The Last Posting of 2008...
...unless something really ticks me off in the next few hours...

...well, it could happen. I've just spent the last hour typing a big End-of-the-year post which detailed politics, the human condition, comparisons of various eras and how We Are All The Same no matter which era we live in here on this earth, yadda, yadda, yadda...and I read it, and thought, "what a diatribe", so I deleted it, and decided to let my little parrot girl take over the blog for this last '08 posting...



...and I'll second that holiday wish. Let's all hope '09 is better than '08. I've got my fingers crossed. I appreciate all of you over at Huckleberries and anyone else who stumbles upon my humble blog. Take care...See ya next year...
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Another new post lurks below, one that I wrote just a few hours before this one. Feliz Navidad, everyone...

Maybe I should be a Mariachi musician?
Bear with me here; maybe this idea ain't as nuts as it sounds...

Normally my eyes glaze over when I see a big expose-type news article, but sometimes serendipity strikes and I find my mood to be quite receptive to long explanatory things, 'specially if it's stuff that people have been talking about for ages, and I find myself thinking, "okay, time to get some perspective on all this". It was a story in the regional newspaper about the financial mess Washington Mutual (Wa-Mu) has found itself in. It seems that those who worked in the higher echelons of the company were laboring in a veritable sweatshop environment, being forced by their superiors to make massive amounts of loans to all kinds of people, never mind that the loans might not get paid back, 'cos after all, Wa-Mu was growing faster than a metastastic cancer, becoming the biggest company in the business, which in turn, would mean more and more loans were made, 'cos after all, Wa-Mu was so big and so easy to get a loan from...
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So what's all this got to do with being a Mariachi musician? One example in the big Wa-Mu news article was about a guy who came into the company's loan offices to take out a Big Loan. A Rilly Big Loan. Hundreds of thousands of dollars. So, Mr. Loan Officer, under severe pressure to Make As Many Loans To Everyone And Their Dog As Possible, thusly interviewed the prospective Loanee: "What do you do, sir?" "Ay, Carramba, Senor, I'm a Mariachi Musician". "Well, do you have any proof of big income in the past, so that we don't assume a lot of risk in granting you the loan?" "Well, no, senor, but I do have a guitar and a sombrero at home if you'd like to take a picture." "Aha", the loan officer thot to himself, "well, he's got to be a seriously dedicated Mariachi Musician if he's willing to dress up like the Frito Bandido to play music; who else would go out in public looking like that?" With that, Mr. Loan Officer reached across the table to shake Mr. Mariachi's hand, saying, "heck, if you're a Mariachi Musician like you say you are, well, of course we'll grant you a huge loan". Mr. Mariachi then profusely thanked Mr. Loan Officer, knowing all the while that in order to pay back said loan, it would take 20 to 25 years' worth of Mariachi Gigs in order to pay for just the First Installment of The Loan. Wheeeeee!!!
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I'm ready to put on my Mariachi Boots and find one of those weird guitars and stamp my feet on the cold shiny tiles of the Nearest Bank-Related Loan Office; let's go! And I'll be in the money for sure. No more playing Beatles songs for me, not when I can make serious money playing Mariachi Music, for which I'd risk heading South of the Border if someone from the bank ever elected to check into my credentials. Heck, money goes further in Mejico anyway. Wheee! Baja, here I come! Another related article said that the Banks aren't saying Where the Federal Bailout Money went; let's just assume that a bunch of it's been stuffed into selected big hollow Mariachi guitars around the globe. Actually, this Mariachi thing reminds me of the old Bic Pen commercial, the one where some kind of gaucho-guy was stomping his heels, only he had a Bic Pen strapped to the heel of one of his boots, and every time he stamped his foot, the tip of the pen would strike the floor. The point of the commercial was that you could stomp and stomp and stomp and not wreck a Bic Pen. It should be noted that was waaay back when the entire tip of the pen was made out of some kind of impervious metal. Not anymore; look at the tip of a Bic Pen...the only part that's metal is the very end, where the little ball-point-thingy is...the rest of it? Genuine American Plastic, imported from somewhere else.

Everyone knows poor folks are having a rough time in today's economy, that we're all tapped out, that we're buying less and less the poorer and poorer we get. But, this isn't a problem which is affecting only the poor; it seems that folks who are more well-off are also having to make some painful financial decisions. I read this in the newspaper, so it must be true...a clerk at Saks 5th-Avenue ritzy-glitzy store in New York City recently said something along the lines of, "some customers used to come in and by a dozen pairs of $700-dollar-a-pair shoes, but now we find they're only buying a couple of pair, so this recession is really hitting us hard"...I suppose now America will have to make further class distinctions in the more affluent categories...there are the Rich, then there's the Not-Quite-So-Rich, and at the bottom of the scrap-heap, the Just Barely Rich, and it's probably those folks who can afford to spend only $1400 on Saks' shoes at any one time. I'm 54 years old, and I don't think all the shoes I've ever worn in My Lifetime would even come close to HALF of $1400. I can just see it now: Cheap Rich People going to Payless Shoe Source, buying several hundred pair, and sewing onto them the trademarks of their old worn-out Saks' Fifth Avenue Shoes which they used to be able to afford.

