Sad but True

It sucks, but I have come to the conclusion that I have to pull for the Giants. I will not watch the game because I really don't care. The reasons for my dicision are simple. #1, Junior Seau, just like Ray Borque had to be handed a ring, Seau is begging too. Randy Moss goes under the same category as Tarrell Owens, undeserving. Tom Brady, get over yourself. The whole Patriots* team with their past history of HGH use and rumors about current use, plus all the other documented cheating. Although arrogance rates very high, if not the highest, on my list of detestable character
traits, Eli Manning squeaks by as the lesser of two evils. Where are Mermaid Man and Barnacle Boy when you need them.

New England Oddities

So last night I found myself hanging out at the brewery and being unusually talkative...in a congenial manner. This guy was mentioning places he had recently been to and my response seemed to be "I used to live there" to each one. He then looked at me and said "I suppose you lived in New Hampshire too?" He is due to make a trip there in march and we started talking about beer joints. My first recommendation was to head down to Cambridge and hit the Sunset Grill, but locally in Manchester there is the Strange Brew Tavern, and a brewery. It was called one thing to begin with, then the name was changed to Stark Mill Brewery, then to Mollies, and possibly something else now. The name changes were due to some illegal or unethical practices, and then a paper shuffle ensued as a cover up.

At this point a guy on the other side of me interjects "Illegal and unethical seems to be a trend in New England." Huh? "You know, the Patriots*." We all know about the spying and the cheap hits that they are never penalized for, but this guy was about to throw something new into the mix, human growth hormone. He had some interesting things to say. "Look at Junior Seau, 37 years old, breaks an arm, heals like that (snaps his fingers) and comes back playing like he's ten years younger. Teddy Breuschi, has a stroke and is back in less than a year. " What HGH would do for a stroke I don't know, but he went on. "Look at Brady and Vrabel. Did you know that the real reason Vinatieri left N.E.? They wanted him to use HGH, but the trainers would always inject it between the toes so as to leave no discernible marks on the body. He didn't want his kicking foot or plant foot tampered with. That's why Brady had that little cast on. He actually developed an infection from a dirty needle." Two thoughts that I had were, surely there must be a needle exchange program in liberal Massachusetts, and I always thought Tom Brady got his extra testosterone in another form.

I took it all with a grain of salt until he told me about Stallone using it for his new Rambo movie, and how prevalent its use is, and that Stallone himself thinks it will be sold over the counter with in ten years. Suddenly there SEEMED to be some validity to his story. I'll leave it to the NFL to get to the facts of the matter. Whether they use it or not is of no concern to me. It wont make me like them any more or hate them any less.

In all fairness to equal hate time...Eli Manning. Here is a real ass who deserves to be locked in a cell with Skip Bayless. He is an arrogant puke who doesn't deserve to win anything. Anyone who is a #1 pick and refuses to sign with the team that chose him should be black balled, or deballed (if he has any).

As for other NE oddities, 473 Wilson street, does it still have that strange paint job in the living room? Ten years after the fact how do I remember that Johnathan Charuks favorite Bob Dylan song is "Visions of Johanna"? Go ahead, ask him.

So Why Oregon?

A while back I had some one leave a comment stating that they didn't know that I had lived in Oregon. I have the feeling it was Jeff Thorset, brau miester at Flagstaff Brewing Company. Which, by the way, is a definite must hit for beer drinkers. They don't brew a single bad beer. Their Buba IPA is a great way to start the day. Bitterroot ESB, ah I can taste it now. Weisspread Wheat in the summer will throw you for a loop. Plus they have Old Crustacean as a guest tap. Back to the point. After all the time we spent talking, mostly about hockey, college football, and beer, I find it hard to believe that I didn't mention having lived in OR. Well I did for five years, and to follow is the reason why.

