damned lies & naked truth

Do not write November

2011-11-18T19:27:00.000-08:00

November is the true February; it is a month of 29 deadly days regardless of the menomic which holds that 30 is it's true calender-Don't doubt me here, for I know the friendless truth of being pulled from freedom and sent to war school in pine cone Carolina where my skin gained grime that still stains a rag these 45 years gone- My only thanks is that the evil month flies; it's guilty greasy days slide off and slink into the worst of the pastime's cells and rot like the false crops of an Indian Summer

The Hangman

2010-08-04T12:25:00.000-07:00

A Cold Christmas season finds me lurking outside Danny's Pawn in the early darkness. Danny's is shut tight against those who would loot the riches Danny tickets for cash from the little barred cave in the back. That stuff, the valuables of an losing life-cycle is too grown up for me. What has drawn me close the back lit show windows are the guitars. Like an incredible riot of outlaws, fat electrics are hung by their necks before committing a singe note of rock and roll. From stands on the floor, silent flat tops seem to look on with smug approval. That's how I remember the scene 50 years gone, but I could not have seen it that way. I must have wanted something, but now I just hold the vision and see my self in a place that is blurred about the edges of the mind's eye.

Hold on to those pictures, if you have them, cause you may need them when you go.

Turn it off

2010-04-06T21:53:00.000-07:00

Hi it is Texino. I have been an Internet supporter for quite some time now and I have enjoyed my time here a lot. Well, I used to like flea markets and junk stores too, but now the markets just sell cheap tools, and the stuff in junk stores is all of my own generation, so I don't go there any more. Same thing with the Internet. Sure you can still find cool pictures and interesting information, but to the greater extent, not only has it become a depository to bad pornography and dubious ploys to get your money, but it has given way to all manner of nutty conspiracy theories which far too many people are buying. I know this because I get a kick out of reading this BS and I have to go to the doctors a lot. The doctors office and the x-ray department waiting rooms are great places to pick up on what the average dunce thinks is going on and it's not pretty. The problem comes from the inability of most users to verify information and instead, they just take whatever nonsense that comes attached to their email as fact. It is this sort of skulduggery that has given us The Birthers, and Tea Party folks, as well as any number of hateful "facts" regarding foreigners. It gets worse, but rather than detail it all here, I'll just post my remedy to save the country if not the world: Turn off the internet. We will survive.

40

2009-12-23T22:50:00.000-08:00

the news reads that the popular kid's show "Sesame Street" will be 40 or is 40 or has been 40 for some time. 40, that is a grown up age. It doesn't bother me because I have been 40 for quite some time. Where the problem lies is 40 years ago I first heard my daughter sing the blue note in the Sesame Street song, and I realized that she would have talent. I lost both of my kids to my late wife's family. They came back into my life in bits and pieces but then my son got his hands on some of the adoption papers; ones which made me out to be a bad parent. Well duh, if I had been I good parent, I wouldn't have let them go now, would I? I wanted things to work out but I could not fit in. My daughter invited me to her wedding and then let me twist in the wind. I left early. My son didn't bother. The point of this exercise is to let you know that you can be hated forever for no real reason. I did not abuse my children or anything else my son thinks he has read in a one sided investigation that was not for him to see. So my girl is 40. Some of the characters on Sesame St. have died. I'm 62 and have a couple of incurable maladies and a few I can manage. My children have made it plain that they don't care how ill I may be, so I don't count on seeing them again. I guess this is just my admission that I will end up as nothing. I have seen this happen before, but the victims seemed to deserve it more. That's the bug, maybe I do deserve to die forgotten and I just can't see it. It is scary that's all I can say. I hate to bring anyone down, but that's the way it goes
T. Texino

Bill Monroe

2009-11-04T15:14:00.000-08:00

Hi it's Texino, and it has been a while since I spoke about my nemesis on
the hard court, Mr. William S. Monroe. Now I've never made it plain how
"Bill" became such a lion with the round ball because I don't know, but he
surely was and I battled him many a time in the school yards and gymnasiums
half way around this world. I couldn't beat him either. Oh I might score
more points, but then he would call the game a draw cause he had to go play
his mandolin some place. I'm sure most people here know that Mr. Monroe was in a band and they played professionally. Well you can read about that in books, but this tells another side to the man.

There are some who say that Monroe would take advantage of a situation just
to come out on top. I'll just say he was clever and leave it there. Last
time I shot hoops with Bill was outside the Station Inn. I was there with
two gals and like most nights back then I was a bit the worse for drink.
Well Bill had showed up with a beautiful young woman in tow. Right when I
got there he was climbing up on the stage and I could tell from his
countenance that he was going to rip into a real barn burner. Then he seen
me and suddenly he got all droopy looking and sang two slow songs about
being an old man in misery and all that. Then he sits down and looks over
to me like he just noticed that I'm in the audience. He nods his head and I
nod back and he gives me this "you and me outside" sign. Well, like I said
I'm about drunk and I figure if he wants to fight what the hell? I'm a
trained boxer, but then, I'm not stupid so I decide I'll back out some way
because pounding a legend of country music in a nashville parking lot won't
look good on my resume'.

So I follow him outside and he's gone over the the rear end of some big car.
He pokes at something and suddenly the whole rear opens up and a regulation
basket ball hoop unfolds. I stand there with my mouth open an the next
thing I known Bill whips one of those old style ABA balls at me. You know
the ones that are red white and blue. "One on one" he says, "let's go cause
I got a date." I'm stating to clear up and tap the ball back to him.
Bill makes a move to cut around so I try to knock his hat off. No good,
some kind of hat cement I reckon. He had all the tricks common to KY
Basketball: Boot lifters, knee springers, finger extensions, slippery Rayon
suit; I think I mentioned hat cement already. It's not cheating; it's just
the way hillbillies play ball.

We run around that dusty parking lot with him charging from the shadows and
into the sodium lights like some great spectacular bird just beating the
nightlights out of me till I had enough and when he come by for a layup I
grabed his legs and jumped with him. That jump raised old Bill so tall that
he got his hat jammed in the hoop and with the super cement he had employed
and there he stayed. Well I dropped to the ground but I must of tripped a
wire or something because the whole hoop device swollowed back up in that
big ride taking Bill Monroe, the daddy of BG with it. I had sobered up a
good bit as a hard session of one on one B-Ball has that effect, plus my
thoughts were starting to form a man slaughter defense, when I hear old Bill
raging from the inside the trunk of that vehicle.

Now, if you ever been to the emergency room of a hospital you probably
notice that there are a lot of foreign physicians at work and you might get
the idea that everyone from Central America is an MD. Well you would be
about right because medicine is a core subject in our schools from the 3rd
grade through 12th and by the time you get out of high school you can go
right into med school if you want. Not everyone does of course but lots do
because it's a good way to earn extra $. In fact, I'm a doctor but I have
not practiced since 2000. The point I make is from the noise that Mr.
Monroe is making, I know that his airway is not compromised and from what he
is saying I deduce he is just stuck by his hat and not in any real danger.
So I go back in side an I see Bill's date has got his keys. She looks ar me,
taking in my dirty disheveled appearance and says "Stuck in the hoop again?"
I nod and say "in the car too". She says, "Can you hear him callin"? I say
yes and she points out that my dates have left me. Then she says "You might
want to be somewhere down the road when I let him out." I say OK and she
gives me a telephone # to call if I need help. I notice it's my number but I
just say thanks and walk out.
Texino
Talking about Bill
Lyons CO

Hi it's Texino, and it has been a while since I spoke about my nemesis on
the hard court, Mr. William S. Monroe. Now I've never made it plain how
"Bill" became such a lion with the round ball because I don't know, but he
surely was and I battled him many a time in the school yards and gymnasiums half way around this world. I couldn't beat him either. Oh I might score more points, but then he would call the game a draw cause he had to go play his mandolin some place. I'm sure most people here know that Mr. Monroe was in a band and they played professionally. Well you can read about that in books, but this tells another side to the man.

There are some who say that Monroe would take advantage of a situation just
to come out on top. I'll just say he was clever and leave it there. Last
time I shot hoops with Bill was outside the Station Inn. I was there with
two gals and like most nights back then I was a bit the worse for drink.
Well Bill had showed up with a beautiful young woman in tow. Right when I
got there he was climbing up on the stage and I could tell from his
countenance that he was going to rip into a real barn burner. Then he seen
me and suddenly he got all droopy looking and sang two slow songs about
being an old man in misery and all that. Then he sits down and looks over
to me like he just noticed that I'm in the audience. He nods his head and I
nod back and he gives me this "you and me outside" sign. Well, like I said
I'm about drunk and I figure if he wants to fight what the hell? I'm a
trained boxer, but then, I'm not stupid so I decide I'll back out some way
because pounding a legend of country music in a nashville parking lot won't
look good on my resume'.

So I follow him outside and he's gone over the the rear end of some big car.
He pokes at something and suddenly the whole rear opens up and a regulation
basket ball hoop unfolds. I stand there with my mouth open an the next
thing I known Bill whips one of those old style ABA balls at me. You know
the ones that are red white and blue. "One on one" he says, "let's go cause
I got a date." I'm stating to clear up and tap the ball back to him.
Bill makes a move to cut around so I try to knock his hat off. No good,
some kind of hat cement I reckon. He had all the tricks common to KY
Basketball: Boot lifters, knee springers, finger extensions, slippery Rayon
suit; I think I mentioned hat cement already. It's not cheating; it's just
the way hillbillies play ball.

We run around that dusty parking lot with him charging from the shadows and
into the sodium lights like some great spectacular bird just beating the
nightlights out of me till I had enough and when he come by for a layup I
grabed his legs and jumped with him. That jump raised old Bill so tall that
he got his hat jammed in the hoop and with the super cement he had employed
and there he stayed. Well I dropped to the ground but I must of tripped a
wire or something because the whole hoop device swollowed back up in that
big ride taking Bill Monroe, the daddy of BG with it. I had sobered up a
good bit as a hard session of one on one B-Ball has that effect, plus my
thoughts were starting to form a man slaughter defense, when I hear old Bill
raging from the inside the trunk of that vehicle.

Now, if you ever been to the emergency room of a hospital you probably
notice that there are a lot of foreign physicians at work and you might get
the idea that everyone from Central America is an MD. Well you would be
about right because medicine is a core subject in our schools from the 3rd
grade through 12th and by the time you get out of high school you can go
right into med school if you want. Not everyone does of course but lots do
because it's a good way to earn extra $. In fact, I'm a doctor but I have
not practiced since 2000. The point I make is from the noise that Mr.
Monroe is making, I know that his airway is not compromised and from what he is saying, I deduce he is just stuck by his hat and not in any real danger.
So I go back in side an I see Bill's date has got his keys. She looks at me,
taking in my dirty disheveled appearance and says "Stuck in the hoop again?"
I nod and say "in the car too". She says, "Can you hear him callin"? I say
yes and she points out that my dates have left me. Then she says "You might
want to be somewhere down the road when I let him out." I say OK and she
gives me a telephone # to call if I ever need help. I notice it's my number but I just say thanks and walk out.
Texino
Talking about Bill
Lyons CO

Making Whoopee

2009-10-18T08:46:00.000-07:00

Oh Lord. It has been more than a month since I have written and I am fearful that this foul disease is slowly taking me down the road to physical and financial ruin only to leave me as a dead old person or one whose every breath is tied to social welfare. Still, I must preserve a shred of dignity by standing to one hard and fast rule: I will never take anything from the all around entertainment icon, Ms. Whoopi Goldberg of the USA. I admit that nearly every morning I awake with a ill thought directed at MS. Goldberg mostly in conjunction with fellow funny person Billy Crystal, a person whom I also loathe. The only thing saving Crystal from being randomly smashed some night by thugs under my control is his habit of constantly hogging Goldberg's time during comic relief programs by "channeling" some long winded worldly hipster jazz musician who rambles ad nauseam "can you dig it?" "I know you can." The trouble is that Crystals recitations all sound like the stuff or your average Menshe rather than the black person he aims for, and this has to bug Whoopi who, contrary to her bio, is a negro but is not really a Jew.

There is just something about Whoopi G that disqualifies her as a human in my world. For instance there is her recurring character in one of the star trek shows where she plays at being the all knowing bartender at the X-roads of the universe (or something)however; the whole concept is blown to hell by her costume mostly centered around a huge saucer shaped hat that belongs to a future complete with flying cars and vertical cities. I don't know WTF she and Ted Danson had going, unless she was using the relationship as a means to hone her bar tending skills.

Now Texino was a guy who enjoyed a sexual encounter as much as one could. Illness has robbed me some desire but I still simmer for a taste but try as I might, I could not bless the blankets with WG. I know that style Mavin Miss Martha Stewart of CN. may not be the green tea of your taste, I would gladly put that little shiver and smile where it goes without messing up things too much, just enough so she would remember my name in the comfort and safety of her night moves. I am a nice man,

an inconvienient time to die

2009-09-16T19:21:00.000-07:00

Mary Travers died. She had blood cancer-a tiresome disease-and on as good a day for living as there is, she died anyway. I can't blame her, but I fault the unstoppable grim tide. Summer's end is a showcase of life and to leave like the smell of last mowing of the hay is to miss the harvest. A time for collecting life and giving prizes for food stuffed in jars and warmth stitched into quilts; a time for death to take a break with his scythe and wait for a day when the streams are choked with ice, the hollows filled with wood smoke and the ground crackles like the distant rattle of bones as the departed is trundled to the perfect cold of the grave. But will he wait up? No. I sit here and write perfect purple vignettes for death to follow and though he will use them all, he never takes a break and seems to delight in cutting the ones I love down like summer grasses, on the most perfect days to live. I'm not trying to stop death, but I would certainly appreciate it if he were to follow the plots I lay down in my dark hours and just stop killing like there was no tomorrow.
You'd think the shade would give a root boy a break. But he don't stop for horses or high waters, so people pack up your good deeds and your sorrows too and keep them close to hand cause you just don't know when that man be stepping around your corner and catching your eye. For truth.

Raj Savage

2009-09-14T07:34:00.000-07:00

Well it has been a while since I talked about my favorite Ocean Rower Roz Savage. First I should say that Roz really is my favorite ocean rower and I have a huge amount of respect for her courage. SOMEHOW, however, I have gotten on the Roz supporter bad boy list and I'm not sure why. I mean I've poked her a few times when I felt here writing was getting flat but I have not called her a fraud or in anyway implied she is anything other than someone trying to be the first woman to row the Pacific from East to West (S.F. CA. to OZ) in three stages. The problem arises from Roz picking up a lot of new supporters here in stage two of the row and, of course, a few are vying for top position in getting their comments acknowledged in her daily blog. Now I know a lot more than I need to about Roz and like I said I have little to quibble about. Therefore, it is not helpful that some naysayers, one using the initials T.T, have joined the fray implying that there is some skull duggery afoot in aid of Roz's choice of where to end stage two of the row. It was to be on the Internet friendly and slowly sinking isle of Tuvalu where big plans were being set out to dovetail with Roz's recent induction to the green planet through less plastic society. Well for reasons know only to a few, Roz suddenly cut her comm links, went into a black hole for two days and then re-emerged practically in Tarawa. A closer but less than ideal spot for an Eco-Warrior plus one with a society which, from what I can gather, doesn't hold to the ladies letting loose down the boozer-something that team Roz enjoys after a 3000 mile solo row. (who wouldn't) Anyway this has led to Roz making some impolitic statements concerning some customs which have been held for several Melania by the country which seems to be doing it's best to make her welcome. In a small country, small slips can become big trouble so if some one's 3000 year old ancestor worship doesn't fit with your plan to store your uneaten provisions, it is probably best not to say your not keen on having your supplies eaten by "some one's Aunt Jemima" (referring to the custom of not killing rats) Then there is the constant off handed reference to the polluted lagoon. (sorry we're in the 5Th world here) and lastly, using the old Internet too slow to blog excuse to avoid updating on the valid questions: Why drop communication to the point of shutting down GPS locater; how were you able to go from nowhere to somewhere in a very short time without some help. Also there are pictures of the boat obviously under tow with Roz wearing the clothes she arrived in Tarawa in which would imply that the tow was in force after being met by her crew boat (look at photos at rozsavage.com) Of course, the inference to be drawn is that facing a deadline to be back in the states for an upcoming book tour and all out blitz to "make Roz" acquire the highest celebrity quotient possible, "adjustments were made to end the "row"ASAP. There is a lot of leeway to be given here providing Roz wants to address these talking points quickly and without fuss. I really hope this is done because they are the sort of thing any reporter will grab, while a boring technical brush off will most likely have them getting back to the human element with little or no comment. I hope this happens. As I have said, I had a pretty snide bit to file under "Raj Savage" what with the quips about the natives and their silly (3000 year old) customs. I'm going to lay off however until the vanguard of savage supporters settle out that this TT negative poster is not me. I'll continue to report on the savage story as major items emerge. Texino

Bat shit crazy with loaded guns

2009-09-12T06:37:00.000-07:00

Oh what a beautiful morning in the tropics! Then I turn on the mojo wire and read about the latest fool fest surrounding our duly elected President. WTF is with these people who are attacking the man with total hair brained lies? Don't they realize that they can get a guy killed with this loose talk. The history of this country is full or such tragic outcomes. Sometimes, I think it would behoove the citizens of the US to realize that by and large they are here because, at some point in the past their forebears couldn't handle it back home.
Well folks, this is the last stop; no where else to run. So you get a leader who wants to make your worthless life easier for you and what to you do? Do you listen to common sense? Noooo, instead you listen to scrap gossip on the fucking Internet. Let me clue you. If someone broadcast the point that he or she is going to tell the truth, they're not. You got to listen to information and make your informed decisions. Information from informed sources. Sure it may be hard to form you own opinion but that's what we have to do. It's the price of freedom.

Not to worry

2009-09-06T11:59:00.000-07:00

I was just reading a history of America in the year 1908 and was inclined to write about it while running a fever. I feel somewhat better today, but I cannot get the writing apparatus in gear. I am hoping that yesterdays struggle did not bend a valve or something. That would be a shame.

King Maddness Rules!

2009-09-05T21:46:00.000-07:00

There are no reasons to fly in panic over wars or rumors of wars that are being spread by the yellow press as we speak. John Chinaman can simply cut his cue and grow fond of American names like, Jason, Roy or Huck. Warning, if you lose your gas service do no go into the street to faint like a communist. Simply run a hose to your good neighbor's home
and pipe your own for the few minutes it will take the gaza to be repaired good as new! Commie= coward! So pay no attention to their cries of "torture" Keep your feet on the ground and visit the ball park Roasted Peanuts 5¢! Extra Extra Alice Roosevelt Longworth the daughter of President TR. has given birth to a negro baby! Terrible mistake says TR from Africa. DRs prove Mrs Roosevelt "too small to have carried the child". Meanwhile search continues in the Baltimore area where the large baby had acquired a straight razor and was setting up house in the Harbor district living on blood and mild electricity. Evidently this electric blood diet is going to put the citizens of 1909 far ahead
of our wildest dreams for progress. Meanwhile "Scientists" Nicolo Tesla and Albert Einstein are predicting a vast slow down. Writers HG Wells and Jules Verne go on to write many fanciful stories based on this incident. It would seem Mrs. R was mad. Beware of things to come! Wireless electric aircraft will fly! Negroes will Join Marine Corps. Bad things happen. Marines and White House share blame. Nation enters the years of horror.

How an old sofa almost killed live music

2009-08-25T21:34:00.000-07:00

Three guys sitting on an old sofa on an album cover and me in Mill Valley in 1968. I saw that picture and felt at home. The record wasn't astounding but there were acoustic guitars and harmonies and that damn picture. The picture was home. A place where pickers came by and played the stuff till all hours. But it wasn't happening in San Francisco in 68. Now the Rowan Brothers would be around but only paying at some small joint at Tam Junction. I kept looking for the stuff, but it was not happening. Dan Hicks? Maybe. But every where I went looking it failed me. I went to the Polo Fields in Golden Gate Park to hear The Dead. I will swear to any God you know, I thought they were tuning up for 8-10 minutes before I caught on that it was a jam. Jerry was tuning his low E string way down and the tuning it way up. Experimental as all get out! I must report that the combo was snatching gayly colored balloons from various spots on the stage and sucking the "air" out. Nitrous Oxide was the deal. So you get a band who is not very good and get them all high on laughing gas and turn them loose on a jam. It was a free show. Then comes the famous Jefferson Airplane and they flew right away. Finally, CS&N OK! No it was not. They could not sing live! They tried to sing Suite Judy Blue-Eyes. A long and complex song. It was cold blooded murder. I wanted to go home-home but instead I had to go to Berkeley and work. Driving home that night, I passed The Red Lion in San Rafael and saw a sign saying "Bluegrass". I was about ready to kill the next poser I came across, so I loaded up my gun and walked into the bar and just about run over Little Donna Stoneman! Damn if the whole outfit wasn't there excepting Pop (dead) and Scotty (drinking in Baltimore) But very few patrons, so I called some people who came by and liked it. I felt the better for it too and went back
each night of their gig. I had to leave and go back down Virginia. I drove x-country with my sister in a VA bus and that CS&N followed me all the way. I wanted to holler "I seen these guys a bunch and they cannot do it live" Finally, I was back where I could see and hear bands who could deliver it live and CS&N hired Neil Young a wacky Canadian who could write but fit right in to the new acoustic-electric thing because he could not deliver live. Turned out these guys were total holicks and dopers but people were still going nuts wanting to hear them live no matter that they really sucked and took months to get the vocals down on record that single album bands like the Grass Menagerie could work out life in 5 minutes flat.
What I am getting at folks is bluegrass is music for real people. People who understand the beauty of the clear clean harmony and feel the meshing of the musical gears. The people who play it do not have to be sexy or hip. There are some fairly outright out laws in the game and there have been more in the past.

Today, look at that and King Wilkie, they just gave up posing as a BG band and there are more than a few others who could change their stripes. Then look at someone like Lynwood or Phil
RaymondE or Tom G. You have four different men right there but don't think they would leave the music. I am saying right here Bluegrass in it's true original form is good because the people who made it believed in a simple policy and that was doing the music the way it came. Now I am not saying the new groups can't be good, it is just important perform and record honestly and not fall into the pop scene where naked emperors and empresses strut around in the smug security that the foolish patrons will never have the courage to say "That Sucks" Take your lip synched over hyped shows to vegas.

Now as far as acoustic-rock The Eagles and Emmylou and Graham with a bit of Clarence White put things right, but LA and Nashville have always dealt in the past and they shut SF down while the Grateful Dead hung on to become quiet multi millionairesThree guys sitting on an old sofa on an album cover and me in Mill Valley in 1968. I saw that picture and felt at home. The record wasn't astounding but there were acoustic guitars and harmonies and that damn picture. The picture was home. A place where pickers came by and played the stuff till all hours. But it wasn't happening in San Francisco in 68. Now the Rowan Brothers would be around but only paying at some small joint at Tam Junction. I kept looking for the stuff, but it was not happening. Dan Hicks? Maybe. But every where I went looking it failed me. I went to the Polo Fields in Golden Gate Park to hear The Dead. I will swear to any God you know, I thought they were tuning up for 8-10 minutes before I caught on that it was a jam. Jerry was tuning his low E string way down and the tuning it way up. Experimental as all get out! I must report that the combo was snatching gayly colored balloons from various spots on the stage and sucking the "air" out. Nitrous Oxide was the deal. So you get a band who is not very good and get them all high on laughing gas and turn them loose on a jam. It was a free show. Then comes the famous Jefferson Airplane and they flew right away. Finally, CS&N OK! No it was not. They could not sing live! They tried to sing Suite Judy Blue-Eyes. A long and complex song. It was cold blooded murder. I wanted to go home-home but instead I had to go to Berkeley and work. Driving home that night, I passed The Red Lion in San Rafael and saw a sign saying "Bluegrass". I was about ready to kill the next poser I came across, so I loaded up my gun and walked into the bar and just about run over Little Donna Stoneman! Damn if the whole outfit wasn't there excepting Pop (dead) and Scotty (drinking in Baltimore) But very few patrons, so I called some people who came by and liked it. I felt the better for it too and went back
each night of their gig. I had to leave and go back down Virginia. I drove x-country with my sister in a VA bus and that CS&N followed me all the way. I wanted to holler "I seen these guys a bunch and they cannot do it live" Finally, I was back where I could see and hear bands who could deliver it live and CS&N hired Neil Young a wacky Canadian who could write but fit right in to the new acoustic-electric thing because he could not deliver live. Turned out these guys were total holicks and dopers but people were still going nuts wanting to hear them live no matter that they really sucked and took months to get the vocals down on record that single album bands like the Grass Menagerie could work out life in 5 minutes flat.
What I am getting at folks is bluegrass is music for real people. People who understand the beauty of the clear clean harmony and feel the meshing of the musical gears. The people who play it do not have to be sexy or hip. There are some fairly outright out laws in the game and there have been more in the past.

