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.