After leaving L.A. for a little rehab time in Milwaukee, getting by on acid and vodka (have I ever told you about the time I was tripping while eating spaghetti with my parents and a couple siblings...what a trip. It was a worm orgy!) I had finally gotten my act together. To a degree. So it was time to pick a place to move to. In a previous post I mentioned an ill fated trip to Canada. Well on my way up I had two encounters with members of Oregon law enforcement. Twice I had the local blue man group pull over, and instead of asking for id and harassing me they both times asked where I was headed, told me the best route for speed and the best for scenery. But before leaving they reminded me to be safe.



Obviously that stuck in my head, so knowing that OR is a good place to grow weed I headed back to the west coast. I had a spot picked out for the next grow season, an island in the middle of Little Butte Creek, a tributary of the Rogue. Big enough to grow on, small enough not to draw visitors. Between that fall and the next spring is when I met Sophie, and the rest my dear friends is what they call history. Broken bones, new scars, and mini muffin wars.

Here is a picture from my trip out last Oct. Not sure what, or if ,I was thinking hitching in the middle of fall.
All in good fun.

Three Pieces of Paper

Of all the things that have come and gone in my life there are three pieces of paper that I wish I still had. In my mind they were suitable for framing and articles that not many people ever possess. Two of them came on the same occasion. I was taking a trip from So Cal to see my family in Wisconsin. So being a man of leisure I decided to head up the coast to Canada, then cut across our neighbor to the north, finally dropping back down into the states, destination Milwaukee. All went well until I got to the border. First was customs. You see, the irony here is that the bad thing was that I had ran out of pot. If I still had some I would have had my pipe in mind. So that was discovered in my backpack. First piece of paper: Surrendering one rosewood hashish pipe to the crown.

Next stop, immigration. I could hear Grahm Nash singing as I stepped to the counter. Looking at the agent I thought he might be sympathetic to my plight seeing as tho he was Asian. He asked for id, I gave him the very same Cal id that I have in my wallet today. He asked me what my reason was for visiting Canada. "Well I'm going to Wisconsin to visit my family and you guys have been running this ad in America to come see our friends next door (or however they worded it), so here I am." "Do you have means to support yourself while in Canada?" Sure did. I was feeling pretty good, but I got no sympathy from the devil. Second piece of paper: Refusal of Admittance to Canada.

My next piece of paper came from right here in the good old USA. It was 1988, an election year. I thought I would be a good citizen and register to vote. So I fill out the appropriate paperwork and hurah, God Bless Mickey Mouse, and all that other roop scoop rubbish. A few weeks later I go to my mailbox and pull out a letter from some govt. agency. So curiosly I opened it up. Paper #3: Denial of my right to vote. Their reason being that my address wasn't a residence. Now here's truth, justice, and the American way. Had I lied, like a politician, and given a friends address I could have voted. Then in 89 and 90 helping the homeless became hip in Hollywood.

Shortly after that I was sitting in the back of my Corvair van with one or two of the Contreras brothers, and Jason and his bongos, smoking a footlong joint. Someone said something about the stupid things that people are allowed to do and my retort was "and I cant vote". Jason hit a beat and people interjected stupid laws or moronic current events all followed by "and I cant vote". The real twist to this story came months later when I received a notice for jury duty. I responded with a polite decline stating "seeing as tho I have been denied a say in the life of my country I feel I should not have a say in the life of my country man".

Haven't heard from the government since then, and I like it that way. As for Canada, whens the last time you possessed the Stanley Cup? Hows that for payback!?!

With All Directions Home, Thats A Rolling Stone

When most people think of the homeless they think just that, homeless. I always considered myself to be a man with many homes. I lived where ever I was. In addition to that I had the worlds biggest back yard. I had the world for my back yard. Yeah there were times when it sucked, but there was also an ultimate freedom.