Today, look at that and King Wilkie, they just gave up posing as a BG band and there are more than a few others who could change their stripes. Then look at someone like Lynwood or Phil
RaymondE or Tom G. You have four different men right there but don't think they would leave the music. I am saying right here Bluegrass in it's true original form is good because the people who made it believed in a simple policy and that was doing the music the way it came. Now I am not saying the new groups can't be good, it is just important perform and record honestly and not fall into the pop scene where naked emperors and empresses strut around in the smug security that the foolish patrons will never have the courage to say "That Sucks" Take your lip synched over hyped shows to vegas.

Now as far as acoustic-rock The Eagles and Emmylou and Graham with a bit of Clarence White put things right, but LA and Nashville have always dealt in the past and they shut SF down while the Grateful Dead hung on to become quiet multi millionairesThree guys sitting on an old sofa on an album cover and me in Mill Valley in 1968. I saw that picture and felt at home. The record wasn't astounding but there were acoustic guitars and harmonies and that damn picture. The picture was home. A place where pickers came by and played the stuff till all hours. But it wasn't happening in San Francisco in 68. Now the Rowan Brothers would be around but only paying at some small joint at Tam Junction. I kept looking for the stuff, but it was not happening. Dan Hicks? Maybe. But every where I went looking it failed me. I went to the Polo Fields in Golden Gate Park to hear The Dead. I will swear to any God you know, I thought they were tuning up for 8-10 minutes before I caught on that it was a jam. Jerry was tuning his low E string way down and the tuning it way up. Experimental as all get out! I must report that the combo was snatching gayly colored balloons from various spots on the stage and sucking the "air" out. Nitrous Oxide was the deal. So you get a band who is not very good and get them all high on laughing gas and turn them loose on a jam. It was a free show. Then comes the famous Jefferson Airplane and they flew right away. Finally, CS&N OK! No it was not. They could not sing live! They tried to sing Suite Judy Blue-Eyes. A long and complex song. It was cold blooded murder. I wanted to go home-home but instead I had to go to Berkeley and work. Driving home that night, I passed The Red Lion in San Rafael and saw a sign saying "Bluegrass". I was about ready to kill the next poser I came across, so I loaded up my gun and walked into the bar and just about run over Little Donna Stoneman! Damn if the whole outfit wasn't there excepting Pop (dead) and Scotty (drinking in Baltimore) But very few patrons, so I called some people who came by and liked it. I felt the better for it too and went back
each night of their gig. I had to leave and go back down Virginia. I drove x-country with my sister in a VA bus and that CS&N followed me all the way. I wanted to holler "I seen these guys a bunch and they cannot do it live" Finally, I was back where I could see and hear bands who could deliver it live and CS&N hired Neil Young a wacky Canadian who could write but fit right in to the new acoustic-electric thing because he could not deliver live. Turned out these guys were total holicks and dopers but people were still going nuts wanting to hear them live no matter that they really sucked and took months to get the vocals down on record that single album bands like the Grass Menagerie could work out life in 5 minutes flat.
What I am getting at folks is bluegrass is music for real people. People who understand the beauty of the clear clean harmony and feel the meshing of the musical gears. The people who play it do not have to be sexy or hip. There are some fairly outright out laws in the game and there have been more in the past.

Today, look at that and King Wilkie, they just gave up posing as a BG band and there are more than a few others who could change their stripes. Then look at someone like Lynwood or Phil
RaymondE or Tom G. You have four different men right there but don't think they would leave the music. I am saying right here Bluegrass in it's true original form is good because the people who made it believed in a simple policy and that was doing the music the way it came. Now I am not saying the new groups can't be good, it is just important perform and record honestly and not fall into the pop scene where naked emperors and empresses strut around in the smug security that the foolish patrons will never have the courage to say "That Sucks" Take your lip synched over hyped shows to vegas.

Now as far as acoustic-rock The Eagles and Emmylou and Graham with a bit of Clarence White put things right, but LA and Nashville have always dealt in the past and they shut SF down while the Grateful Dead hung on to become quiet multi millionaires

This aint right

2009-08-24T16:42:00.000-07:00

Now I'll be the first to admit that the old porcupine has not been 100% of late and I did have that spell put me to the hospital. But then today I go to see that neurologist from Hindustan and she puts me on Alzheimer's medicine! Boy that really made my day. I got the early Alzheimer's starter kit which comes with a booklet showing people interacting with their care givers like this is not big event. I read the part about the early disease and it sort of fit. I do have a bit of forgetfulness like I burned up a pan of water on the stove the other day cause it slipped my mine I was going to make noodles. It was a good pan too. Oh well, I remember lots of stuff. I do worry that the personality is fading in my writing. I feel like I'm running down the page with blunt scissors and have lost the sharpness that I need in the depth of my prose. Here, I wrote a story about the mysterious BEKs, The Black Eyed Kids:

Re: Black Eyed Kids

Postby texino on Fri Aug 21, 2009 11:13 pm
I was visiting my Tia Loupe Texino-Ruiz in Baltimore and those kids come wanting some cheese. I told Tia Loupe to get the biggest pistol in the house and sit on the floor. Loupe is "white" but I am a Black man and the children had not seen me. I come round the side of the house stropping a cut throat razor. When I got close, I snapped the strop together like a gun shot, but those two boys played it cool. "We just need some government cheese Mr." one said. "Ask that lady to let us in brother man" (brother man?) I knew it was time for a diagnostic test. Taking a silver dime hung on a red string from around my neck I swung it toward the nearest kid it pointed rod straight at his eyes and began to hum. A spooky green light highlighted the angular bodies of the children as they gathered by Tia Loupe's front door their dark eyes tracking the dime as it slowly traced the figure for infinity with laser-like sharpness. There were several more than I had noticed and still more seemed to be sliding into the light "Aye Loupitta!" I yelled. "It's OK to open up." Tia Loupe fired her Glock 9mm with extended magazine, from a sitting position. "Bang-Bang-Bang" each shot removed bits of the old door and bigger pieces of the nouveau zombie kids. She was firing blind but I was directing the fire by way of the silver dime. The bullets were not killing the zombies per se just making it hard for them to slip away. I would have to finish them off myself. As I surveyed my killing field I noticed the black hate blinders had slipped from their eyes. Now they glowed an evil red and the ones with intact faces were hurling vile curses far away from the gentile voices they had used to try to gain entrance a scant few minutes before. As I stood in that pool of hell I was reminded of my earthly ties by the sounds of sirens approaching from every point. In a flash Produje un pequeño barrilete de nitrato de plata y de combustible diesel, and with a consuming fireball and a muffled blast, the street was swept clean. I had to split because Tomas Texino is a name not unknown to police in major port cities,. I knew Loupe would have things in order and a good alibi if needed. Those people understand zombies and I don't think you will be hearing many BEK stories from that town in the future.

Now the people who I was trying to entertain with that story had a lot more interest in BEKs than you probably have so they seemed to like it. Still when I talk about depth of prose I mean like, If you got killed by a bear, for instance, you'd want him to have a nice coat of fur and good sharp teeth, right? I mean a mangy jackass could kill you with a well placed kick, and I'm not saying that couldn't make a decent story. I'm just saying if you are dead and they stuffed the animal that did you, you would get more props for a big shiny 10' tall brown bear that you would a scrawny donkey. I really should not have used the donkey the construct that simile because getting killed by a donkey has a lot of plot potential while a bear just walk up and eat you. See my brains working here, but I'll just forget important stuff sometimes. I reckon it's difficult to pin down some of these diseases and maybe the doc is just giving me a month tryout of Alzheimer's medicine to see what it does. She increased my Parkinson's as well. Maye I'm a bit more frightened than I realize. I've worked with all kinds of sick people and I've seen the absent minded Alzheimer's patient and the shaky PD person, but I've also seen the stark terror that occurs when a person has no memory and is eternally lost to life-they simply do not know what it is. People at that stage are medicated rather severely, but woe be it to one who happens by when that medicine gives pause and sends the person into unending tunnel of panic. The brain is dying you see and it takes a good long time before it gets around to shutting down the rest of the machine we call the miracle of life.

The Silent Drum

2009-08-19T15:12:00.000-07:00

I wrote about a young man who died. Today they had a service over at the big church. It was religious and it was musical. People told stories; Old people held it together while the younger folks broke down a little bit. I really don't know about the honesty there, but as grownups we have had to hurt people in more serious ways than the younger group, so maybe we pack our sorrows like a concealed weapon and go shoot them off in private. When the service concluded, the coffin was wheeled out. It no longer had it's white and gold drape; in stead it now law covered in the flag of the land. It is a good flag for happiness and a proud flag for a fight. I think most people in this country like it. At each end of the coffin stood a special soldier. A man and a woman dressed in the dress blues one rarely sees. Alex the boy who died had been a member of a famous Army unit, the ones who guard the unknown war dead at Arlington, VA and conduct burials in that famous place. Now with quiet precision they were doing it far away.
We stood in the street, suddenly 7 rifles spit the silence 3 times and a bugle played taps. The soldiers at the casket saluted and soon an elegant officer marched into the tableau.
Then to the sound of a silent drum the men and women went to work. They folded the flag to a perfect rhythm-beats and rests both. Once folded the woman took the perfect triangle and rotated it softly with her snow white gloves to the silent drum beat. She handed it to the officer, a perfect Black Man born with no smile but eyes of such deep compassion that when he handed the flag to Alex's mother it was as touching as a mother receiving her new born son. In a way, she was receiving her son because as she took the flag more perfect troops appeared and with not a nod or a wink, just the perfect beat of the silent drum the marched the casket into a waiting hearse and then simply disappeared, leaving the civilian funeral corps to handle the shell that was once someone I knew. A kid who's spirit will fly between that flag and the beat of the drum the dead can hear so well.

When a long time becomes a short life

2009-08-13T05:59:00.000-07:00

A young man died yesterday. He drowned in the sea. That's all I know about that for now. I did however know this man all his life, A bit less than thirty years. That's a good number of years, but now in death it springs back upon it self and the young man is suddenly a boy who has not lived long enough at all. We as a specie are not designed to out live our children. When times are tough we do not turn them away or eat them so we can try again when spring comes. No we care and teach and if we do well enough, they will return in the coldest winter and calm the fears of dreadful loneliness that waits. I really can't say much more other than that I am more than sorry, more than sad and the rock solid understanding that things like this will happen with or without our attention does not help me one bit.

How Sweet it is

2009-08-10T14:56:00.000-07:00

There, I remembered the title. I say that with some pride having been in hospital since we last spoke and am wondering if I have lost my channel with "the Great One" but wait! We are still standing in the Bowery while Gleason rocks back and forth like he needs to pee. It doesn't surprise me when he steps out of the light for a bit and returns seemingly lighter on his feet. Lots of talk about big men being light on their feet. This may be factual but it doesn't mean they will be light on yours, so take a tip from Texino and watch your dogs if you ever help a big drunk up the stairs. Speaking of the sauce that was what was getting to Jackie. He was doing his night club shows and then boozing it up all night at the hotel. Well the only thing I could think to do was suggest he head on out to the coast and get into the pictures. I got him a gig with Bogart and Lorre in "All through the Night" Old Peter Lorre was always good luck for a fat guy in the flickers.
Well things worked out for Jack. He got into TV and using some Busby Berkley routines with The June Taylor Dancers and the Honey Mooners skits, he did OK. Did a lot for Miami along the way as well. When you think of it, things turned out alright for a guy who got kicked out of The Stork Club and ran into some Ju Ju man taking a stroll in time.

pumps

2009-08-01T10:31:00.000-07:00

Was I talking about soft shoes? Yeah it was the slap of white man shoes and a sound that touched my heart. Well, hell I can open my eyes even if it's just some kind of dream and so that's the deal and when the hand is called I'm staring at Jackie Gleason in a dinner jacket and those patent leather pumps that go with the getup. Jackie is done to the nines but somehow he's got that missed the bus look even though he probably cabbed it. Now I need to square something and that is the fact that people show up and tell me troubles. I can be just laying back in the bed or walking in Lower Manhattan, it doesn't matter, because of a sudden I will be faced with some Clark with a problem that only Texino can square. It's Voo Doo that I caught in my jungle youth. There can be no question at all. So I have to break the hold on the connection and ring everything into time corrected. Sounds complex but I just say "Hello Mr Gleason, how may I help you?" and he says "So you know me fella?" Now this is a quandary because formal attire is pretty timeless from the 30s on up, so I don't have a clue to the date and time I've strolled into. That's the trouble with leading a rich fantasy life one minute you are cooking along and the next your index finger's jammed in the parrot's beak of real life, your reflection lost in a jaundiced eye. WTF? "Er I read the papers" I tell Gleason and it seems to be enough information for a chance encounter.
Next: "How Sweet it is!" Will Texino be able to steer Gleason away from failure and into The Pictures? Tune in and see.

Damnest thing about shoes

2009-07-25T19:59:00.000-07:00

I was walking around South of Houston late last night, that's what they call SoHo ,and it used to be a pretty dumpy area til Yuppies pumped it up. I guess the got tired of living up town because then they made up TriBeCa and that means Triangle Below Canal St. It's what you call a Syllabic Combination, instead of an acronym. It doesn't matter of course because new real estate enclaves explode all over the Burroughs of NYC about as quickly as that evil fresh water Zebra Mussel does what it does to get in the papers. Hell people live up in Harlem and Brooklyn has nice parts. But I wander lower Manhattan because that's where a lot of cool stuff has hit the table since I landed there from jungle Panama in 1947. Like last night, I'm walking near Canal St. setting up a tune and I heard Stevie Wonder blowing "This Could be that start of something good!" on his harmonica. It was Stevland alright and uptight, but he's blowing down some alleyway where I know right off it's not safe to see unless you are a blind man or a hungry dog. I stand there in my thoughts and think about Gary Davis and Rassann Roland and Stevie playing up a number when I hear some white man shoes slapping my way. You can tell a white man walking from the dull rhythm he lays down; It goes slap slap slap slap no brush, no taps and very few cops wear leather soles besides a uniform cop makes more noise than a ball game, with his snarking radio and billy bat and all that harness hitting his gut. Cop's are pockets full of worry so walking on is the smart move. Just walking on. But the shoes are pacing me from behind and suddenly they give a final step that echos in my head like an emerald egg hitting a shallow tin plate full of red tomato soup; a sound I'll not likely hear again but it pierces all the convolutions of unmade and old memories alike and lodges there like a mother's sweet voice or a wise dog's command to kill.
Then I'm back in TriBeCa. This may take a bit to explain: (TO BE CONTINUED IF YOU LIKE) but it's a personal story although Ill attempt to stay on the rosy lane.

Nurtzes

2009-07-19T05:07:00.000-07:00

When I first started as a medic for the FD, the ED was typified by "The Big Nurse". Think Julie London on the TV show Emergency, but maybe not so intelligent and more concerned with keeping her power than helping anyone out. I remember working with this one old coot who believed everyone was out to get pain meds. OK. many people are, but when a man comes in with a distended bladder and a urologist tells the nurse to give him 50 Demerol and 25 visteril because he is going to dilate the ureter with a file-a-form set (little probes that screw onto bigger probes) I was assisting the Doc and I knew the guy had not gotten his shot. The Doc did not know it, so he comes in and says all ready? Then he starts ramming these things up the mans penis and the guy just about levitates off the bed. Doc asks me, when he got the injection and I say it's not charted here. Well the Doc goes nuts and finds the nurse who makes up some story about not getting the order. I got to tell you, in all my years I came as close to passing out from psychogenic shock when he screwed the first filo-form prob in and the patient hit the ceiling. Anyway, the guy got the shot and the procedure went well. He voided copious amounts of urine and felt better really fast. I was a part-time EMT/ ER Tech and at the bottom of the pile. It wasn't my job to push the head nurse . I did do some investigation and found out that the patient had told the head nurse that he needed Demerol. Big mistake because. NO ONE EVER TELLS THE BIG NURSE WHAT'S GOING TO GO DOWN. Her chain of action revolves around her and no one else.
These days the head of the emergency department in a large hospital tends to act a lot nicer than Nurse Ratchet and delegates his or her responsibilities in a team effort. Also, I see a lot of nursing friends going into NP. and PA. roles. Still there is a great need for the solid caring RN who can take the punches from the families who use your department as a family clinic and the patient who comes in by EMS with general malaise and suddenly is surrounded be same 40 family members who could not drive the the patient in due to the fact there was no gas. It really is hard to take proper care of people when you know that you are being scammed from every corner, but they are out there and they do it day in and night out. I send big props out to Nurse Barry and the rest of the gang; Julie, Donna, Jay, Glen, David and so many others who used to come out to hear the band and let off some steam. You guys know what you do and how special you are. Give yourselves a kiss or take a pill or have a bit of whatever makes you a little crazy. Tell the judge I said it was OK.

I ought to write a book about you

2009-07-08T19:10:00.000-07:00

That would be you, the people in the USA. How come? Well, I've spent a lot of time studying you at your worst, so I can predict pretty much what will happen when you are confronted with some sort of difficulty. Give you an example? Sure. OK, lets say you are a woman around 22 years old and you have had too much to drink, so you start some shit with your boyfriend while you are leaving
a bar. Now say the BF is too calm, so you decide to show him (and everyone else) by tossing your self from the car while it's still driving slowly around the parking lot. Someone will call an ambulance. When the ambulance gets there, a bunch of drunken women will have gathered around and will be crying hysterically about how much they love you while you lie on the ground like a fish and refuse to answer any one's questions. That's OK because the girls who are crowded around will give all sorts of answers and instructions to the EMS crew who, by this time, will be wishing the car had run over your head and created an interesting case. Now depending on how your Boyfriend is reacting you may cooperate or continue to act like a spoiled child which is a part all drunk people play to perfection regardless of age. I will say that I have seen a few cases where people fell from a speeding car and each one resulted in death or extreme injury. The also either occurred by accident or in one case, a suicidal mental patient managed to get out of a very small window of a van which was transporting her to a serious mental facility. She didn't say so long to the two attendants who were riding up front, so it took them a few minutes to notice. I will just say that the suicidal patient was successful and the mental health transport company was in trouble deep. So there. I'll say that some of you are incredibly brave while others lose it in a second. I've tried to learn by example, but I've noticed that just about every one will fight to stay alive and the tough old coot who says "When my time comes, it comes" will be the first to call when early heart failure comes on. So yeah, I have you number but the fact of the matter is enough of you fit your stereotype that I could write it all down true as tuna fish and no one would print a word. That's too bad because while everyone gets the same illness and injury there are specific scams to the system which are perpetrated by various groups of people, rich and poor alike. I watched it for 30 years and it got to where you could pretty much figure on the rap you would get when the patient was not really sick to the point of needing a mobile ICU to carry their butt to the ER. All they have to do is politely request transport and they will get it, but that never seems to cross any one's mind. Maybe I'll make a list of common excuses given for nonsense calls and let you make your own decisions. Later with that. Cheers and Sorrows...TT

Humpty Dumpty and Me

2009-07-02T06:40:00.000-07:00

I don't exactly remember what made Humpty Dumpty so important that all any one's horses and men would try to reassemble the grouchy egg after he fell from his wall. There are many lessons packed into that verse the main one being no one can last when fate takes hold of the situation; another-more obscure- being to make an omelet you must break some eggs. I do know that the verse was originally a riddle with "Humpty Dumpty" being slang for a rather short and clumsy person. So the rhyme is read and the riddle is, who then is Humpty? The answer is of course an egg since your average clumsy clod would probably manage a wall fall without being broken to bits. I guess my ideas about Humpty's attitude come from Louis Carrol where Alice meets up with the egg in "Through the Looking Glass" and he leads her though a semantic work out which is a real mix up as is just about every thing else in that work and were it not,IMO, for Alice's British up bringing, she would have been driven mad PDQ. Anyway, the whole purpose of this jumble is allow me to state that I fell down and got a concussion, and while I seem to be able to recall some things, I'm totally blank on some others. I have had a concussion before, several in fact, but they were the results daring do while this one was pure old guy falls over. I don't like it one damn bit. I am also sorry for writing a post called F*** It! because there is a certain nice lady on the BG-l who reads what I write and I had no reason to title that post other than I was feeling sorry for my self and not thinking about people who go through life without resorting to casual profanity. Enough on that. I'm going to bed until I am better in the head.

Like Mike

2009-06-28T06:46:00.000-07:00

You have probably heard by now that Michael Jackson has died. I have a few words to say about it. What, you may ask, could a one man judge and jury like Texino possibly add to the wave of feedback generated by the passing of the self styled King of Pop? There are, after all, hundreds of writers covering every inch of the story in search of horrid detail. Well, as it turns out, I am uniquely qualified for this assignment. Why? On the one hand, I have studied emergency cardiac care for nearly 30 years both as an instructor and care giver in the field and on the other I suffer from chronic pain due to a series of lower back injuries going back to Vietnam and culminating with my work with the fire/rescue service. Unlike Jackson, however, I control the pain with RX Methadone tablets which, while relieving the pain, do not give any sort or euphoric feeling such as produced by other narcotic analgesics i.e.
Demerol, Morphine or Oxycontin. I have tried the other drugs and found that I quickly became addicted to Oxycontin and Codeine. It was hard to stop using those pills because not only was I getting them from my doctor, but found that I needed to get them on the street as well which was very expensive. My situation is much better now and though I am sure that my use of the methadone has become an addiction it controls the pain without making me high. So from a drug users standpoint, I would say that MJ was hooked up with a tame Doc who would keep him feeling up by injecting Demerol as needed.

Now the heart attack scenario. Sudden cardiac death is not uncommon in seemingly healthy males over 50 yrs. I went to the hospital in 2000 because I had a funny feeling in my neck which went away after I took a nitroglycerin tablet. I was admitted and a test showed my coronary arteries to be extremely occluded with the most important one about 93%. What that meant was I was very close to having a severe and most likely fatal coronary event. This type of myocardial infarction can be fatal even if it happens with a room full of doctors. Bypass surgery is the life saver there. So MJ could have something like that, but it would have been obvious in the autopsy. Since no one has mentioned that, it now becomes possible that Jackson went into cardiac arrest as a result of an overdose of Demerol. Demerol is usually given as a IM injection as an IV shot can cause abrupt CNS depression with the patient becoming unable to breathe for himself. Two scenarios present themselves here. One: The shot was given as an IM and accidentally hit a vein or Two it was given by an IV route too quickly causing respiratory depression leading to cardiac arrest. Now whether it was #1 #2 or a combination of both there is an easy way to reverse the problem and that is with the narcotic antagonist "Narcan" (Naloxone™) This drug given IVP (fast) will completely reverse the effects of the narcotic immediately putting the patient into withdrawal and possible seizures. Never the less, it works and anyone who is treating a patient by injecting narcotics should have a good supply on hand as the half-life on the Narcan is shorter than the narcotic meaning the Narcan may wear off and put the patient back in respiratory arrest. In general the patient can be handled by maintaining respiration until the effects of the drug moderate. When I was on the job, we often did not wake the OD patients up because the reaction to the withdrawal could be dangerous. We just inserted a breathing tube and kept IV access and monitored the heart rate and oxygen saturation.

So here in my opinion is the issue with Mike. He had a Doc with him 24/7 Supposedly a cardiologist and the guy does not seem to have had the necessary
drugs and equipment to manage a cardiac event. If this was the case, then it is an awful over site, but it should be remembered or made clear to the public in general that doctors in private practice are seldom aware of the latest advanced cardiac life support protocol. I have a feeling that the fact Jackson's MD went missing for a while is to figure a way to cover himself for not having the proper set up which may have easily saved Jackson's life.
We will see. It's all cheers and sorrows, Texino

Roz

2009-06-24T10:06:00.000-07:00

OK, here are some photos of the photogenic naked row boater Roz Savage. She is a handsome woman and her handler Nicole would like to get her into playboy magazine...? Oh well Roz is still rowing but she is not saying much about where she is headed or when she expects to get there. She spoke quite a bit about that during her last row which made for interesting reading. Oh yes, Roz posted another picture of herself naked today, but you can't see her breasts. OH well, I'm probably not going to write too much more about Roz Savage™ Nicole, is keeping my comments from reaching her, so there is little chance of give and take.
Cheers and sorrows,
Texino

My Pal Roz

2009-06-21T09:32:00.000-07:00

You really ought to check out Rozsavage.com and read about the adventures of this intelligent and capable woman who is rowing the Pacific Ocean from San Francisco to Australia with stops at Hawaii, Tuvalu and then AU. it self. Roz has an interesting story to tell about how she left the business world to become an adventuress and now she seems to do rather well giving motivational speeches between rowing. Between rowing is the issue. Roz first rowed the Atlantic in a east to west "race" and it was during this soul stripping experience Roz decided her new career path. She would write a book and give talks. Also, since no woman had solo rowed the Pacific E-W, Roz set about gaining sponsor-ship for such a venture.

Now I should mention that these ocean rows are done in highly specialized craft which are safe as they can be made to be and barring being sliced in two by a liner or falling overboard unattached the rower can expect to survive quite a bit of ill nature.

