Christopher Dodd did not mention the freedom from the fear of carrying a mass of parasites.
I hope the emergency rooms are prepared for the flood of people coming in due to wounds from
rape because we all, at least hard working self sustaining Americans, are being screwed.

Its hard to not drink when its snowing

Not that what is falling right now is really snow, but it is winter white stuff. From what the Great Instigator told me the other day two feet of snow fell on Tuesday down in Flagstaff. I used to love walking down to the brewery, sitting towards the front end of the bar and watch snow and pedestrians fall. Seeing Phoenicians slide and spin across route 66 while Griper would see to it that my glass was never empty. Great days for Old Crustacean!

Its also difficult to not drinking while sitting at a computer. Or it could be that it is difficult to sit at a computer when not drinking. Hence the lack of hardly believable tales from A Free Wheelin life. Only two more months (did I just write only?) and the beer will be flowing. I am already planning my beer menu for that extended weekend. The first night will be a handful of Belgians. The next will be Thomas Hardy's Ale, and JW Lees Harvest ale vintage comparisons. The third night is reserved for Barley Wines, and the fourth for Porters and Stouts. Only two long months.

Its about responsibility,priorities and simplicity ,not insurance, greed and materialism

This talk about health care reform is getting rather nauseating. Perhaps I should go to the emergency room. Here is the funny thing about this debate, all the talk is about insurance companies and physicians raising their rates. Now ask yourself how many insurance sales men and doctors are members of the congress or senate? Now, how many lawyers are there? Lately we've been hearing talk of salary caps for executives that are with companies that needed bailing out. That's fine with me, but what about capping lawyers fees? The people who pushed up medical cost and there by insurance premiums along with other living expenses due to outlandish law suits and punitive damage cases.(ambulance chasers) I suppose as the saying goes, you can't bite the hand that feeds. Think about the impact lawyers have on the cost of living. Are any of their actions resulting in a lower cost of living and a better quality of living?

All in all it comes down to personal responsibility. Take care of yourself and your family. If you can't cover your children buy some condoms next time. I would be willing to bet that half of the uninsured people have nicer vehicles than I do. Live in a nicer place. Have all the latest gadgets and all the other trappings of a materialistic lifestyle. In most cases insurance coverage is about choices. Now if celebrities were to walk around wearing their insurance cards hanging around their necks the lemmings may just work to acquire one. Or stop spending their 5-8 dollars a day on cigarettes.

All I ask is not necessarily to agree with me, but rather give this thought line some open minded consideration. If self and lawyer control don't work for you I do have another solution. Not only would it lower health care cost, but it would also create jobs, lower housing cost, and raise the over all standard and quality of life. Regrettably most of America is not ready for this. It's all the PC mud in their eyes.

In answer to your question Pink; Its been a while but...

Its not that I haven't had anything to say. We all know that will never happen, but just as in the heroin days I might only mumble, I now get to the keyboard and my fingers just fumble. Now that reminds me of the time I went three days with having everything rhyme. Not sure why I did it or what prompted it but I did it and that's all there is to it. Oh, except for the fact that when I stopped the rhyming at finishing a sentence people would wait for a follow up rhyming line.

As for whats been going on. I am now half way thru my court sanctioned sobriety. All is well tho I am a little edgy, but then again I always have been. It may not have anything to do with the alcohol deprivation, but in stead being at an all time low point in my job (have you guys heard the new Dylan song "I Feel A Change Coming On?") Or the anticipation of what I have waiting for me in my closet. Or shall I say beer cellar. It is partially stock with some of the worlds greatest beers including a 1988 Samichlaus, a '79 and '88 Thomas Hardy's ale (along with eight or so 2008. Just a bit of info. This year the brewing of Thomas Hardy was discontinued). I have a fine collection of JW Lees Harvest ale with three '99's, two '00's, two '01's, two '02's, one each '05,6, and 7. And yes I am loaded up on Trappist and Belgian ales as well as some barley wines. If you click on the pic it will enlarge so you can see the specific labels if you so desire.

As for my JCS. Well the diagnosis is a double edged sword. It is not terminal, but also not curable or treatable. I find the latter to be quite alright. The symptoms are rather like Parkinsons with a smile. A bobbing and weaving of the head. Slightly raised arms with waving hands and spasmatic fingers. Facial expressions vary from a simple, almost moronic grin to a full on smile and wide eyed wonderment. It is most often accompanied by the sounds of Jerry Garcia. So if you know of anyone else that suffers from Joe Cocker Syndrome, don't pity them, pity the ones how don't have or don't understand the condition.

In closing a brief work related item. Sarah Palin just put out her book and will be staying in the tri cities for thanksgiving. Rumor has it that she will be at B&N for a book signing. Here is whats really going down. The Monday after thanksgiving she will be working in the receiving dept. with me. It is a "connecting with the low lifes" promotional gimmick. I just look forward to the end of the day when I can smack her on the ass and say "Top effort Sarah top effort".

I know there was more but JCS does come with minor memory complications.

On A More Serious Note

With time all things pass. Sometimes for better most often for worse. This can range from people to material objects, even to intangibles such as memories. In this case I must bid farewell to my bandanna. Some of you may recognize it for I have had it for a little over nine years. I received it as a gift in the summer of 2000 from Jun Sasaoka and a friend of his. They were in the states just tripping around and with their interests and my dealing in vintage jeans we hit it off quite well. On their last day in Santa Fe they gave me this bandanna and a very appropriate bottle of Fullers Vintage Ale. Very sly on their part. But as you can see time and unforeseen occurances have left old faithful torn and frayed. It has travelled with me to the east coast, Wisconsin, Arizona, Idaho, Washington, and Oregon. It has even been there to absorb blood and cover wounds. It was unique and I am most possitive that there wasn't another like it in the US. I suppose the proper way to dispose of it would be with fire. I am not certain so I will ask a boy scout.

Kahlil Gibran wrote a book titled A Tear And A Smile, and that sums up this situation. I shed a tear for the passing of this close friend, but a smile appears when the good times we had together are remembered. I smile also arises when I put on its replacement. I'm certain that in time it will not be referred to as just a replacement, but as another travel companion.

BOYCOTT QUIZNOS

This may have slid by most people, and quite obviously it has made it past the PC roop scoops who spend their lives crying for "minorities", but have you noticed the latest Quiznos ad that shows the two guys in a bathtub with a fire lit underneath it? The "hillbilly hot tub" as they refer to it. I ask you, what do you think the outcry would have been if it was two mexicans in the tub and it was dubbed the "wet back hot tub" ? Or two Obama look alikes and it was referred to as the "uncle tom hot tub"? If its hillbillies/white people its humor, other races and its racism! If you're going to cry, cry for all.

Fatigued due to JCS

I'll tell you more about being diagnosed with JCS later. Just tired right now. I've been so tired that I put off posting last weeks bi weekly beer buying binge. Here it is.

21

No I'm not talking about blackjack. Of course I am referring to the drinking age. I would like to introduce you to a friend of mine who turned twenty one this year, Thomas Hardy. Obviously I am not speaking of the writer, but rather a beer named after him, Thomas Hardy's Ale. My latest beer purchase is a 1988 bottle of the said ale, still dusty from a cellar in Ireland. So far the oldest beer I have had was 11 years, a J. W. Lees Harvest Ale. By the time Febrewary rolls around this bottle will be 22 and the first that I drink.

