Rain Dove

Zenaida macroura,
Carolina Turtledove,
Mourning Dove.

Feathers shimmering
cream, fawn, gray and black
earth-toned stained glass.

The Oh woo–woo–woo–woo
a call to sleep,
or to wake.

Eye black as coal,
little black accent stripes
casually applied beneath.

Mammasita sits in a hanging planter
dark flecked tan pottery with a brown rim
a perfect compliment.

A patch of dusty rose on the neck
is the only way I can tell
male from female.

Seventy million killed annually for sport or food.
She sits on her second brood,
they will raise up to six a year.

Ten days ago, she hatched two squab,
perfectly camouflaged, ruffled feathers
the color of dirt and dry grass.
they flew off Friday
and have not returned.

North Texas Rain

In Western Washington rain falls
like grass grows;
inevitably and often.

On the south rim of Grand Canyon
it rained so hard the road was a river
and a thousand waterfalls tumbled over the rim.

In the Mogollon range
a single storm snuffed
a thousand acre fire.

At three this morning the storm arrived
now rain beats a tattoo on a new roof,
a gift from last year’s hail storm.

The back yard is under water
lettuces and garlic submerged in their beds
river rock returned to its native state.

Our street has become a river
storm drains turned into waterfalls
just like that day at Grand Canyon.

A Nod To B. Kliban

The word of the day is brachiate
which isn’t what it sounds like.
It really means to swing a thing
and change the arm you swing by.

now certainly some of y’all
are gonna tend to reason
that a word that sounds like this one does
has somethin’ to do with breathin.’

When it's a verb, it means to swing
but there’s an adjective as well
yet contrary to common thought
it still won't make your lungs swell.

No, when used in its second form
it’s got serendipitous charm
‘cause when we say the word that way
it means you got two arms.

Edwin v. 2.0

Born in the Show Me state
the son of an insurance man.
As a youth, his interests
were entirely terrestrial;
jock, fly fisherman, boxer.

In college, the first hints of calling;
a frat boy studying math,
astronomy and philosophy.
One of the first Rhodes scholars,
British dress and manners
stuck with him all his life.

Mount Wilson was his laboratory;
the faint glow of his omnipresent pipe
reflecting the nebulae he studied.

In his day, scholars saw only one galaxy,
but he saw many.
From the Milky Way
to dozens of spirals and ellipticals,
he expanded the universe
galaxy by galaxy.

The Hubble Constant showed us
that all those silent stars
rushing away at terrible speed
expanding the universe ever farther.

He left us the Redshift Distance Law;
that caused Einstein
to declare his galactic fudge factor
the biggest blunder of his life.

His life star burned bright and fast
he was gone at sixty three.
There was no funeral.
His wife never revealed
what became of the body.

Edwin

Born in the Show Me state
a jock,
a fly fisherman,
a boxer.

Frat boy,
Rhodes scholar
studying jurisprudence
then a Masters in Spanish.

A Major in the
war to end all wars.
And finally,
a doctoral dissertation
on faint nebulae.

Mount Wilson
was his lab and classroom,
his omnipresent pipe
a glowing beacon in the night.

The two hundred inch Hale reflector
allowed him to see farther
than anyone ever had before.

He died quite young,
but left us much,
not the least
the Redshift Distance Law;
it caused Einstein
to rescind his “galactic fudge factor”
and declare it
“the biggest blunder of his life.”

North Texas Wind

Flowing palette of green,
a flash of red Oleander,
swirl and tuck
like a flamenco dancer
fanning her skirt.

Early sky
worn denim
drying on river rock.

Scudding cloud,
hurried, distracted,
needing to be
somewhere else.

Everyone joins.
Grasses baroque, formal
Trees uninhibited,
a joyful paso doble.

Small birds make
lightning corrections,
countering each gust
to stay on course.

Rushing through
leaf and branch
sound like the speed
of a downhill run.

Chimes like
Russian bells
calling the faithful
to prayer.

Dissimulation

I’ve always called it
subterfuge,
or a ruse
if used in the legal sense;
“bullshit”
is more accurate.

Perhaps disguising
our real agenda
is just
human camouflage.
Perhaps we’re childish,
standing beside
the broken vase
saying
“I didn’t do it”

Nonetheless,
I am still dismayed
that this
sneaky little word
has become
the modus operandi
for church
and state.