My issue comes from the rather long interludes between the hops. In fact the way things are working out, while the Atlantic Row was filled with hair raising adventure and the first attempt of the pacific row ended in having to abandon the good boat "Brocade" making the second attempt a dramatic race against the real possibility running out of water and all of us giving Roz the big cheer as she rowed into the Waikiki Yacht club. Now 6 months later step 3 has our gal pulling toward the Internet nation of Tuvalu (.tv) and while the previous two steps have had everything you would want as far as adventure, so far part 3 has been totally a matter of poor Roz's sore bum w/pictures.
OK, now here is a woman hoping to make big change giving speeches to cube dwellers or whomever has to sit through this sort of up lift, and I Texino happen to mention that "metaphorically" this row is falling as flat as the "El Mariachi" trio of films and Roz goes crazy on me. I don't know, maybe she needs to rant about how this is real life, but we are both sitting behind key boards and Roz knows nothing about my years at sea, my wartime service or career as a Fire/Rescue Officer. I figure it's only a matter of time before the her inbred British insults start and I get called a "Dreadful Little Man".

The whole nutcase problem here is I'm just making some points. I'm not trying to demean Roz Savage in any way, I just fear that she has picked up all these newbie followers who are so heavy with the saint paint that she may lose sight of the true southern cross.

Be safe Roz- that has been the tone of my twitter tweets since day one. If she needs a whipping boy to stay strong, I can take anything she snaps up.
Check it out for yourself. T

Fuck it

2009-06-19T15:13:00.000-07:00

I don't care if anyone reads this blog or not, so I'm not going to harass my online friends into joining another list. I really hope someone reads me because I think I say some decent words of social commentary and if you listen up you could get ahead of the flow and not worry about idiots making you look unaware. think about it.

So how come I'm still writing?

2009-06-19T08:58:00.000-07:00

Well I can't say for certain. I thought that I needed the support of Novelist Mary Moon in order to test my mettle, but I guess that was just an illusion provided by my sponsor- Mr.Insecurity. Now, I'm still a big fan of Mary Moo, I guess I just don't need her help as much as I thought and I suppose I can get by the loss of friendship the same way a person gets over other such disappointments. So it comes down to this. I'm sorry but I am going to continue this blog even though I have no idea if anyone reads it. It is just something I have to do.

You would have thought differently

2009-06-07T20:47:00.000-07:00

So The "Grasshopper" ends up doing the ultimate jerk off in a town well known for it's sexual delights and kills himself in the act. I must say this disappoints me because I figured that a guy like David Carradine would have had this sex thing figured out and even at the age of 72 have some sort of Tantric method or special Kung Fu discipline keeping him up, so to speak. But no, instead of surrounding himself with girls and boys Viagra, he goes for some cheap auto erotic asphyxiation trick in a closet no less. Jesus Christ. I mean I've seen people who have hung themselves and it's gross. Snot comes out of your nose in a long string and other messy stuff happens. Also as far as this auto erotic asphyxiation issue goes, it seems a mighty dangerous way of getting off. The least someone could do is make some sort of kit that would allow the project to go forth with some bit of safety in place. I'm not totally hip on the procedure but as an old man who is losing his spark, I might need this at some point and I'd hate to make the ultimate screw up. Like, I already invented an anti overdose syringe that has a secondary dose of naloxone (a narcotic antagonist) that will auto inject if a junkie doesn't disable it within a certain time after he or she shoots up. I guess I should investigate how this deal works so I can invent a safetly device. I'm not sure of it's worth, since my anti OD kit may save lives but since it tends to put the user right into withdrawal, I don't get too many thank you notes. Oh well, it's still sad about old Dave. The guy went about spouting the wisdom of the ages and it comes down to the same old sad Hollywood bullshit.

The tragedy of uptown.

2009-06-03T19:37:00.000-07:00

First and then.

the reason I don't write any more

2009-06-01T20:58:00.000-07:00

Every writer needs a person who will stand up for them as well as to them. If you don't have that sort of relationship to provide ballast to ease your voyage through the questionable sea of words that can destroy you as easily as allow you to shoot the rapid to keener pools of prose, you will end up painted in some ugly corner of flickering fluorescent tubing. I've lost my anchor. A person whom I thought was chained to me by the gold of friendship turned out to be connected by sacrificial Zinc; an element which leaves in its own time with little notice or evidence of ever being.

who the hell am I?

2009-04-27T10:11:00.000-07:00

I'm Texino and I write stories. Sometimes people request my friendship on social networking sites and when I accept, they act like it's a pretty good deal.
I must have made them feel a certain way through my writing. If that is true then I'm doing my job. Other times I write stupid and obvious lies about Bluegrass Players who I consider Grand Falloons. A Grand Falloon is a type of person made up by the humorist Kurt Vonnegut Jr. and it means just what it sounds like. I break a lot of laws and spend more time on the hill that out to sea. It's for the better because I am getting old. Still I want to make another tour. They have taken my major priviledge to drive, but I have a 49 cc motor scooter and if I should pack it wisely and take back roads, I might see some things left to see which will teach me some lessons I have not learned. Like the importance of corn to the economy and if there is any new love to fall into or if I am just a fool for thinking I'm still worth a fuck.

The Poor House

2009-04-20T17:15:00.000-07:00

I am aware that I have shown signs of moral bankruptcy in the past but I always managed to pay the dues associated with that itchy plight. Now, I'm faced with a full financial collapse. They simply do not pay Texinos the way they did when we schooled like big tuna with manuscripts fresher than the best grade fish flesh. Oh the price of fuel and the invention of automated long liners. Then you make the mistake of fishing for what would eat your own carcass should you bunk with D. Jones on a perfect stormy night. Once you take that bug money, it is better to go to the hill and buy a house with the wind at your back. And I did that and 30 years of near perfect citizenship brought me in touch with a different breed. Then: Lord did the heavy past en bay me with casual duties and one day I looked up to find 30 thousand squid full and fine and demanding their share of the voyage of my life. What kind of captain doesn't pay off? Well no kind of Captain at all. And then this steady procession of old mates walked off the plank into the fog where, unlike the snowy churchyard not one can answer your whispered question and your loudest calls are swallowed and beaten senseless beneath the billowed blankets.

Ah, what a war!

2009-04-08T20:05:00.000-07:00

She make look clean, but she's also forty feet tall! If I was that woman, I'd teach those men to make assumptions about my character. Take that sailor. Swallow him whole and when he tries to climb back up my throat, slug down a double scotch and see how he handles that. Anchors Aweigh Swabby! Hey Mr. Businessman, how's about I check your lungs with a big deep kiss? Heck, he folded up like a piece of cellophane! Say there soldier, let me give you a little love bite on the neck! Oops! his head came right off. So you see while the Armed Services tried to scare men out of having healthy sexual intercourse and catching easily treated diseases, giant Frauliens cruised the east coast killing service men by the score not only in the ways mentoned here but casual use of Zippo Lighters or mistaking the little men for match sticks or ciggarette butts. While the defeat of the giant Axis Alices has been a closely guarded secreat since the second war, great creedence has been given to rumours involving submerine warfare and midnight swims.

It's like the song says-

2009-03-13T09:43:00.000-07:00

What song? Doesn't matter. They all get around to it eventually; sadness, loneliness, heart break. The opposite of good. For some reason, perhaps because I am reaching the end of my life, I find my self shuttled into that invisible corner where no one knows you when you are down and out. It's like the song says.

As a tween, I was sent to deportment classes. Learned how fill out a dance card and how to dance it; how to sit and how to walk; how to eat and have all around good manners. I would have benefited more from a course in diesel mechanics. Actually,I did learn quite a few manual trades in the Army but it being wartime everything had a modicum of violence attached to it that did not translate into civilian life i.e. "weld up a box so we can put it on some prisoners head and whack it with sticks." I was playing the bad boy before I went into the service and it was doing me pretty good. When I came back, I really was the bad boy and suddenly no one wanted to know me.

The thing is, I should learn to make friends with a lower class of person. But I don't. Instead, I pal up with the sort of chaps and chicks whom I grew up with. (remember, I know the rules of deportment) and therein lies the rub.
I get exposed as being rough and coarse for real, and that just doesn't do.

So now I am as down and out as is possible. I haven't eaten a full meal in ages
let alone seen a glass of wine. Are dinner parties illegal now? Well of course not, but who would want us at one? (They're broke for God sakes) Me, a poor sport? Well, no. If I had something and you had a need, you would have it. How many computers and instruments and other things have I given away or sold at fractional value just because someone would benefit? People who know me know the answer.

Do I deserve the life I have? Well yes I do. Really. I have the reason written down some place, but if you read it you wouldn't believe it. It's right out of the twilight zone and that tune has no words.

An inconvenient friend

2009-03-11T16:37:00.000-07:00

It often seems that the friends I make, the ones who seem ready to love me for the whole go round decide at some point that I am somewhat along the line of a good meal but too hard to get at; like blue crab or something. Think about how tasty those crabs are; then think about the last time you had a mess of them over the house. The shells hurt your hands and the Cayenne gets in the pokes and slices and then the trash doesn't come for days and lessons are taught by the blue tail fly. Don't fret, someones mamma's going to see those maggots on the black trash bags. Then it comes down to the reasonable gathering where Poppa pulls out the years grouper crop and a fish fry is put on.
Good food good company. No mess. No pain. No one to ask the wrong question in this happy group. No, because they all sailed safely through the 60s happy in the knowledge that they were secure and the men they knew were safe and smart and they lit fires on beaches and spoke codes and fattened their futures and worst thing was they forgot, because it didn't mean a thing to any one's plans until it proved an inconvenient mess when a guy like me slipped through and then had the gall to exhibit symptoms of a horror that could not be controlled or over looked. How dare a person behave the part of a separate reality and what were we thinking anyway?
Well the problem is easily solved. Just pretend there was never anything there and it will go away.

A Parting Glass

2009-03-05T03:01:00.000-08:00

It's sad to reach an age where something once so large in one's life starts, through a series of sad goodbyes, to implode like a bright star and shrink to a compressed memory, shared now by a few scattered friends.

Fred Foster Davis, F.F. or Filthy Fred as he was universally known; not for lack of hygiene, but for his abiding love for ribald folk song, has died and left a big gap in the circle around the warm fire of friendship. As we slide down the metaphoric pew to fill his now cold seat it seems that each shadow takes on the face of someone too dear to lose.

And how dear was Fred? In '83 and Fred showed up needing to borrow a car to drive to Fernandina in aid of some sort of vehicle exchange over on Cumberland Island. I gave him my yellow Wagoneer, an old veteran but drivable. Fred was back in two days to recruit me to help him tow a Volvo back. I said OK, fine and the day was set. The next morning as we were ready to leave, Fred mentioned that I might find the brakes a bit "tight." He was right, of course, as he had replaced some major components while he had the car. He just did that kind of thing. You borrow a clunker from a friend, find the fluid reservoir a tad low, so you put some fluid in and watch it. Not Fred; he rebuilt the whole system. You know, as a favor for the loan. That was just the kind of guy he was, plus he liked order in machinery . As a life long sailor, he had the ability to make or fix anything. Looking back, I find it hard to think of a time a whirlwind visit from Fred did not result in some repair to the lights, plumbing or car. I'm half certain if he house sat for a month a remodel of some sort would be effected. Really.

Fred died down island in Nevis. He had property there and after losing his wonderful 53' steel hulled ketch,"Curlew" to a hurricane, he had given up life as a charter captain to split his time between the Eastern Shore of VA and the Caribbean.

Our history goes back 35 years and the adventures abound.
In fact the last time I saw Fred, maybe 5 years now, our paths crossed in Beaufort, NC. during a Pirate Festival. It went from a quiet visit with other friends to a highly questionable activity involving reefer, rum and a functional canon. Did not see him again though I figured it was just a matter of time. Now this. Fred leaves a new wife and an ex-wife, Mary. Mary is a story herself and a good friend. The new wife? I did not know about, but I'll wager she has spirit.

So Fred, about to seek treatment for Cancer in Brazil, I'm told, fell to that terrorist of disease while being given oxygen and morphine at the Alexandra Hospital in Nevis and lies buried so far away.

Fred Davis, dead at 65. Too soon for a man so full of work to do and robbed of his days as a elder, sitting some dock yard with stories to amaze the children and a tot of rum near by. But, that is only the future as I saw it. Perhaps he did not look ahead and just lived point to point, like a good navigator.

My friend Dave, another good one, held a pledge with Fred. It was the kind of thing people say, when they really do not consider the truth or consequences of the bargain. The bond was, whomever died first, the survivor would sing "The Parting Glass" at his funeral. It didn't turn out because Dave did not get the news, none of us got it, until yesterday and that was too late. David went home and sang it by himself.

Now if you don't know The Parting Glass, it's a sad Irish tune sung at closing time, and the last part goes: "And if it falls unto my lot, that I should rise and you should not. I'll softly go and gently call, good luck and joy be with you all."

The song is actually about drinking, not dying, but it doesn't take much for it to become an allegory to everything I have been saying here. On that point, I'll shove off in hopes that you will find the "Parting Glass" and hear it for Fred. From there on you will have it to sing to yourself when you are lonely or sad and you might find it of use.

Monkey talk ( Another chapter in a series devoted to the study of animals and their characteristics)

2009-02-21T03:41:00.000-08:00

I like to think that I am a friend to all animals, however; the truth is, I have a distrust of both the bear and monkey.

I often think about the initial choices we make regarding our trusts and fears.
I'm talking childhood zen here, the sort of thing that just shouts to your fresh brain that red is candy and sweet potatoes are to be avoided. You make deeper choices as well, like are you a dog or cat person or both, or is your father the sort who would have killed and eaten you if times had been hard. (Bears do this) You are also taking sexual notice at this time. That makes sense as you are the recent product of a sexual union. I grew up in a woman house and the visions of soft curves and pretty feet were early additions to the slide show behind my eyes. I had animal exposure too. Carted to the National Zoo strapped into my stroller like a jet pilot, I was wheeled to within yards of the actual "Smokey The Bear." This was supposed to be a lark but, in fact, it was the product of a horrible domestic misunderstanding. A local TV show for children, which centered around life in the forest, featured a man who played a guitar and sang a song about Smokey the fire prevention bear and how he came to get that job. I loved the guitar but, as I lived in the city, did not really relate to the story,. In fact smokey was represented as a stern creature who wore a drill instructor's hat and admonished in a rumbling robotic voice that "Only YOU can prevent Forest fires" and I just could not figure why it had to be ME since I had other plans for my life. My keepers, on the other hand, insisted that I loved the bear and that's why I was freezing in a stroller watching a scarred bruin watch me. I was wheeled to other sites as well, but to me, the most intimidating was a trip through the monkey house.

Now I knew a bit about Chimps because there were two of them on the television. There was J. Fred Muggs and there was Zippy the chimp. Both of these animals wore clothes. Zippy did tricks and Muggs just sat around and sometimes he smoked a cigar. Chimps like to smoke. I instinctively disliked those monkeys. Sort of like the sweet potato knowledge, or maybe because Zippy The Chimp Dolls of all sizes were in distribution and lay in doctors waiting rooms and on preschool toy shelves. These were horrific in that, while they seemed furry brown and cuddly, they had naked ears and hard rubber faces which totally robbed them of any chance of love. It would be of great interest to analyze a person who actually did become emotionally attached to a zippy doll just to see what sort of person he or she had turned out. Regardless of my predispositions toward chimps, one look at the naked apes in their pseudo environment of sex and violence was enough for the boy and has remained constant into manhood.

I'm here on this monkey business due to the recent story of the face eating Chimp up in New York. Pretty gross indeed, yet because I know my enemy, I can tell you that this sort of destructive attack is not uncommon. In fact, in the last year I read of a couple who had a long standing relationship with a chimpanzee and during a visit to the animal, who was now living in an open environment with other chimps, another chimpanzee attacked the man and ripped his testicles off as well as causing other significant trauma. These villains who go about on "all fours" literally have legs for arms and can tear someone to pieces. I remember a story by the famous Animal expert Frank Buck, who described being temporally blinded by the venom of a spitting cobra. In order to save his eyesight he had to call for help, yet the only telephone was in an office located across the room and to get there, buck had to pass the cages of several chimps. In chilling detail the author described having to crawl in a prone position keeping as close to the floor as possible while the chimps, sensing his injury madly reached for him, there fingers nearly brushing his clothes. Buck escaped, but he made it plain beyond doubt that the terrible chimps would have murdered him in an instant, even though he had treated them with great care and kindness. Chimps. Somewhere down the dusty hall of horrors where the light of my adulthood seldom shines, there is the memory of some long lost kine scope showing Zippy dressed in a doctor's get up, complete with one of those reflectors on his head. In the "gag" he is supposed to be an escaped chimp who has put on the get up. You know how it goes. Patient sees the doctor, the doc says "I'll send in the specialist" Zippy shows up, patient freaks, doctor returns, patient says specialist is a monkey-hilarity ensues. Well OK, but in real life, I think that's pretty screwy and if my doctor ever says, "Ill be right back" I make sure I've got my pants on and I'm ready to bolt. No doubt, chimps are blessed with super speed as are bears. I don't know what the human to chimp + bear ratio is, but I fear it is too high. On an evolutionary scale, I'm supposed to be above a monkey, yet the only product of my superiority that is evident is my ability to get my hands on an Army .45. Well and good, but I'll wager a chimp can shoot a gun too. My advice on that is to do like I do when traveling in chimp territory. I carry a life-like replica of a pistol which I can recognize due to the fact that the tip of the barrel is colored a bright red. If I am challenged by an armed Chimpanzee and can't get the drop on the bastard, I simply pull a bit of the old monkey see-monkey do and placing the "toy" gun in my mouth pretend to pull the trigger. Fair fight? Hell no! Like I said,I get along with animals just fine, but when it comes to ball ripping face eating Chimpanzees, well the tables closed and all bets are off.

The next subject in this series will be, Bears, an abomination before Almighty God!

Let's talk about The Shriners, OK? Fine

2009-02-13T06:36:00.000-08:00

You know who the Shriner's are, right? Wear a Fez, drive a little car, have a big parade for no apparent occasion? Those guys. International do-good organization is what they are. The Shriner's, AKA The Masons, are a secret society who have something like 33 degrees of membership. Shriners come from all walks of life, but I am not certain if Black People can join or if they have their own Shrines. (I have seen Black Shriners but not in a mixed group) Because the Masons are a secret order, a lot of mystery surrounds what goes on at the Lodge. Now, I'm not sure how one gets tagged to join up. I don't think being an actual mason is necessary, however; The Masonic orders are big into the compass , square and apron as symbolic artifacts in their rites. The Masons have been about for a real long time and, by the way, George Washington was a Mason and I believe he laid the corner stone of the Capitol. In fact lot of the early big shots in the USA were Masons and they managed to get some of there junk put on the money and it's still there.

Of course, whenever there is a secret society afoot, people are going to want to know what goes on. The Masonic orders can be pretty tight lipped about this and it is alleged that anyone who might do a run and tell all on The Brotherhood would face some pretty substantial grief for his trouble. This must have some degree of truth because a lot of people would be interested in finding out if to get to the highest levels of the "Craft" it is truly necessary that the candidate do such naughty acts as sacrifice a child as well as a bit of rape and cannibalism. I guess, if the brothers have that sort of information on a fellow, he would be loath to tattle.

Personally, I have a hard time believing nice Mr. Fowler down the street (a known Master Mason of high degree) would do any of that nasty business, however; there are two major obstacles which keep my suspicions engaged Viz the Masonic Order. #1 is their affection for Arab paraphernalia and #2 they perform as Clowns in their own circus. Now it is well known that Arabs are often employed in the snatching an ill use of young boys and this is something not unheard of in the Clown Conspiracy either. Therefore, until the Masons come across with some heavy evidence to the contrary I cannot release them from suspicion. OK. I was just thinking about The Masons and that is what came out. My head is stacked full of information, so if you need any, don't Google! Ask Texino!
Bye for now.

Real Time Internet

2009-01-21T04:38:00.000-08:00

I just realized that I was able to view the unfolding drama of the US Airways Flight 1549 crash entirely on my laptop and other that watching some streaming video from a NY TV station, did not have to deal with the confounded broadcasters nattering rumor back and forth. It was truly a relief to be able to put the puzzle together by looking at live shots and reading breaking text released by people on the scene rather than having to listen to the baffled newscasters interrupt one another and then speculate as to the situation. I fully realize how difficult it is to handle a breaking story cold and you can really see how hard some veterans work to keep from falling on dead air. That's well and good. I'm just happy to have a high speed connection and the ability to data mine. Equipped to this level, I remain confident that I can get the goods on any story without the distraction you get from the news folk who can turn from serious to light hearted in an eye blink or cut to commercial advertising and miss an important event. I sometimes get annoyed by the web and its wide open spaces of worthless junk, but for someone like myself, who wants information and deep back ground on a regular basis it is true magic of the modern age. Magic that allows me to see the miracles of my own life time, for now that I have struck the gong and entered my time of diminishing seasons it is evident that the last 60 odd years have brought us so much and the fact that I can prove it with a few clicks of a button and then broadcast it to the world in my own words makes me feel like a ripple that will eventually show its power as a new wave. That's cool.

It can't be just me

2009-01-19T03:09:00.000-08:00

Anyone out there seen The President recently? G.W. Bush, I mean, and when I mean seen, I mean observed him on the TV. OK? Fine. Now has it occurred to you during your observation that the guy is just sort of, nuts? I'm cheating a bit because I was watching a video montage last night and it showed President G.W. Bush speaking and responding, the general riff that a president does, and truth to my mind kept cycling back to "out of control." Now I know about out of control. I'm always saying the wrong thing and getting people mad when I didn't mean to, but neither do I go around starting wars for no reason, nor do I torture people; at least not in any way they can't escape by deleting my words or turning off my music. Sure, I ran a pig ranch in Vietnam, but I worked with people whose job it was to come up with the desired answers from some of our prospective ranchers. Let me tell you if you want someone to to say no is yes or black is white, it's an easy deal if your contestant has a high % of belief that you are in fact The Guy. Point being, this wholesale brutality as practiced by Secretary of Pain Rumsfeld's army of a few was not necessary. There are just cooler ways to get your info.
You know, I think one major issue with Bush is he is trying to fill in the blanks. Blanks that his Daddy was so great at using to get his points across. I mean if you listen to W trying to explain the whole Mission Accomplished fiasco on the aircraft carrier, it's gibberish. Bush the Elder could have gotten the whole issue covered by saying: "Carrier Landing- bad idea- gave wrong impression- not prudent." I suppose if you take W's words and "Bushellize" them, one might bring his presidency into a whole new light. Worth it? Naw.

TV is unfair to criminals

2009-01-14T18:29:00.000-08:00

Well, it is, because almost every single tine I look at a news paper, I read about lawbreakers getting yanked off the street for committing the type of behavior T.V. bad guys pull off each week. Take the hit man, for instance. On TV, you just get Harvey Kitel. In real life you will either be set up by the cops or the Hit Person will sing like a bird if the cops ask him one question. How about your car chase? OK? fine; a guy is really intent on not stopping for the police, so rather than take his plate # and catch up with him later, unless he is on a murder spree or something, the police set up a road block with two cars touching together at a vanishing point. The villain has seen this move on TV 1,000 times. Just speed up and hit the road block dead center and the police cars will just spin out of your way. Right? Well yes, if they have had their motors and transmissions removed. If not, it's a-kin to striking a tree. Why do banks have those velvet ropes to feed you to the next teller? To make sure they get a shot of you with the security camera before you try and rob the place. If you try to get anything more that the loose cash, they will put exploding dye capsules in with the money and since the cops have been hauling their adrenalized butts toward you from the second you showed your hand don't be surprised if they blast you to bits with automatic shotguns as you walk out with a couple of grand. Hardly seems worth it, but hey those old British bikes cost a bundle to keep on the road. Faking your death. Always fails. Killing your wife. You will be the prime suspect from the get go, so you must be a real psycho killer to pull it off. How about safe cracking? Gem Robber? or Art Thief ? Romantic to be sure, but to pull that sort caper successfully you would need talents that would pay you a good wage without resulting to crime. I guess drug dealer can be a only money maker for the average Joe, and once you get up into the big money the chances that someone might burn you are just too great. Old Texino's been in the slammer a couple of times and I would not care to go back for any reason cause life is too short and you don't want to end up with a five or six year hole in yours. Well I started out to make fun of TV and ended up being a moralist. You can't know what I might do these days. I take my pills, but I have hallucinations. People walk through the room. I find myself getting up to do a task that has to do with an imaginary situation, plus all manner of medical stuff keeps popping up to try and scare me. I have now out lived any man in my family by 5 years. Does that make me a wiser person than my father or the Two grandfathers whose pictures look like extremely old gents who could have only lived in the Black & White days of noir. I'll be damed if I ever come up with that answer, however; the fact that those gentlemen share degrees from Harvard, M.I.T. and the U.S. Naval Academy and I have been but a common ambulance driver should hint strongly in some direction. Well that ought to get it Take good care of your tools. Texino 1/09

Secrets of musical youth

2009-01-03T05:15:00.000-08:00

OK, who is that man on the right? You know him. He's a singer and song writer who has been around since the 60s and had several hits in the 70s. Pretty big hits for a folksinger too. He's from Canada and he's not Ian Tyson. Know who he is now? That's right, Gordon Lightfoot. Trouble is I know Lightfoot and he's a stocky chap with curly hair and a beard. Look at those ears! Something is wrong! Now observe the fellow on the left. He's from the same generation as Gordon, but other than a bit of gray he doesn't seem very old at all does he? The big difference of course, is you do not know who the other guy is. That's the big deal you see; large scale popularity will kill you. So take a tip from Tomas. Play for the fun of it and eternal youth and beauty will certainly come to pass.