Bi Weekly, Buy Beer, By God I do have a problem

During my six months of abstinence I decided that evey other week I would pick up four beers and stash them until the end of February. I have been going out to West Richland beer and wine to make my purchases. They have a good selection of beer as well as six taps. It is very easy to get sucked into buying, talking and drinking beer. Today I had a wee bit of a brake down. Instead of the usual four I wound up leaving with the eleven you see below.

Four Trappist ales; the Rochefort 10, Westmalle Dubbel and Tripel, and Orval. Along with those are Brother Thelonius, a Belgain style from North Coast Brewing. A four pack of Double Dog Double Pale Ale by Flying Dog Brewing. The last are two that I never had before. Both from Southern Tier Brewing Company out of Lakewood NY. One iscalled Hoppe, an Imperial Extra Pale Ale, and the other is a Barley Wine called Back Burner. I'm not usually too impressed by east coast breweries, but I hope they have learned something from their westerly brethren. I'll let you know in about six onths.

AA-CLU

Only nine months into it and I can say that this is the worst year I've had. Its not just getting set up and knocked down for a dui, but the trickle down effect. Having to go six months without beer is a pain in the ass, and I also consider it to be unconstitutional. How can it be legal for a court to prohibit some one from doing what is legal? Oh well, I'm doing it just for the satisfaction of being able to say "go back to your pen, piss off and roll in it".

Another thing that the ACLU might find interesting is court mandated AA meeting attendance. Yeah, its everything you thought it would be and then some. When ever some one talks they say "My name is ________, and I am an alcoholic". "Hi _________".
"There are some new people here today. Would you please introduce yourselves?"
"My names Free and I'm not an alcoholic".
Pause.
"Hi Free"
So then it is an hour of hearing about the gun in the mouth. The lost job, house, wife, money, etc... Drinking lysol and listerine, talking about how their god has guided their every step. Alright, I can empathize. Then came the end of the meeting. Everyone stands and, freak out of freak outs, holds hands. There is some sort of Gregorian chant about sobriety that segues into....drum roll please.....rat ta tat tat...the our father! So the secular judicial athorities order me to go to meetings that closes with the most popular prayer in Christendom. No matter my beliefs, church and state have just had a trist. Side tracking for a moment. It is funny how this prayer is uttered by rote. In the bible Jesus points out to people not to say the same words over and over for they become empty of meaning. What has become a recitation of "the lords prayer" was actually a guide line, a model if you will, of apprpriate heart felt matters.

In closing, I am told to not do something legal while church (under the guise of a non sectarian organization) and state, is tossed in a blender and served as a mixed drink. So any of you ACLU people or other pc mother roop scoops fighting for the "minorities" or illegal imigrants, why don't you do something for the most disregarded minority, 25-45 single white males. The same group that is mosy likely to go out and commit acts of domestic terrorism and mass murder. Could it be because there is no Organization for the Support of Single Prime of Life White Men? The same people who spent the last several centuries building this country into the great country that it once was. What really sucks is that now you have those in the younger part of that group that speak of dis and dat. How the mighty have fallen. Welcome to ghetto America. Talk about gray matter.

Enough pissing and moaning. I think I'll go to liquidsolutions.biz and do a little beer shopping.

MY TATTOO IDEA (the good, the bad, and the ugly)

I know, how could some one that is opposed to the tattoo notion nation be coming up with such an idea? Well just a few minutes ago I was sitting in my alcohol and other drug information school preparing to spend eight hours having some body tell me what I spent decades learning on my own. While watching the roop scoops file in I noticed that the majority, an easy 75% had tattoos. Mostly the common "tribal band" which loosely translates to "what fraternity do you belong to?" and the Kanji symbol that doesn't mean what they think it does. I do have to admit that there are times that tattoos are a worthy idea. For instance, the fat man that has the flag tattooed on his butt and ask if it brings tears to your eyes to see old glory waving in the breeze, then promptly drops his drawers and farts and says "Now don't that get you all choked up?" On a whole...well read on.

So my ideal tattoo would be a mural across my back showing an old shack with a tattoo parlor sign pearched at the edge of a canyon/cliff. There is a line of people waiting to get in, and coming out the back is a trail of lemmings falling into the chasm. This being said, I do have friends with tattoos and some of the work is not only good, but clever also. Take Falbo for example. On one forearm he has the word BITTER tattooed, and on the other, no not sweet, BITTER in Italian! (You can see him and part of it in the Feb 12 post WHAT JUST HAPPENED)
My point is if you cant express yourself with your mind the ink isn't going to fare you well either.

So the good, bad, and ugly? Well ugly was the tattooed lemmings, the bad was an eight hour dredgery of drug schooling. The good? My counseler sticking his head in and telling me I could skip it and go home.

My Bi-Weekly Beer Buying Binge

This weeks trip to the beer store was a bit odd. Not only is my van suffering from some sort of electical problem, but I also had to attend a victims impact panel this a.m. So I hopped on my bike and rode out to the community college. Then I headed out to the beer store. The final leg was the trek home. A loop of about twenty miles I guess. All in all it wasn't too bad until I had a thorn puncture my front tire a couple miles from home. I hope the heat didn't harm the beer. So here they are; Damnation Golden Ale from Russian River Brewing in Santa Rosa, Saint Bernardus Wit from Belgium,Judgement Day ale from The Lost Abbey brewery in San Marcos, and another bottle of Rochefort 10. I'll buy one of those as long as they have it in stock. By the way, these beers were purchased at West Richland Beer and Wine, a store that has only been open for three months. A business worthy of supporting. They have a small inventory at this time, but what they have is good, and they are willing to take special request.

MY FIRST FOUR BI-WEEKLY REHAB BEERS

As you can see it is a great beginning. Stones Old Guardian barley wine. Gulden Draak from Van Steenberge in Belgium. And a couple ales from two of the seven Trappist breweries. Westmalles dubbel, and one of the worlds greatest beers, Rochefort 10. Being the fist purchased they will be the last drank, dranken, drunk, whatever the case may be. No matter how much budwieser tries to slam freshness and born on dating down your throat, truely great beers, the beers of kings (work on that one Miller) age even better than Dick Clark. Can't wait.

PIG CIRCUS PART IV, jumping thru hoops on a short leash

After leaving the court house I was following my court ordered directions to go to a company a block up the road (talk about dirty bed fellows) to get the information I need as to which flaming hoops to jump thru. A week later and I receive a letter in the mail stating that I should mail the $150.00 and then a phone interview would be scheduled. During this 35 minute inquisition my drug and alcohol history was examined, and at the end of the assessment the following summation is what I heard; Its actually a good thing that this happened to you. Your next step was to become an alcoholic. In my head I was thinking "you bloody freakin gash! I had quit using illegal drugs. I have stopped drinking hard liquor. My beer intake has been reduced and you say there is a definite pattern here. One that shows that I was soon to become an alcoholic?" She then gave me the names and numbers of agencies in WA that comply with the OR program. So I set up an intake interview for a lowly sum of $75.00 only to be asked the same questions and be told that I have an alcohol abuse disorder. So now I have been enrolled in an alcohol diversion program.