Marjorie Jean

Elegance and earthiness.
Sense of humor
from William Buckley
to Monty Python.
Seeing life as opportunity
to appreciate and express.
Many gardens,
each a vignette of color and texture
an experience to see and smell and feel
and always a patch of catnip for your pals.
Simple food with a sense
of artistry to the ingredients and plating.
Heard Yes for the first time and
noted the classical influence.
Curiosity and fearless willingness
to try almost anything.
Appreciation for quiet, bird song
moving water, clouds and the
hush of wind through tall grass.
Her art fills my home
her lessons fill my life.

Etymology

I always assumed that flabbergast
was German or Dutch, like verklempt;
but it came from Sussex,
from the eighteen thirties,
a made up word,
the combination of flabby and aghast.

This truth does not overwhelm, shock, or surprise,
it does make one ponder how such a word
not only came about, but thrived.

That said, forgive me if I wish
that some of our modern variations,
like dude and cube farm
do not survive the next two hundred years.

Corrigibility

I’ve been incorrigible
but the things I do,
like demonstrating that
I love my wife madly,
firing up the power chord
from Won’t Get Fooled Again
at daybreak, at volume 11,
playing the rhythm riff from La Grange
when warming up a church band,
I don’t feel at all bad about them.

I am verging on old dogdom
but I’m still trainable,
capable of being corrected.
I would hate to be so smug
that I believed I had it all down.

So don’t hesitate to try.
Offer a tasty treat
or rub my belly when I roll over;
I’m sure I can learn to shake.

Religiosity

I Pray for a day when
even in the Bible belt,
people won’t ask
“What faith are you?”

I pray for a day when
any and all derivations
from Anabaptist to Zoroastrian
no longer justify terrible wrongs
by claiming they are called by God.

I pray for a day when the term
corporate worship is replaced
by people together doing what is right.

I pray for a day when what it is really about
is no longer money and power.

I pray for a day when,
as we should with our government,
the people take back what is theirs
and remake it into what it should be.

Chopper

1969 and the Easy Rider poster
hung in a place of honor
in my bedroom,
right beside the dayglo peace sign.

But imagery was not enough
we needed the thrill of the open road.
So we chopped the front forks of our banana bikes
and then, we could pedal like Hopper and Fonda,
with faded paisley bandannas around our heads.

Naturally, we had to try Nashawtuc hill.
My turn and the thrill of wind and speed
was overtaken about half way down
by an ever increasing wobble in that chopped fork.
Catastrophic failure spilled me
ass over teacups onto the pavement.

I remember lying stunned
then being swept up by the
Nelson’s blonde, tanned au pair
who ran with me to the house
murmuring something in Norwegian
that I am sure was comforting.

I was nine years old
had broken my nose and two teeth
but the memory that stands out
is that this was the first really pretty girl
to hold me to her breast.

Malevolence

The age old question;
does evil exist?
Oh yes, indeed it does…

I am often torn
whether to tell a story
by illustration or word.
When it comes to this,
I cannot repeat the things
I have experienced.

Cops and soldiers see things you don’t.
We are paid to go where you will not go,
to deal with things you are not equipped to deal with.

The scars are neatly categorized as PTSD,
or some other catchy psych term.
The reality is nightmares that do not easily fade.

I cannot say why people do the things they do.
I do not understand hatred, or callousness,
or even madness that leads to true evil
I know only that it does and that I fear it deeply.

Telmer

He hired many of us.
A quiet man,
so quiet that when my time came
I had to ask him to repeat that I was in.

The stories are legends,
slow to move, speak or act
until angered or provoked,
at which point,
the results were stunning.
Terry cold cocked in a fight,
badly outnumbered, lying stunned,
seeing long legs wading in
huge fists cocked and pumping,
plowing the way to rescue.
The burglar who spit and ran
and evoked a roared, “He’s mine!”
and indeed he was...

Son of Ole and Gurina
from Flekkefjord, Norway.
They rest in the Saxon Cemetery
and in late 1994,
their only son rejoined them.