But he never saw a train

2008-12-29T05:14:00.001-08:00

I was thinking about the our third president, Mr. Jefferson, and all the amazing things that happened during his life time. Born in 1743, he lived in well into the 19th Century, passing away July 4th 1826, 50 years after signing the Declaration of Independence from Great Britain. A lot of folks talk about the genius of Jefferson, but when you look at historical time lines and juxtapose them against Jefferson's Ideas and inventions, Jefferson comes across as a bit of a bumpkin, for while he was imagining and east-west water route to the west coast through a land populated by Woolly Mammoths and camels, the Europeans were engaged in an industrial revolution. Were Jefferson more scientifically inclined, he might have brought the machines of industry to the south balancing out the agrarian nature of the place and perhaps preventing the Civil War. Instead Mr. Jefferson spent time reading Scripture and deciding what words Christ had actually said. Jefferson was not particularly religious in an evangelical sense, however; he was a big fan of the historical Jesus as a living and moral man. A paradox that jumps out at me is the fact that Jefferson had great respect for Native Americans but seemed perfectly at ease with keeping African slaves. Go figure. So even though Jefferson said it did not bother him if his neighbor had one God or 20 he was not much good for the Negros and if he had paid more attention to that we would have had plenty of Black Presidents by now and I wouldn't have to be so worried about some nut killing Obama or had to go through civil rights thing while I was so impressionable. Oh well, that's life.

Their Names and horse's ages

2008-12-28T18:23:00.000-08:00

The first time I ever heard Galway Races done where I could understand the lyrics, was way back in the Newport years. Those days, and the good they carried, are frozen in a block of memory so crystal clear that I can take little sips at any time and never ripple it's surface or cause a distortion to it's truth. I suppose that right this minute the thoughts of people I'll never meet are whirling like atoms around my happy mote that still haunts the streets of the old town, and I worry that death may come and cause a collision that will flash for an instant and my shiny bits of time will flush down a small black hole and disappear with a soft "pop". I've had other bright moments you see and were they to flop into another dimension with out me it might be less than a heavenly sort of thing. So, I am thinking about the Newport Days and hearing my first Celtic fusion band. The were called JSD for Jim, Sean and Des, but they were a five piece and were booked into a local club to warm them up for their first US tour. Oh Lord how they blew us away and what with Newport having and actual Irish section-The 5th Ward-where Gaelic was spoken, by Tuesday night the bar was full to bursting. Looking back I fear the group were probably disappointed as they traveled because I doubt they received such response and support in other cities. I'll leave that to find it's own truth, and just touch on pulling an all nighter with the boys at their hotel. We drank Scotch and I explained blues, while they told me why the Beatles "Black Bird" was special to anyone from "The North" and in the end, I traded my Cowboy Shirt for a pair of elevated boots. As I stumbled home in the dawn not so much the worse for drink but more from unfamiliar footwear, I knew for a brief instant that some connection had been forged and though I would never see those people again I would know them forever. That brings me back to my fear that death may destroy all my bright memories in a mini black hole and leave me a drift with my sins. Doesn't seem fair at the moment. I guess will have to maintain my grip on good memories and if we do fly down some cosmic drain maybe they will burst open as a new reality and I will have another chance. Wouldn't that be cool?

Circle in a square

2008-12-26T12:54:00.000-08:00

About 100 years ago I drove my sporty Corvair to New York City to play folk songs in Washington Square. This was done on a Sunday and many other musicians were about it as well. While Washington Sq. is indeed that, the performances were done about the circular wall of the empty fountain's pool.
It was pretty large and you could easily find a spot far enough from the other pickers to afford you a little bubble for your music and it would be just fine, unless some Spade with a horn came bopping by and temporarily broke it. A Spade used to be a hip name for an African American; certainly cooler than A Club. Anyway, in those days it was important to identify people
with some sort of modifier. I think it had to do with smoking pot or something. I should mention that this guy Mike had come with me. Mike claimed to have lived in Greenwich Village before and was certain he could find us a spot to crash. (sleep) I was not too sure about Mikes ability to pimp my musical talent for room and board, but he was full of big talk and we were in New York on a Sunny Sunday and I had a D-18 with new strings.
I set up on the wall and started to play some guitar features in the style of Lester Flatt. People gathered and seemed to like the music. I sang Carter Family tunes that Joan Baez had made popular but I had known for many years and since I was shy and sort of country, they stayed to listen. At least they did until Mike came back and started working the crowd. I should mention that I was like 17 years old and Mike was 18. For some reason he had gained the attributes of Norman Mailer and Earnest Hemingway in that he was a fast talking he-man sort of guy and pretty much the opposite of the free spirit hippie movement that was starting to happen. I had made some friends while playing but once they got a load of Mike, they found pressing engagements elsewhere. Listening to Mike was a weird trip anyway. He claimed to have hitched cross country and back while writing a novel. Unfortunately the novel was lost when some guy who had given him a ride ditched him out in the desert at a gas station, taking the the nearly finished manuscript and the rest of Mike's stuff and tooling off down the two lane with the goods. All this plus the fact Michael claimed to have actually lived in the "Village" should have made him about 25 instead of 18. On the other hand, Mike was one of those Italian kids who start shaving at 12 and he was in fact a fairly tough kid. I figured that from a safety stand point it was probably wise not to ditch him even if he was queering my social progress with women who might like country folk singers and had apartments. I got tired of playing and went for a walk. About 3 pm on the big circle, I came upon David Grisman and some guys playing bluegrass. They had a big crowd and I figured I could fit in due to me being an actual VA. picker and them all being from up north and Jewish besides. Well I got my 18 out of his box and started to strum along. I was having a swell time until some chick taps me on the shoulder and tells me I'm playing out of time. I wasn't, but that old time rythm I used sounds different than your regular flat picking since you pick a bass note with your thumb then brush the chord then do a little strum as well. Never the less, it killed my buzz and left me feeling unhip and hungry. Mike was on my nerves too. He kept up this rap like "There's where I used to take my laundry, I wonder if they still have my shirts?" You got to remember, I was in High School with this dude, so I have to wonder when exactly was he able to pull off his young Hemingway/Keroac years? Some folks just try too hard. In later years, I ran into Mike off and on. Last time was in some bar. The years had piled on him enough to support his stories, but I knew that his marriage had failed and he was selling office furnature. I don't know about you, but to me, at least, some people you know just seem grown up their whole lives. Hell I remember kids from my grade school who looked like little old ladies or men and I bet now that they are little old ladies and men they look just the same. Well, I'm going to leave myself in NYC and just say that we got home OK. Maybe, if I had not had Big Mike, I might have found some direction and friends. They way things worked out I went back and played music in the studios and through the years I did have some high times in the music game and I'm still about. It's just another day I remember.

Texino's Christmas etymology # 46-The humbug

2008-12-25T21:27:00.000-08:00

To be fair, Humbug is as Christmas as, "Fa la la la la".
Fact is it's a fine term which can be brought to bare in any conversation and should be used far more often in daily use it being a noun meaning deceptive or false behavior. Perhaps President Bush is one. Of course the use of Humbug we hear the most at Christmas is "Bah, Humbug" which, of course is just a Dickensian term for "Bull shit." Actually the act of calling something a humbug is a pejorative as to it being false, a scam or fraud. It that light it seems to fit Christmas to a "T". Therefore the proper way to discern the meaning of "Bah, Humbug" would be, "Bah, It is a Humbug or perhaps "It (Christmas) is a confounded hum buggery that drives the foolish classes into debt from pure sentimental rubbish!" It should be remembered of course that the merchants depicted in the writings of Chas. Dickens were not of the retail class and therefore had no real interest in promoting the season as such, due to it still having a sense of the Pagan right of seasonal passage attached to it and the gifts given were often symbolic as well as frivolous amusement. It is quite important that we notice that aside from the "God Bless us, everyone" spoken
by the deformed and possibly retarded "Tiny Tim" Cratchett there is a definite lack of Christan religion in Dickens story. In fact, Tim's call "God bless us, every one", could easily be an entreaty for every God to bless us. Using that theory, then it certainly would not be safe for Ebenezer Scrooge to enter the slums and visit the Cratchett home. No, a small raise in salary and a new coal scuttle would be appropriate there. After all, Scrooge had family he could share his awakened kindness with, people of his own social standing Therefore, the only version of the Dickens Carol that is believable is the one in which the near sited Mr. Magoo plays the role of the scrooge character. Magoo has proven through the years that he can enter any situation that would be certain death to others and escape unharmed. Plus he is funny and in no way is he a Humbug. Now getting back to the lesson. A Humbug is something false; a scam. Saying "Humbug" or "Ba, Humbug" is similar to saying bullshit in a nicer way. Also to prevent the story of A Christmas Carol
becoming an allegory of good humor a common decency, remember that Mr. Magoo is in it an impressive number of times.

Selling Apples

2008-12-23T17:53:00.000-08:00

I grew up hearing about the Great Depression. You have probably heard about it too. Well we are sort of heading for another extended financial disappointment as we speak and, so far, the main difference I have detected between then and now is a distinct lack of financiers jumping off tall buildings and spattering them selves all over Wall Street. I think that was pretty common back in 1929 because these guys had let down their clients or couldn't make margin calls, the sort of stuff that honorable men couldn't face. Well today, these same sort of men and now women as well, are just walking away from these huge failures and some are taking big bonus checks with them. Failed banks are taking big handouts from the Feds and stashing the cash while hitting their consumer credit customers up like loan sharks.
Back in the depression years people worried about losing their homes and going to the "Poor House." I don't think they have poor houses any longer but people are still fixing to lose their homes. Makes me wonder where they go. Me, I have a fairly decent sized car. Another icon of the Depression, besides bankers leaping to their deaths, is the picture of guys selling apples. Now with the things the way they are, I think a person would have to sell a lot of apples to make an eating wage. I don't know where you can get a deal on any apple fruit, but I could lay my hands on some Tangerines for free. Thing is, if I went down the street to try and sell them, I'd get busted for vending food without a permit from the heath department or a vendors license which they won't grant in this town. Bottom line I sell tangerines or, apples I go to jail. I might get some press out of it, but I am not doing this for kicks or to get my name in the paper. I would just like to make some eating money. I could eat apples and all that but I have the cats and the dog to feed too. I can't even play my mandolin on the street for tips. That's against the law too.
This is ridiculous ! You might say, hey Texino, get a job! Well, I am disabled and I can only make a certain amount of $ above what social security pays and I make that fixing computers. Hard Times my friends. The shame of it all is someone always has it worse There is always the guy pushing the trashcan at the end of the parade. His job is to pick up the horse shit, most parades have it. When you think of it, horse poop doesn't look so bad. It almost looks packaged. Some lumps of dirt with some straw woven in. The town near by depends on the horse business and there are a score or so horses clopping about every day. They used to have a guy go around with some trash cans. Low end of the totem and all, but I would do that kind of work rather than sell apples. When I was a kid up in VA. A man would come around each year at strawberry time. There were two men actually. One drove a black pickup with wooden slope roof over the racks of fat red berries in the bed and a big "clock face" scale swinging from side to side hanging off the rear. That man drove the truck really slowly while his partner, a black man with a jumbo voice, would call out "Strawberries" a block or two in front.
Soon, a woman would come out and the voice man would wait for the truck and while he did, more women from the big houses or the back kitchens would Snow down on the big voiced black man with the jolly charm and an impromptu fruit market would take root for a bit and then move off. I could lie in bed on a Summer's morning and hear the strawberry man coming like some slow parade. You'd hear his music and then forget it till it came back a little closer and then fade and then return. His voice was ghostly in the way the bumps and drags in a haunted house can stay at the edge of your audio range but rarely challenge you directly. That is to say the strawberry was only real when you realized "Strawberries" was a question and answered the role call by going out side and saying "Here!' Now that's a bit like apple selling and a step up in respect to street sweeper. But wait! You can't sell fruit like that now, too many cars, and as far as horse shit sweeper the horses wear a canvas construction to catch the droppings. Talk about being SOL. Well, we will just have to get a hand on the situation and make some new low end employments for the new year. Watch this space for more.

An unwelcome drift

2008-12-21T06:46:00.000-08:00

I have been attacked by the mail box. No, it is not a crush of Christmas cards.
It seems that my electronic bank thought it would be a great joke if they held up the delivery of two credit card bills by one day. The credit cards in question took this error with such umbrage that they upped my % rate by 21% making it right around 30% rather than the 9% it had been and, by doing this they created finance charges which put me over the limit and now rather than owe a combined payment of $98 it's like $700. I suspect they are using the new math but I can't prove it. Now the point of this is to advise you not to do this your self because those credit card people are laying for the tardy individual and even a prudent mariner like myself can strike their iron clad reef of unreasonable rules. I tell you when I speak to these people it is like hearing a Dada piece done in Esperanto. Since many of you never talk to the actual Texino, you may not realize that I have the devil of a time making my self understood. Therefore when I try to discuss my situation, I am taken as a fool or at best senile and the credit devils employ a demeaning sort of small child talk. This drives me mad and after on of these sessions it is not uncommon fo me to take leave of my emotions and fall very far into dark depression. I am starting to wonder just how far you can drop before you automaticly die of shame and dispair. I have considered this option from the standpoint of the British; "For Gods sake old man, just be done with it and let the rest of us real chaps keep the home fires burning and all that." Right now their adive seems very reasonable . On the other hand, there must be a good reason for us breaking away from the crown in the first place. I'll probably give the suicide this a pass and try to work it out some other way. Thats what the prudent mariner would do. So long as you can trust your ship you will weather most storms.

Flash

2008-12-16T20:01:00.000-08:00

See that girl? Her name is Flash Bathory and she's dead at 19 years old. No one seems to no what happened to her other than she died in her sleep.
Now dying in your sleep is a decent way to go, providing it is your sleep and not brought on by some sort of central nervous system depressant that makes you forget to breathe. Flash passed back in September, in Texas. Now I'm fairly sure that Texas is a state were you can find out stuff like cause of death in public records. Problem is, I am pretty certain that Flash is not this girl's given name and Bathory is a common name of choice among the Shred Metal community due to the legend of Countess Elisabet Bathory of Hungry, aka The Blood Countess. Seems the her highness liked to torture people and was from some place in the Dracula part of the empire. If you go to You Tube, you can hear Flash play her guitar. Thing is she is playing the same song in every video. She has some nice licks, but if you understand how shred guitar is played or you are a player yourself, you might not be as impressed as some people seem to be. You ought to check it out an see if you can spot the component parts. I bet you can. Still, I think Flash had potential. So damn young too. If you look at her stuff from the NAMM convention of 07 she is all baby fat (and playing the same song) while this year she dyed her hair really red and started to get a shape. (but not a new tune for the NAMM show) Friends post online about how she was always jogging and eating health food or vegan. I think some music people thought she might break out and become a force on guitar. Unfortunately , she was not advanced enough to go into that gang of young genius that claims, Robert Johnson or Jimi Hendrix or D'jango, Christian and the rest. She should have put off the death for at least 5 years because it would not hurt to have a girl guitar hero.
I went to Flash's web site. It was well done and spiked with hope. Even though her family had put up a notice about her death, it didn't cover up the buttons to check her calender, buy her CD, go to "Myspace" or leave her a message. All that stuff, ready and waiting, but the clicks go nowhere at all. Why am I writing about Flash Bathory? I'd never heard of her until I saw a notice of her passing in an advertisement put out by the guitar company whose product she endorsed. Not a real well known outfit either. Well when it comes to sudden or tragic death, I'm drawn to a quote from a Terry Pratchett story that goes "Man isn't dead as long as his name gets mentioned." Although as I get older the litany of names gets longer, I do my best to mention the ones who may have vanished but need to stay alive in someones heart. You probably do it too.

Esperanto sprewing flea wrangler

2008-12-14T17:32:00.000-08:00

Recently I was over to Sam Marley's Fat Alley. I was just hanging out. In case you don't know about Sam's, it's a kind of 24 hour news stand that's lots bigger on the inside than the outside. Like a Tardis but larger outside. Anyway, the thing moves around by teleportation and it's got lots of cool stuff to do inside. For instance, there is a underground railroad terminal which is used primarily by zombies who need to travel unnoticed and there are some traditionalist black people who use it to summer in Canada.
While I was there, an Esperanto club was holding a congress of some sort and for entertainment, they had brought in a Flea Circus. Now I thought perhaps I'd learn some Esperanto because I don't speak many languages other than Spanish, German, Russian, Farsi, Chinese, Vietnamese and Gaelic. When I heard the people shout "estas pulo cirko " well I was really glad I had come. Mi neniam ..isis viditan pulon cirkon, so I was anxious to see one in action. Now there are two types of Flea Circus. One uses fleas and the other uses little magnets because puloj estas tre malgranda estas facile tromp homoj kun etaj magnetoj en ilia pozicio. Works every time. Still some cirko use puloj and harness them with tiny gold wire. They will pull little chariots and kick little soccer balls. The balls are soaked in oil of camphor and fleas don't like it so they will kick it away. (the fleas are held in place)
ial la ideo de pulo cirko alportas min la willies, but I got used to it and I'd say I'm a pretty decent Flea Skinner now.
Otherwise, things are pretty quiet at Sam's. He makes a ton of money selling dope to movie stars and cigarettes to kids. Plus being able to teleport zombies all over keeps him in good with the spooky folks. I'll tell you one thing. There is a room in that place that must be 100' long and it has racks down both sides that hold those aluminun briefcases; the kind you always see full of money in the movies. Anyway, those racks are full of those cases 10 high and 10 across and they just keep going and they are full of money. In case anyone has notions on that cash? Well Sam's nephew Zombie Bob Marley hangs out in that room with a big bad shotgun and Zombio Bob frapos vin dise kaj manĝi viajn cerbojn en Jamaika Minuto. I think you can follow words like "Mangi" and "Cerbojn" (Eat Brains) See Esperanto is easy and fun. Truth be said here, I am not too sorry to leave those fleas, although I did learn quite a bit about the flea circus world.
I am trying to play some music but I am limited to nylon strings right now. That's OK. I like the sound. I can do some mandolin as well because the strings are close set. Those steel string acoustics, I'm fixing to sell them cause I just can't work the strings any more. That's me for now.

Too Old To Drive?

2008-12-13T18:55:00.000-08:00

OK folks. It happened just the other day. I was driving in some manner or other that caused a younger person to pull around me and stare right at me with the very same look I have given others for years. The name of the look is, "Too Old To Drive" or "T.O.T.D" or sometimes just "Tot" Well anyway, I got that look and I did not care for it because I am not too old to drive. How do I know? Well, first off. When a man gets too old to drive two things happen. First, he gets really short and second his ears grow large. Now if you look at the pictures above you will see that in the one on the left, I am signing an autograph for the Center of the Chinese Woman's Olympic basket ball squad who at 7' 2" is pretty tall for a girl. Anyway, you can plainly see from this picture that even at the advanced age of 61, I still stand a good 8' and some, plus my ears are perfectly normal in size (see close up)

Now some of you must be saying, "I know old Texino and I've never realized he was a giant!" Well that's OK my friends, I can make my self seem small so as not to frighten people and to just fit in. Sometimes though, like other animals, I have to make my self seem bigger to scare off adversaries. At times like that I can puff up and get my hair to stand up straight like eraser head and spew large amounts of ready mix cement from my mouth. I don't know how I do that, but it's enough to scare most people and if it doesn't I can always start pulling sheet rock from under the back of my shirt and nail it up with my bare hands. If you were to be walking around some place and come upon what seemed to be an impromptu Home Depot demonstration outside of a bar, its safe to say I probably had a run in with some guys there. I find that a good show of construction technique can calm the most violent men right down. If not, I can just tear them to bits. Like bugs. Little bugs with bright cotton clothes.
Well that's it for now, I just wanted to put your minds to rest over this driving issue. That kid's damn lucky I didn't make a paper weight out of him. Too old to drive my foot.

12/7/2008

2008-12-07T07:18:00.000-08:00

Today is when Pearl Harbor was attacked. Now that is 68 years ago. As a young man, I am always hearing where everyone was and what was everyone doing on that day so famous. And everyone said "Remember Pearl Harbor!" in a voice of certain emotions that you know they are not forgetting it at all. Well now, add up 68 years to the age of most of the people whose memories were once the clearest and you will see not but the old looking at the framed and dear departed. I think that they all know someone or more frozen there forever young.

Texino missing

2008-12-07T03:46:00.000-08:00

Hello this is Sam Marley from Fat Alley. I'm still dealing drugs to the stars and running an underground railway station for zombies on the move, plus a few ultra traditional Blacks who can't admit slavery is in the bag. Doesn't matter to me anyway. You got your "ticket" you can ride all the way to the northern terminus. I hear that place is a hollow tree up in Canada by a cross road. They have a store that sells spaghetti with banana parts, chicken fried chicken, and you can catch a bus there too. I should mention, as a matter of public safety, that if you see a shabby looking person eating a big helping of pasta with red sauce and bananas, then you are watching a Zombie dinning out. Just remember, that Zombie would really rather be eating your brains close by the thrill of bashing your head to get them. Dealing with Zombies is a tricky business. Me, I am lucky because, my cousin Bob is one and he is still very popular in the music business. Texino deals with all manner of Zombies, Loupes Garoux , witches, Vampires and what have you and no one messes with him. All that aside, the boy has gone missing. While it has been rumored Texino may be involved in a love pentagon there are those who claim the composit genius has not made boom boom with a lady for years. Sources close to "the truest and most loyal friend a person could ever hope to find" say that he has recently been upset and feeling as "useless as a Nordic Trak™ exercise device." Long time neighbor"Mrs. Parkhurst" reports that she noticed "The Texino" slouching around the "hood" and when she asked, "Where are you going?" he replied "Crazy, want to go?" OK. I have business.
Hope Texino comes back. I'll miss him, if he don't. You come see me at The Fat Alley some time––– http://thefatalley.blogspot.com/ Sam

A long illness

2008-11-30T17:47:00.000-08:00

That's what these Bush years have seemed like to me; a long illness. Now the matter is, will the patient recover or and spread the truth regarding his symptoms and how we might avoid the disease or will he die, leaving us in the dark to start over? Sure I stretch an analogy, but wouldn't it be cool if GW could just get with Obama and say, "Bud, this is where I really started to fuck up, you don't want to go there." Sort of like warning a guy not to eat something made with Sauce Mayonnaise that's been in the sun for a while, or not to take the brown acid. You know what I mean? I tell you something else.
Now I don't know about you, but I am pretty sensitive to the vibe. Like I was at that concert out in Altamont, CA where they had the troubles, and when things went bad, that vibe almost knocked me down. I certainly was not the only one, so it's probably fairly common. So I'm thinking, suppose you are GW Bush? You got to wonder if he can feel the vibe of the thousands who just don't like him. You just do. So this whole long illness riff really has to do with feelings. I know because I've hurt some good people's feelings and it makes me sick. The thing with me is, I don't think I'll be able to fix it and I fear that the outcome is destined to be bones in the road warning me to keep my distance and not try to go to that well again. Feeling bad is one thing but bad with a thirst is bad all the way.

Today we would like to send birthday props out to Sir. Winston Churchill who is 135 and also literary rascal Mark Twain (Sam Clemmons) who's a spry 173. Remember, as long as a name is mentioned a person never dies and those guys are mentioned a lot.

Well that's the way I think. You certainly don't have to think like me, just don't forget to keep in touch with what's going on and try not to get too hepped on that Jazz Music. OK? Fine.

Oh Hell, it's White Thursday!