For the next six months I am required to attend weekly "treatments', ATTEND AA meetings once a week. Submit a urine sample each month for drug and alcohol screening, attend a victims panel, get a TB test (?) and go to an all day alcohol education class (maybe they think I want to be a bartender) and jump any time they say jump. All of this for the combined total of $999.00. Add the $225.00 and this stage of the circus comes to $1224.00. Plus there is the time that I will never get back.

Now, I had told my lawyer that I just wanted to plead guilty and get this over with. Cost wise, the fines would have been equal and possibly less if they gave me the minimum $1000.00. Time wise, for a first offense it would most likely have been two weeks (the way my job has been going two weeks in jail would be a nice get away), now I have six months on a short leash. The benefit is instead of a one year suspension I only have 90 days, but that is in OR. I still have my driving privileges in WA. Also, my insurance company wont find out.

At this point, and also at court, you have little option as to what road to take. If you say you don't want to do the diversion program, or you drop out of it, the court takes it as a slap in the face. They know what is best for you and if you don't follow your road will only be rougher. (Sounds like our federal govt/current administration doesn't it?) So until the end of February I will be living life high and dry. I do have a plan to get me thru this, part of which will be buying four beers every other Friday and squirreling them away until I'm done with the program. The other part is an ancient Chinese secret.

So here is my refrigerator as of today. Yes there is beer in there. Three bottle left over from three weeks ago. (If only I could control my drinking!) We'll see if its still there six months from now.

My advice to anyone who gets pulled over is LIE. The cops do, and they are accustomed to it. If you say two beers they assume six. Four beers, eight... Tell the court you are not eligible for the diversion program due to a prior that has dropped off your record. I'm not going to say don't drink and drive, but if you're drunk don't drive. There is a difference. Never trust a cop, especially a young one. And lastly, eat bacon, kill a pig. Got to go now. Big Brother is watching me.

PIG CIRCUS PART III Judgement Day

I cant say it was the first time I was in a court room but I sure as funky chicken hope it will be the last. I kind of knew what to expect, but then again the justice system is fickle and misguided so all was up in the air. I met with my attorney and went over some paper work, including the police report. My lawyer looked out of the corners of her eyes at me as I sat there reading the PIGment on the paper. About the only thing that wasn't distorted was the loss of balance at 22 mississippi. Other than that I was sloshing about and couldn't even stand up without the aid of my van. Yet still I stood on one foot for 22 seconds?!? After some initial here, sign and date there it was time for the hearing.

The bailiff instructed us to rise for the entrance of judge wapner, why I'm not sure. A few cases were called then my name and that of the one representing me. We walk to the front and Lance Ito swears me in. It has changed from what we have all seen on TV. No bible, just raise your hand and swear to tell the truth. Fortunately there was no SO help me God part. Reason #1 being that we have different gods, and the bible refers to Satan as the god of this system of things. THIS SYSTEM. The very one that is doing the hand washing above board after giving hand jobs for the highest bidder under the table. Reason #2, with as much anger and disgust as I had/have inside of me for this system I would probably have gone all Peter Tosh on the court. Those of you who know know what I mean. I had previously told my attorney that I just wanted to plead guilty and get it over with. However, when she attended my arraignment it was suggested that I could qualify for a diversion program. So at this time judge Keene, or was it Older, ask me questions about my record, on which there is nothing. (yet in his hands he holds a copy of my FBI file. Yes even if you have a clean record if you have ever been arrested for a felony, even if the charges were dropped, the charge sticks with you forever just to bias the justice system. It was just another concoction to pads the arrest stats of the LAPigD.) So after informing me that I must plead guilty and follow the rules of the program for a year, he admonished me to keep on the straight and narrow (thought I was) and let me know how fortunate I was to have such a great opportunity. So I walk out a...free...man. No jail time as long as I get with the program and stick with it. Oh yeah, and no fines either , altho at this point I am already $2108.00 in the hole with only half of that lwayers fees. Sounds like a good deal doesn't it? Just wait for Pig Circus part IV, flaming hoops before you answer that.

PIG CIRCUS PART II

So on this the eve of the 40th anniversary of the killings at the Polanski residence I must suggest a book entitled "Cusifixtion, the Railroading of Charles Manson". Now I'm not saying that his hands were clean, but neither were they as bloody as the DA reported. Even to this day he still insist that Helter Skelter was the motive despite the fact that Doris Tate, the mother of Sharon, and Susan Atkins, one of the killers say that the concocted helter skelter theory was off the mark. But on to the pig system circus.

Back in may I took a trip to Oregon. I must say that I had a great time hitting different breweries. The last place I hit was the McMinamins in Lincoln City. I strolled in shortly after three, and strolled back out at eight. As always their beers were good. I started with the hefeweizen, then had the copper (eat my lead you dirty coppers) ale. Time then for the fish and chips. For some reason I tend to pair it with an ESB most of the time, and this was no exception. In fact I had two with this meal. For dessert I had the IPA. Again quite tasty. Last on the itinerary was the barley wine. This was by far the best beer of the day. So good that I ordered some garlic bread and one final glass of this sensational ale. If you ever have the chance I suggest, no, I insist that you have at least one. Altho it was early I thought it best to go back to the van and call it a nite.


I appears as tho it was too early and of course I could not fall asleep. After tossing and turning for half an hour I decided I would head to Salem about ninety miles away. It was a nice mellow drive thru the country. I got to Salem and decided that in order to avoid the a.m. commuters I would head up the 205 up past the Portland metro area. About thirty minutes later I finally started to get tired. as I came upon an off ramp I saw a McDonalds along with a couple of gas stations. Perfect, I'll crash, have breakfast, top off the tanks and hit the road again. So I made an abrupt exit and headed down the ramp. as I start to go across the street I see some flashing lights come on behind me. Wasn't really sure what I was getting pulled over for but I wasn't too concerned.

License, registration, and proof of insurance please (I doubt he said please)
Here you go
Where are you headed to
I was just going to park in the McDonalds lot and crash for the nite
Have you had anything to drink today?
Yeah, I had a few beers a couple hours ago (by this time it was 10:40 or 20 to 11, 2211, get it?)
At this point I figured he was going to cut me loose, tell me to park across the street and spend the nite at camp Micky Dees.
Would you step out of the vehicle please? (again please...not sure)
I hopped out and stood at the front of my van talking to the cop for a couple minutes.
Paul I'd like to have you step up on the sidewalk and do a couple field sobriety test.
Sure, no problem
Long story short it was the heal toe test. I made it to step eight of nine before I stepped of the line. (Buffalo Springfield FOR WHAT ITS WORTH...step out of line and the man come and take you away). Seemingly dissatisfied with that he told me to put my arms at my side, hold my right foot out (do the hokey pokey and shake it all about) 8 to 10 inches off the ground and count one mississippi, two mississippi, three... so I got to 22 and raised my arms to keep from losing my balance. Oh well, I figure in school I would have gotten a C+ so it was alright. Again we talked for a couple minutes. I not sure if he was trying to make up his mind as to what to do, but eventually he said
Paul at this time I'm going to place you under arrest for driving under the influence of intoxicants.
Before he had his cuffs of his belt I was turned around with hands behind my back. I was probably the most cordial and cooperative bust this guy ever had. At this point I just figured this was a big hassle and once they took me in for a breathalyzer I would be released. Oh yeah, the reason I was pulled over was for crossing into the emergency lane when I made my exit.