Silver Spoon

Like Orwell at Eton
I attended an institution
to which I did not belong.
Sure, my folks paid the same tuition other parents did,
but that is where the similarity ended.
I was not the son of a bank president,
or the scion of old money from origins
long forgotten by the current holders.
Yes, I lived on a street where people
drove to look at the houses
but I had torn the bread bag insulation from the walls
and pulled up witch grass by hand
to restore it to its former glory.
Across the street, one Christmas morning
twin Mercedes sat gleaming,
huge red ribbons tied around them.
I’ve never known that kind of gift.

Caisteal Foulis na theine

I am Eben Monroe Atwater
of the Clan Munro,
but like residents of the Humane Society
I am a mutt, a mix, a hybrid.
Mom was born a Langston,
of the Minschalls and Langstons,
Dad an Atwater, from Atwater
and Van Vaulkenburgh,
so really there you have it,
a mélange of English, Scots,
Dutch and Welsh, leading to me.
Pride caused my tribe’s sign to be
engraved upon my shoulder
but like clothes, customs, language
and everything else,
the blender of time and place has
spun me down the generations
to who I am today.

Fart Anon

Group Therapy

Hi, I’m Eben
and I’ve been fart free
for two weeks now.
I’ve always been a farter,
though I don’t really know
why I got so caught up in it.
Somewhere growing up,
the disconnect for such things
just never kicked in.
I mean, I know that a
mature adult shouldn’t giggle
about farting in the grocery store
or giving the wife a dutch oven
but I… I just couldn’t stop.
Eventually, I no longer cared
about being clever and just let ‘er rip.
The hollow ring of my laughter
followed by resounding silence
at a packed 9:15 service was the trigger
that made me realize I needed help.

Moose

Moose

As I sit typing, she is patting my arm
with her paw. Her throaty purr
fills the quiet room, eyes
yellow green, big as an owl’s.
When we first met, eleven years ago
her Siamese mom brayed,
her dorky orange tabby brother
gamboled, and she sat, big eyed
and too cool for the people.
Now in her eighties people-year-wise
she looks at me with love
and purrs all the louder.
She is still kittenish from time to time
flopping on her side and showing off
her fine gray belly fur;
I have tied Rim Chung’s RS2 trout fly
with that fur for fishing the Guadalupe.
She is stuffed between recliner and couch section,
hard against my leg with her chin resting on my laptop.
When I first met Monica, Moose challenged her
as alpha female. Eleven years later, she grudgingly
acknowledges Monique as materfamilias.
I will miss her terribly when her time comes.

Never Work a Job You Hate

I have dabbled in two
of the worst offenders in this regard;
selling manufactured housing,
AKA trailers,
and home mortgages.
It is hard to describe the miasma
one must float in to do these things.
Suffice it to say,
you must suspend your humanity
and operate purely from baser instincts.
Herein is a world where the kind of person
you truly despise excels
and is venerated by the powers that be.
Imagine the worst bully from your school days,
the one who purposefully and repeatedly
hit you in the nuts during dodge ball
as the hero of your workplace
and you get a notion of the horror.
Conjure in your mind’s eye
the most small minded,
mean spirited shell of a human
you have ever encountered;
this will be your boss.

About Sestinas

Six Random Words

I have just begun
writing poetry
so a friend guides me.
One day he said,
“I have to work on
this one some more.”
I looked at my effort,
a few words spilled
across the page;
I thought, what’s to work on?
Now I understand.
Then came the Sestina,
six random words
rotated through
six stanzas
turned into couplets
for the seventh.
“Dumb,” I thought,
“I’ll just pick six words,
slap them up there
and be done with it.”
So I did just that.
Then I read it again
and thought, “Hmmmm
what if I just…”
and an hour or two later,
I was more or less hooked.

Today's prompt - Longing!

Beach Glass

For a long time
I dreamt of the past.
Now I dream of you:
I see you sitting
graceful, long legs
weeding a planting bed
your expression serene
your eyes far away.
But in the dream
I cannot open the door
and join you.
I wish my subconscious
were not so morose.
In time, old fears will wear away
like beach glass.
The jagged edges of my dreams
will become smooth.

Today's prompt was miscommunication...