2008-11-27T07:10:00.000-08:00

Yá'át'ééh it's the old Indian. While most of you are enjoying the holiday of family togetherness, I am feeling mean spirited and loathsome. Sometimes people ask, "Hey Texino, why are you so mean spirited and loathsome?" I tell them the war did it. They accept that because I actually am a veteran, and a lot of us from the Vietnam era are crazy. Being loathsome is a by product of madness you see. It is getting hard to pull that veteran stuff lately because we now have a whole new mess of vets from the Iraq thing and they are not particularly loathsome at all. In fact, I would think long and hard about calling one of those guys or girls and "baby murderer" regardless of how many children he or she might have snuffed. Point being your modern GI is a professional soldier and not some confused high school kid who was snatched up like an alien abductee, given as little as two months training and then beamed down into a country full chittering little people who dress alike, talk alike, act alike-man, you could loose your mind. It really is a different situation now. Here is an example. Yesterday I actually opened an email newsletter from some vet site, and there was a piece of news about a former cook in the 82nd Airborne who, after being convicted of multiple rapes and murders and attempted murders, was going to be executed pretty soon. There was a picture of the Trooper obviously being led from the court martial which had taken place sometime before. The soldier was wearing his class A uniform, which is what you wear when you face any kind of military proceeding. OK? Fine. Well there was a space to leave a comment about the story and many had been left. What surprised , or maybe didn't really surprise, me was every person who had replied referred to the guy as something loathsome i.e. "This piece of dung" "Maggot" "slime" "human garbage" "sleaze ball" "P.O.S." "dirt bag"-well you get the picture. There were over 50 replies and every one used a dehumanizing modifier when referring to the suspect, not to mention what they thought should be done to him. If nothing else this article showed me that the mind set of the modern armed service has been molded into one where a human life can easily be relieved of it's value and I came away with little doubt that these soldiers would gladly kill anyone so long as someone classified that group as "dirt bags." It may or may not be of interest to you that this training modality is very popular at today's law enforcement academies. From personal experience during my time as an instructor at a technical college, I can attest that these schools are not focusing on prudent reasoning, but instead are taking the tack that the police must be an insular group because "everyone hates them" ergo, they should only hang out with other cops. This is not making for any "Sheriff Andy's" now, is it? So there you have it. It's Happy Thanksgiving and I truly hope you have one. I'll be hanging out in the studio traveling through some new loathsome identities like "Terminal Loser" "Bad Dog Breath" "Mid level Roach" and "Flea Circus Sideshow Freak" Such promise! Makes me want to live all over again.

Where were you?

2008-11-26T10:03:00.000-08:00

I was working in the guidance counselor's office in high school, something I did during 5th period, and I felt this intense ill vibration run through the whole area. Then everyone sort of zombied up to the Principal's office where a radio was playing out the news. I slipped out and went to tell the librarian about it, because it seemed something she should know. I just eased up and asked her if she had heard the president had been shot. She said that it wasn't a funny joke and I was taken aback because it wasn't a joke and I had not set it up like one either. By the time my next class,US History, convened, everyone seemed to have gotten the word one way or another. Some kid kept saying "it was a grassy knoll" and someone else said there had been a big shoot out at a movie theater, while others said Johnson had died of a heat attack. I had nothing to add. Then, because the class was in a temporary building out by the student parking lot and the teacher had fled to the Office for more information, I decided to go on to the house, so I did. I watched and listened. Then on a cold clear day I stood on Memorial Bridge with thousands of others and watched as the cortege made it's way to Arlington Cemetery. I saw Emperor Hialie Selassie and Charles De Gaul and many other famous heads ride by in silent limousines. I keep thinking I saw Winston Churchill, but I don't believe he was there. Then I drove home and got there in time to hear the bugler bust a note playing Taps. Couldn't blame the guy. It was a very cold day for everyone.

Casey at the Bat

2008-11-25T17:21:00.000-08:00

I used to enjoy Thanksgiving because either I would be throwing a dinner or friends would invite me over. Well that was another time. I can't afford to make a feast and I'm short on friends who set a heavy table. This can only lead to that incredible hole created by Earnest Thayer; Mudville. That's right the home of mighty Casey a person so overly certain of his gifts that what is really just a simple action, striking out in a baseball game, causes all the joy to slink out of town causing it's name, at onetime a silly aside, to swell up to the epitome of where nobody wants to be. What a piece of writing! Were I not in Mudville myself, I would review it for you further. I can't do that right now because it is so obvious that in so many somewheres things are really OK. There is just no joy in Mudville.

Closing Alice's Restaurant

2008-11-25T16:53:00.000-08:00

Way back in the day, back when I was raising pigs in South Vietnam, a woman who I scarcely knew sent me a letter of news from back in the states. She said, "There is a real cool song called Alice's Restaurant out and you would like it."
Well, I thought it was a good title and I tied to create an idea how a song like that might go, since she didn't mention that it was a 23 min talking blues. Oh well, I wrote back to her off and on. She kept the letters. I know this because her husband called me up a couple of years ago and after determining that I was not some sort of maniac (Ha!) he allowed his wife to speak to me. I'd forgotten her name, but she wanted permission to publish my writing in some Vietnam thing where she taught school. I said sure. She said her husband told her I probably had a "trophy wife". I told her no, just a regular long term partner and no, I was not a successful writer or musician, just a guy who drove an ambulance. I gave her my email, but she didn't write. I had only met her once and taken her for a motorcycle ride. I think she fell for me at the time, but I don't think she loved me anymore. At's OK. I was just thinking about Alice's restaurant.

Dear Death, I hope you cut your fucking foot off

2008-11-16T14:42:00.000-08:00

So there is a man I know, not well but better than I would, due to the sorrow of some mutual friends. Friends whose grief rose higher this week as this man came closer to solving the hideous mystery which lurks close by a person's final breath. A person dying from the injuries of brain lesions, a rather dressed up name for Cancer, will often take on a characteristic breathing pattern called Chayne-Stokes where the comatose patient will start breathing in a ragged rhythm which builds to a crescendo and stops cold, long enough to cause a few tired eyes to raise and then it starts again. Why is it we think on the subject of death for most of our life yet at the end so few want to pass? Indeed there is no line jumping in that final waiting room and I in my role as a medical handy man have seen no end of persons rise from varying periods of clinical death and try for another few hours; sometimes weeks or even a year or so. I've laid the electric on a stone dead man at a square dance only to have him try and rejoin the line, just like a car with a slightly low battery, he just needed a little jump. I've laid the car analogy on plenty of docs down the years and everyone has gotten all snooty on the subject. All the more reason you should stay away from most doctors, I'd say. Nope, people are so happy staying alive, the body has to make up some solid gold 50 caliber machine gun diseases that will not only take you out but make you wish you were already gone. And that brings me back around to my sort of friend Ed the banjo guy. He had had cancer for four years or more and finally the disease just bashed him with a big hammer to the brain. So Ed's on the other side now and if there is anything there worthwhile he knows it and we don't.
And as far as spooky skeleton in the picture is concerned, if he were to lose a foot due to misstep with that big cradle scythe we all might gain some good time. I'm all for a good time and I meant that pun about the scythe too. Now get out of here before someone else gets killed. OK? Fine

The big blowhard

2008-11-07T20:02:00.000-08:00

This fellow whom I know fairly well, has abruptly lost his weekly radio show. It was an hour which he paid for by providing advertising and web service to the station. Easy for him, as he owns a successful Internet design and hosting business. I understand that he prefaced each broadcast by saying the content was his opinion and in no way represented the views of the station or it's advertisers. Pretty standard free speech fare. Along with the show the man also did some sports related thing with a local HS football team where he was a big booster. Well, he wants to know why he was chucked off the air. The station in question is a tiny AM that you can barely get in some parts of the county, however; with atmospheric skip it is often picked up in Norway and other points in the great Atlantic Ocean Sea.
After digging around a bit, I have come to the conclusion that the broadcaster in question was dumped for trying to emulate blowhard talk radio. You know that Rush Limbaugh thing. Now I would like to be 100% certain about this, but I have to admit to never tuning in his show. Here's why. When I was doing some much needed work for his company, he began to needle me a bit about being a "liberal musician" well I fired back that I was a damn war vet, and I could run down an impressive list of fire arms. The guy was a gun nut. I also took my brother in law, Cabbage, to see him and Cabbage knows more about guns than anyone, so there. Well that was before the elections got in gear, but once the did, everyone on the general employee list, and don't forget this is a design company with and African American male as head designer, everyone started getting the most egregious anti Clinton and Obanma "stuff". I mean all the time and the real crap, plus once the nomination went to Obama it was a constant stream of Obama's the leader of Arab terror and all that other scare crap that was prevalent here in the south. And this is going out to customers and friends and employees. More than a few did not care for it.

Now I said in a recent post that I though people were pretty much over that. Well my buddy Mr. X just didn't see it and while that two bit little station will broadcast other right wing stuff, they are doing it for green money, while the tangible dollar worth of Internet presence is definitely undergoing a reevaluation in these troubled times.

I guess it all comes down to the fact that if you want to push the limit of free speech in the name of the mean spirit, you are just going to have to blow a little less BS if you want to get on the air. Oh, I'm a free speech guy alright, but my ears are just tuned to a frequency of polite discussion at the moment. It's good to be an officer in the realm of reason.

The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down ( a new track)

2008-11-04T21:01:00.000-08:00

Hi, I feel like ringing a bell and singing la la... You know how that song goes.
Well, it's a sad song and one written ease the blood up in a southerner until he or she gets julep-eyed and falls into that particular state of mind which exists in all white people born below The Line. "The Southern Thing" I admit to falling victim to The Southern Thing or "TST" many times. People down south make quite an issue about it; in fact there is even a tag line that goes; It's a Southern thing; "You wouldn't understand." that gets put on various things like coffee cups and T-shirts. They sell them right next to the logo of the rebel soldier with his flag and long beard who proclaims, "Forget? Hell!" This is convenient because that whole "Forget? Hell!" business is "A Southern thing,..." Get the picture?

OK? Fine. Now I am a Southerner, born a few blocks from where the very first shot of The War between The States was fired and around the corner from the doctor's house where they took the fellow to die. Shortly after this, my neighbors would have day tripped to Manassas to watch the US Army route the rebels and when that didn't happen, they soon found that living in that particular slice of The Commonwealth would separate them forever from the true antebellum south. Never the less, after living in NC and FL for many years, you may be certain "I understand." If fact I understand so much that when I figured out that Senators Clinton and Obama were to run for the Democratic nomination. I said, "God dammit , the party has a chance to sweep into office and they come up with a woman whom most people in the south can't stand and a colored guy." That's right; a "colored guy". And for the first time in my life, I thought I might just have to vote Republican and John McCain seemed like a presidential fellow. Well, that was a couple of years ago and I listened and realized that both Clinton and Obama were on the ball and I started liking Obama's message and the fact that he seemed cosmopolitan in a world that had to be getting tired of The US telling everyone how it was going to go. I became a supporter.

Last night, as I saw the results start to come in and the pundits with their complex math were saying Obama could win, all I saw was a whole line of the old south going for McCain, AL, MS, KY, AR, TN and Texas, and I felt the old racial thing stir in my gut. But wait! The Commonwealth of Virginia, a state who had not voted Democrat in 40 years went blue and then FL, the place where I live and have had to put up with all manner of racial crap, is blue too.
NC, still undecided but deadlocked with Obama showing the slight lead. Important, battleground, states coming through and driving old Dixie not necessarily "down" but in a different direction.

Now what. I am happy with the results, but at the same time a bit nervous due to a penchant this country has for letting good guys take a bullet. I would really like to have seen Texas and Alabama go blue because down there and here in FL as well, there live very rich reclusive old men who are the direct descendants of families who owned large numbers of slaves from Africa. These guys are quite serious on the subject of race and keeping the black person from breaking out. That the black person broke out a long time ago does not register in the within the bourbon colored paneled walls where old southern power seethes. I believe that these men killed the Kennedy's and Dr. King, and they did it simply because it embarrassed them and their political power base to have federal troops walking little children to school where grown men and women shouted the worst obscenities at a little girl with ribbons in her braids, and, it was on TV, in Black and White-like a war.
(well it's a southern thing, you wouldn't understand; Forget? Hell!) I bet you get it now.

So there. I want some peace and common sense to play over the land. I don't want to lose the possibility of a rebirth of the Good America in the cloudy conspiracy theory that would enfold us were President Obama to vanish by an assassins trick shot. We just can't allow that, for not only is Obama the person who might help our country rise to a level of a grand society, he is possibly the last president I will vote into office. When I came to be, this country was humming right along. There was a lot of hope. Unfortunately,
big issues of race and gender had to be hammered out and that took time. You were there, I'm sure. Then last night, one of the greatest obsticles between us and our ability to claim status as a truly great nation, just fell right over. No big thing as it turned out. It was just a matter of drawing a few lines with a felt tip pen and running it through a grade scanner like at school and enough people did that in hope that Mr. Obama can deliver the goods.

Hard times are ahead maybe the Republicans know this and that's why they did not field the very best horse (or moose) From where I sit, I can see the "GOP" doing just that. OK, but whatever they did, last night the people took the ball and seem ready to run, sing and ring those bells. Like I said, I'm on that wagon and I'm ready to make some noise.

Surprise her with a...

2008-11-01T13:20:00.000-07:00

Britain's "Bonny" Prince Charley
appears stunned after Jappanese Fertility Priest, Akira "Kendo" Saki causes his penis to achieve "Royal" proportions during an impromptu demonstration of his power. The Prince and his companion, Mrs. Parker-Bowles, were visiting the site of a famous fertility festival held during the final week of October, when Saki, their offical host, grew irritated at a comment made by Charles condemming a procession of rice farmers carrying various fertitlity symbols as "The sort of backward rubbish that keeps the yellow man from acheiving parity with his betters." Saki (shown in the photo after slipping an ornimental bamboo cover over The Princes erection) scolded Charles for his rudeness and told him the "change" would last though the week after which the organ would return to normal proportion. While The Princedremained speechless, Mrs. Parker-Bowles, shown at right, seemed extremely interested in the whole incident.

Scoop Texino

2008-11-01T09:07:00.001-07:00

OK, I guess you could call me a member of the press. I mean I have been reporting the news for quite some time and when I'm getting paid for it or writing under a by-line, I always give it my best shot. What I mean is, I do my level best to be sure
my readers are getting the straight dope in a clear, unclouded format. I've been doing this for a number of years, plus I know plenty of other
journalists, diarists and just plain note takers on the the general 411 and I'd like to say that not a single solitary one of them is guilty of non reportage. That's right, all that stuff you hear about writers not writing important stuff like that thing about the space people who encircle the earth holding the answers to all of our problems but can't make "First Contact" until the USAF promises not to shoot their shuttles down. Well we don't report that because it's not true. Simple as that. You see we writers really do have an important job and it is easy for anyone to do so long as he or she tells the truth.
What is the truth? I'm happy you asked. The truth is simply what you know to be factual or what your common sense of values suggest is the right path.
Here is an example of putting your mind to work in this manner. OK, story #1 is that the CIA is using secret locations to interrogate terror suspects and they might not be being very nice about it. Now story #2 has to do with the FBI supplying young children to certain members of Congress as well as the so-called "Illuminati" for the purpose of satanic rituals involving sex and cannibalism. Now while neither of these stories are the sort of thing I follow, it's pretty obvious that item #1 is verifiable to some extent while if you try to verify #2 you will find yourself being led down pathways of conspiracy that just become less believable at every turn. So while you have these tips of bizarre stories sticking up through the sea of information, a quick look will usually disqualify them while your articles of some worth tend to float around offering different angles of view making them much easier to capture and develop. Still, no matter what you do to explain your reasoning, someone will be trumpeting that the clear evidence of his or her matter is being over looked by the people who write the news. Well it's not. Why? Because of the millions of would be reporters like me with and electronic platform to lay out decent copy and a eye peeled for something, anything, to write . When you look at it that way, you can feel pretty safe that the skies are clear of saucers and Sen. Obama is just a man who wants to be president for the same reason anyone else might. Now sometimes I write strange stuff that is hard to believe. That's not reporting, it's just made up stories used to ease my mind during times of trouble. Just look at it like some kind of poetry and it will make more sense. I hope you will see the difference and keep reading what I have to say. Who knows? One day I might do something important.

Who's Next?

2008-10-31T05:34:00.000-07:00

You know there is something extremely refreshing about knocking off ones enemies and dragging their cheating skin and bones to Miller's Cave. (God help the person who gets lost in there) I'm certainly am not the first person to get my kicks in this manner either, so there is quite a crowd of well preserved dead folk occupying the "Grotto of Ghouls" as it is known to the spelunking set. Well, I can promise that crowd will be getting some 5 star entertainment pretty damn soon, providing I can get my hands on the funny man pictured at left.
That's correct, the halls of horror will ring with ghostly mirth when none other than Jerry Lewis stumbles in for an extended stay. Now don't go saying Aw Texino, why you got to murder Jerry, he is so funny? I know what I'm doing, OK, and it is all for the best. The man is a junkie and I know about that from the inside out and can tell you that junkies are the worst of the earth should all be taken care of with extreme prejudice. You can ask, so how come you are still around Texino? Well, when you look at me, you can see that I am pretty much dead due to the fact that my addiction cost me my self respect and popularity. In other words things that meant the most. So there. Well Jerry Lewis, he still has popularity and quite a bit of respect of all types in Class A spots like France and Vegas. Same goes for another junkie, Mr Rush Limbaugh. So maybe you see why I feel the need to wipe these and a few other of their kind off the earth and into that cave. See, Miller's cave is one of those allegories, in this case, Hell. Something in the chemical makeup causes dead people to stay in very good biological shape given their clinically dead condition. i.e. they are aware, so I find it pleasant to think of these people having to endure the feeling of loss that I deal with every day. It's not like they had no chance to fess up to the public; they just wouldn't, so I get my kicks sending them to my version of hell. An allegory is just an idea you cook up to represent another idea, so what does it matter if I want to pretend I'm spreading the guilt around. It makes me feel better, OK? What's more, this blog is about true stuff and if I don't have any news or clever ideas to go with, I'll just write about how I feel. It may suck but it's not your fault, so you can just go away and then come back in a week and maybe I will have calmed down enough to write some worthy stuff. OK? Fine.

A small space

2008-10-30T07:07:00.000-07:00

I live in small spaces now. I figure I need 1/3 of this bed, all of a bathroom and maybe the kitchen, since it is already small. That means I could really live in a space the size of this room. I wonder If I might sell off the rest of the house? I mean, I just stay in this room and write until a computer call comes in. Then I hit the road like an old fire horse, fix the problem, and come back here. I need to make some sort of adjustment because all my money goes into keeping the house, and, like I said, I don't need it.

Moving on the politics, I think that Obama might lose this election. He should not, but he still might. I would not care so much were it not for S. Palin the Republican VP nominee.

I heard an interesting observation on the radio and it was that the US might gain popularity amongst the Europeans should Sen. Obama get the vote. That made sense seeing that he is more open and urbane than his opponents, Joe six-pack and Betty Beauty parlor. When you think about it, this may not be the best time in history to hire a pair "Real" Americans to navigate the ship of state through the sea of global financial an political unrest. We need someone with a bit of style and not the typical "in your face, we're number 1-USA USA " type of chap.

I would like to point out that although Sen. McCain is trumpeted as a "War Hero" he actually spent the majority of the war in prison. That was probably not particularly nice duty, but compared to what we have learned about our own countries treatment of prisoners with extremely tenuous connections to a terror attack, McCain, who was without a doubt guilty of bombing civilians in their beds got off fairly lightly, in my opinion. Of course what is my opinion worth? Not much I guess, other than to say that secondary to suffering some sort of mental let down in the spring of '68, I was tossed into a prison for 6 months and left at the hands of truly sadistic keepers, who, believing I was crazy, set out to make me more so by "sentencing me to death" and showing up at my cell at midnight with pillowcase hoods and a hangman's noose. They had other games as well, but I won't waste your time other than to say that I may be a little more in tune with forced confinement and torture from a mental and physical standpoint than your average failed mandolinist. It could have something to do with my not needing a lot of space as well.

Well, I guess that's that for now. If you need me, I'll be here-unless they finger me for those canvasser killings. If they do, I'll just use the old Perry Mason "blurt it out in court" excuse: "I had to do it, they were ruining my life!" or the much cooler "I did it for kicks man, you know to get my name in the paper."

OK, perhaps I over reacted.

2008-10-29T13:37:00.000-07:00

So, I went down to the voting house the other day and cast some votes. I was happy to do it because I knew what lay behind the various issues as well as which candidates would likely perform to suit the interests I support. Then I went home.
Everything was fine for 24 hours. Then bright and early Saturday morning,
a herd of Democrats disguised as joggers came trooping down my street.
They knocked on the door! My door! It must have been 3 AM (some place) and woke me from a dream where I had finally found a cure for cancer and was in the process of writing it down, but lost it in the transition to wakefulness, so I was not too happy when I stumbled to the door only to be addressed as someone else. I denied being that person, but that did not stop them. No they stood jogging in place and asked me if I planed to vote? I told them I had already done so and therefore we had nothing to talk about, goodbye. Well, it should have happened that way, but no. They wanted to know whom I voted for. I said, "my business" They got snotty like it was no big deal. It is a big deal. When I was married, my wife worried about my overreactions, so she had removed all the weapons from the house. Now that she is gone, I have gotten hold of some more, as is my right and since I felt that the Democratic jogging canvassers were violating my right to a secret ballot by inferring that being a registered member of that party I had voted the party line and going so far as to write it down in a book, I had no problem what so ever in gunning them down, one and all. Oh yeah, then I dragged their cheating skin and bones to Miller's Cave. You may note I've made some life style changes. Things are going pretty well for the time being. I mean I'm back at the house and not lost in millers cave . I'll try and keep writing but right now isn't a good time being alone and laying low. After the election things might ease up. If the republicans win, I hardly think they will notice a few missing democrat workers. I figure either way Ill be good to go.

Voting, do or die

2008-10-20T21:15:00.000-07:00

I stopped at a friend's house a few days ago to check on a computer issue. Instead of finding her in her office in the back, she was on the door step being harangued by a canvasser for the Democrats who was loudly checking the family facts in aid of getting all the enfranchised members to the polls ASAP. The woman asked me if I was the Mr. but I muttered that I was not a citizen and she immediately disappeared me from her line of site and kicked me out of mind. I instantly regretted my lie and wished I had offered to sell her my vote instead. You know, just to see.

Now what I am about here is where I come from (a world of grace and good manners) One just doesn't go around asking you for whom did you vote? It's a secret you know. Like how much you earn. At least it is supposed to be. Now I'm getting pummeled to get out and vote right now and it's still October. Also the feeling is that if you do vote early you are voting for Obama. Now I don't mind Senator Obama winning, but I like a fair election and I am starting to think that if the News people start up with their exit poles on the early voting and it seems like Obama is winning is that going to keep some Democrats home on election day? It's simply a matter of class and race and racism. If the middle class white Democrats see what looks like mobs of Blacks and Hispanics being herded to the poles to give Obama the early push is there a danger that the Republican code word that he (Obama) is not like "Us" may start to ring true over a quiet glass of bourbon? I would worry a lot more if McCain had a stronger running mate. Still, I don't like people in my face and as a registered Democrat, I can vote for whomever I please and I'll get myself to the poles thank you. Lastly as a Southerner, I know there are a lot of people who do not believe that, Negros, Blacks or African Americans are capable. It is a sad situation, but it is true. I only hope the creepy monster, Racism, that killed the Kennedy's and King and scared LBJ out of the White house, has died enough generational deaths to become diluted to the point of impotency, so the measure of a man may be taken without his being burdened by the chains of irrational hatred. I wish for the very best, but still I fear the worst has equal footing. To that end, I think I'll vote early and then shun any media input until the election has passed. Perhaps this time we may employ a visionary who can lead us into the glow of respect which our country definitely needs in these dark times. I truly hope so because I do believe that "More of the same", and just a little bit
of it will put us in such a dreadful spin that I'll not live to see recovery. And there is the rub. We, the children of the high hopes brought by the Kennedy years were robbed blind and wouldn't it be swell if we could ride out of here
with a last breath of hope, that the future might hold some bright moments?

From the files of Doctor Texino!

2008-10-20T17:40:00.000-07:00

Howdy folks, this is Doctor Texino and I'd like to tell you a true story about some decidedly non-Christian hi-jinks that caused a particular pastor a great deal of embarrassment. A situation made sweeter due to the pompous position he insisted on taking before he had the facts of the matter in hand.

This incident occurred at the JFK Memorial Hospital in Lake Worth, FL on a Friday afternoon in the spring of 1977. JFK was not particularly busy, being a small hospital. It did have a minor claim to fame though for being the very first memorial building named for the late president. Having been in the process of dedication at the moment in time he was gunned down, the City Fathers of the Palm Beach County town had jumped right on it, and that was that.

I was on duty in the ER when we received a ring down that an ambulance was in route and to contact them on the medical channel. A nurse did and the rescue said they were bringing 27 year old female complaining of abdominal discomfort and that she was stable. That was all they would say and when asked for a more detailed history they said they needed to relate it to the ER staff when they arrived. It seemed a little odd, but the medics were good and we didn't give it much thought. The unit arrived in a few minutes
and brought a woman in on their stretcher who was lying left lateral recumbent (on her left side) and had the sheet pulled over her head like a dead person. I snagged the lead medic and asked he what the hell this was all about. She answered that I should probably send one of the female nurses in because the woman was very embarrassed and upset secondary to having a foreign body in her rectum. Oh, I see. Well, I ordered a portable x-ray and sent the head nurse in the get the story. OK? Fine. Well, the film came back before the nurse and damn if this woman did not have one of those hollow plastic candy canes that come full of hard candies at Christmas-time and it was lodged to they "crook" up her butt. By this time, the nurse had returned with the history which was the lady had been masturbating and had inserted the object to simulate anal intercourse. She said that her husband was away but was returning that afternoon and she was extremely nervous that he would find out. Well, you learn not to be judgemental in a clinical situation, but this was certainly one for the books and I knew that X-Ray film would make it into the radiologists hall of fame. Another thing was this sort of foreign body situation was a surgical problem. In other words, you could not just pull it out because it had created a suction and even though that area of the body is fairly elastic, it is also extremely vascular and you don't want to be tearing anything. Chances were that a surgeon could get it without going to the OR, and protocol demanded one be consulted, so the call was put in.