Finally, I just spent a complete day in Computer Purgatory. That's the place that claims all of us sooner or later when our computers Start Acting Weird. I made three Tech-Support calls; two of them were handled by tekkies in India, while the other call was handled by someone in the Phillippines. I don't know why, but it seems that those to whom English is a second language, feel compelled to speak English three or four times faster than I can listen, so that the average tech support call sounds something like this: "Okay, Sir, my hard-drive is acting weird; what do I do? To which the foreign tech support tekkie says something that sounds like, "Tskkf, uosovweb jkud sopre iwmbv kdsjd wysadolfv sld sdif ewpotrhyi ewsihedff." "Sir, What did you say? I can't understand; please slow down your speech a bit." To which the tech support person takes a deeeep breath, then says slowly and carefully, "Dkjdsyrfp swkgfh suy idke ichonotflotti." Hoo-boy. It was one of those days. FINALLY, the last tech support person, who I also had difficulty understanding, asked me if I just wanted him to Take Over My Computer. "YES!!! DO ANYTHING!!! THIS IS HELL!!!", I thot (I may have actually said it; who knows?) So then he activated a program which enabled him to actually crawl thru the phone lines, into my computer, and I watched as he moved the mouse and clicked, then clicked again, then clicked some more, and WHAM, the problem was fixed. Just like that. For a brief moment, someone else had control of my computer, which is only fitting, since most of the time, This Computer Controls Me. It calls to me when I enter the room..."come here and activate my keyboard, big boy...you know you can't stay awaay from me...come on over and play computer games with me, you brute, you..." And on that, I'll end this post now before it gets any weirder than it already is.

But before I go...(see? I couldn't stay away)...Another article I took notice of in the paper was, that President-Elect Obama still hasn't totally quit SMOKING yet. With every cigarette he inhales clear down to the filter, he is bit-by-bit assassinating HIMSELF. Quit, Mr. President-elect; set a good example, please?

'Twas The Day After Christmas...

...and I couldn't find, not a single snowflake, not ahead or behind...

It's easy to hide away when the sun isn't out, and it's gray and gloomy, and indeed I've done my share of being a hermit this Christmas Season. It's easier to just stay in on gloomy days. But, after ending up developing a healthy (or unhealthy) dose of Cabin Fever, where it feels like the Four Walls Are Closing In, it's "get outta here for a while"; I couldn't stand myself! So I took the camera and got out, and in the process, found that gray days are great days for taking pictures; no insurmountable contrasts between sun and shade to be dealt with, and great for my thinning pate, no Sun with which to Sunburn my Head with. (Have you ever tried using a hairbrush on a sunburned scalp? OUCH. I rest my case.)

So, 'twas the Day After Christmas...and here, two miles (as the crow flies) from the coast, it was rainy and overcast like the last several days; the best I could hope for was that the Sun would come out later in the day; the view out the kitchen window (below) was snapped right before heading out the door; it's noticeably lacking anything resembling a shadow.



Heading south, I thought it would be a good day to spend a little time in the Charleston seaport; the plan (me having a plan?) was to stall there before heading to the beach later on; and best of all, I could take some photos of the weatherbeaten but proud fishing fleet that plies the ocean waves on a regular basis; the photo below shows a few of the boats resting peacefully (if a boat can actually 'rest') in the safety of sheltered waters...



After a couple of hours of photo-shooting (and having breakfast at a little restaurant that serves FREE COFFEE with any meal!), it was looking more and more like the Sun was just gonna hide from me all day, but still the beach wasn't far away, so I went there, the object being to try and get a good view of a wave crashing upon the rocks...how's this? The cliff pictured below is about 40-50 feet high, and just lookit this here wave...



After a day of hiking around the harbor and beach in a totally rainsoaked coat (and not caring, because it wasn't especially cold outside), it was time to go home and put the stamp on a surprisingly good day for picture-taking. I got home, and walked to the mailbox, and that's when I saw a group of Chickens one of my neighbors has; they just walk around the neighborhood like they own the place. Even the Cats leave them alone. Here are the Neighborhood Chickens preserved for Eternal Internet Posterity...

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As you know, I have a special little girl waiting for me at home. Little Jill, the Meyers' Parrot. She's not an especially active bird; her schedule consists mainly of Eating and Napping. But every bird needs to fly, and with that in mind, I'll perch her on my finger and swoop my arm downward, and she flaps her little wings; we do that a number of times, and she'll fly back to my shoulder. And I don't spoil her one bit, not at all, as the following picture indicates...



Whenever I'm biting or crunching on some snack, Little Jill just has to have some of what I'm eating. She'll wake up out of a nap if she hears me crunching away. She's eating a Puffy Cheeto here. They are sinfully good. And I now have a junk-food parrot. She also craves the onion-flavored variety of Sun Chips. So that's what we do, Jill and me. Both of us, crunching away. I think perhaps I'm a bad influence on her. Aw, heck, though...might as well 'live it up', huh?
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These are but a few of the fotos I took on what the Brits like to call "Boxing Day"; I've posted the rest of them in the links (left margin); it's be titled "December 26th photos". And in addition to hoping you had a great Christmas, let me wish you All The Best in the Upcoming New Year. In short, "ho ho ho and all that jazz".

To all who frequent this blog...
MERRY CHRISTMAS...

And even though big-box retailers nationwide would have you believe otherwise, Here's the true meaning of the Christmas Season...



As we all take the time to look back during this last week of year, the Christmas Season becomes a time to reflect, to cherish old memories, and make some new (hopefully good) ones. Amidst everything that life throws at us all, I hope this Christmas is a joyous time for you, whether you're a faithful reader of this blog, or if you've just stumbled across it for the first time.

Christmas is a time of renewal, a time of hope, a time of beginning again as the New Year approaches. Tonight, I'm watching PBS (The Oregon Version); on the screen is a fireplace with logs ablaze, accompanied by Christmas music. It's a low-key Christmas for me. And it's a special, hushed, reverent night for me. Maybe I need to be more reverent...

