

When it comes to TV challenge shows, wipeout is a washout, and American gladiator already came and went once for a reason. If you're looking for a good one hopefully you get the G4 network. Most of the time it is a nerdy channel directed towards computer and video game geeks, but a couple time a day they show a program from Japan called "Ninja Warrior". It is a contest of physical strength and stamina the likes of which I have never seen before. With contestants ranging from novices to seasoned veterans it gives you cause to laugh as well as cheer on your favorites. You might also check out "Unbeatable Banzuke" which has challenges that test athleticism as well as some less orthodox competitions.

I must say that the Japanese people are crazy...in a good way. For some reason kichigai, crazy, is one of the first Japanese words I learned. It could be coincidence but a few of the other first few words I learned are kanpai, cheers, and yoparai, drunk, as well as akamimi which literally translated means red ear, but in the vernacular of the Japanese youth it means redlines, a designating factor for vintage Levis. So for those of you who have my email address akamimi501 should now make more sense. After a few beers I tend to recall more of what I learned, presumably because I learned it while hanging and drinking with friends from Japan. The first night I went out with a group I discovered just how much they are into beer/drinking. A few times I was bought a 24 oz beer and the people around me started chanting iki iki iki, go go go. I realized that I was to slam the beer, so I did. No rest for the wicked. Time enough for one good burp and there is another beer in front of me. The chant resumes. Three was all I could do, but it was a nite of fun and learning.

Of course I was quite a bit younger then. Were I to try that at this time I am afraid of what the results would be. Age does tend to mellow one. Well, at least most of the time. When you find yourself driving naked you know it is not most of the time. Don't ask.

Jinsei ha kichigai
Kanpai
BWP