So at the station came all the procedures. The cop commented that five minutes before my shift was to end I had to get a DUI. Without any sarcasm I said that I was sorry to have ruined his nite. when the time came to take the breath test I started to get a little suspect of the cops. I requested a call to a lawyer. Funny how attitudes change when you mention lawyer. I managed to get a hold of one and he said just take the test. You will have your licence suspended either way. So I did, and as I sat there I saw the numbers 000 come up. I thought See, time to cut me loose. Some how I was wrong and the print out said that I blew a .15. This was at 11:50, almost three hours finishing my last beer!


Now to put things in perspective 150 pounds, 7 drinks over five hours. according to www.moderation.org that would have put me at .09. As to whether or not that factors in eating and drinking water I don't know. Now if you add two and a half hours to that I would have been well below .08.(their charts only go to six hours) Even just that half hour that I tried to sleep would have put me under the legal limit. Now one may say that regardless of my opinion I still failed the field test. Sure I did. With a spot light, flashing lights, several cops and onlookers watching nerves can get the better of you. Even professional athletes choke. Now lets look at the performance of the pig that was supposedly sober. On one ticket that he fills out multiple times a day he wrote down the wrong date twice, and put down the color of my hair as brown even tho both on my license and head it is blond. Then while booking me and asking the any tattoos...piercings question, he then looked me in the face and asked me if I had any visible scars!
I just pointed.

Any hoo, years ago they would let a person go when a sober ride was found, but it seems as tho too many people headed straight to the hospital to have unbiased blood or urine test take only to have contradictory results. Also I have heard of several instances where the calibration of the breathalyzer was challenged and the results were thrown out due to faulty readings. If this hadn't happened 250 miles from home things would have been a lot easier to organize, but at that time my main concern was getting my van out of impound and heading home

For the last fifteen plus years I have been playing it straight, by the book as close as some one like me can. Yeah I've had my moment of mischief, but all in all made great changes. I had even gotten to the point of, maybe not respecting but possibly empathizing with the cops. Never again. Its back to my rules. I won't be dishonest or disrespectful, but cooperation and politeness are gone. Empathy?! Forget you. Hatred and disdain. I got what I didn't ask for, they will get whats theirs.

Maybe this could all be solved with a beer summit.

Stay tuned for Pig Circus Part III

PIG CIRCUS PART I

Altho I have never gone to rehab I do know that there is an admittance interview in which they try to assess your level of dependency. You will be asked questions such as "when did you start drinking/using? have you ever missed work due to your usage? do you drink/use to relax...socialize...escape...deal with problems...as an attempt to solve problems...do you tend to get angry or argumentative?" and other leading questions. Regardless as to your answers they will say that you are in desperate need of counseling.

So with that in mind I would like to point out that a couple weeks ago your president got in trouble for making a racist statement about a Masshole cop. Of course he was speaking without a teleprompter. Possibly there were other factors at hand that contibuted to his lack of self control. Then in an effort to get himself out of the jam that he put himself in he decided to turn to alcohol and have a "beer summit". Perhaps it is time for this troubled man to seek help.

America was a great country when...

...Phone calls were made from home on a rotary phone.
...Doors were left unlocked.
...While in your car or home you didn't hear someone elses car stereo.
...ABC, NBC, CBS, and PBS were all the channels we needed.
...People wore clothes that fit.
...People referred to themselves as Americans not "I'm a ______ American".
...Honesty existed and political correctness was keeping a campaign promise.
...There weren't so many lemmings and parasites.
...Reality wasn't a television program.
...People had work ethics.
...you heard sue used in a sentence and it was in reference to a Johnny Cash song.
...Something for nothing wasn't the mantra of the masses.
...Upon accelerating a car or motorcylce the engine roared instead of whined.
...Whining was done in the nursery.
...Dead pedophiles weren't adulated.
...You wouldn't miss out on a job because you ONLY SPOKE ENGLISH.
...Businesses shut down on Sundays and holidays.
...A hand shake was a hand shake, not the mating ritual of baboons.
...You'd really rather have a Buick.
...Yes, even when Charlie Manson roamed freely.

Like Archie and Edith sang, those were the days. I suppose it would be educational to look at the census of those by gone days. What would it tell us, and would we be willing to learn from it? Imagine how much wider the wide open spaces would be with over 100,000,000 fewer people within our borders! Like my parents always said "Where did we go wrong with you?"

Don't even get me going on piercings.

According to www.xsist.org/earth/census the following are some interesting numbers:

1790 U.S. pop 3,929,214
1890 62,947,714
1970 203,211,926
1990 248,709,873
2000 281,421,906

As of 00:53 GMT, 5:53 PDT, the US population is 307,003,506. Add to that the estimated 10 to 20,000,000 illegal immigrants and you can see why life is getting harder here. Fewer job openings, less affordable housing, higher health cost, longer commutes, and more of man kinds encroachment upon nature. It just bothers me to see what my recent ancestors fought and toiled to build be raped and slowly murdered by greedy politicians, PC roop scoops, and naive self deceivers that keep hoping for change while putting faith in professional liars. Do I have all the answers? Of course not, but I have more than a fist full. The problem is that those who are paid to listen to us listen primarily to those listed above, the sheep.

Pardon me for ranting.

you title this post. As you can tell I am slightly biased.

Maybe this will get the ball rolling

Lynette "Squeaky" "Red" Fromme is scheduled for release from prison on the 16th of August. All I can say is "Congratulations, we have a new president now."

SPORADICISMS

It has been a while due to the fact that I'm wearing a ten gallon hat and can't seem to focus on any one subject for a prolonged period. It is a wee bit heavier than a leopard skin pill box hat. However some random visions have popped up in my head, one of which involves two sugar plums, Sharon and Farrah. Yes I obviously have a personal favorite, but compare for yourselves.

Then on this date is the 40th anniversary of the death of Brian Jones. Quite possibly the most under rated and/or under acknowledged musician of all time. Also, it disturbs me that know one really looked into his death. To say he was a world class swimmer might be a bit of an over statement, not quite on par with Stephanie Haebig or Mark Spitz, but he had great skills and endurance none the less. So to accept that he simply drowned in his own pool due to being intoxicated is as hard to swallow as pool water. I myself have gone swimming at dark in the pounding Pacific surf while under the influence of a chemical cocktail several times and fared quite well (altho I must admit that swimming in the ocean in the dark causes you to believe that there is a shark right next to you). Yes people it was murder.

Speaking of the Pacific...Once again CA is in the throes of economic anemia. If they want to find the root of this problem and solve it once and for all, all they need do is look south. The same parasite that has been lowering Americas standard of living for the last forty years started the main infestation in CA. Oh, I forgot. They are a hard working, industrious lot who built their country to what it is today and are now here to help us do the same with ours. As I have always been told, find what your good at and stick with it. And yes, that goes for you whiners as well.

think about it

Another Anniversary

It was 22 years ago today when I first met Jenny. I must confess that my memory of that day is fairly fuzzy, most of which I will blame on the opium. It is a bit of a strange story to tell, chronolgically speaking. Lets just say that it started on a sunny Saturday afternoon, 6/15/87, in Ventura. Back to that momentarily. So six weeks later I find myself in the parking lot of Anaheim stadium floating before the Dylan/Dead show. This number with long brown hair walks up to me and says "Hi Paul". The mental rolodex starts flipping. For any younger readers that is manual version of todays PDA's. With a little cajoling my memory kicked in.