Even though I finally heard an instrumental version of "Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer" tonight (I try to avoid that dumb song as much as I can), I'm in a good, if a bit wistful, mood. Above all, I'm thankful for life, for this beautiful planet, and all the nice folks I've met online, including YOU.

May your Christmas be a time of warmth, caring and most of all, a PEACEFUL time for you and yours. Sleep in Heavenly Peace.....Sleep in heavenly peace...Hark, The Herald Angels Sing...Glory To Our Newborn King...Peace On Earth and Mercy Mild; God And Sinners Reconciled...

As Jose' Feliciano once sang...Feliz Navidad, Feliz Navidad...Prospero Ano y Felicidad. And to all, A Good Night.

Only One More Shopping Day Left!
Good Grief, It's Christmas Again...

It's that time of year again, when all of a sudden, I start wondering, "where has this year gone?", and one thing I'm finding to be true is that as I age, is that time zooms by faster than ever before. I don't look forward to holidays anymore; they don't hold anything special for me. I suppose in a larger sense, Every Day that I'm Alive is a holiday, because after all, I've Got Life, and yeah, I know I should be thankful for that. And I am, really, I am. I'm living in a great part of the country, with the Ocean at my beck and call, I have my wits about me (well, sometimes), and we're all getting rid of George W. Bush, never mind that the mess he's left this country in will probably take the next ten Prezzidential Administrations to clean up, and of course, other stuff will be happening once he's gone, so basically, the Mess goes on and On and ON. But, this isn't a political post; I don't want it to be, so I'll move on...

...but it's hard to move away from that. Who in their right mind would think that President-Elect Obama would have anything to do with that ultra-corrupt Illinois Governor, Rod Blagojevich (I hope I spelt that right), trying to sell off Obama's now-vacated Senate Seat? Who would place his PRESIDENCY in jeopardy for a Senate Seat? I don't get it. We all know worse stuff than that has happened in American Politics, but after This Miserable Bush Administration is all done (1 in 4 Americans now think Dick Cheney is the worst-EVER Vice Prezzident, while Bush hopes his approval rating hovers somewhere above Zero), I want My New Prezzident to be Squeeky-Clean. I certainly hope he is. I haven't lost all faith in my country, but things during the Bush administration got so bad that I've (almost) ceased to care. As long as I can keep getting up, go ahead and knock me down some more, but one of these days I won't get up anymore, and that's kinda how I feel about politics. But, this isn't a political post; I don't want it to be, so I'll move on...(didn't I just type that?)

I've managed not to hear many Annoying yuletide songs this Christmas Season. (Note that I didn't say "this holiday season" or whatever Corporate America wants to call it). As for "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer", nope, haven't heard it once. Thank GOD. In addition, I managed to zap "Feliz Navidad" 20 seconds after it began playing on the car radio, and I didn't even run anyone over in the process, so I'm especially proud of that. No "Frosty The Snowman" either, which probably doesn't get played here on the Oregon Coast because there IS no snow, something I rejoice over Every Single Winters' Day. And, No "Jingle Bells"; nope, haven't heard it at all this time around. Honestly, does ANYONE know by heart the second verse; you know, the one about Miss Fanny Bright (or Bryce or Blight or whatever) seated by his side as the horse stumbles over scattered snow-berms and freezes its hooves off as they crashed thru the icy coverings of frozen potholes in the road? Brrrrr. Just plain-old BRRRRR.

I did, however, endure one listening of "Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!" recently, mainly 'cos I couldn't jump high enough to rip out the store-intercom-speaker I heard it over...a song that makes me wonder, if the song's idyllic couple actually spends hours and hours "goodbye-ing", and he's had to trudge thru the snowbanks (and/or slip and slide on the highways risking life and limb) to GET there, what kinda deal is that, making him head back all the way home, forcing him to risk life and limb again...that doesn't sound like 'holiday spirit' to me...at least let the poor shmuck sleep on the COUCH, and he can go home in the morning. "If you'll really hold me tight, all the way I'll be warm." That line is an outright LIE. Yer gonna freeze yer jewels off no matter how enamored you think you might be.
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This is pretty much how I feel about Christmas anymore...sorta ambivalent...
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I kinda think, though, that I'd take up ol' Burl Ives' offer of having a "Holly-Jolly Christmas", especially if it involves a Cup of Cheer, although I never figure out what people see in that worn-out holiday concoction, the venerable "Tom and Jerry"...although the name might be accurate, since it tastes like hot water that a cat chasing a mouse both swam in, mid-chase. "Tom and Jerries" taste absolutely AWFUL. So that's one Holiday thing I Just Don't Get At All. What does the Tom and Jerry have to do with the Holiday? Was the stuff poured over houses in village hamlets to ward off evil spirits? It would definitely work for that. No evil spirit is THAT evil. The average "Tom and Jerry" would corrode your entire automobile if you poured the stuff into the radiator. Ackthpf. Something else, involving the "holidays" seems to be on the wane; the popularity of Mistletoe is declining. I can see why, especially if Everyone's had the same degree of luck under it that I've had. Kind of an exercise in futility, hanging it up if it Ain't Gonna Work, which in my case, it never has. Never Ever.