Help Line

“Thank you for calling employee services
how may I help you today?”
“My paycheck, it came through blank
I have no pay, it’s Friday,
I need to buy food…”
“Oh, I see, and let me say,
I am very sorry for the incovenience
and I wish to assure you
that I will do everything in my power
to correct this problem.”
“OK, well, that’s the problem,
and it’s 3 pm on Friday here, so…”
“I understand completely,
however, let me just access
your account to confirm a few things
would you mind holding
just for a few moments?”
“OK, I am back, and here is the problem;
there has been an issue within your
account and you have not been paid.”
“AH, YES, that’s right, that’s what I told you.”
“Yes, indeed you did and you are
most correct in this regard.”
“Well… Can you fix that?”
“Oh well, I am regretful to say that from where I am
I cannot make a new check for you, no.”
“Is there somebody there who can?”
“No, I am afraid not, you see, here
it is Saturday morning and no one
who could do such a thing is here.
In fact, Sir, even if it were Monday,
there would be no one here
who could do this thing for you,
I am so very sorry...”
“OK, well, is there somebody…
Is there somebody somewhere else who could?”
“Oh yes sir! Undoubtedly the accounting
department within the company’s main office
is capable of correcting this,
most certainly!”
“Whew, OK, well I was worried there
for a minute;
can you connect me to them?”
“Sir, most unfortunately,
I cannot, because you see
they are on your east coast, and
it is already six in the evening…”

An Event; title is the event!

Parapente

The sun is high, building clouds
speak of thunderstorms,
far away and harmless for now.
Thirty five hundred feet below,
the Columbia is half a mile wide,
cobalt blue, streaked white from boats
like contrails in a clear sky.
Dust devils skitter below,
hinting of rising air.
Wind in the face and it’s time.
Flick the wrists and the wing rises
like a Phoenix, poised, waiting.
Three steps toward the cliff
and you’re gone.
Settle back into the harness,
check things over
lines, risers, wing.
Now it is time to join the hawks.
Wing ruffles hard crossing into a thermal.
Rising fast for a moment until it dies.
Another is not far away.
Climbing until friends at the launch
are as small as the boats.
Landing softly back at the take off
grinning and looking down toward the river.
There is one more flight yet to make.

The prompt was travel in some form...

Huachucas

We drive south down Arizona
to Ramsey Canyon and
then we’re on foot
with our gear on our backs.
We head into the mountains
Almost to Mexico, but desert
gives way as we climb,
Prickly Pear and Agave
to hardwoods and firs.
When we find the fire,
there are millions of lady bugs.
We have stumbled into their annual orgy.
they coat tree limb and trunk
thousands upon thousands
the ground is carpeted with them,
All frantic to mate and irked by our intrusion.
their bite is like a tiny point of fire
they boil like fire ants from a kicked nest.
For two days, we fight fire and bugs
never sure of which is the greater enemy.

About Regret

Father’s Past

Blue haired church ladies
wine and dine him.
Bible study groups hang on his words.
In the twilight of his days,
the joy of litany and tradition
still shines in his eyes.
Yet his sermons speak only
of days long passed.
Marriage lost
a child that died too soon
Ivy League schools
tennis played in dazzling whites
on manicured grass courts
a suit and tie life in corporate America.
If what we do is who we are,
is it ever enough?

About Work

Sister

She arrives when the priest is not in
there is only a secretary who knows
why she is here.
Her needs are valid but
she upsets the balance of charity
with too many requests.
She launches her rap
but the secretary is a high wall
over which she will not find her way.
She asks when the priest will return
gets a vague and evasive answer.
She tries one last time, asks
the secretary to buy her a cold soda.
Voice thick with disdain, the secretary
says she carries no cash.
Defeated, she leaves
her day is not yet half over
this stop has cost her two bus trips and
two miles of walking in ninety three degree heat.

Haiku and a piece about Haiku!

Twisted Hackberry tree
in shadow reaches for sunlight
it will fall before then



Haiku Has No Title

The form brings to mind ornate joinery.
Only precise angles and cuts
hold a structure together.
There is no waste allowed
no excess.
Everything has meaning
it must be flawless.
Like meditation it is
simple in concept
but difficult in execution.
It is far easier to
contemplate clearing the mind
than to achieve it.

About Rebirth

One Body

She is tougher than anyone I know
For at least ten years, the cancer has tried to kill her
but she fought it off
I knew that night in the studio that things were bad
because of what she left unsaid
Her tone was apologetic,
as if to say, I’m sorry
I’m not going to win this time
It was the last time we saw her in a chair
now, she will not rise from bed again
In church yesterday that thought overtook me
I stepped outside during the Prayers of the People
Leaning on an iron rail I looked up into an Oak
bright spring green spread across its branches
origami leaves unfolding.
Some branches died over winter
but the body is sound
and it will renew itself year after year
long after she and I are gone.

