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.