I can look back on Christmases past, and actually remember some good times. Christmas is more for Kids anyway, isn't it? Some of the Christmas Presents I asked for, and got: One year, an Etch-A-Sketch; another year, a tape recorder. Presents in other years were a race car set, Record Albums that I wanted ("All Things Must Pass" by George Harrison, for instance), and waaay too many Sweaters I never wore (I can't stand sweaters; too clingy for me), as well as too many socks and pairs of sweat pants, but I did my level best to feign Genuine Thanks for those. Waaay back in the Very Early '60s, I got a Huge Deluxe set of Crayola Crayons (200, I think). One year, I found a Guitar under the tree. I didn't ask for that. And wondered what I was gonna do with it. I had no idea how to play it way back then. Still don't. But I never thot I'd be bashing the guitar long after my crayons were worn to nubs and all the mercury had drained itself out of the Etch-A-Sketch. Drip, drip, drip...
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I've tried to ignore politics on this post, but I've just gotta say this...you've seen the footage of the guy throwing SHOES at George W. Bush's head...and you'll probably see it several hundred more times before the Day after Tomorrow. If you do, notice that our Prezzident doesn't change his facial expression AT ALL as he's dodging the Flying Footwear. As a matter of fact, he has NO expression, just that same old Vacant Space-For-Rent Dubya-Stare. What, me worry?

Signs of a South Coast Winter...
I mean, there are some Winter Signs, right? There must be...
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Since I relocated to the Southern Oregon Coast a while back, I think I've (almost) enjoyed the Winters more than any other season. During violent, turbulent, high-velocity windy days, the waves slamming into the shore cliffs are something to behold. I hope to have some really good wave pictures posted here fairly soon. Since I've lived here, I'm no longer experiencing frozen, ice-covered streets and parking lots that have all the traction of your average hockey rink. Nope. I'm not experiencing piles and piles of snow that just get in the way of everything, and complicate even the most simple errand. Maybe I'd just had enough of the average ice-cold inland winter weather.
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Until a couple of years ago, each year I experienced freezing-cold, ice, snow, and all the other winter hazards, and I find it quite liberating not to Have Any Snow. I'd felt like a Prisoner of Winter before...short frozen days where civilization yielded to a frozen icebox of nature every night. One snowy winter, I actually put a summertime picture on my computer monitor, which was quite therapeutic in that my memories of distant warm weather and sunshine weren't All In My Head.

There are gray, rainy days here; a LOT of them over the course of the winter, which can be depressing at times. No, I didn't expect Nirvana when I moved down here, and it's because of that, and the fact that I've endured a lot of hard, snowy winters that I have no problem in handling the worst weather down here. As a matter of fact, I'm fascinated by the sometimes-severe winter weather, and will be until a tree comes crashing down on my house. I've got homeowners' insurance, though, so hopefully I won't have to cross my fingers too tightly. Last year, we had 80mph winds down here, and I'm just amazed at the sudden velocity of the winds and rain pelting down mercilessly.

Sometimes when a day starts out gloomy and gray, quite often those skies will Totally Clear Up by mid-afternoon. When that happens, and I don't have to be in town for a Doctors' appointment or whatever, I drop everything and get outside, for ya never know when the Sun's Gonna Be Out again. The weather forecasters try to predict it, but all they can do is make weak stabs at it, because Ma Nature is especially temperamental down here. And, honestly, I'd rather be OUT on a nice winters' day than inside, which ain't how I felt about winters before where I used to live, in Northern Idaho. Up there, I grew to despise winter, and "snow" became just another Four Letter Word. I really hate snow. I just do.

So anyway, today (December 16th!), was COLD, yes (Chill Factor near zero), but the skies were clear, and 'twas time to go for a nature hike. I'd spied a trail during my travels around here that I hadn't been on before, and it was time to see where that trail led. I felt sort of like one of the Great Explorers, literally shoving aside thick, almost impassible (in places) brush as I groaned and strained to proceed forward, because the rocky cliffs and the Ocean Beyond were beckoning me. The closer I got to the Actual Coast, the thicker the brush became. "Go West, Young Man", and even though I'm not so young anymore, I did...and at the end of the trail, a couple of great views...

The top photo features a couple of trees shaped by the wind with the ocean lurking ominously beyond; I'm actually looking across a narrow cove with a 60-foot vertical drop to the ocean below. At the bottom, another view of the Cape Arago Lighthouse. Just beyond the bushes in the foreground a few feet away is another steep sheer cliff. So I had a most excellent adventure today, taking a lot of pictures and stumbling through the brush, trying to fight off the vertigo I'm dealing with, my ol' trusty driftwood walking stick in hand. I've gotta be nuts, fighting my way thru the bushes and coming close to steep dropoffs with this Vertigo I've been dealing with...
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But getting back to my original premise, that There Must Be Signs of Winter down here, well,there are signs, but they're more felt than seen. When the Sun's warming up the deep blue sky, it's still cold, but not really cold. But the minute you step into the shade, with those ocean breezes still blowing, well, "BRRRRRR." Not unlike standing on a planet with no atmosphere, where the temperature is 700 "F" and the shadows drop you down to 200 degrees below zero. Well, not like that, exactly, but my hands both froze as I was lining up the camera for the next two shots...

One of the relatively few visible signs of winter in the top photo, and there it is, genuine ICE in the Coast Guard Station's parking lot, but no snow in the background. From approximately the same spot, the photo below was taken...The 'Bay' of Coos Bay in the foreground, no snow for miles beyond, but if you look at the top of the picture, you can see a bit of snow in the Coastal Range some 15-20 miles away, and no, I don't want to travel those roads anytime soon.
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Posted below is a photo album of the shots I took today; this'll do until I get the courage to break into this blog, do the 'html' thing and add it to all the other photo albums in the left margin. The ocean in December...a rather cool perspective, actually...



...and below, you'll find another newer post which is somewhat topical, logical, cynical, impossible, critical, pathological and ecumenical (I'm kidding about that last adjective...).

Jumbled Holiday Visions...
...cleaning out the corners of my fragile eggshell mind...