Check Out Kate Hearne

I added a link to Kate's blog today; she is a fantastic guitar player, singer, songwriter who's just starting on her upward curve to great things in the music world.

An Angry Poem...

Thank God for the Darwin Awards.

Six fifteen Sunday morning
no traffic, so naturally the one in front of me
can’t keep his lane or speed.
I ease by and see his fingers dancing,
eyes riveted to his device
flicking up occasionally to correct the drift
of his twenty five hundred pound missile.
As I ponder what could be so fucking important
that he’d text at sixty five miles per hour,
he finishes, laughs, punches it,
and disappears at eighty five in the right lane.

Today's prompt was a poem with an interaction of some sort.

Unchained Conversation

“Hey, where’s the,”
“Oh,” she smiles, “I think I left it on the table.”
“On the patio, you mean?”
“Yup,” she sips ice water, “Right there.”
She calls “Hey, can you,”
“Sure; which one, the compost?”
“Uh huh; just one bag.”
Neighbors dogs sing a welcome song.
She smiles.
“Me neither; because they’re sweet dogs.”
Done, we hug, then part.
She regards me with raised eyebrow
“Cool, so you’re cooking!”

All I Want Is _________

All I Want Is This

To be a true partner and friend.
To see us all live in peace.
To see the earth start to recover from us.
To leave behind many guitars.
To be a real musician.
To see more of this world.
To catch a fly ball at a Rangers game,
without missing a beat,
bare handed and casual,
whilst sipping an icy cold Rahrs.
To have Cuban Crime of Passion
STOP running through my head.
That’s not asking too much,
is it?

About a color

I couldn't do just one...

God’s Bow

Being tasked with writing about
just one color really makes me see red,
or maybe it makes me blue, I dunno.
One thing’s for sure,
I am truly green with envy over
how easy this is for some…
I can’t recall that a pro hockey team
ever wore punkin hued sweaters,
probably for good reason.
When the California Golden Seals
appeared in the hallowed confines of
Da Boston Gardens wearing
white CooperAlls and white skates,
Terrible Teddy Green almost choked laughing.
In your mind’s eye, could you ever see
Gordy Howe wearing teal blue?

Title Switch

We're supposed to take the title of a poem we like, switch words, and write - I chose Gary Snider's Rolling In At Twilight for title and went from there.

Rolling in at Dawn


Long season,
Months of heat, smoke, fire
from Huachucas to Shasta Trinity
ends with snow on tent roof.

East to Susanville past Lassen,
a vulture fails to clear the way
his eye says “Oh shit!” as he hits the truck.
His pals climb aboard his carcass,
I duct tape shattered glass.

Breakfast in Malheur,
Cormorants with dinosaur eyes
Frost locked grass tussled by cold wind,
winter’s whisper.

Drama in the Strawberry Mountains
a new 4 x 4 spins slowly, upside down
bewildered hunters stupid but OK.

Into Washington south of Walla Walla at night
cross the Snake at Central Ferry
Catch 195 at Colfax at 4 am
asphalt sparkles like diamonds.

Into Spokane as deep reds and oranges
lead the sunrise parade.
Now clean sheets, good food, and rest.
Soon enough it will be time to wax skis
Winter beckons.

Yesterday's Also Ran

Monica Lynn

Eye heart yew
is my secret code for you.
You know the hand code
that goes with it, too;
it makes your eyes smile
when I flash it like a gang sign.
I always knew what I did not have it when it was not there;
Now as Joni so poignantly put it,
you complete me, I complete you.
You know that one picture of you I love so much?
I know that look. It says one of two things;
either I love you, or I’ll kill you if you take that picture.
I know that the look in your eyes is just for me.
I know exactly what that look means.
And voltage; don’t get me started,
it’s the middle of a Tuesday and hours before we reconnect.
You are my touchstone, my center.
I love you more than life itself,
for as long as you’ll have me.

Love and Anti-Love

Love Songs

Not one from our generation
got it quite right,
not even the very good ones:
More Than This, She Sells Sanctuary,
not even Moon Dance.
Now truth be told,
Paul Brady came real close
with Not The Only One.
When I emailed you the lyric,
you came home and asked
if I was trying to seduce you;
I’d call that a pretty good song.