"Hey how you doin'?"
"Great. My band is going to be playing at the Roxy in a couple weeks. Why don't you come down?"
"Sure."
"Cool."

We parted ways until the nite of her show. I must say she could have used a better band. She had a good voice, but beyond that, she could gyrate like Janis. After the show she said that she'd be up in my neck of the woods in a few weeks, maybe we could get together. 'Yeah, alright". Well as predictably unpredictable as I was at that time I got a little lost and missed her. However, in my absence Ol' Jack Hyman ran into her and she relayed the story of how we met. With her recollection being better, and a different perspective this is the story that she related to him:

It was between sets and I was standing behind a chain link fence off to the side of the stage. I was tripping and getting a lot of negative feedback from people. I looked out and saw paul sitting on his sleeping bag (I was about 15 feet out, center stage). He looked at me and with his finger gestured for me to join him. (Hows that for cool? Take that Fonzie) We sat there thru most of the set not saying a word, just looking at each other. When they played Morning Dew we both started to cry. After the show we spent the nite together on the beach. In the morning we parted ways.

The next day I dropped some more acid, hit the show, then hitched home. Needless to say it was a great weekend, but that saturday story is just too good to let go.Where ever she is I hope she enjoys telling this tale of her youth to her friends, maybe even her children. Who knows, maybe some day I'll hit a Dylan show in LA and see if Once Upon A Time truely does end Happily Ever after.

She said...

I stood next to her as she peered down thru a veil of tears at the chalk outline on the pavement. The drops hit the cement like ink from the nib of a fountain pen dripping on the parchment. I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing when I looked over at her. The mascara that had streamed down her face left her looking like Alice Cooper. I could hear "Welcome to My Nitemare" emanating from her cranium. It was then that I heard her mutter between sobs, in Greek the only language that she knew. She said, oh God, it still tugs at my heart strings. She, she mumbled "phi beta kappa" which loosely translates to "I would have loved him anyways". As she said it she spewed out a mix of mucous and baklava. A piece landed on my forearm. Not wanting to be rude I pretended not to notice. The more I ignored the more it bored into my flesh and burn into my blood stream. Trying to forget about it I stared down at the outline.

Something wasn't right. The blood stain showed the entry wound to be on the right hand side. The chalk drawing depicted that a gun had been held in his right hand. But he was left handed! His strength was in his right, but dexterity in his left. I learned this the hard way. I walked in one day to see him sitting at the end of the bar. The bartender told me he had been there for eight hours. He had started the day sullen and worked his way to surly. I suppose that is what eight hours of nonstop thinking will do to a man. I walked up and said "Hello old chap" only to be greeted with a right hook. From that day on I have wondered two things. First, how can some one think for eight solid hours and land a punch so squarely on the jaw? Second, will I ever be able to blow bubbles again? My suspicions were to grow even more when I saw the crime scene photos. He wasn't smiling. Had he done himself in he would have done so with a smile just to give us cause for thought. He oftened smiled for no apparent reason to those outside of his head. But back to the present.

I looked over again at her tear stained face wondering if she was masking her emotions. Were those actually tears of joy being camoflauged with sobs? My head was reeling. I was overwhelmed with theories. I was starting to sweat and needed to sit. I directed her to a near by bench. As I sat down on her lap passers by stared in wide eyed wonderment. Some made comments such as "Peter Ustinov is trying to eat Audrey Hepburn". There were multiple Mr Peanut and Colonel Klink mockings. In this day and age of tolerance one is not free to use a monacle. It was not as if I was a bear on a unicycle wearing a fez. Noting my discomfort she invited me to her home in Palisades.

It was a sprawling estate with the main house, guest house and pool spead out over two acres. Very park like with topiary trees in the shape of old time actors. She directed me to the pool as she went in to get lemonade. She came out wearing one of those new fangled bathing suits that revealed the entire calf and foot, and the peg at the end of the other leg. Her arms were bare from the shoulders down. As she approached the only option I had to disguise my excitement was to jump into the pool. "Semper Fi?" she queried. Not being up on my Greek I figured she was either asking if I liked sushi, or if I always swam in my clothes. I laughed a nervous laugh and said yes. She walked over and cranked up the Victrolla. It played Little Feats "Fat Man In the Bathtub". Edison was mocking me. I vowed on that day to collaborate on a song with Johnny Cash called "A Girl Named Alva".

She walked over to the edge of the pool and extended a glass of lemonade to me. As I stepped out she put her hand on my shoulder, leaned in and whispered in my ears those three little words that to this day sends shivers down my spine. She said "Phi Beta Kappa". I would have loved him anyways.

The above is an excerpt from THE TRINI LOPEZ DIARIES

Actually where it all came from I really don't know.

Closing in on 40 years

Not myself, the so called Helter Skelter murders. As for me closing in on 44 altho I don't even feel 34. Mostly 28, but thats besides the point. Yes forty years on Aug 9. If memory serves me well that will also be my brothers 12th anniversary. Again, besides the point. 40 years and yet the truth has yet to come out. Everyone from Doris Tate to Charlie (Except Vincent Bugliosi) knows that "Helter Skelter" was not the real motive behind the killings. Even Susan Atkins who has a relatively new ebook on her website now admits it. I believe this is her fourth rendition of the tale. Again she points fingers, belittles Charlie, and lightens her own burden of guilt. However, if you would like some interesting reading about the cases and those involved I suggest you check out www.beausoleil.net It is a wedsite by and about Bobby Beausoleil in which he answers people questions about his music, art, and of course the crimes. Very informative and forth right. So far he is the only one connected with the various murders of the summer of '69 who takes all the blame for himself. No excuses. None of "the devil made me do it" sympathy seeking. Even if you're not interested in the crimes, the dialogue is a great study of homan nature. After you read it I am sure you will agree with me that the young, now mature man has paid his dues and turned things around. With the same candor that he responds to readers emails I must say FREE BOBBY BEAUSOLEIL!

REMBER THAT NITE?

It was Tues 6/13/2006. What a nite!
Not sure why I went out drinking on a
Tuesday, but I went out with The Great
Instigator. Things started out splendidly.
Morphine Drips along with memory trips.
All was right with our world. That was to
change by the end of the nite tho.

It is too long of a story to type, sorry. In
short, the good and the bad, the fuzz came
around, the cool fuzz. Very rare in this day
and age. Mostly just a bunch of pigs like the
West Linn PD.

FURTHER

sO THE PICTURES ARE OF THE NEWPORT BAY BRIDGE RIGHT AFTER LEAVING ROGUE BREWERY. SOMEWHERE ALONG THE COAST ON MY WAY UP TO ROGUE. THEN THE HIGHWAY FROM BEND TO MEDFORD. I SAW OLD FRIENDS AND AVOIDED ENEMIES. ALLS WELL THAT ENDS. IF YOU CLICK ON THE PICTURES THEY BLOW UP, BUT NOT IN A MAN MADE DISASTER WAY JANET NAPALITANO.