My favorite home was my weekend location out in Malibu, Zumirez on Point Dume. Every one has seen it, you just haven't realized it. I used to sleep in this little dip in a cliff about 75 feet above the rocks and slamming surf. The sound was great and the view even better. To the south was a secluded cove, and to the north Baby Zuma, where at the base of this rock wall many commercials, tv shows and movies are filmed. One nite after grabbing some dinner and enjoying an after dinner joint I was strolling back to my cliff, headphones on mind elsewhere. Suddenly there were lites everywhere. I looked up to find that I had ambled onto a movie set. I cut off to the side where I ran into a security guard. It was as this was a scene from a movie. He was leaning against a trash bin, doughnut in one hand coffee in the other. I asked him what was going on, and with a New York accent he responded "Their filming a beach movie, you know, Annette Funacello." It was awesome. Turns out it was "Back to the Beach". My friend Jason and I saw them film an episode of "Hunter", Todd may have been with us. I never saw it on tv but somehow I survived.

Anyway, this is where I slept, about six feet
from the edge of that cliff. The people of Malibu
were great. They would come by in the morning
walking their dogs. They were always friendly.
Another a.m. I was feeding left over pizza to
seagulls that took the food directly from my
hands. It turns out that a man from Australia
was down on the beach taking pictures off it.
I heard him as he came up taking pics from
behind me. He said the shots were spectacular.
I wish I would have given him an address to
get copies of those.

Things have changed since then. I have "settled down". I have even got with the times. Used to be I would travel around with out a map. Now I have this state of the art GPS device. I will admit that it is a little cumbersome. It is an illuminated compass made by the Lionel Corporation for the U.S. Navy back in 1943. Next thing you know I'll be getting a color tv, or one of those rotary telephones.

You Cant Judge A Book By Its...Hair?

It was a day like any other day. I had just hitched back to the valley after spending the weekend in Malibu. I caught the bus in Woodland Hills and headed east down Venture Blvd. Sitting on the bus with my gear and a portable radio I noticed this guy across the way talking to the guy next to him and pointing his finger at me. At this point I should let you know, as some of you already do, that at times I would let my hair grow, sometimes down to my shoulders, and then shave it off. At the time of this incident my hair was close to nonexistent. The guy across the aisle had hair past his shoulders. His voice got louder and there were occasional glances in my direction. I heard the words skin head and punk a couple times. Apparently he was trying to instigate something. I was too stoned to care. After a while he turned to me, and noting my radio, asked me what station I had it tuned to. I replied that I didn't know, that I usually listen to tapes. You remember cassettes dont you? Those things that were replaced by cds, which are now being replaced by downloads. "I'll buy you a beer if you have it tuned to 97.1 KLSX."

We'll be back after this message.

There was this guy named Larry who was living in L.A. at the time. He was convinced that KLSX was part of a conspiracy by Jerry Falwell and the moral majority promoting abstinence
or something of that ilk. He would always say "KLSX, Less sex, do you get it?" Apparently not many in So. Cal. did.

So I hand the guy my radio and he turns it on, "Hey, I owe you a beer. Get off where I get off."
So some where around Sherman Oaks or Studio City we hopped of and went to Round Table pizza. As it turns out the guys name was Phil, hippie Phil as I refered to him. It seemed as tho this was a hang out of his. He bought about four pitchers of beer, bought one pizza and got a second free due to some one not picking up there order. So over a few hours we wound up talking about the Grateful Dead, LSD, and Charles Manson. I can imagine that it was an interesting picture Hippie Phil and Skin Head Paul, carrying on, tossing back beers and stepping outside for some "fresh aire." Well it was time for the pizza place to close, but we were still thirsty, so down the road we went.

We came across a Vons or Ralphs or whatever supermarket and went in to buy some beer. We went in and I asked if there was a restroom I could use. Upon returning to the front I see these potted plants all over the floor. At least twenty plants strewn about by the check out aisles. I asked Phil what happened. "They wouldn't sell me any beer." I apologized to the cashier and started walking him to the exit. We were almost out when four security guards stepped in front of us. "Come on man, we're almost out. Just lets us go." "You can go" one answered back to me, "but he's got to stay." Now these security guards were huge. They should have been working as body guards for the rich and famous. And why does a grocery store need so many on a sunday nite. These guys go to detain hippie Phil and I see them pick him up. They had him lifted about chest high, face down, and then they let him drop. It was the proverbial sack of wet cement. His body hit the floor, then smack, his head hit the linoleum. He looked up at me. I saw one drop of blood followed by a second, then a torrent of blood. He looked at me and said "Get the fuck out of here, the cops are coming."