Love Removal Machine

So many ways and all of them bad;
ignorance, vanity, anger, embarrassment,
confusion, ego, insecurity, instability, inability,
stubbornness, pride, fatigue, booze, dope, religion, tradition;
Any of ‘em can suck the magic out of love
faster than you can imagine;
blink and you’ve missed it,
like a one horse town at highway speed.
Some say that the little things don’t matter all that much;
“It ain’t like a guy on a fast horse would notice,”
My Montana raised Mom likes to say,
but love is a long, slow ride,
and the devil’s in the details.

Describe a Hobby

Lutherie

Wayne Henderson says,
“jus’ get you some nice woods
an’ put ‘em all together,
get you a knife an’ cut away everything
that don’t look like a Gee-tar.”
Players pick back and side wood but the top is mine.
Sniffing Spruce and Cedar, tapping and feeling
which one wants to become this guitar.
Backs and tops joined and braced,
sides bent on a hot pipe, linings glued
and a body appears.
Neck carved from Mahogany or Maple,
frets cut through Rosewood or Ebony.
Piece by piece, as it has been done
for hundreds of years, living wood
becomes an instrument.
In a different way and place
the trees are called to sing again.

So we decided to ___________

So we decided to move to Texas

Just the three of us
as Bruce noted,
you, me and all that stuff
we’re so scared of;
from acreage with a view to forever
to an apartment on Eagle Mountain Lake.
From the north fork of the Coeur d’Alene
to Azle.
From a leisurely day across
to the state where El Paso is
closer to California than Dallas.
Remember the first storm?
You asked how we would know
if a tornado was about to take the roof off
‘cause we couldn’t see anything but
swirling cloud and lightning flash.
Now eight years later
try as we might to not get sucked in,
this place has found a home in our hearts.

An Object

Spray Nozzle

When I was a kid,
I bought my own.
A pistol gripped,
lemon yellow pot metal
weapon for a ten year old boy.
knurled brass wheel
dialed in pinpoint control.
Transmogrified in the sandbox
a laser cannon melting the dam
above the quiet town
scattering plastic army men
like chaff in the wind.
Now I am older, wiser
more serious about tools.
I prefer the solid brass, inline version
because I find that they generate
a finer, dam melting stream.

Friday

A little different than what I submitted - Jury's still out on both...

Friday

Thank God it’s
you-fill-in-the-blank day
but truth be told...
There are folks who really do work
Mon to Fri, nine to five
I’ve just yet to be one.
See, Thurs is my Sat
and for the life of me
I can’t see Weds as Fri.
Now today is Fri, but it’s my Mon…
Sat ain’t no Sabbath,
Mon and Tues are hardly
worth mentioning.
I don’t have a Sun ‘cause that day
I must rise earlier than any other
and homey ain’t a morning dude.
Now night time, ahhh night time;
that aughta be a day all its own.

Ley Lines

Though summer,
there is fog,
cold salt air,
and granite boulders.

trees sculpted by wind and sea,
moss draped,
twisted like walking sticks.

Picking low bush blueberries
leads us to the edge of the woods
and then inside.

A cold feeling envelopes us.
We look up into a clearing
guarded by ravens;
huge, black, cold as the wind
they speak an ancient
menacing tongue.

We have intruded upon
things not meant for us.

Terrible purpose thrums
in the rocks.

We turn and run
and never return.

Routine

Carving Necks

Honduran Mahogany
is my favorite
because it carves wonderfully.
The fresh blank
clamped, waiting
the neck inside
yet to be revealed.
Draw knife, spokeshave,
chisel and gouge aligned
like a surgeon’s tools.
Long strokes at first
lovely curls cascade
fresh wood polished
by the blade’s stroke.
Each tool in its time
peeling ever smaller shavings.
In the end only a graceful curve remains
surrounded by its fallen skin
ready to mate with its body
and make lovely music.

Clean and Dirty

Were today's poetry prompts!

Opening Day

Technicolor Green grass
wet, fresh dirt
Crayola brown
zig zag, light dark
mower pattern.
white light flashes
off bases and plate
players along the baselines
pinstriped trousers
sharply defined,
hats in hands
hands over chests.
washed blue sky
cold in the shadows
cold Shiner in a cup
warm sun
with relish and mustard
on a wrinkly ballpark dog
retiree with a score book
his pencil poised for the season.