HOME, HOME AGAIN. I LIKE TO BE HERE WHEN I CAN

And when I come home cold and tired... You know the rest. It appears as tho I only travelled 55 miles. Seemed like a longer and stranger trip than that.

loaded and ready to go

Or ready to go get loaded. Throw the back pack in the van and the netflix in the mail and then it is highway star time.

I'D LIKE TO INTRODUCE YOU TO SOME OF THE VOICES IN MY HEAD

But it seems as tho they suffer from stage fright. Oddly enough whenever we go out drinking they have no problem ripping my clothes off in public. Strange people. So it has been a while since I spoke about my job. I have mentioned it in passing, but not specifically about what/who I deal with. Last nite I referred to WHATS IN A NAME, well here are the names of some of the people I work with. I guess I'll start with the women. I suppose it is best I do it in list form:

Mother Goose aka sharyn
Helen Keller " linda
Hank " cindi
Oscar " jean
8675309 " jena
Beltser Skelter " heather
Calamity Jane " ann
Jim Henson " mallory
Annie Oakley " leslie

The men are stranger:

Cool Whip aka alex
Raspberry Marmalade " cody
Buddy Holly " arron
Walkness Monster " chris
Silly Putty " tom
Bea Arthur " ryan
Bulldog " luke

Then there are two more. One is Jim, vegie Jim as some of you may know him. I'm not sure if he leaves comments here or if they go to my email. Well being of slim build Slim Jim is a given, so that won't do. So my thoughts are Slim Harpo (google it. a solid blues man/founding father) or GTA. You know, slim jim, break into a car and steal it.

As for me ...are you ready? Neither am I. Howdy Doody. I didn't ask for any reason but I figure it is either because I have no heart, or in the words of Chong "Does Howdy Doody have wooden balls?" Or else it is due to my award winning smile (listening to the new Dylan album again. The song "I feel a change coming on" is now playing. I know he stays out of politics, but I can't help but laugh. You know, at the whole change bit. The only change that I have noticed is the loose coin in my pockets and oil prices going up again. When Bush was in high oil prices were said to be due to cronyism, tell me what it is now. I suppose it is a federal offense to say Kill The Fucker, but I find the feds to be offensive. So now the questioned is raised, if this were to be put on obamas teleprompter would he read it? Of course, as long as no reprter is blocking the screen) or childlike demeanor. Yeah, if my tongue got any further into my cheek I'd have to rent a room.

Have you bought the new Dylan album yet? You really should. Why? "cause its all good. You'll get it if you get it. Speaking of which, play it again Free.


How could I have forgotten Hannah Montana? AKA Melissa.

thoreauing caution to the wind

well, on another subject, I just came up with a name for my line of neck ties. I had been planning on calling it Fiveshy Neck Ties ( if you go back to the post "Whats In A Name" from Sept of '07 you'll get it), but I have now come up with the definitive label name. "Stranglehold Neck Wear"! As for my patterns those I will not reveal over the internet, but trust me on this one, they both kick and haul ass.

As for caution to the wind, find, found, wound, wounded knee in the groin; chicken wing. Next week I'll be headed on vacation into hostile territory...Oregon. Yes I lived there and since moving away, be I in NH, NM, AZ, or ID, I have made a trip back. A couple have been awesome, and the others treacherous. ( I made two from NH, one the worst trip of my life, another one of the best. From NM a depressing trip, and from AZ...did I travel from AZ? Oh yeah, and then the stake in the heart trip, hitching from ID.)

Sorry, I lost where I was going with this.

Hey Pink Lloyd, are you using those weights? My upper body is dwindling. I suppose I should ask about the wife and kids too.

As for Thoreauing, I will be keeping a semi coherent journal of my adventures. Nothing ever written except maybe on a napkin or coaster covered with beer stains, snot, or sure hope I don't light up another telephone pole. . Why take notes? To Remember? If its worth remembering you will only have to recall it to others later, not read it back. The police blotter does that for you. If you're really lucky you'll have the scars or handcuff marks to back it up.

time to go to hush a bye mountain

GOING TO PLAY DOMINOES WITH SYD.
CATCH YOU ON THE FLIP SIDE. SO GRIN
AND BARRETT.

Well yes I have been told I am flippant. Flip off. It has been
a long two days. Too long daze. Drank myself sober for the
second time in my life. I don't recall the first but I know it
has happened before. I'm sure I will recall in a couple hours.
Was it Pocatello? Or maybe Flag? My lips move but I cant
hear what I'm thinking. I have become comfortably in love
with a cellist.

I bid you good morning.

HAppY ThirTy HOurS

Well it has been 30 hours since I put on the new Dylan album.
Lots of beer and happy dances. Now I have the pleasure
of watching the Canucks go up 2-0in the first period of game two.
I must confess, I do have one major gripe with (have I ever told you about Griper?)this new Dylan album. Way too short

PROST

WHAT DID I HAVE FOR BREAKFAST?

Glad you asked.
Flying dog pale ale and London broil...blood rare.

Yes it is!

But I have discovered that 9:01 is a good time.
After all I don't plan on leaving my bar stool. Yes
I have stools at home. Oh yeah, I almost forgot,
don't crap where you nap. Get it? Stool...at home?
Alright, maybe it's time for a nap, but first I'd better crap.

Is 8:57 to early for beer?

Well...?

TEMPTATIONS PAGE FLIES OUT THE DOOR YOU FOLLOW AND FIND YOURSELF AT WAR

Well I'm sitting here listening to the new Dylan (yes I got it on vinyl) and sipping on a Flying Dog pale ale. As I enjoy both my mind wrestles with a possibility. Usually there are many swirling around in there, just one this time. Santa Barbara. Why not? Why? New scenery, new co workers. But if I were to transfer I would rather go to the desert. St George in Utah, or Palm Desert in CA. St Geo is pretty in and of itself. Palm Desert is just a hop, skip, and a jump from Idylwild in the San Bernadino mts. Go up into the mountains and drop down into a canyon just to sit besides strawberry creek and listen to the brook babble. Also, it is close to Death Valley so I can get things prepared for when The Cheese gets out.

But yeah, Santa Barbara no, maybe SLO just up the highway. Hang out at Pismo Beach. Speaking of which...Many many moons ago Dave Vick and I happened to stumble into Pismo. Just toring the state in my '75 Cutlass, living on oranges and black hash. So we're walking along the sand at the bottom of the cliffs of a cove. Some guy walks by and says "tides coming in". Cool, we'll hop on that big rock and watch the surf roll in. Let me describe this rock. It was twice the size om my current living room and about 20 feet high. A massive piece of stone with two massively stoned pieces on it. After about an hour it was the size of my living room and only about ten feet high. Now add to that the crabs that started coming out and crawling around and the rock is getting fairly congested. I guess as long as the lighter stayed dry we were pretty happy. (I am currently (current, thats funny) laughing myself to tears) The next thing we know the rock is now a small boulder the size of my bathroom and only five feet above the swirling, pounding surf. Talk about stir crazy.