*DentureQuest 2008 Continues: Yeah, I know I rambled about this 'ad nauseum' in my previous post, but I'm getting more and more used to 'em all the time. As a matter of fact, it took me only half-an-hour to eat 2 fairly long bacon strips at breakfast today! It's a good thing I ate the hashbrowns and eggs first, or they woulda gotten mighty cold while I more or less 'dissected' the baconstrips with my new pseudo-teeth. I'm having to learn to eat all over again, although my physical dimensions tend to indicate that I never had much of a problem with it to begin with.

*The Political Transition is On: You know that we're getting a New Administration soon; now that no one really can do anything about it, our Lame Duck Vice President today admitted that, Yes, he approved that by-now-famous intimidation technique, "Waterboarding", in which imprisoned individuals from the Middle East were threatened with techniques that simulated the experience of Actually Drowning. Yep, we're a Democracy, and we'll prove it even if we have to take a garden hose and ram it down your gullet before turning the water on full-blast. Dick Cheney still maintains that We Have Achieved Success With All We've done over there, plundering the Iraqi neighborhoods, shoving Democracy (along with water) down the throats of those who Don't Want Democracy. Hopefully that's all I'll hear out of Dick Cheney's Mouth for Eternity. Goodbye and good riddance! Right now, Keith Olbermann, flaming liberal that he is, is accusing Dick Cheney of War Crimes. Hmmm...Olbermann might be right...

*Candy-nomics: At just about any convenience store, you can find those little bags of Sather's Candy, the ones that are 2 for $1.00. I used to think that was a pretty good deal, because you got a lot for your money. Not such a great value these days, however. Today, I bought a coupla bags of Sather's peppermint hard candy, and there were only EIGHT pieces in each bag. Eight. Not a whole heckuva lot. That's over 12 cents per little Peppermint Candy Piece. I remember when you could get giant-size candy bars for a DIME. Anyway, that's one indicator of how chintzy everyone's become since the Economy kicked us in our drawers a while back.

*Should I just give it up now?: I've been playing guitar for 30 years, and have begun to accept my limitations. My fingers can't move as fast as Eddie Van Halen's. I can't play a musical scale to save my life. I'm not a very melodic player, such as David Gilmour of Pink Floyd, whose sound either inspires me or makes me wanna hang up the guitar forever. On my best days, after all this time, I am still Just Barely Adequate. But now there's something on the market which can Actually Make Me Sound Good. It's called "Guitar Hero". All you have to do is strap on a fake guitar with no strings and flail away at it with reckless abandon and you can sound just like a Super Pop Star. Yep, Eric Clapton, we don't need you anymore; now Anyone Can Sound As Good As You Do! Used to be, you had to work at Guitar Playing to Sound good playing guitar. Not Now! In my mind, they should call it "Guitar ZERO". The 'Zero', of course, for those who have No Musical Skill. Hey, Joe The Plumber, now, YOU, TOO, can sound like Ted Nugent!

*Some Things Never Change: Such as, for example, Corruption in the Name of Politics. The Illinois Governor, a guy with the unpronouncable and un-spellable name that resembles something like Bloggogoyavich...(Blegouvidich? Blobogasovich?) tried to SELL the position of SENATOR to whoever wanted to replace Barack Obama, who left the Ill-noise senate for a more important gig. In the original scheme of things, Blugooyovich (Bloopynagovich?) was reportedly envisioning himself as Senator (and yea, verily, someday as Prezzident) if he couldn't sell the position to someone else. Under Blogooeyvich, (Bloopianovich?), if one of his Mob Boss Friends wanted to pony up the money, Illinois would have a corrupt, cigar-chomping alcoholic Al Capone wannabe as Senator. Whee!!! Don'tcha just love politics? And now, it turns out one of Mr. Obama's cabinet appointees spoke to Bleggosaurusovich (Blimbonitzivich?), only it's not fully known if the Senate Position was On The Table then. And, will this development crawl up the Prezzidential chain, where the Prezzident finds himself impeached before he even takes office? Mr. Obama, you'd BETTER emerge from all this as clean as a whistle, or I will Never Ever Vote For Anybody Ever Again.

*Shoe-Fly, don't bother me: It was a case where lame-duck Prezzidential Pretender George W. Bush, even though he's put his foot in his mouth myriad times over the last 8 years, missed a chance to have someone else's shoe in his mouth during a surprise visit to Iraq this week. An irate Press-Person actually threw his shoes at the President's head, which isn't all that big a threat, since his skull is fairly thick. Still, it would've been a Coup of sorts had the Prezzidential Teeth been graced with the heel of someone's WingTip. It might have knocked some sense into him. Or, perhaps he would've been rendered unconscious, in which case no one would've noticed at all; I've long thought that GWB operates pretty-much on Automatic Pilot to begin with. Phone it in, George. Actually, it's a fitting conclusion to our Role in Iraq under the Bush Administration. No Weapons of Mass Destruction, but Plenty Of Shoes...

*Ups and Downs At The Pump: Gas prices have GONE UP 29 cents a gallon this week (at my most favorite place to buy gas). What gives? The Fuel-Powers-That-Be must be thinking to themselves, 'more people are gonna be on the roads now that Christmas is drawing near, so let's scheme and scam away and really start to milk motorists, again, out of every cent we can get out of them'...you know, I couldn't sleep at night if the Oil Barons, Company Prezzidents and Stockholders weren't somehow Realizing Ever Larger Profit Margins. I'm sure glad they raised prices; I just couldn't begin to cope with the stress of Actually Paying A Reasonable Price for fuel. It's just too much to handle, walking around with Some Actual Extra Cash in my wallet. Guilt, greed and corruption...the American Way. Am I cynical yet?
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*Holli-daze: What Corporate America likes to call "The Holidays" is coming up, and in the spirit of the season (if indeed there's any Spirit these days), here's a timely little sentiment in the tradition of Christmas/Xmas/Hanukikah/Pre-Boxing Day or whatever you decide to call it; something to digest before you gulp down that big holiday dinner...