After the patient had been reassured, all was quiet. Back in our office everyone had a little smile about it and brought up other cases for comparison. Suddenly however, a commotion was heard from the area of the admitting desk and a call for security followed. Well, of course, the whole ER staff ran out to see the matter and were confronted by a very self possessed fat man who was hurling demands at full speed. "Where was his wife?" "Why was she here and not at the fancy rich folks hospital?" "Produce her right away" "He was the Rev. X from (large conservative Baptist church) and he wanted to see the administrator etc. What a rude man! Well, I introduced my self and asked him to please calm down and we would discuss his wife. I really wanted to protect this poor lady but nothing would do, he was going to get to the bottom of this mess. At which time he pushed past me and burst into the exam room where we had put his wife for privacy. Silence.

Well when next we saw the raging preacher he had gone white as a sheet and seemed to have shrunk several sizes. He went to a waiting area and sat hiding his face until some fussy men and women came and hustled him away. I left JFK shortly afterwards to take a job in the Northwest, so I never found out if there were repercussions, though I do know the surgeon on call had been able to retrieve the objet d' butt with no trouble. I need not elaborate on that, but I guess I might mention one reason that the Preacher had been so troubled on finding out his young wife's difficulty. You see he was a local and noisy conservative with a TV show that mixed God with politics and, at the time, The JFK Memorial Hospital was owned by one of Lake Worth's largest employers. The National Enquirer.

Well folks, that's another case from the files of Dr. Texino. All these stories are true, however; for the sake of propriety, we don't mention any names.
(Unless, of course, there is the chance of making a buck) So until the next time. Adios.

He's Back.

2008-10-19T18:20:00.000-07:00

He, in this instance, is somebody who has a connection to the home across the yard and behind the fence from me. Now ,the thing is, the house is quiet as a tomb all year long. They have a pool, but I hear no splashing. I have neither smelled smoke from their chimney nor seen the fire of a Bar B Que winking through the fence. But come football season, this maniac is turned loose and whenever a game is on television this guy bellows like a buffalo during every single play. In fact, it is almost as if he is rooting for both teams. Now this guy, we call him "Mr. Touchdown" is so loud that we have to close the windows when he's in action, and that's a shame, as this is the time of year when the wind blows a little coolness in and the AC shuts off and the power bill goes down. It can be very pleasant, however; when Mr. T. is on the scene everything goes to hell. Now, I'm not a cranky old man and I think a little team spirit is a good thing but when I think about Mr. Touchdown (I have never see his face) I imagine a person who may well be painted teal and gold or is wearing a large foam hand with the index pointing out that "We're No. 1" or both. The kind of person who would get with some other like minded creatures and paint some sort of word on their collective belly's and show it to the world by removing their shirts at some freezing stadium. I'm not certain there are any freezing stadia anymore because owing to some odd turn of my brain, I have lost my football interest. In fact I don't think I've seen a game in almost 10 years. It's funny because while I never had the enthusiasm of Mr. Touchdown, I used to get pretty worked up over my team The Washington Redskins. Actually, I'm more than a bit surprised that our football monster is back because during last years play offs, it certainly seemed as if he would die of apoplexy. I guess he didn't because he is breaking the night right now screaming Go! Go ! Go! Go! Go!/ the wind blew the french window closed and cut him off. If you will excuse me, I'm going to go and see what I can find about the old Redskin marching band. They still have a band I think, but I don't believe they march around in white fringed Indian costumes like they did when I was a kid. I'd like to find a picture of that.

Evidently, size can be an issue.

2008-10-17T07:25:00.000-07:00

Hi Texino here, and I would like to comment about what seems, to me, to be a disturbing trend
on the internet. Every time I open a web site I am assailed by the off handed question "Do you want a bigger penis?" I will say that this query is totally out of context, since I am not visiting Porn sites or anything to do with anatomy for that matter. What's more, if I don't get this flashing inquiry, I tend to be shown a picture of a
wide-eyed young woman who, btw, looks a lot like my daughter, accompanied by the caption;
"Surprise her with a bigger penis!" Actually, to my mind, the girl's expression conveys the sort of surprise that would register if she were the one who suddenly was blessed with the appendage size not withstanding. All this nonsense has led me to investigate and come to the conclusion that there is an over the counter pill which is supposed to make your dick bigger and, in turn, put you in better stead in the love bed. Funny, I can't say that I have ever thought about size when it comes to sex. I mean what I have has proven sufficient at producing children who are handsome, do not use drugs, put themselves through college and then leave me alone. Other than procreational sex, I have put a good amount of work into the recreational variety and shared the sweet favors of more than a few women, each of whom I loved totally. Unfortunately many of these true love affairs ran concurrently and that led me into major difficulties trying to sustain long term relationships. But we talk of times long past, and that brings me back to the main point. Why in Hell are they trying to sell me dick pills now? I'm 61 years old for Gods sake and I'm not about to pop some OTC pill and hit the street hoping to surprise some poor woman with my new found secret. How's that supposed to work anyway? Do you go to some place where lonely hearts meet and tell some friendly lady about this amazing pill? Or maybe you sit around and shift positions saying "Excuse me, but my penis is growing as we speak; surprising isn't it?" Well, I just don't know. You can call me a dirty old geezer if you like, but I would direct you to the attached photo which shows bizarre geezer Pres. H. S. Truman showing a keen interest in a decidedly phallic display as former Nazi, DR. Werner Von Braun looks on. It is obvious that these two guys do not hold to the Texino Theory of crafty love making which employs all manner of tenderness and quasi legal technique and instead are going with the monster or "More is More" philosophy. The choice, of course, would lie with the individual. So maybe we should just view this as a public service message; you know like, Objects may be bigger than they first appear or something along that line. Mr. Texino says, Take care.

2008-10-16T12:21:00.000-07:00

The Great Bus Metaphor

2008-10-09T17:10:00.000-07:00

The Canadians would not play my podcast last week because I mentioned cannibalism. I think the context had to do with Zombies and how you really couldn't get a decent Zombie from someone if a cannibal had cracked their bones and this may have had something to do with a desire that someone might eat Sarah Palin to that extent. Anyway, it got me thinking about living an active life as opposed to waiting for a bus. I have waited for a few buses in my time but mostly I have spent my time in some sort of action. If you just met me, you might find this hard to believe, as I am sort of a slug today, but I'm sort of at the end of my active life now. Before I got here, however, I was definitely not a bus rider. I think that, compared to most people, I have had a rather exciting life. I worked hard at many different jobs and really enjoyed meeting the people I came in contact with. Everyone has a good story and I became good at getting them to tell it. It has been said that everyone has a book in them. In my opinion, being a good author is getting those stories from as many folks as you can and then finding out that everyone is a usable character somewhere down the line. I would have liked to make a good book for people to read, but by the time I understood how to go about it, I got too tired.

When I was a little boy, one of the old people who lived in my house used to sing an Irving Berlin song about a soldier who did not like to get up in the morning. At the end of the tune, the GI said that "someone was going to murder the bugler" and after that happened, he would spend the rest of his life in bed. Having been in the Army, I could understand that desire and after 25 some years of getting called out at all hours during my time in EMS, when it came time to retire, I found myself in bed. Now this had something to do with a glitch during heart surgery and also some bad luck which caused further brain troubles and to tell the truth, what with my laptop and library, bed's a nice place. Thing is, no matter what I read about, I've seen something worse in real life, so if I just lodge down in the covers and close my eyes I can usually make up a happy story and slip right off. I guess if I keep it in mind not to board any buses while in dreamland I may have a few more years of active rest right here. Only thing about that bus. They never shut if off and some nights you will hear it idling and wonder just how long you might have before they put it in gear. On the other hand, some of those buses are real palaces on the inside while others, you are lucky to find a seat. There is always got to be a fucking mystery behind this manner of thought. Hell, if you miss-time your boarding you might get run down in the road and eaten by scavengers who will most likely crack your bones. Then where are you?

Taking dope is risky business as evidenced by GWB

2008-10-06T19:22:00.000-07:00

Hello, it is Tommy Texino and I want to talk to you about drugs. Specifically Cocaine. Have you ever taken cocaine? Hmm...Well I have taken it it more times than I can remember but I don't take it anymore because it is very expensive and the stuff around here really isn't that good. Besides all that, I've just grown out of wanting to drink and take dope, so I just don't, however; I think that G.W. Bush does. That's right. The voice that keeps whining from the radio saying we need to give 700 billion dollars to ourselves. That G.W. Bush, The President.

Why? Well, he has a history of alcohol and drug use and he never denies it or brags about being sober like a reformed drunk or 12 step person would. Now if you have ever taken really good cocaine you know that it makes you feel very positive about things, even things that are not such a good idea. I mean for every stupid move that The President has made, I can see why it might have made sense if you happened to be coked to the gills on some good flake and maybe some decent champagne or a good whiskey buzz. Really. Pushing that 700 Billion dollar mess? No big thing when you feel invincible. And that's the thing; blow makes you go! I'm talking the good stuff of course. That crap you get at the bar is totally half-assed. I imagine Sarah Palin gets her shit at some fisherman's joint. I doubt if Bush is sharing. In fact, I don't think I've seen W around the campaign all that much. Still, while we may ready for the last of Bush, we got to keep an eye out for Palin. I figure McCain is a dead man walking and it looks as though he can't reign Palin in and if that gal gets up with W. Bush and they "Party" Well figure it out. McCain kicks and Palin gets to be the president and W. is holding the dope. Who will really be the president? The answer is, whomever is really the president now and God only knows who that might be. Kind of makes me want to head down town, you now what I'm saying? The way this deal is playing out, I may just need a gram and a dram. Of course if Obama wins, I'll stay sober and hope we get the changes he's talked about.

This Lady is a piece of ...

2008-10-05T12:27:00.000-07:00

That's right. Sarah Palin Gov. of Alaska and VP candidate for the Republican Presidential Campaign is basically ,well really, you know, OK, she's a piece of shit. You think that's not an apt description? Well, while she obviously is not a giant bowel movement, she, IMO, fits the definition of the colloquial P.O.S. Here is why.

You see that picture? What the P.O.S. is doing right there is explaining that Democratic Candidate, Barack Obama "doesn't see America like "We" do. By "we" the P.O.S. means White People. Then she says that Sen. Obama pals around with "Terrorists". OK. What the P.O.S. is talking about is that Obama once worked on the same housing board as a guy who was at one time a member of the Weather Underground who, if they did any terrorism at all did it when Barack was a little baby. So that makes Palin a lying Piece of Shit in any one's book. I'm really sorry for the language, but I am mad. Fucking pissed off to the Max Mad. Mad that this P.O.S. is going around telling lies and making racist points and it is possible that stupid white people are going to start thinking "Do we really want a negro president?" After all, goofy old white guys have been president for ever, right? Maybe so, and they have had some bimbo VPs as well, think Dan Quayle. So right when we really need a change that a sharp thinker like Obama could bring, they haul out this loud mouth P.O.S. to spread lies and racist undertones while McCain just sits around looking like someone who we are used to having in the white house. FOR GOD'S SAKE PEOPLE WE HAVE GOT TO RUN THIS REPUBLICAN TICKET SO FAR INTO THE GROUND THAT IT WILL TAKE 12 YEARS TO RECOVER! It's really our only hope. Someone must reach out and slap that smug look of Palin's face and back flush her to where she came from. VOTE!

It's "Hoss" not "Horse"

2008-10-03T17:32:00.001-07:00

I guess that you people wouldn't think that I, Texino, would be buddies with Eric "Hoss" Cartwright, but think again. Really, how many chicken dinners do you think it would take to get a guy like Hoss on your side? Well the answer is two.

I was riding the range out Nevada way, when I came upon the friendly giant. He had been wounded while fighting bushwhackers and was out of his head with fever. Well fortunately, I had a couple of hens on me and my saddle bags were full of ingredients so after giving the big man water and listening to him rave about his dead mother, I fed him two full chicken dinners. (portioned) After that, he was OK and we had coffee.

The next day, he took me home to his ranch to meet his family, but I did not take to their fascist ways and spent most of my visit hanging out with a Chinaman in the cook house making up recipes for chicken cooked Chinaman style. They had no chickens in China back then, so this Hop Sing guy (The Chinaman) must have sent some back home because there are quite a few chicken dishes in Chinese cooking now. I guess you might say that I was sort of the Johnny Appleseed of Chickens. Funny how you could take a bird that was previously only used for helping women deal with life in the pre-suffrage era (they just chopped the head off to let off steam, although it occasionally went a bit farther-see the case of Massachusetts vs. L. Borden) and for it's feathers, and turn it into one of the most popular and imitated tastes in the world.
Please remember that anytime someone says "It taste like Chicken" that were it not for me, it would have been someone else whom you don't know.

As for the Cartwrights, other than Hoss and Hop Sing, I didn't like the others and they didn't like me. I believe that the Ponderosa may have been the birthing chair of the Right Wing
Republican Party. They loved their (Portioned) chicken dinners though.

The Man who invented the chicken dinner.

2008-10-01T15:54:00.000-07:00

Looks good doesn't it? Damn right it does! Ever wonder where the chicken dinner came from? Your mom? Grand Mother? Oh they cooked them I'm sure and, no doubt, they did a fine job. But, did you ever stop to think whose idea it was to take a chicken to pieces, cook it and then serve it up with a double starch and some greens? Well, I'm here to say that I'm the guy. That's right. Me, Tomas Benito Texino, El Niño the inventor of the modern chicken dinner. Huzzah times three and a big trombone riff! For truth! Now, I know you ladies. (boy do I) and right now you are saying something to your selves along these lines. "That Goddamn Texino is so full of beans!" "Why my female forebears were chopping the heads off chickens when he was a scumdrop* at the bottom of the Panama Canal." (*note; "Scumdrop" is a Texino word.) Well OK fine, so yer grannies were killing chickens. Of course they were. How in hell do you suppose those poor women kept from murdering whole sections of town what with all the crap they had to put up with as second class citizens who just happened to be more intelligent than the guys running the show. Hey sisters, I'm with you all the way! I just happen to have created the portioned chicken dinner as we know it today and there is not a thing I can do about changing that. I mean it is not like I am asking for a monument of me examining the future with my gaze while holding a plump hen. I just want a little respect. I mean, I may have been born yesterday, but it was 61 years ago and I can tell when I'm being left out. No it would have been pretty easy for certain people whom I love to just drop me a simple line of congratulation of completing one more year, but no couldn't do that. We OK, fine. Keep your greetings to your self because as the inventor of the portioned chicken dinner, I have too many responsibilities to worry about without letting a couple of snubs by the most important people in my entire world get to me. I mean we have all manner of media functions to attend, for when you have done something of such magnitude ( as invent the portioned chicken dinner) your influence reaches far beyond the coop. We have potatoes and squash, Lima's, applesauce and countless other avenues to put in our shadow. Not to mention a nice pie for desert.

OK, got to go now. We are working on something new in the area between cheese and milk and I for one, am too fucking excited to care about anything else right now.

The Pain from Spain or, A trip to the dentist.

2008-09-29T17:36:00.000-07:00

Is it safe? That is the question I was asking my self at 0300 this morning as I lay a bed suffering from an abscess in my lower jaw. Of course that is the famous line delivered by Sir Lawrence Olivier to Dustin Hoffman in the film "Marathon Man" before and during the most chilling and visceral torture scene ever. "Is it safe? ",asks the kindly old man as he probes Hoffman's dental field til he finds a small cavity. Then the bastard lets him have it right down to the root with one of those picks that dentists use and Dustin about levitates. I never liked the dentist much in the first place, but after seeing that film, well two things: I've tried to keep holes out of my teeth and have know for certain that torture is really fucked up because "They can make you talk." I mean I know ways to hide a secret, but if someone really want's you to confess to some thing, they'll have you singing like a bird pretty damn quick. Anyway, last night, I felt as though Sir Larry had been at me for a couple of hours and even though I had some oil of clove, it was not working any magic like it did in that film. So, this morning I got up and took my medicines and by fortune some of them knocked the pain down. Still, I know the signs of an abscess and it can be dangerous what with your teeth being close by your brain, so I called the dentist and they said come on down. So I did. It wasn't so bad. My dentist is a whiz with Lidocaine and he can give you multiple shots without your feeling it. The tooth in question was one that had broken during one of my famous seizures and it had to come out. Pretty nasty but it didn't hurt too much at the time. It does now but not like it did. Now I just need a root canal on the tooth next door and I'll be good to go. That whole Dental thing is weird though. It's really the last part of medicine that involves torturous devices on a regular basis. The modern dental setup is designed where the assistant sits behind you and you can't see what she is getting ready to hand the Doc. This is just as well because even though they have digital x-ray and all sort of technical marvels. dentists still use all sort of clamps and levers the do their dirty work. It would seem as though medicine could come up with a sealant that would go on a persons teeth once the permanent set showed up. Do that and then the dentist can all become jewelers which is what a lot of them do for fun anyway. Then they could ditch the "Inquesition" tools for good.

Remember that film? Well turned out it was not safe because Dustin screwed up the timing of the bad dentist who, by the way was also a Holocaust Monster, and all of a sudden he's in the diamond district in NYC where there is no shortage of Jews, a lot of whom recognize the Doc from back in the day and the word gets out on the street. Things don't end up too good for the ex-Nazi.

Well that's that. After spending the last few years in bed, it was fun to get out even if a little torture was on the menu. Hope to talk again soon.

Honest Injun

2008-09-27T13:37:00.001-07:00

Sometimes I wish I could just say fuck this honesty crap and just sleaze down the road like a lot of other people do. Like today, for instance, I was fixing a computer
and I made a mistake. Then I made another mistake and fried the mother board.
Now this machine wasn't working when I took it in, so I could just tell the guy the board was shot, but no. Instead, I'm giving him the computer that I use for my studio because it's the same type only newer and a brand new one would not run some of the software he uses. I don't really feel good about this, it is just a thing I have to do. Wouldn't occur to me to do anything else. It's important to me that my clients feel that they can count on me. Got to stay true. You don't see very much of that in today's environment. What I mean is with the electioneering going on, it's like "It's OK to lie right now while I claw my way to the top, but after wards, I'll be OK and straight with you all. Honey, I don't buy it. You got to be crazy to want to be president. Obama, a born again visionary; McCain crazy old fucker who thinks he should grow up to be president. I used to sit on top of a bunker in Vietnam watching those jets heading north to bomb Hanoi. They were just flying up there and dropping bombs on the damn city and pissing people off. McCain is lucky the Dinks didn't chop his head off. I mean how would you feel if Florida and Georgia were arguing over some land and China started dropping bombs on Atlanta or Orlando.
They would most likely do Atlanta because they like Mickey Mouse too much. People don't know Jack aboout Vietnam either. Take Jane Fonda. She goes to Hanoi and has her picture taken. OK? Well every place she goes it's like some Anti-Aircraft installation, plus she went to see the prisoners, like McCain at the "Hanoi Hilton" which at the time the US did not know where it was. Now a bunch of dipsticks can call her a traitor, but I call it pretty good intel. People just don't use their brains very much. Not that I do such a great job myself, but I am always thinking and I love my friends very much, including the ones who are cross with me.
I'll be 61 on tuesday. I have given over celebrating. I had hoped that my friends might have noticed my turning 60 but I am too far out of the personal loop for that I guess. Looking back on the year it's funny. Last year at this time I was really full of hope musically. I was getting a new mandolin and had big plans for recording. Then right about now, I was Dx with Parkinson's plus Partial seizures. I started of medication that just flushed all the spontaneity from my life, I did not get the mandolin for six more months and then unfortunate issues came up which I did not handle well, and now the instrument has been put away for good. Recently, the doctors decided that maybe the reason I was laying up so much was because my heart was only beating around 40 times a minute. They want to put a pacemaker in me. I asked for a change in medicine and got it. Now, after two days on the new pill, I feel like I could lift a small motor car and today I spent the entire day on the go without lying in bed at all. That is a big deal. It would be a great deal if I hadn't of fried that circuit board. I guess I'm OK. Sure feel better than I did when I was taking that other pill. Possibly my head's getting more oxygen now that the heart is beating normally. Hell, if I don't die of old age, I might actully do something worthy. Watch this space.

Hello Columbus

2008-09-23T16:59:00.000-07:00

Hi, I was just lying here on the bed thinking about how many times I had met Christoper Columbus, the Admiral of the Ocean Seas and the Lewis or Clarke of his day. Three times is the number, for the Admiral was a frequent guest of Captain Patrick Henry and his wife Sue who were neighbors of ours back in VA. The Henry's had lots of parties and if I hung over the fence long enough I'd be introduced to someone important. Columbus wore deep green velveteen with tights and puffy shorts a hat like a cake. He carried a stick with a silver tip and a carved likeness of Neptune for it's head.
Each time we met he would show me the carving of the staff and say "You know who this is boy?" "He is King of all sea and you gotta respect him." Truth is Columbus died a long time before Capt and Mrs Henry ever had a party. Still I remember standing by the back fence in the early 60s dangling my hand across the boundary like a bait fish and having it tapped by the admiral's stick followed by the Neptune statement. Of course this is probably a hallucination from my PD pills. I think I may have mentioned the thing about the books reading to me and other stuff. It's a weird feeling. I remember back when people in my circle were first getting high on pot, someone would always say "This is not like being drunk". Well having PD is just like being drunk. I even have a card to carry and it has "I'm not drunk, I have Parkinson's Disease." written on it in big letters. Last night, it seemed I was back in VA. spying on the Henry's party and there in the glow of the hurricane lamps stood Columbus holding the gathering in his thrall while making a point with an orange. Party tricks. I'll be needing a nap

My Man Wisdom Paradise

2008-09-22T12:13:00.000-07:00

Yes indeed, that's Wisdom right there. He's down in Fort Lauderdale directing light workers in a battle against the fear based storms set upon us by the "Dark Side." (Hurricanes) What Wisdom suggests is that you surround these storms of fear and sweep them with your golden brooms into the Gulf of Mexico. Once there, you should concentrate on dumping tons of ice into the center of the storm to calm it down. Even though Hurricanes have been beating the crap out of the Caribbean and various Gulf coastal areas so far this season, Mr. Paradise claims it would be a lot worse were it not for his love based tactics. What a croon. Oh yeah, before I forget. Wisdom Paradise loves you. How much? Enough to let you in on this secret advance fee loan scheme he has going. Here's the deal. Wisdom's higher self created this thing called the Aloha Success Club, a little investment deal that he guarantee's will pay off by year's end at a rate of 50:1. The minimum "loan" is $500 and the max is $10,000. Wisdom says since the "loan" is already made you have no risk. Of course this scam is used a lot. It's called the Prime Bank or HYIP scam and the people say that there are special prime bank loans available where big banks can loan money at shot term for high gain. It sounds plausible but with big banks failing all over the place it is obvious BS. Anyway, the scammer either says he is or knows one of the very few people who can make these loans and if he can raise some cash he can slip it in and let some regular folks get in on the deal. Of course the "loan" never funds. and the scammer keeps coming up with reasons why it will be any day until people just get disgusted or have him arrested. Actually these doesn't happen too often because these scams tend to be put off on people who are fanatic in their beliefs like churches or new age cults. Point of fact, there are thousands of people who lost money in something called the Omega Fund and even though it's leader was arrested and confessed to the whole thing being a swindle and is currently in Federal Prison people believe the the Government is holding their Omega Packages which will be delivered any day and that even though they donated several hundred dollars in cash wrapped in tin foil, the current belief is this "prosperity fund" will be paying millions it not a billion dollars per person! It was though studying this sort of thing on the web for the last few years that I came to the conclusion that the financial system was truly out of control and pulled my money from traditional investments. I didn't have much mind you, but I would have had nothing. At least I have some valuable instruments and a bit of Jewellery.

Back to Wisdom Paradise. There is no way his Aloha Club can fund at 50:1 I'll be watching his site and let you know what he has to say. Did I mention that Wisdom is immortal? Wah Hay!

Keep Smiling Sucker

2008-09-21T20:47:00.000-07:00

OK, so Ms. Winehouse is at it again. Did a festival; was late; stayed up all night trashing the hotel and then having had a bottle of vodka for breakfast, had to be wrapped in a quilt and carried out to a waiting car. Well that's about as much as I can stand, so in aid of saving the world from another terrible star death I'm negotiating to have Winehouse boxed up and shipped to Texas where she will go to work picking cotton on half time and then spend the rest of the day under the guidance and instruction of Miss Martha Stewart at The Martha Stewart Ranch for Wayward Girls and Cotton Exchange. You all know I'll do anything for Miss Stewart. She's been damn good to me in more ways than I'll ever say. I've got my eyes on some more young ladies who might benefit from the Stewart treatment. Miley Ray Cyrus for one. Also that Nut Lindsey Lohan's not fooling me with her "Oh I'm gonna marry a girl" shit. She's a fucking actress and she's putting it over on that Ronson chick big time. Don't think Texino's hip to the Hollywood scene? Well you would be wrong. Sure I write for the Bluegrass rags cause that's where the money is. Don't mean I can't do a little A-listing when I need to. Ciao Kiddos

Funny thing about that email.