We had two options, jump and swim, or climb a vertical sandstone wall. Jumping in would only lead to getting pounded against our very shelter, so it was climbing time. Dave was six feet tall so we figured he had the best chance. The wall was very smooth with next to nothing but crumbling sandstone to cling to. No go. so we sat and smoked a little more. If all else fails... Damn those crabs. They were every where. I was tired and cold so I thought I would flap my arms. The next thing I know I'm on the top of the ledge looking at Dave down below. "How'd you do it?" he asked. "I have know idea". I still don't. Maybe I had suction cup hands. Who knows? After a while Dave makes it up. Back to the Cutlass, on to Laguna Beach.

Several years later I'm hitching up the 101 and I catch a ride. Now in the eighties most of the people picking up hitchers were yuppies. "I remember back when..." Now they had MBA's and BMW's, expense accounts, and a need for weed. So this guy ask me if I want to stop for lunch. Of course man. So we stop at a restaurant in Pismo that sits up on a cliff.. Sitting at a window table looking out over ocean I look down to see the very same rock mentioned above. Nothing left to do but smile smile smile. But wait, theres more. Before leaving I went into the restroom to clean up a bit. Not having seen myself for a few days I was quite surprised to see my reflection. Every hair on my head was pointed in a different direction. Had I walked up to this place on my own they wouldn't have let me in the door let alone us the bathroom.

Man I miss those days. I guess I am an old fart already.

In retrospect

You know, kids give a lot of indications as to what the will turn out to be later in life. Maybe they're fascinated by airplanes or fire trucks and they become pilots or fire fighters. A boy who plays with GI Joe's may join the army. One that plays with Barbie dolls...well, you get the point. A couple years ago I received a package from my brother. Out of the blue came a blast from my very past. One of my childhood toys. Of all things! Yeah, how many kids do you know that had a stuffed hobo!
Its kind of hard not to laugh. And whose idea was it to sell stuffed hobos to kids?

NEIL YOUNG Tonight Tonight

S o maybe you all recall Pink Lloyd, the bartender from Pocatello. Well his real name was Jonah. Why do I tell you this? Because I like Neil Young. When I moved to ID I had (still do) a Chevy van. Jonah told me that he used to have an econoline. So I tweaked the Young lyrics to " Jonah Lloyd is a drinking man he used to drive an econoline... van." A few days ago I bought an econoline van. So now the song goes " Free wheelin' is a drinking man he just bought an econoline... van.

In the first pic you will see Dylan, David Gilmour, and Free.
In the second, just Free and the latest/newest escape vehicle.
I wound up selling my compass for $400.00, so it pushed my into the buyers market.
The hockey playoffs are on so I have to go.

A Bit of a Dust Up

Actually, it was a dust off. Any pooh, it is difficult for me to mention the word dust without tossing back a room temperature beer in honor of Dusty. Probably the coolest #*@$# I've ever known. No, without a doubt. His most embarrassing moment in life was when he got a back stage pass to see Dylan. In my mind his greatest moment was taking a blow to the head with a Chimay bottle and looking up to smile about it. I proudly wear a scar on my right arm caused by him.

Oh yeah, so today the weather was so nice I thought a little fresh air would do me good. Apparently it did. I decided to take a walk, dust off the turntable, then drink and eat. So as I'm walking down the side walk a group of about 25-30 people started following me. To make it stranger they were all dressed like Beck and were singing "his name is Klatt, he's got eight turntables and a megaphone". Can it get any stranger? Yes! Throw in a tall guy, close to seven feet, who sounds like Cary Grant saying "trips, trips, get your doses here". They followed me for about a quarter mile and then ducked behind a sign post, apparently waiting for some one else whose name they can fit into Beck lyrics. I then took my turntable to the bar for a a quick bite and a few pints.

Lesson learned: next time I take the table out I'm driving.

As to my health

Feelin' better today.
"Whats your name?"
Bob
"Whats your last name Bob?"
Bitchin'
"How you feelin' Bob?"
Bitchin'
"Ladies and gentlemen, Bob Bitchin'!"

Always good on Saturdays. No work and all play makes Free not care anyway.
Plus I have a weird story to tell...next time.
As for this moment, watching the David Gilmour dvd "Remember That Night", drinking a Trois Pistoles, and eating a "Damned Cow". It is a sirloin steak that I marinated over nite in Maudite which translate to the damned.

As to the proof of all is well I present the following photo.

Wait a minute

I'll be right back.
As Albert King would say "He's gots the blues".

New Charlie Meet Old Charlie

Or vis versa. A very recent photo of Charles Manson taken for prison records this week.
Looks a little stoned.

Noodling

So as I type, twitch, tap and weave I hear Donna Jean doing that sexy singing/moaning thing in my ear. Suddenly I feel like Joe Cocker. (remind me to tell you about Joe at a later date). In this new millennium the weight loss thing has been so big. Biggest loser!?!

Do you remember in the 80's Jazzercise? Well on the Dead tours there were Deadercise t-shirts going around. (I'm watching the Closing of Winterland dvd, Scarlet/Fire is playing) BUMPER StICKER. I've got my wireless headphones on and I'm shaking my hip thang. But yeah, Deadercise.How could anyone go to a Dead show and not lose weight? Even if you ate a dozen hash brownies. (Time to say hi to Dorie) (and Jenny). Man I would lose 5 pounds and dislocate my knee during the China/Rider transition jam. Do you remember that Todd? Good thing there was a lot of opium around!

So, when I lived in NH I had a bumper sticker that said "THERE IS AN INTENSE CHINA/RIDER PLAYING IN THIS VEHICLE". People would always ask...what? If you have to ask...

One time at the Ventura county fair grounds they went into Fire On The Mountain, and as the song played this guy next to me hit me on the shoulder and said "check it out". I looked over to see the hills on fire. "Far out".
"No, my house is up there".
drag

I think that was '85. But hey man, in the words of Dr Johnny Fever in his sell out years, Gotta dance.

I'm back. Yeah, it was 7/13/85. The same weekend live aid was happening. If you saw the first episode of the tv news show...brain fart...48 hrs? they actually did a story about the Dead's 20th anniversary. "....While live aidwas going on in london and philadelphia, i Ventura CA they were having Dead aid...." VC fairgrounds was the west coast venue to see them at. Alpine Valley in the mid-west. As for the east coast, may it fall into the ocean before california. Just seconds before. Soon!

Mopeds and Firetrucks

The alpha and omega, long and short, yin and yang of street legal vehicles. Why I bring this up I'm really not sure. Well, yes I am, but let me first grab a beer.

La Fin Du Monde is whats on tap at this time. A Belgian style tripel from Unibroue. It translates to the end of the world, and hopefully it is not too far off. As things look it doesn't seem to be.

It all started on a sunny Saturday afternoon. A couple car loads of the unusual suspects headed down to Chatsworth park to pick up some acid. It was a very good batch. The high light of the night was when one of the slightly irregulars complaining of heart burn said he needed an antacid. Peels of laughter broke out and carried on for what seemed like hours. As I said, it was a good batch. So good in fact that the next day Gustavo and I decided that we wanted to trip again. Back to Chatsworth park. The trip out there must have been uneventful for I recall nothing of it. I suppose it was about six miles from Sepulveda to Charlies old stomping grounds. We got there, dropped the cid and headed home. It was just like a movie. Dumb and dumber to be more specific.