Have a Holly-Jolly Christmas...it's the best (?) time of the year...I don't know if there'll be snow, but have a cup o'cheer...Have A Holly-Jolly Christmas...and in case you didn't hear...Oh by golly, have a Holly-Jolly Christmas...this year. This is the only Blog On Earth where Burl Ives follows John Lennon in some sorta-psychedelic parallel musical universe...

It feels like a DINNER PLATE...
...that's been STUCK in my MOUTH...

At times, this blog serves as an outlet for all of the adjusting and readjusting I'm having to do as I get older. This week, I have crossed another threshold on the way to becoming just another old and tired has-been who's getting pushed aside by all kinds of new things that I'm not only having to accept, but ENDURE, all the while realizing that it's totally MY FAULT that I've had to undergo what I'm presently undergoing. What am I talking about? DENTURES. As I type this, I'm having to get used to a full upper "PLATE" full of fake teeth, complemented by fake gums. And, hopefully I can get used to this upper plate soon, 'cos on the heels of that will come Lower Dentures. It's what I get for not having brushed my teeth a whole lot when I was younger. Yep, time to pay the piper...after I pay the dentist, of course.
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Open WIDE and say, "aaaaah"...
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First, before the dentures, comes The Pulling Of Teeth. YANK! CRANK! I've had myriad extractions in the last 2-3 weeks. I now have No Real Teeth up top, and soon I'll have only two left on the bottom which (theoretically) will provide as an anchor for the Lower False Teeth that'll soon be gracing my palate. I've had my top denture in for 3 days now, and at first, the Lack of Room for anything involving the tongue is quite alarming. It's as if there's constant competition between tongue and top denture; the tongue pushes up against the Unyielding Hard And Thick Plastic Material, and the Thick Plastic Material always wins. It honestly feels as if I need some sort of Tongue-Liposuction. I'll be having several followup appointments this month, where my dentist will studiously strive to make adjustments, shaving a bit of tooth here and there so that my mouth can close with some degree of alignment. CLOMP!
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My dentist is also a denturist. He's cornered the market. There's something to be said for diversity, I guess. In a typical post-extraction appointment, I'll find myself in the dentist chair, with him seated behind me, working at a counter, with one of those blowtorch-things flaming away, slowly molding and melding the Unyielding Plastic Material so it comes at least (again, hopefully) somewhat close to approximating the Roof Of My Mouth. So, if I feel like complaining about how much my mouth is hurting, or how clumsy the denture feels inside my mouth, I've got to choose my words carefully...you don't want to anger a torch-wielding dentist/denturist, after all. He told me that he's been doing this kind of work for over forty years...and I tactfully held back when I was tempted to ask him,"why would a person wanna stick his hands in people's mouths for forty years? It sounds like some kind of hell to me." But I guess the money's pretty good.
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Ah, but this dentist is no Fast Buck Freddie; he's a professorial-type, whose presence elicits the word "Sir" whenever I address him. And he's a quiet craftsman-type, more a sculptor than Mere Dental Employee Grinding Out Another Day. He's older than me, which is refreshing, since I don't meet that many people who are older than me anymore. And his staff puts up with me moaning and groaning all over the place after the Dentist/Denturist mercifully lets me escape from the Dental Chair. They all put up with me and my various paranoid-induced moanings and groanings after I've been allowed to stumble my way out to where I end up in the front office, depositing myself in a shaking quivering heap of globby flesh in his front office so that I can make Another Appointment, so I can return, and we can all Dance This Mess Around All Over Again. I never thought Going To The Dentist would Be My Social Life. I must a wild and crazy guy! All I know is, that until I get used to the Unyielding Plastic of a Denture in my mouth, I'll feel sorta like the guy pictured below...
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Glurg. OOP! Ackthptf. Blorg. Mmmmph. Glurg Glurg.
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I know that I'm doing the right thing, though. Yes, I wish I didn't have to surrender my teeth; I absolutely HATE the thought of getting rid of them. To me, Losing One's Teeth is one of Life's Final big experiences. Once they're gone, they're gone, and they HAD to go. My teeth were pouring all kinds of infection-laden, constantly-festering sewer juices into my throat and body. I've had constant fatigue, sore throats and ravaged vocal cords from the stuff dripping into my system. I've gone thru several truckloads of Trident (TM) Spearmint gum, all because I couldn't STAND the way my mouth was tasting. Good thing I haven't kissed anyone lately, huh?
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Look...with or without teeth, I want to LIVE. And, actually, I'm fairly comfortable with the way my Upper Denture sticks to the palate. I can speak fairly easily with it in, and it feels a lot better IN than OUT of my mouth. It actually feels weird NOT having the denture in. Without it, my mouth feels like it's got room enough for a couple of bowling balls. (Hard to talk with bowling balls in your mouth, however.) And, unlike a bowling ball in the mouth, I can even sleep with the denture in, something I'll have to do for a while (if not eternity) until my mouth has fully recovered from the various Dental Tugs-of-War that I've been enduring lately.
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At first, it's a little scary being faced with the prospect of having all yer teeth pulled. But in the end, for all I care, you can tear my head off if you want; just make sure I'm pumped full of novacaine or whatever else is used these days. I'll just hope I don't lose my denture(s) the way I periodically Lose Car Keys. Does anyone make a denture alarm? You know, where Clap your hands twice and the denture emits a loud buzzing sound from a tiny transmitter embedded in the Unyielding Plastic? A Denture-Clapper? Clap on, Clap off...THE CLAPPER...gosh...surely Denture-shaped Chia Pets can't be far behind...
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And, finally, if a Denture can't solve my dental problems and I do end up with a Dinner Plate in my mouth, I'll just hope it's not as ugly as this one...
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This plate could cure your appetite. Gawd. I'm getting SEASICK just looking at it!
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Finally, to all of those women who advertise in the Personals, who specify that a prospective mate must have All His Own Teeth, well, I DO. They're my teeth, all right. I BOUGHT 'em. So there!