2008-09-19T17:33:00.000-07:00

You may have read that those tricksters at Anonymous, whom I have absolutely nothing to do with, have hacked into Gov. Palin's email. Mrs. Palin of course is the Republican Party's surprise candidate for Vice President. My friend Trapper Stetson says Palin is analogous to an orgasm in that, at the moment, everything seems brilliant and wonderful, but then things fall back into perspective rather quickly. At's a pretty good analogy I guess and, what with Trap being a bit of a sex maniac, it makes all the more sense. Personally, I am damn sick of this election and by proxy being dragged into the lowest depths of humanity by smug fat necks because I have kept with my liberal philosopy. To put it politely, fuck those motherfuckers.

Oh the email. Well, I was looking at the list of Gov. Palin's messages and I noticed that every single one seemed to be a sort of letter. How odd is that? These days it is pretty damn difficult to maintain a personal account without receving the odd invitation to earn a million in someone's get rich program or surprise this surpised looking woman with a "bigger penis". On that note I'd like to say that the surprised penis woman looks a lot like my daughter. I don't know if you have gotten this ad, but it shows a clean cut blonde woman in her 30s looking at you as if she had just seen something unexpected but not really scary but maybe a little unerving. I guess since the caption to the add says "Suprise her with a bigger penis!" the look is supposed to convey "Where did you get that big penis?" and "You gonna try to put it in me!!?" "I am not too sure!" Actually, to me it's the sort of look my daughter would get if you gave her a Harley Davidson or a washing machine that ran on atomic power. She wouldn't like it. It's really too bad we don't get along, as I'd love to ask her opinion. Anyway, Mrs. Palin has no spam at all which tells me that her Yahoo account was probably pretty new. This also suggest Palin herself is not that old. Perhaps she is a clone of Ted Nugent and Church Lady. You got to remember, lot of weird stuff goes on up in Alaska. (You might keep this in mind, Clones don't get spammed.)

Well that's it for me and Mrs. P's email. As far as the election, I'm glad that you don't have to tell who you vote for. I've been having some fun (my kind) with canvasers. They come to my house and since Mrs. T. is no longer here, they get me. McCain people: I ask them if Palin is his wife. They say she's the VP. I say, what's that? They explain. I say, hogwash a gal can't be president, it says so in the Constitution and the Bible! The leave. Obama folks: I ask what part of Alabama is he from? They say Obama is his name. I say, that sounds like one of them silly names colored guys make up in prison. They get nervous. I say he looks just like Joe Bidden. They say that is Bidden and this is Obama. I say, but he is a colored guy! They get mad. It's a complex issue here in the south. Black people have an important culture, but it is not particularly high tone. When someone gets to be like Sen. Obama, he or she is no longer black. If you want a real black person for president get B.B. King. I'm not saying he would be the best choice, but he is an actual American Negro where Obama is an actual African/American. I want to see the poverty cycle broken for blacks in the south, but I don't want their magic and soul to be absorbed. I guess I am a racist in that I recognize the difference and respect the sub culture that has given us more that we will ever admit. I have said this before and it's true; I have to live near moving water and black folks they give me stuff that lets me see a long way. I don't think Alaska has much nor does Arizona.

Oh man, those Arabs!

2008-09-17T17:29:00.000-07:00

Now I like hot and dry weather and fresh orange juice as much as the next guy, and a flowing robe with a trick burnoose is more than likely a comfortable garment to wear, while scooting around the desert or lurking in the twisted shadows of a midnight oasis, however; this time those wacky Arabs are pushing my buttons to the point where I want to don my T. E. Lawrence Motor Goggles and invite Ms. Winehouse to a pub crawl in Riyadh. Here is why. One of those pesky Saudi Clerics has put a contract out on Mickey Mouse. (That's Mickey over there) You got it. He put the word on Tom and Jerry too. Not the cartoon hobos who Simon and Garfunkle took their original name from, but the Cat Mouse who are always messing with one another. Actually, I believe this cleric thinks T&J are two mice.
The point behind this, and there is one of course, and of course it has to do with fundamental religion is this: Mice, both live and in pictures are soldiers of Satan. They are unclean and should be killed. According to the holy book of Mus or whatever the Muslim people read (The Koran) "If you have solid food and a mouse gets on it, get rid of the part that the mouse was on-kill the mouse." "If you have liquid food, like soup, and a mouse falls into it, toss it out-kill the mouse." OK fine. Now, what does this have to do with the world's most famous mouse? Well, children love him and because of that, Satan is very happy. Get it? Now, I'm certain this Cleric would really like to burn the eyes out and cut the hands off any child caught wearing mouse ears under his headdress or her garment bag (Arab woman's dress) but the world is not exactly full of real Arabs and they can't afford the wholesale slaughter of their next generation. Ergo, the mouse goes. Thing is, The Mick is pretty well off. In fact if you were to take the Mouse money and hook it up with the McDuck fortune, you could probably put a mortgage on the House of Saudi. I mean go ahead and burn all the flags you want, we can get more from the great flag houses of China, but don't for one minute start messing with the leader of the club. Know what I'm saying? Your kids can't tell the difference between a plague rat and a cartoon character? Time to get out of the sun my man. I like everyone to the point of giving him or her an even break, but this destructive stone age philosophy has got to go before someone gets pissed off enough to push a button and doom the day. Should that happen all the mice, rats and other unclean things you postulate will truly be something to fear. Take that Johnny Arab!

Edditing out hallucinations

2008-09-14T20:15:00.000-07:00

I have a feature due tomorrow. I sent it in Friday. The Editor says she has it and is sure it will be fine, but she has not cleared it yet. I know she is very busy and she rarely messes with my stuff. Still, I want to hear that it's good or acceptable and not have to rewrite it tomorrow. I guess that's what happens when you are a low rent journalist. I probably should have started pushing my work earlier because I was a better writer before I started having seizures and taking brain altering drugs for PD. Here is an example. If I am tired and have been reading, I can put the book down and close my eyes and then my brain will start hallucinating a review of the book. This would be OK except the review seldom draws a parallel to what the book is about. For instance, I may be reading about adventures at sea. I put the book down and close my eyes and suddenly my inner voice will start in with something like: "This is a high pressure shot of realism dealing directly with the cutting edge of modern nursing." Or; "Aircraft service at this level is requires an engineering degree as well as the math skills of a leader in the field of optics." and on ad nauseaum until I take some sort of pill or just beat it out of my head by thinking about giant diesel engines. I guess these spells can be a lot worse. I just wonder where they come from. Like, my editor got her eyebrow pierced. I saw it in a picture. We have never met. I wrote and asked her if it represented a hinge and could she open her face? Boy did she get pissed off.
It was just like that movie Annie Hall. Woody Allen does all these things that Diane Keaton thinks are funny. The he tries them on other women and they don't get it. I think I used that open the face gag before some place and it must have worked. It's too bad because I sort of have a crush on my editor, but that's a blown deal now. Oh well, on the other hand I could have just hallucinated the whole issue that it was funny. See what I mean? You got to be careful. Especialy right now because my partner and care giver has decided to take a tour of the great American West and I don't know when she will be back. Being alone in this condition can be a little nerve wracking. I might write here and say whats up but I have the feeling Im not getting read much these days. At's OK. I have to write wheter it gets read or not. It's just the way it is.

Happy Birthday Amy!

2008-09-13T11:09:00.000-07:00

Hi, I am Texino and this is Amy. Even though Amy looks sort of feral, she is, in fact, a recording star. The reason Amy looks so mad in this picture may have to do with her showing up two hours late to perform at her local pub. The place had been packed, but people got tired of waiting and a bunch went home. Well Amy's mad cause they didn't hang around, even though she was two hours late and evidently too drunk to sing . Hmmm. I think someone has some reality based issues. A sad situation to develop on a person who is just 25 years old. Says on the internet that Drs have informed Ms. Winehouse (Amy) that if she doesn't stop smoking, drinking and doing the hootchie-coo, she will die. I wonder if she is taking these warnings to heart? I have heard some music by Amy Winehouse and she has talent. Talent should not be so scary as to do this to a person. I used to smoke and drink too much, so I just stopped. My Talent level stayed up and I didn't feel badly. Thing is, I don't think people really cared so much what I did, while Amy W has a lot of fans. Id hate it to be turning into one of those scenes where folks says how come a bubble head like Texino keeps hanging in there while talented Amy Winehouse passes on. But check it out, I saw a picture of Amy earlier in the evening of the same scene and she seemed like she could not walk and her eye makeup was all scaballated. Now look into her eyes. Beside the obvious fact that she is the love child of Beatle George Harrison and Rolling Stone Mick Jagger, those are not the eyes of a drunken coked out party person. Believe me, I have seen those bad eyes plenty of times looking back at me in the mirror. That girl has her mind on something, be it world domination or the last
nacho, it is hard to tell from this angle. I hope she can hang in long enough to make for an interesting story though. I believe that today it is her Birthday. (25) So now I have Amy Winehouse and "The Box" to keep tabs on. Right now "The Box" is in Ireland. (still full of whiskey) Don't worry I'll keep you informed. It's my trade.

The Box

2008-09-11T17:47:00.000-07:00

Our friends at BBC, the fun TV have got a new reality show here on the internet, and boy am I stoked! The "Box" is a 40' shipping container fitted with a GPS device so we can follow it around for 1 years time and see where it goes and what it takes with it.
Now the Box is red and has got BBS on it just like the icon in the picture. I'm not certain how wise this may turn out because when you click on the box icon, a little menu appears and tells you what's inside. For instance, the box came ashore in South Hampton on 9/8 and to Glasgow on the 10th where it sat empty until today. Now, it is filled with whiskey and will be heading out to Asia (most likely China or Japan) where Scotch is consumed in great quantities. It will be interesting to see how long it takes to get there and if pirates read the Internet and try to get the booze. This is the special report website http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/in_depth/629/629/7600053.stm as the box starts it's first journey. Kind of interesting that it is going all the way back to South Hampton to catch a ship when Glasgow is a fairly big port once famous for it's ship building and turning out fine engineering officers. (eg. Scottie on Star Trek) Of course the days of the triple expansion steam engine are long gone with today's container or "Box" Ships relying on giant diesel engines which run at low RPM but drive the huge ships through the ocean at speeds approaching 30 MPH. The fact that these boats are too large for the Panama Canal causes them to reach the East by traversing some risky waters where Pirates lurk in fast boats which can run up on the large container ship, toss a grapnel and climb up to the deck just like a monkey! Once there, they may take the crew by surprise and rob the ship of cash and cigarettes and if they can get a cargo manifest, possibly break into certain containers of value. So far, the pirates have not harmed too many people on large ships for fear of bringing heavy security into play. The problem exists that the largest merchant ships may not have very large crews, sometimes as few as 10 or 12 and they are loath to shoot it out with marauders preferring to set up guards with fire hoses at several points while passing through areas of known activity. Still, ships using the Red Sea to gain the Suez Canal must pass Somalia which is virtually lawless as well as some areas of the Indian Ocean where sea crime is rampant. All in all modern pirates are not nice and seem to have very bad manners when dealing with smaller boats often killing the people and dumping them overboard. Kind of like pirates of old actually, they just don't take big boats because they are very expensive to run; they buy fuel by the ton and talk about gallons per mile. So, it will be fun to see if the "box" gets where it's headed with all that grog. Now you might be asking yourself, "How does Texino know so much about ships?" Well, I was at one time part of the crew on a boat in New England that went to sea and caught lobsters alive alive o! Then I was a crew member on an actual Tall Ship. But aside from sailing and motor boating like everyone else, I have no idea why I know so much, maybe I went to sea some place else. Stephen Hawking says the fact that gravity is not a constant like electricity is suggests that there are other dimensions and times possibly in parallel or close by our own reality. Could be I escaped. Truth be told. I don't think I am very much like other people. I wish I was, but I'm just not. I don't have time to explain right now. Watch the box.

They're Back

2008-09-04T20:35:00.000-07:00

Yes we have seen these angels before. They have been around this year, hanging out while good people fought to live but did not and, faithful animals were given over because you can do that. I can't say the angels have been much comfort. They just float there in black with their hands welded in the prayer position. I've seen those angels on the old tombs of our fervent forefathers who, running from one religion for another, more of less fierce, would place the angel duet to guard their crumbling bones from Ascension into the wrong Heaven. What an embarrassment to die a strict member of the Society of Friends and wake to the Bar-B-Q howdy of the Southern Baptist. So yeah sticking those angels on your stone makes sense to a certain segment. But not to me and not right now. Here is why. Over the weekend My friend Karen was at the market selling her shirts. She made beautiful shirts. I have some and I wore them all the time when I played music out. My favorite was a green one with Geckos on it. Well, Karen took a pain in her back so she went and got a massage from the massage person at the market. Then she went and sat in her chair. She never got up. Someone realized something was wrong and an ambulance came along and resuscitated her, but she was gone from the standpoint of having brain function.
Life support was discontinued and that was the end. Now those little angels rise up in my mind.
And Karen Donley? A wonderful tailor, mother, wife, friend, artist and all the extra credit those things attract. She left town on a holiday weekend. Oh I hate those times. Tooth ache; car trouble; the need for a doctor or legal council. Holiday weekend will get you every time. I'm going to look for Karen in my dreams. I often run accross departed folks in that ever changing scape and since and am more cross than grieving at the moment I may pick up some information. If not, Ill just be content with the feeling that if there is a place to end up after death I am likely to land in Karen's neighborhood. I'll know by the shirts.

By By B.B.

2008-08-27T19:50:00.000-07:00

I noticed that renown blues stylist Riley B. King is playing fast and loose with life these days. Most notably the master of the modern blues has allowed
T-Bone Burnett, the fellow who got bluegrass all screwed up in that film "Oh Brother..." to produce his latest album "One kind favor". Well as anyone with any knowledge of country blues should know, that "one kind favor" is "to see that my grave is kept clean." It is possible that Riley aka B.B. King has been in the big band business a little too long and has forgotten that white people have a disastrous effect on blues musicians; Notice in the above photo where a "white woman" has put the "mojo" on King and is taking his guitar while he is helplessly entranced. I truly fear that with Burnett involved and the album getting such good reviews, King is liable to end up where a white guy musicologist feels an 82 year old Black Bluesman belongs; dead. I need to try and get in touch with Mr. King and key him in. Me not being 100% white I might have a chance to talk with him without him passing out like he does around other white folks.

Building chopper, a recipe for foolish fun and changing the world!

2008-08-22T07:47:00.000-07:00

Now isn't that sweet? A fellow and his bluebird out for a spin back in 65 and stopping for a beer and a snapshot. Girls took it and had a poster made. They thought I was handsome. I had forgotten about the picture of me on the bobber until I got a call several years ago from the sister of a woman whom I used to date. The woman had died and the original picture was in her stuff. Her sister said there were also lots of my poems from Vietnam and maybe I should come up to NC and get them some time while her husband was off flying his airliner and maybe I should bring some pills if I had any. I asked her to please send the picture. Oh well.

Let me tell you about that bike. It was a 1954 Harley Davidson that was chopped in the Bobtail style. That's where the term chopper comes from. It was a dead man's bike from The DC impound lot It started life as a motorcycle that had a side car/box for delivering auto parts and stuff. Because of that setup you had a clutch on the left floor board and the gear shift on the tank. The back brake was a big pedal on the right board and the front brake was on the handlebar like most motorcycles. Now if you look at this motorcycle, you will note that it has no front brake lever. Why? Well at the time the folks who rode "chopped scooters" found the front brake assemblage to be déclassé and were inclined to replace it with a machined hub called a spoolie. I should mention that a lot of your original bikers worked in machine shops. Now the Bobber in the picture is black and orange. The orange is on the tank and the black lines were made with black tape. Orange and Black are the Harley Davidson colors. The seat on the bike was made from a one-way street sign covered in Naugahyde. It was not "tuck and roll" but something similar and very well done. This bob job was sort of a club project and it was an unspoken understanding that the dead person who had started the project was a black man. The seat was the first thing that we had made and we had big plans to work on the paint job too.

The Bobber had two parts on it called "suicide." The clutch and the shifter. Lets talk about the clutch. Most bikes keep the clutch up on the handlebar and here's why. Bike's got two wheels, so when you stop, down go your feet and you squeeze the clutch. Let it go by accident or because you are high and the bike stalls. Now the bob's got the clutch on your left foot. You roll to a stop put the clutch in, push on the brake forget to put your foot down and you will fall right over. The shifter? Well no one wants that big lever on their custom tank, so you take all that off and attach a ratchet fitting to the gear shaft just like a regular motorcycle has. Trouble is on a bike like the bobber the gear shaft is in back of the motor, so you must weld something to your ratchet top, like a wrench or something else shiny, and reach behind you and down just to shift gears. This is often called a Jockey Shift as well as a suicide shift. The whole deal with making a "chopper" is the bikes had rigid frames with no suspension, so you could get a springer front end and extend it out a bit and hang a 21" spoolie wheel on that then put high bars (ape hangers) on and a big fat rear tire and you were ready to terrorize the white man. Thing is you had to be a bit of a master cyclist to even get the full blown old school chopper to leave the scene of one crime and head for the next. Today's 50k+ bike that you see them build on TV is built to be ridden by, lets say, the 2008 version of Texino assuming he had just a little experience. It's a different world today, a place filled with a numbing sameness that people are happy to believe is something else. Well, I'm sorry but its not the same and I don't mean it in an "in my day we ate squirrel pie and liked it" sort of way. Back in my 1965 I was happy and free and going places where I was not wanted just to make the "Man" feel uncomfortable. Later on whole generations tried that. Didn't work because there was money to be made by then. Punk Rock? The Sex Pistols sold records. Grunge? Nirvana sold records. It's not that you cant be hip these days, you just have to be quick on your feet. Having a technical skill like welding
or programming a computer can really come in handy. Here is a hint. All the binary numbers that computers really like, such as 1,2 ,4,8,16,32,64,128,256,512 and so on are made from 1 and then some zeros. Other numbers are made from 1s and zeros mixed together but computers just recognize two commands, "yes" and "no" or "on" and "off" so when someone writes a program they use a language which can be expressed as strings of numbers which are then compiled into binary numbers which is what the computer reads. That's why it is called a digital computer. Now, I don't think your average Chopper rider of today knows that unless he or she happens to have more that a passing interest in math. I don't mean to brag but I know quite a lot about fluid dynamics and how to compensate for pressure lost within a pipe due to its diameter and how far the fluid has to travel. (its a friction thing) What I really want to say here is that even if you are worthless in the eyes of society for being a certain way, you should
never stop learning stuff. Like it is impossible to do anything with physics without running into people such as Gold, Boyle and Bernoulli. Well these genii came up with some super theories like if you heat up a gas it gets bigger and if you create negative pressure positive pressure will try to fill it. (Nature abhors a vacuum) and other stuff which we take for common sense today.
Well were people less smart 100 years ago? No, but society tends toward conservatism. So in aid of that, I have promised that I will never become conservative and I will look a hard problems in hope of finding a simple answer to a complex issue. I mean doesn't it just make perfect sense that if you have a sealed container of some kind of gas and you heat it up, somethings going to happen? Well, not to over simplify, but what's to stop someone like you or me from figuring out something just as important? Nothing except becoming a grumpy conservative as far as I can tell. Thats it for now.

LIAR

2008-08-20T12:22:00.000-07:00

It occurs that I have not been telling many lies on the blog. I don't like to lie because I used to tell lies on every subject you can think of and now that I have finally reached the end of adolescence at the age of 60 and 11/12 I feel very ashamed about being such a liar. I think I had some sort of mental condition. Why? Well, when I was in Vietnam, I had a very interesting and important job but because it had to do with winning the hearts and minds of the civilian population of that country, I was not supposed to talk about it, so I started writing these letters to my dad about these battles I was in and how we were killing the enemy right up in the wire. Now that was BS. They didn't have too many fights like that and I certainly wasn't in them. Whats more, my father had been a big shot in the Army and he could find out what I was doing (at that time, working in a motor pool) so why would I tell him I was being John Wayne? Fucking liar is why. This has a lot to do with insecurity and now that I've reached my young adulthood, I'll probably do much better. Meanwhile, back in the jungle, I had talked my way into the Civil Affairs detachment and had lots of real adventures like people have in thrillers. Back in the States; I read recently where this army officer retires and says the "The Gadsden Project was the most successful Civil Affairs thing ever in the history of the Army and the high point of his career and what all. OK, fine General Bubble Head, but you were just the C/O of the fire base where the actual people who pulled off the mission came from and went back to when we got tipped off that Viet Cong had put a bounty on our heads of 5K. (Actual money for actual head) How did they know? We had big signs on our bumpers say "Civil Affairs" so we can go in special places in aid of winning hearts and minds and buy stuff for building things on the local economy so the Army could have deniability. But you couldn't write to the folks at home and tell them about that, so I just wrote poetry to girls back there in hope of starting some fires for my return. It didn't occur that I might get damaged and fall through a spiral of terrible rest stops; each one causing me to give up some important memory or bit of pride. That's what happened though and since I had been an insecure liar most all my life, I had very little to start over on. Well I've been pretty straight the last 25 years except for the pill addiction, but I got out of that by my self. You know life is really fucked up when you do not have close friends and you are the sort who needs them. All I wanted to do here, was tell a clever lie like "Most weathermen are left handed" or "Fuel Injected Cars have the gas filler on the driver's side." and then go on to something else. Instead, I had to write a revealing essay about what a weirdo I am which is not likely to gain me any friends. It's the truth though.

Little Help Please.

2008-08-16T15:06:00.000-07:00

My new GF Me shortly after being struck by lightning.

Hi I have a new girlfriend. Her name is Becky Wiggins and she's crazy for helicopters. We met in the ER. where I was taken after my recent bout with lightning. This is what happened. First I was leaving a house where I had been fixing a computer. Then I was sitting on the ground in an extremely quiet rain storm and my shoes were missing. ($200) Did I mention it was very quiet? Well I couldn't hear a sound, so I was not aware of the crowd standing behind me until their voices started to leak back like poor radio reception from a foreign country that used a lot of American words. I. e. "Blah blah brain injury, blah blah think he'd cover himself" Cover himself? Well I looked down and saw my shorts were split down the front ($42.75) and I had gained what the medical staff like to call a "Priapism" (a penile erection caused by some sort of trauma) Someone handed me a towel. An ambulance arrived. Anyway, I seem to be OK now excepting for a slight glow in the dark. The priapism has gone which is OK, because it is not comfortable. Now my problem rests with Becky who seems taken with me because I have a lot of experience with helicopters and also like many younger people (she's 19) is rather frank about sex. In other words she thinks I am pretty well fixed up for doing the job because she saw me when she brought me a blanket in the ER. The reality of course is that was just to do with a powerful spasm to the spinal muscles from the lightning. In truth, I do not think I could actually "do it" even if my partner was a sweet understanding soul with an operating helicopter haircut (the blades spin) who says that she wants to" hover on me." You know, I think I know guys who would really freak if they were in my situation sex wise. Me? I just go off someplace and dream up some interesting machinery like a boat that could cross the ocean using pedal power and lots of gears so it would not be too hard on you, or a truck that runs 24 hrs a day carrying a crew like a ship. If you are going to end up trapped in your head and unable to get out much it helps to have and imagination. Anyway, if anyone sees Becky Wiggins, please tell her I got called back to the Army to fly helicopters in Iraq. I think that would be the kindest thing.

Is the truth in your dreams?

2008-08-09T07:13:00.000-07:00

Well if it is, I am stupid. Take last night for instance. I was fooling around dreamland, where I had become a rather successful timber baron. So successful in fact that I had taken a job as a volunteer showing people the way to get to the Smithsonian Institution using the least amount of gasoline. I was happy in my job and I got to go to many places in the museums I had never been before. Like the animatronic supreme court for instance and an exhibition called "Monkey Doodles." Both of these exhibitions seemed to have generated a lot of interest but before I could investigate, I was called to a office where some curators were arguing the merits of a stringed instrument. It had four strings and they were calling it a mandolin. I said I did not think of a four string instrument as necessarily being a mandolin and they looked at me as if I had really made a shocking and uncalled for statement. The head guy said not to worry because "Tomas will be leaving us presently" and handed me a fat folder. Then he said for me to leave and I would get further instructions. Well, I kept going around doing paperwork and my folder got smaller until finally I had a letter saying to go back to the fire service and a file that looked like a supervisors schedule. I was pretty excited actually because it seemed like I was finally going to get what I had though was my deserved position. I showed up at the admin. building ready to run my shift, but my old partner Mike said that the boss just wanted him and me to schedule some new hires to go to California for new uniforms. I said, well that's cool, I need uniforms and I would like to go. He got all embarrassed and said that the deal was they had been forced to hire some retarded firemen to clean the bathrooms and stuff and they needed someone to watch after them while every one was in CA. and they figured I could probably do it without fucking it up. I took the whole mess to the boss lady and told her that it was crazy and that I was a good fireman and medic and she had no right to treat me that way, but she just kept telling me how stupid I was over and over again.
I used to enjoy my dream world and think it was funny. It's becoming a real bother now. Maybe, I'll just have to get out into the real world to some degree.