Despite all the trips I took thru Topanga Canyon where Phil said he lived, I never saw him again.
Thanks for the beer and pizza. Wonder how long his hair is now.

check out www.mansonfamilytoday.info there is a song written by Charlie and performed by the Family recently posted on there. Would make for a good bluegrass tune.

When Figure Skating Is Outlawed Only Outlaws Will Watch Figure Skating

It was a day like any other day. Scott and I went down to FBC to get a belly full of barleywine. and we did. Things then took an odd turn as they often do after a ten round bout with the Old Crustacean. I suggested that Scott call Jill and have her meet us at my place for dinner. It was one of those rare times when I was in cooking mode, so why not. So we left Flag Brew and headed over to Western Post Liquors to stock up on the essentials. Finally back at my place the cooking and the games began. I am not sure what went into the cd player, it was either Robben Ford, or the Keef Hartley Band. Either way it was played loud and Scott and I were running around like two schools boys that just polished off a box of sugar cubes.

Eventually Jill showed up and domesticity set in. Off went the music and on came the olympics. We were mid way thru our chicken dinner (I really dont recall anything other than chicken. Maybe chips, homemade of course.) when there was a knock at the door. "It's open" I yelled. Knock knock knock. "Come in, it's open." Again another series of knocks. So with a welcoming smile I went and opened the door. You'll never guess who it was. It was the police! along with one of my neighbors standing behind them. "We had complaints of a loud party and a lot of people coming and going," one said. At this point I turned around looking into the living room. You couldn't ask for a more placid scene. Scott and Jill eating their dinner and figure skating on the tv. I looked back at the police and the other cop said "apparently we have the wrong place."
"thats alright man, have a good nite."The door closes and laughter ensues. I never saw or heard of that neighbor again. I think The Great Instigator and Blue did something to him. From that point on I had a get out of jail free card and played my music as loud as I liked.

It's all in the timing neighbors.
What ever happened to "Love your neighbor?"

The Buzz - Skip Bayless Is An Ass Lick

The topic of the day in the sports world today is not the pathetic performance by Hawaii, or the So. Cal. stomping of Illinois, but the great outdoor game played in Buffalo yesterday. Even non-hockey fans are stating that it was the perfect situation. Snow, sleet, overtime, a shoot out, and 71,00 fans. Unfortunately the out come of the game was not what I was hoping for, but it truly was perfect. Equally unfortunate were the out of touch American sportscasters that kept commenting on the Canadians growing up playing pond hockey. It happened, and still happens in America too. I can only imagine that my brother was thinking the same thoughts while watching the game. Playing on the rink at Fisher, or the lagoons at Greenfield Park. I hope he is now planning on having one of his league games outdoors.

The biggest moron of all of the sportscasters is ESPN's Skip Bayless. He doesn't think hockey should be played on skates because it lowers the scoring chances. He doesn't even consider it a sport. I suppose he wouldn't like to see a no-hitter either. And these walking talking birth defects in the NBA that can raise their arm and touch the rim. Lets not raise it to 12' for fear of making it too challenging. Feel free to send an e-mail to Skippy at ESPN.com. Sorry Skipper, we cant all be fans of pop music sports...ass lick. Sad thing is he's licking from the inside out.

Winter Classic 2008

I've got the heat off and the doors and windows open getting ready to watch the Sabres Penguins game. The conditions are great, outdoors with snow falling. Makes the greatest sport even greater. I do enjoy other sports, but most people are born with the abilities to run, jump, kick, and throw. But how many can do it on an eighth wide piece of an inch of steel?

Awesome! The throw back jerseys! I hear the Sabres fans pelted the Pens buses with snowballs. Welcome to Buffalo!
I'll always be a Rangers fan but I must say GO SABRES!

1-0 Pens in the first minute. Don't worry Falbo, its early.
Cant wait to hear 70,00 Sabres fans go nuts when they score.