My "December 8th" observance...
...dining on Shaved Fish...

It's something I do this time of year to commemorate December 8th, a date that will forever live in Rock and Roll Infamy; that's when we all lost John Lennon some 28 years ago. Without him, there would've been no Beatles; without The Beatles, it's quite possible that everything that came after, and during their reign, would never have happened, or at least, would have happened quite differently. I'd like to think so, anyway. So, every year about this time, I extract "Shaved Fish" from ye old record collection; it's the last album he put out before he retired from Show Biz back in 1975. He wouldn't re-emerge until just before his 1980 death...which, to me, will always feel like a tragedy full of unrequited potential; he was letting us all inside, he was sharing himself with us again and what did he get for it? Pow! BLAM! I'm still bitter about it, yes, but as time passes, less so.

Anyway, "Shaved Fish", the album, originally came with a red and white sticker that advertised the package as "Collectable Lennon"...which seems to translate as "Mainstream Lennon", because it features his Obvious Big Hit Singles. Still, at the time it came out, and for years afterwards, it was the only place you could find his studio version of "Cold Turkey", the studio version of "Instant Karma" and of course, "Happy Xmas" (War Is Over If You Want It), so the disc did bring together some pieces of the puzzle. His rabble-rousing song, "Power To The People", which almost sounds as if it were recorded in Red Square, was another one of the 'available nowhere else' tunes which ended up on "Shaved Fish". "Is "Power To The People" really 'Mainstream Lennon'? Well, it got airplay and made the charts, so that's saying something...

One track on the LP is definitely not "Mainstream" Lennon, however; his 1972 single, "Woman Is The 'n-word' Of The World" is included. The sentiment is admirable; the song is about how us Macho Men ridicule, persecute and victimize women, and how we gripe more at 'em if they dare to complain. I'm sure the outrageousness of the song's 'n-word' was in part Yoko's doing, seeing as how she hijacked a lot of his creativity, but he went along for the ride, and that was the result of that. Yoko may have goaded John into doing all kinds of outrageous things, but he probably had that 'streak' all along, anyway...

Later in the '70s, he released the song "Mind Games", a tune which I have to admit not really caring for when I first heard it, but seems to sound better and better with time. It's on "Shaved Fish", along with his very own #1 hit, "Whatever Gets You Through The Night" (with Elton John adding vocals), and I have mixed emotions about that tune. It rocks, it's poppy, but a bit 'minor' for Lennon. Still, it worked for him. And it's not a really bad tune. I've heard the "Live" version recorded at Madison Square Garden in 1975; it rocks harder and sounds fresher. Ironically, the song contains the phrase, "don't need a gun to blow your mind, oh no, oh no." Amazing how life's little ironies can come back in haunting fashion, eh?

In the 1990's, several newer repackages of John Lennon's songs ("Lennon Legend", "The John Lennon Collection" and others) hit the market, and they all include more songs, and a more detailed showcasing of what John Lennon was all about, but still, I bring out the old "Shaved Fish" disc every December 8th; my copy is on the original Apple label, and so I like to hear the old music on a vintage disc that actually sounds pretty good.



So anyway, this is what I do every December 8th. I bring out the "Shaved Fish" album and listen again to what John Lennon brought to this world. There are harsh, potentially unlikeable songs on it, side by side with some really beautiful melodies. Above all, Lennon was a human being, and listening to this album, or any collection of Lennon's hits, reveals the paradoxical natures within him, that we all have to a degree. I once heard someone ask, "What did John Lennon bring to the Beatles?", and I think he brought the potential for creativity and carried with him an energetic urgency which helped make the Beatles So Doggoned Good. He also wrote some fairly dandy solo tunes, and this "Shaved Fish" disc concisely showcases that material.
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For those who think I'm terribly ignorant because I didn't mention December 7th (Pearl Harbor), yes, I know that date is quite personal for those who fought in World War II and their families. My Dad flew a bomber over Germany; he spent a year in the Army, discharged, and went straight into the Army Air Corps. So, vets, while I wasn't alive then, I do appreciate all you've done; that goes out to all those who've served, as well as to those who are serving now.

So he was found guilty of Something at last...
The Sad-Sack Saga of O.J. Simpson...

I try to post at least twice a week in this blogsite, and this week, I was running out of blogging ideas. I've already blogged twice recently about music, so that topic's getting kinda old. I could blog about politics, but I've done that enough already, too. All of a sudden, Friday rolled around and I was, like, WHAT AM I GONNA POST? ACKTHPTF!!!!! And then, all of a sudden, yea verily, like Manna from Heaven (or Hell), O.J. Simpson came along and saved my blogger's behind. THANKS, MAN! Now I can keep my blog all fresh n' timely!
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It all began last night when I looked up from my computer long enough to hear over the TV that O.J.'s sentencing would be today. Oh yeah? And then when I awoke this morning, Lo and Behold, when I switched on MSNBC, his sentencing hearing was already underway. Obviously, it was my destiny to write this post. Who am I to argue with fate? So, like a mosquito drawn to one of those bug-zapper things, I Just Had To Post This. I had no control. And, this post is what happened. So you call me Reckless? Not as Reckless as the subject of this post...