Zipper Heads and why we must have them

2008-08-07T20:31:00.000-07:00

A friend who is an author and a Vietnam Vet wrote and asked if I knew where the term "Zipperhead" came from. It was a word used by some to refer to the Vietnamese. Here is what I said in answer.

You know the whole world of Gooks and Dinks and Slopes and Zips just runs together. No one ever talked about those guys until you were in country. Where I was it was mostly "The Dinks" and sometimes gooks. Slope and Zipper Head weren't too popular. I always assumed that zip had to do with a particular sort of Vietnamese with an exaggerated slope to the head and slant to the eyes (seen more in cartoons that in real life) that suggested you could zip his eyes closed. I can see someone coming across a peasant in a conical hat and loose black pants and a long white top and saying "hey zipper head, come here" and the name sticking. I worked very closely with all manner of people in Vietnam getting my village built and I learned to tell the Chinese from the Pure Vietnamese and the various racial mixes and stereotypical issues they had. Some were extremely difficult to think of as gooks while others fit the roll to a "G". Of course most soldiers come up with a common nick name for those they might need to kill wholesale and unfairly. We either punish them for their audacity-–"take that Mr. Master Race"–– or we condemn them for their sneaky ways––"Burn you yellow Japs!" It's only later that it occurs to us that we were all young men and needed a name for the boogie man, so we would not recognize the possibility that we were shooting our kindred spirits for the pleasure and tactical entertainment of the elders who make their profits by proving the value of their machinery from time to time. It's always been so and will continue so long as we celebrate our time at arms. The fact that I sit around in my early 60s and can define my life by 17 months spent overseas in a war that had absolutely no positive bearing on my country or the life my kids led is a pretty sad commentary for the boys who were supposed to win WW III. I think what really needs to happen now is for a bunch of vets to come home –like from Iraq– and say "Fuck this" "It was the worst most useless time of my life" "Don't give me any service medals or parades, I don't feel like a hero, I feel like a sanitation worker in a project." "Now I want a job in a national park and never want to hear any patriotic BS again," " Leave me the fuck alone and lets just forget about this war like it was just a big mistake." Just let it drop, OK? Fine. There's your hero

perchance to dance

2008-08-03T06:44:00.000-07:00

If you go outside of your home and, by chance, you hear some music playing,
It may be Hip Hop (another name for Rap) I like the term Hip Hop better because it implies dancing.
When music and dance go together like sleep and dreams, everything is OK.
I don't care for music fighting with my sense of rhythm; when I hear Bizet's Overture to Carmen, I want to high step like a Lippizaner Stallion, but I lack the proper count of legs. My next choice is cymbal crasher but it's damn impossible to sneak a pair of those suckers into a concert hall these days. So screw going to the symphony if the music has a beat. That's the whole funk thing; you hit the one or down beat then you can fool around popping and slapping so long as you get back to that one beat. Just think how much fun you could have at Symphony Hall if you sat on the floor. I'll bet all sorts of people would show up and march around or invent dances to, like, Beethoven's 5th. Get a big circle going and then all fall down. That is very powerful music. Black Music is just as powerful
but people had the good sense not to hold it hostage in a no dance environment. (even church) Just imagine, if you will, James Brown and The Famous Flames at Carnegie Hall with concert rules in effect. Wouldn't work. Jazz can get hot as well, but they keep it cool by giving the players CNS depressants and using strange meters and progressions. Any other tunes that go from the down beat are going to be a direct to dance tunes, so go with it what ever it is. Dancing is good for you. Do some soon. I'm not sure if you can though and here is why. When I was very young and growing up in Alexandria, Va. There was this place on my block called the Armory. It had something to do with the Army because during the Korean War, convoys of soldiers would show up at odd hours and march up and down in the street. "Hup two three four" "Ain't no use in going home, Jody's got your girl and gone" (I would meet up with Jody again, but I did not know it at the time) I have many stories about the armory too, but this one has to do with whether you can still dance in the street. For a summertime or maybe two and on Wednesday evenings around 7, men of middle and older age plus a couple of fat boys would converge on the Armory each one hauling a type of case that would without doubt produce a musical instrument with the exception of one that might have contained a full sized elephant's head. I must admit I lurked. Then one evening pretty much like any other and with neither a ruffle nor flourish, the group formed a band right in the middle of South Royal Street, struck up Anchors Aweigh and marched off. Children danced along. Not me. Too young. At least I figured out what was in the elephant case, tuba, a Sousaphone. The dance thing. I do not think you could just toss up a marching band in that neighborhood or too many others these days and march off at 7:30 on a summer's eve. and expect to return whole. Maybe where MS. Moon lives, but few other spots and that is just too bad. I have gone and put stories within stories again and not left any room for resolution. Hey I am just in it for the words

The Jesus Nut

2008-07-20T08:23:00.000-07:00

The term Jesus nut has to do with Helicopter maintenance and refers to the one piece of hardware that holds the entire rotor system in place. The term was coined by Mr. Dr. Igor Sikorsky, the inventor of the rotor wing aircraft and the implication was that, should this small bit of machined metal fail in flight, the crew and anyone else aboard would be meeting Jesus as a bonus for suffering a horrible death. Now Dr. Mr. Sikorsky was a deeply religious person, so he probably meant the whole deal about the Jesus Nut and wasn't being cute.
In fact the whole Jesus Nut issue might have stayed locked in inquiring minds had it not been for the Vietnam War; the first war fought by the helicopter. What this came to mean was where the old time cavalry trooper would know about the diamond hitch to tie a load on a mule his modern counterpart knew how and when to check the Jesus Nut and other various and sundry things that would keep the "bird" in the air doing it's important work of dropping off the Troop for a fight and coming back to get them. Funny thing is Sikorsky did not have a lot of copters in the war. Today, almost all the helicopters in the military i.e. The Black Hawk and Sea Hawk are made by Sikorsky, but when people think Vietnam, they think about The Huey which looks like a mini van with sliding doors and all. It is a turbine (jet) and only has two main rotor blades. That means it is not particularly good at flying straight up off the ground and likes to have a running start. A person might get in trouble because he could easily put the helicopter into a spot where he cannot get out without some fancy and dangerous trick flying. When I was in Vietnam, I always worried over the state of the helicopter and had this fear that I would be flying along and suddenly catch site of Jesus floating by tossing my. Jesus nut in the air and catching it. You see it's quite possible to land a helicopter with no power so long as the transmission is not seized and the rotor will spin. Of course if Jesus has the Jesus Nut, the rotors will come off and the craft will fall like a stone leaving you to meet your maker as Pancake People.

I know that this is not a very clever of funny post, but it does contain information you can use.

The House of Texino

2008-07-17T08:20:00.000-07:00

OK, when I was young I wanted to design women's clothing. I didn't tell anyone, so it was assumed I would either join the Episcopal Clergy or become a medical doctor.
First off, went through the confirmation process and became an Acolyte and a Crucifer. Now it may sound like The Crucifer would get to crucify people and perform other useful duties here on earth , but his responsibility is simply to lead the procession into the church for the service. The procession includes the ministers and the choir. If there is a junior choir, there is also a Junior Crucifer. His job is to lead the junior choir out when it is time for Sunday School. The Crucifers are called that because they carry a cross on a long pole so there is no doubt that Christians are heading your way. The Juniors cross is made from wood while the real Crucifer Carries a fancy number made of a heavy gold metal affixed to a stout wooden pole . The Acolytes are the guys who lite the candles and put them out. You get to dress up in a priest outfit (more or less) and you do other stuff, like moving "The Book" The altar of the church is a holy place and you better respect it at all times or you are going to hell. It also has two sides to preach from; The Gospel and The Epistle. When the minister is preaching the Gospel and he's done he says so, like "Here endeth the Gospel" and then you must move the bible to the other side of the Altar. Isn't that strange?
You get to help out with the Holy Communion too. I learned a lot about religion working at that church. One thing that really struck me was that church was a huge social event, and a lot of folks who sang loud and tipped to collection plate heavy couldn't wait for the coffee hour that came after the service so they could gossip about other people and say really rude stuff, but then turn on the charm when that person showed up. I kept waiting for God or at least Karl the deacon ( and a former Nazi by all accounts) to set these parishioners right and when it did not come to pass, I had no choice but to assume that if the Lord let such stuff go on in His house, He either was not home or did not care. Later as studied various types of medicine, it became fairly clear that while the overall message put forth by the cult of Jesus Christ seemed OK, the man Himself was quite possibly nuts.

It may be possible by the amount of words put down thus far for you to infer that it took me some amount of time to conclude that the ministry would not be my calling. Well, yes and by the time I had figured out that my belief in God was ambiguous at best, a group of teachers had conspired to brand me as stupid, un-trainable, not college material, a hoodlum and worse. Of course while this made me the most popular kid in school, it really dampened my hopes of getting into med school or any other trade for that matter. I kept pushing, however; I was no match for the system and as punishment for my questioning nature, they kicked me out of school and right into the waiting maw of the US Army where they would either make a man out of me or kill me in the process. A real Win-Win for the old school.

So there I was, a combat happy GI. 19 years old and in charge of a village built to house refugees from an area called The Iron Triangle. The whole idea of this triangle was that somewhere within it's boundries was the southern terminus of The Ho Chi Minh Trail. The trouble was that this was also a populated area where peasents worked the land for meager rewards . The Army came up with the grand pan to make this a free fire zone (against the rules) and since this could seriously complicate winning the hearts and minds of the non communists, they developed the Chieu Hoi program. This consisted of pieces of paper called Chieu Hoi passes that were fired at the peasents from canons and dropped on them via special bombs. This is a picture of a Chieu Hoi Pass.

Well the program was a success and a lot of Vietnamese came to call. We needed some place to put them, so we set up a building program and built a village. A sort of Vietnamese Levittown
with a duck lake and a swinery. When I left RVN in 1968, I think we had about 200 homes.
While I was at the village I learned how to be a doctor. Every Tuesday, a real doctor would come to the village and people from all over the area would come in for a free exam and a ticket for an x-ray if they needed one. The Vietnamese were very keen for having pictures made and viewed a chest X-ray as just another type of portrait. Anyway, the doc liked me and taught me lots of skills. I started a new religion in Viet Nam; Made an altar from an adobe brick, burned a bunch of Joss, sacrificed a frog, ate it. Then I wrote a rambling manifesto about the Chaplain's
assistant, singed it "The New Religion" and posted it on the official bulletin board where it stayed for a long time.

Yes, when I was young I wanted to design womens clothes. Dresses and shoes in fact, but as you can see, I was side tracked by the expectations of others. Funny thing though, I was able fight off the perception of failure that high school tried to hang on me and over time I went on to be successful in both the medical and metaphysical fields; successful enough for me. I did design some jewelry, but it wasn't very good, and when I started doing web pages I realized that I really did not have a eye for color, plus I can neither draw nor sew. On the other hand, I happened to see a show on the TV last week where "Designers" were put against one another in a contest to make clothing from various stuff. Some were very clever and some were very not.
I found myself thinking, "Hey, I would have given that skirt a little more 'flow' . Now, just like that, I am in business.
I don't want to give away all my secrets, but for my Florida Fall Line, I'm planning rain wear for you gals that just screams "SEE ME!" with Daffodil Yellow and Lime Lime Slickers with those pelican hook closures done in stainless steel. (Tres Nautique) Topped with a matching Sou'wester (that rain hat with the long back and the turned up front) My ladies will stay safe and dry. In fact, you can think of the whole Texino line as Fun & Functional or the other way around if you like. Please keep an eye out for our creations. En Salon at Paris, Milan and Honolulu.

... but nobody wants to die.

2008-07-01T06:16:00.000-07:00

That's part of a blues song. "Every one's talking about getting to Heaven, but nobody wants to die." Blues people tend to be realists and I try to emulate the best of them by laying around most of the day and staying up late at night waiting to be tempted by the devil in the form of a woman in a red or blue dress. Rarely does this occur, so I tend toward idleness and other sinful action certain to keep me out of God's good grace and it has finally come to my attention that when the boys at R&I in Heaven's precinct pull my jacket, I will not be allowed entrance to the supernal eternal lands beyond the pearly gates. Sort of cheeses me off that I might be at the cross roads of eternal damnation while the angel grandpa from Bil Keane's Family Circus cuts a deal with St. Peter so it will snow and his grand kids can try out their new sleds. I don't remember much about Gramps Keane before he died, but, since he did, he sure gets A1 service up there in Paradise. Like I said, it bugs me, so I went looking for some folks who seem to think Heaven is a lead pipe cinch at the end of the trail and after checking them out, I'm pretty sure Heaven may not be the place for me to bump around after I die. Please allow me to share;

Any question that these people doubt their place in the after life? None in my mind, so I'm not so blue about missing the golden rocket. No, I'll take my chances with that bunch who hang around after the the band stops playing. I've always had fine times with people who like music and been real happy with the friends I made because of it. Maybe that's been my heaven all along. If there is any other sort of after life left for me, I can only hope they have a nice selection of books and that it is not too cold or too hot. I need to think about this in hopes that there will be something forthcoming for the bits and pieces of good I have done over the years. Hope I can have a dog.

"... and Tits"

2008-06-26T13:16:00.000-07:00

Yeah that guy Carlin. The dude with the obscenity riff. The thing with the seven deadly words you can't say on television. He died. What did he do? Was he really funny? Was he as important as Lenny Bruce? Lenny Bruce used all those dirty words in his act, but he wasn't a "Blue comic." Red Foxx was a Blue Comic! Belle Barth was a Blue Comic. They said Lenny was a genius. George Carlin was a regular stand up comedian. He came from the Bob Newhart and Shelly Berman School. Guys who didn't tell jokes so much as do bits. You know, little acts, plays, monologues. The things you expect from comedians now, but it was all new after Lenny made it hip and these other guys honed it cool. It's easy to understand if you look at Lenny Bruce as Jazz and Carlin as Folk Music, good folk music, but Folk Music.
So George went along and started growing his hair and opening for musical acts in the big clubs. Acts like the Kingston Trio Stuff that was very popular, and he sort of paved the way for comics and music to exist in the same formats. You wouldn't have seen that with your famous comics of the past like Bob Hope and Milton Berle. Those guys might have worked with a big band, but there was no question that the comic was the top banana and when you look back you see that Hope and Crosby and Berle were not particularly nice men and enjoyed humor at other peoples expense. Then came Lenny with his Jazzy ways and his way out hop head morals and things were never the same and even though Hope and George Burns lived to be 100 years old they could not change a thing. Lenny did not live very long, lots of junkies don't, but he lived long enough to give us the likes of Carlin and Newhart and Steve Martin and Richard Prior and comedy flourished. George was funny. He did comparative bits like Foot Ball vs Base Ball.
He would growl in a real tough voice that football was played on a gridiron and then gently murmur that baseball was played in a park. Funny. Obvious, but still funny. George was quite expressive. Well for some reason George felt a need to embrace the "counter culture" and he came out with some questionable choices like Al Sleet, "The Hippy Dippy Weatherman" Trouble there was he did this in the Summer 'O Luv ––sometimes known as 1966 ––and there were many movers and shakers about who took their status as Hippies quite seriously, so Carlin's portrayal, while humorous, cast him in the light of grownup from then on and when you measured the man against the competition he was a pretty goofy one at best. George didn't get it though, so he kept on, becoming involved with those dirty words, the seven words you could not say on TV. It wasn't that he cared about the words so much as he worried about the the bad thoughts underlying the nation. His point was not that we should use the seven words. It was on the order that there are not any bad words just bad ideas made by bad people using all sorts of words. Carlin pressed on that point through a period of self destructive drug abuse but he came out OK, and even though his late material was a tad scary in that he seemed to feel the human race had been given a fair chance but blown it beyond redemption, his sweet demeanor never left him. I think we loved George Carlin for that sweetness; his anger was more sadness than anything else. Carlin said religion was BS and I am apt to agree especially these days, however; to bang a dull gong of irony I could point out that in the gospel of Luke the last seven words spoken by Christ were " ... for they know not what they do." Because of George Carlin and those who came after we have a platform where those odd men and women who practice the art of social comedy can keep us well informed as to exactly what "They" might be up to at any given time. It is a good thing to be able to laugh as you take stock of those who would be your enemy on the basis of how you think. You probably don't think too much about comics operating behind the lines, but when you think about guys like Rush Limbaugh getting exposed as a pill head pervert, you can bet some funny person was behind it.
So, yes it is very important that we give George Carlin his due as an innovator of the 1st generation of social comics. More important still is the fact that he is far from the last

The Fridge.

2008-06-19T21:04:00.000-07:00

I suppose that of all the people who deserve recognition in the world of refrigeration and air conditioning/cooling development, my vote would go to Dr. John Gorrie who, in 1850 or 51 demonstrated an ice maker and set experiments in motion that would led to the invention of the paradox of compressing a liquid so it got hot and then letting it turn into a cold gas that would be sucked back into the system through an expansion valve and turn back into a liquid and then the cycle starts over again. Works pretty well. I like Dr. Gorrie because he lived in Apalachicola Florida which is an OK spot. Also, the doc figured out that sick people might feel better if they were nice and cool. He was a humanitarian.

So what is all of this in aid of? Oh, I have bought a new refrigerator. So? So this. I have, through my efforts as a refrigerator whisperer kept my former appliance running ice cold for 25 years at a cost of .016 cents per day or roughly 1 penny per week. I know whats wrong with this appliance too and I could fix it. The thermostat relay is broke and I could just bypass it. Thing is the refrigerator is past it's life. It's out lasted several others on the block by 5 or 6 years and I guess a new one might be better on the power savings as well. got to be green. The new fridge is a Kenmore white standard freezer on top. It'll do. That old coolerator sure held some fancy champagne and nervous lobsters and more fine foods than I can recall. These days we just don't live like that. Nothing from the hunt, the river the sea. I cleaned out the old box tonight and realized I was dumping the condiments of a life style I am not ready to give up but may damn well lose anyway. The curse of being ill and gaining age. You will make no new friends with whom to share the old sauces. It is not that they are not worthy, it just seems that most older couples come with auto-blatheration machine which tends to operate through the wife but can run through either or both partners. I was tailing an A-B machine through the grocery just the other day. She was on a mobile phone and from the subject of her blatheration I gathered there was a plan a foot to kill a guy called Harry by depriving him of; red meats, whole grains, raw vegetables, fishes of all types, eggs and just about everything save boiled rice gruel. you ask Bill and Marge for dinner and say how about we do salmon on the grill? In the not so long ago Marge would say "Fine, we will bring some wine." Today, however, the Auto-Blab will cut in and start giving you the 3rd degree about is it wild salmon and this and that? To which I am sorely tempted to say. "Well Margie" "We took these two fish as they returned to the sea from the Fraser River in Canada and kept them for 5 years on a strict diet of hypo allergenic Salmon Chow." Then when the urge to spawn hit them we harnessed them to a dynamo where they produced many more kilowatts of power than it will take to cook them." "Meanwhile, the fish became in such a high state of sexuality during this f spawning run to nowhere that just a mere taste will cause you to desire sexual congress with your partner later in the evening, the intensity of which will surely surprise you both to the point that you may well conceive children!" "Yeah, it's wild salmon." I think I'm going to miss the old ice box. One more thing. I got up early and decommissioned the fridge. I dragged it outside, took the doors off and washed it out with water and bleach so it would not smell it the tropical sun and little kids would not lock themselves aboard whatever craft they dreamed it to be. Stinky salmon barge to Mars most likely.

For which it stands

2008-06-14T07:04:00.000-07:00

Today I feel compelled to write about The Flag. It is, after all, Flag Day and me being a veteran who fought and some say died in a war sort of gives me the added push I need to get going, so let's go.

One thing about the US Flag that is a little disturbing is this. If you look at a picture of it––like the one included here––the only part that seems solid are the stars upon the field of blue. Otherwise, if you do not imagine that you have 7 red strips sewn equidistant on a white field or 6 white stripes sewn on a red field the whole flag will deconstruct before you eyes. In real life flag waving, this is not a problem and our flag snaps on it's pole, staff or jack with the best of them. I know one thing and that is from an early age I had a great sense of love and pride salted in my breast for the American Flag. How this came to be I can't say. My family was somewhat eccentric and we certainly did not go in for patriotic ceremony on any regular basis. Still from the time I entered real school I was quite content to spend my days staring out the classroom window at the flag. How did I learn? Well, strange as it may sound, I seemed to already know every thing they were teaching, so I just looked at the flag for two years my heart swelling with pride and happiness. Then came the dark days of 3rd grade and room 103 across the hall with no flag view! What to do? I took a reality check just to make certain there was nothing I needed to study or learn. (there was not)
Then I made a startling discovery. The school was a vast airship! It rose up each day and flew about the clouds and returned to earth around 2 o'clock. The very logistics of the machine kept me busy for the whole of third grade. The school was built like a big T with the cross bar having two stories and being the front while the single story primary wing was in the tail of the letter. Each class room there had a door leading to the main hallway and one to the outside.
The outside doors were painted different colors so that when the kids bailed out with their flying belts for recess in the clouds they could fly back to the correct cabin and not upset the ship's balance. #103 was orange. The next year I was back on the flag side again but now I had some stuff to learn and did not stare so much. I also joined the safety patrol and got to do some flag handling; raising, lowering and folding. The school stopped flying as well; budgetary matters I think. Anyway, I learned that you should take the flag dead serious at all times. For instance if a patrol let the smallest bit of flag matter touch the ground, the kid had to kiss each star while reciting the pledge of allegiance over and over while the rest of the crew stood at attention giving you the fish eye. (I heard it was much worse in the boy scouts)

Why did I love the flag so much? How come I just learned enough to be a soldier and never really grew up? Is it possible that with so many unfulfilled lives floating around in the post war baby boom period some of these poor lost souls were sucked into the over flow of mindless babies lying in hospital for many long days before they went home. Today a new babe goes to his or her mother's breast at birth and the bonded unit goes home pretty damn quick. Back in 46-47 babies lay around the nursery forever or at least enough time to present a target for a lost soul on the cruise. Who knows?

After all this weird conjecture, I'm still very proud of the flag, I do, however, have issues with the republic for which it stands and believe that it needs a very large adjustment. That's something you grown ups will have to handle. I seem to be stuck in a loop that covers the emotions an intellectual bounds from 6 to about 18 and then life makes little sense. How's about helping a vet out?

One of these days and it won't be long-

2008-06-02T18:47:00.000-07:00

Hey Bo Diddly! Sorry sir but Mr McDaniel has cashed his final check and we will be taking his number from our directory pending recycling after a set period. Well damn, they took another player from our team and a good one too. Bo Diddly dead at 79. Elias McDaniel was a man of driven to perform and if he had an audience, so much the better. Part comedian, part performance artist, part blues man and full on innovator it's easy to fool yourself into thinking the the Bo Diddly Beat defined the man. Then you listen to some of his hits like "Can't tell a Book..." and "I'm a man" and find it missing then you got to admit the guy was a lot more than "Shave and a Hair Cut." No two bit flash. Nope you got to put Bo in there with Chuck Berry as a sort of proto- music gangster who just did what the hell he wanted and let the DJs and record companies sort it out. I remember big sister going to see Bo Diddly at Virginia Beach way back in the early 60s when concerts were not really the thing yet. I waited up to hear about it. "Well," she said "a bunch of colored men put up a whole lot of speakers and it was really loud" (Sister seemed a little dazed) "Well was it good?" I demanded "We all danced"- "I'm going to bed" I had the information I required. Really, were it not for my older sister and her friends who turned me on to people like Jimmy Reed, and Mose Alison and Yank Rachel, I might still be sitting on a stool framming on a folk guitar stuck in the theory of relative minor. But I was very lucky indeed to be propelled toward the type of music where one was required to say a lot by doing very little and if I did not develop a whole lot of soul, I sure learned to spot it.

Now the people who let me see what was good and worthy in music are dropping out as quietly as springs passing blooms and I'm sad from the stand point that before long I'll go too. We get older and pretend that life's end is just another bump in the road. Don't believe it. We are but a collection of clockwork, fast and slow and will go to great length to draw out the cosmic tic and tock until our walls fall in. It is man's great desire to live, so to have lived well should indeed make us complete. Oddly that doesn't always seem to work because for all the honors Bo Diddly received, at the end he chose to bitch and moan about people stealing his style when they were only flattering his memory. All I can advise is try to work those grudges out before your walls of time fall in on you, and seee that your grave is kept clean.