Our mode of transportation was a moped. apparently the moped wanted to be as dysfunctional as the two of us soon were to be. Every hundred yards or so it would die. I'd get off and Gus would pedal like a mad man trying to store up as much power as possible. I'd hop back on and we'd go another hundred yards. Eventually as Gus would pedal I would walk up the road so as not to have too much weight on it all the time. As Gus would come whizzing by at a whole ten mph I would attempt to jump on. Sometimes I was successful. Other times I had to run a few feet to catch up and try again. A half hour trip one way turned into a two and a half hour trip the other way.

Once back home Gus went to his apartment and I went to Jim and Gina's place where I had been crashing for a while. I just sat in the kitchen tripping, staring out the window. I could see the 405 and watched the traffic streaming, what seemed to be literally, by. Every now and then Jim and or Gina would look over and ask what was up. Mostly I just answered with the same smile that had been plastered across my face. There where a couple times when with a wide eyed stare I would just say "the building next door is on fire". At one point I even heard sirens. Not by mere coincidence so did the two non trippers. As I stood at the window now watching the commotion on the street I was asked what was happening. "Well the building next door has been on fire for the last 30 minutes and the firetrucks are now here." Hence, mopeds and firetrucks.

In answer to my own question...

...some IRS accountant took care of my unsigned return.
It pays to spread a little joy to our countries number crunchers.

The Manson Whammy

I had heard that Charles Manson had some sort of supernatural powers, but I just dismissed as some D.A., book selling, money making malarkey. It appears as tho I was wrong. First hand experience has shown me.

I have had my van for almost for years now and have never had it fail to start. 100 degree temperatures, sub zero, always fired right up. Yesterday morning as I was getting ready to go to work I loaded some items into my van that I was going to drop off at a Goodwill trailer near to work. I hop in, start it up and a few minutes later, for better or worse, I am at work. Lunch rolls around and I decide to take the items over to the trailer. It was just some clothes and a stack of books. Despite it only being a few hundred yards away I decided to drive. The van starts up but runs very slowly, and dies after fifteen seconds. O.K., hit the restart button. No go. Hours later, still no go. Next a.m. same thing. The only thing I could come up with is The Cheese put the whammy on me. I had about ten Charlie books that I was going to donate and I think the wizard felt a little disloyalty. Hence the lack of mobility.

In efforts to get back on the road I will be sending off a letter to Corcoran prison with an explanation, along with a request to lift the hex. It's either that or call a mechanic. Now lets be reasonable, a mechanic?

SELL OUT

Yeah man, I'm sellin' out. Getting ready. Just ready. For another sellout item check out "Sew What" posted sometime last year.

In order of appearance U.S. Navy illuminated compass made by the Lionel Corp. in 1943 with the original manila tracking card. It does not have the ships name on it, but some computer geek like Veggie Jim could probably take the serial # and find out what it sailed on.

Next is the world that the compass helped conquer. Not sure what year it is from, but there is no Israel, and Africa is a third French West Afr. Its in rough shape, but compared to the real blue ball, just fine, and without any plastic surgery.

Ah yes, the desk that the globe and my lap top rest on. "Get sick, get well, hang around a ink well, ring bell, hard to tell if anything is gonna sell" For the love of Sandy! How could I part with this?!

Last, the camera these photos were taken with. An awesome, needless to say, German camera. A Voigtlander, film not included. Although when I bought it there was a roll of film in it. I had it developed only to get pics of Ava and Adolph trying to consummate their own final solution.

As for the infamous trunk...I don't think I have any shots of it on this thing . Not sure if I would sell it. It's actually utilitarian. You know...body parts.

Oh yeah, of course I have some old Nike's and clothes from the 40's, 50's, and possibly even 60's.

Here is the real kicker. I'll be listing some of my CHEESE books on ebay soon.

Sellin' out man. Goin' '09 yuppie. Or maybe just goin'. Speaking of which...

Sympathy for the Devil - Remix Karen Klatt Karen Klatt you devil

For those of you who ever owned a copy of the Stones Get Yer YaYa's Out, you will recognize the following line. The first time I heard it I ran yelling to Molly Pootsie, "Karen , come hear this. It sounds like Jodie (our neighbor) calling your name. "
"Paint it black, Paint it black, Paint it black you devils!

Last year at about this time, tax time, I wrote a post titled Sympathy for the Devil. It was about brightening the day of some poor CPA working for the IRS here in the USA. Earlier this week I was going to mail in my return, but I got to the bottom and couldn't recall what I was going to put as my occupation. I was pretty sure it was court jester, but just wasn't certain. I got to work with my forms, stapled them all together and got ready to mail them. Later that day I realized that I was not a court jester, but in fact am a professional masochist. I must be! Yes I get paid, but it is the ecstasy of the abuse that brings me back to work each day.

To make a long story short, the remix/new spin on the sympathy I would like to have go in my favor. You see, I don't believe I signed, dated, and "occupated" my return. I can only hope that the same IRS CPA gets my 1040A that has seen it for the last four or five years and says "Hey Chuck, isn't this the serf, slave, indentured servant, court jester, song and dance man from AZ, and ID?" and signs it for me.

If not I believe I will enjoy the pain and penalties of being a tax paying, law abiding CITIZEN.

Don't fool around with a butchers daughter

This a.m. I was thinking about, just about. I was wondering if I should go on telling my stories or not. I never do get around to a lot of them. Such as Dorie, Jenny, or funky Christine out in N.H. (Thats a good funk) Being a poor typist I also thought about how much I leave out due to laziness. A story I can tell in five minutes, provided I don't get side tracked, takes me an hour to write. Then for some reason I thought about weapons I have had pulled on me. Due to my interaction with officers of the law there was off course guns, but the strangest was a meat cleaver and sharpening rod. Two questions came to mind. Where was he hiding that cleaver, and why didn't I see it coming.

Never knew a butchers daughter, but I did know a couple dealers that wanted to make mincemeat out of me.

Three cheers for the red, white, and blue

Now don't go thinking I'm getting all patriotic on you. Just settling in for a round of Chimays. Now that the subject has been brought up, have you heard that black is the new white? In all seriousness, the era of change is here. Spare change that is. Tell me, how could so many people swallow this "I'm different...Fresh....An outsider....An ambassador of change"? This widget is a bi product of the same machine (welcome) that pushed out Bush, Cheney, Clinton, Edwards, and Dean. Nothing new will come from this egomaniac. That smug smile needs a sock to the jaw. Who was/is more naive? The Chocolate (white chocolate) Jesus that thinks he can make a change, or the roop scoops that voted for him believing in the same?

You may find this hard to believe, but I have a couple of ideas that will definitely bring about change. Both fall under the category of REVOLUTION. In the real sense of the word. Not by the means of another schooled and groomed, mind manicured automaton. System number one (yes I'm a man of the system) is the traditional violent uprising. (I have the feeling that this will need to be led by The Cheese) To the victor will go the spoils and no amount of whining by the losers will get them concessions...or tax free casinos. System #2 is more complicated and involves redrawing borders, and life long commitments by all North American individuals.

More on this after I tell you about Dory and the Aunt Jamima lady. And yes, I still have that broken glass.