Everyone knows O.J. committed double-murder back in '94; even the Jurors who found him Not Guilty know it. Basically, O.J.'s blood was spread all over Los Angeles County, but instead, somehow the Police Department found itself on trial, and O.J., the Man Without A Conscience, regained his freedom, free to chip golf balls whenever his fancy struck. He could leave bloody gloves all over his property if he wanted, or perhaps go for long, lazy interstate freeway excursions, he laying behind the back seat with a gun pointed at his head while his best buddy drove the Ford Bronco to Brentwood or wherever else.

With his new-found freedom, O.J. migrated to Florida, where all (or most) of his assets were evidently safe from the clutches of the Goldman Family, who had successfully Sued him in a civil case. I guess, though, that someone had somehow procured some of O.J.'s memorabilia, so O.J., along with His Own Personal Mafiosos, went to Nevada to get it back. The big problem for O.J., though, was that guns were brandished and people were coerced, and someone could have been killed, and all sorts of mean, nasty ugly stuff. In Nevada, taking back even Your Own property whilst threatening people with a gun is a big No-No.

And so, it turns out in best ironic fashion, that O.J. is guilty, and going to prison, for stealing a few footballs with signatures on them and other relatively worthless trinkets; he, the same guy who killed his wife and her friend two years ago, and even though his blood was intermingled with theirs, got off Scot-Free back in 1995. And so, he was sentenced today, to at least Nine Years In Prison, if not a Whole Lot More Years In Prison. I've just gotta say "THANK YOU, O.J. Simpson, for providing me with Something To Blog About!" In return, I've come up with a Great New Idea for mass-marketing your image, should you win an appeal and get out on, say, 32 quadrizillion dollars' bail...hope you like it!
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He'll be a-runnin'-for-daylight should he visit the Prison Exercise Yard...

All Those Years Ago...

...This would be a good time to "Imagine"...

This is a real "downer week" for Beatles fans. Coming up in a few days, the 28th anniversary of John Lennon's death, although the only person who might be gleefully celebrating is John Lennon's wacko assassin, who is still tucked away in a New York State Prison. Can it already be 28 years since Mr. Lennon's passing? Well, Yeah. And the reason I'm mentioning that now, is because I missed the death-anniversary date of George Harrison, who passed away November 29th, 2001. The big "C" got Harrison, who had been fighting cancer off and on for the last couple years of his life. It's almost as if George's 'date' just sorta slips by, in much the same way he slipped away. Lennon's 'date' commemorates such an awful event that I don't think I'll ever forget it.

The very last song George Harrison ever recorded was a tune called "Horse To The Water", but it's not on any of his solo albums. Back in 2001, he was still feeling good enough, a mere two months before his passing, to lay down vocals and contribute some sweet guitar leads to the tune. He wrote it with his son, Dhani, and you can find it on a "various artists" compact disc, which was put together by British Musician Jules Holland, who (I believe) was keyboardist for a British band called Squeeze. Holland nowadays hosts a TV variety-show-sort-of program in Merrie Olde England. I've always wished that George's song would have been released on a vinyl single, but so far, that hasn't happened. Pictured below is the CD that contains "Horse To The Water"...

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This is a pretty good disc, in that it features all-new recordings by a whole slew of big and fairly-big musicians. Jules Holland has released several of these discs over the years, which means, I guess, that if you go out and buy 'em all, you'll be hearing a whole lotta different artists. CD's such as this would probably be a great album to put on an Ipod or Mp3, or "random play" in your CD changer. I'm not sure if it's still in print (depends on how much demand for it there is), but it's worth tracking down. I got my copy all those years ago...it was really important for me to have George's Last Track. Below, is a photo of George from the CD Booklet, taken right around the time he recorded that last song...

George Harrison in the last couple months of his life. 'Twas nice knowing you, George...

I read recently that it was actually John Lennon who felt the most paranoia and anxiety before each Beatles Concert way back when. John posed as the "tough guy" in the group, but some have said that John's Vision might have brought that on; he reportedly was almost blind without his glasses. It's not unreasonable to think that during those Beatles' concerts, or on the Ed Sullivan Show, he couldn't SEE the audience. I guess I'd feel paranoid, too. The audience as a Big Blob Somewhere Out There. Below is the last photograph of John Lennon, taken several hours before he was killed...

John Lennon, on his way to his last recording date; signing an album for the guy that later shot him.

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So, this is a gloomy time for all Beatles fans. Not that I'm all that depressed about it, because when you factor in that Lennon would have been 68 this year, who knows if he'd be alive now, had he not met such a horrible fate; age has a way of catching up with us all sooner or later. While I'll always be sad that Mssrs. Harrison and Lennon are gone, the Entire Beatles Era is almost beginning to feel like Ancient History, and I'm feeling quite antiquated as well. But yet, when I hear Beatles' oldies on the radio (indeed, I heard 'Strawberry Fields Forever' over the intercom of a Goodwill store, which freaked me out) the memories come flooding back. What a crazy, out-there song. It's outrageous...and truly one of a kind. Like Lennon Himself.

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My favorite Beatles' song? It's so hard to choose. For sheer power, I love "Day Tripper"; it's still an exciting song, especially about 2/3's of the way through when, coming out of the instrumental break, the song builds and builds and builds before crashing into the last verse. Those who say the Beatles didn't rock need to play it repeatedly and do some serious re-evaluating.