Wildfire

Roll out of a space blanket
disoriented;
it’s night, but
there’s firelight all around?
Like a phoenix
it has risen,
jumped the lines again.
Pants once green
shirt once yellow
stiff as sore muscles
worn too many days,
black and grey as ghosts
hands ashen, palms sweated clean
like a vaudeville act.
No smell but smoke,
no vision but flames
laughing, feeding.
Eyes dull with fatigue,
we grab Pulaskis and shovels
and firing up the saws
rise again to send this
bastard back to hell.

Pop

Todays was 'something missing', so here goes...

Pop

Joni was dead right;
don’t it always seem to go
that you don’t know what
you got ‘till it’s gone…
At the risk of waxing philosophic or
getting all Ciceronian on ya,
truth is,
I miss the hell outta him.
and the funny thing
or maybe not
depending on perspective
is that his reticence to believe
in the hereafter kind of
bleeds into my fears over time;
I pray he’s OK even though I know
he is.
Pop or not, a person in your life
who always believes in you no matter what
is a gift beyond measure.

This was my first swing, I didn't like it as much...

Something missing

The thing is;
Is it missing or is it not?
Ephemeron is hard to measure.
Try as I might I cannot help but play
what if, and believe myself capable;
there are many things that could have been.
Don’t cry over spilled milk, yes,
but what about milk
still in the glass
but never drunk?
At night it is so much easier to
agonize over things that,
by daylight,
seem nothing more than preludes to a dream.
Finally, I must confess that I am blessed,
and to not be happy with that
would be a terrible mistake.
Even so,
what if?

It's National Poetry Month, so...

Why not try it? Looks like fun, so I'm in! If you're interested, go here and you'll see the daily subject prompt from Rob't Lee Brewer, and you can attach your entry via the comments on the bottom of each days entry by Robert. Here's yesterdays for me:

Rude Bridge

The rude bridge that arched the flood,
in Emerson’s parlance,
was a last stand for embattled farmers;
but in my day it was where we sold turtles
and pop to the tourists.

Sliding between creasoted timbers
during spring flood
sun warm
ice cold brown water
pummeling the supports.

Waterlogged grass and branches
left as a gift to the forgotten.

Ice Cream Music

In a cruel twist of fate
all ice cream trucks
seem to play the same ditty;
and for the life of me
I cannot recall
the real words.
Instead, a line from childhood,
“Do your balls hang low?”
Is the only thing
my twisted mind can summon.
Perhaps this is what hell is like.

On any Sunday

I think there were movies
titled this, about football and
car racing and maybe even surfing
but none of those speak to me.
Sundays are for couches and
fat newspapers. Sundays are for
a cocktail with my love in the early
afternoon, preferably champagne.
Sundays are for talk about books
and life and by these little gestures,
we recharge for the week ahead.

The Problem with Cats

The problem with cats
let me count the ways.
Just don’t ask them this question,
for rhetorically or otherwise
in no other mind is a cat so perfect
as in its own.
Humans are suckers for their shtick;
yes, we’re door or can openers with legs,
yet when they come a rubbing on our legs
we purr with thanks,
roll on our bellies
and switch our tails,
daring them to pay more attention.

Learning To Crawl

Good discussion thread started by a member over at The Lutherie Community this week – Here’s the link to it

The topic is from a relatively new builder asking about setting neck angle, and/or establishing a standard angle by which he should always build; I won’t paraphrase the responses here, you can go and read it if’n you’re interested: I think the discussion speaks to the big picture answer quite well, and does what any good question should do, and that’s raise yet more questions.

This topic is one that I know could raise quite a spirited debate between devotees of right brained versus left brained Lutherie; is there a formula or set principle which governs prescribed neck angles for a given acoustic build, or is it organically based on that specific build, or somewhere in between?

I’m not gonna answer that follow up question either, by the way, you get to decide; and that friends and neighbors, is the fact that lies at the very heart of what makes building stringed instruments so cool.

There’s also a thread there about Dennis Leahy’s Angelina build. If you look that over, you will see that it would be easy for staunch right brainers to say, “He did everything wrong,” while the Left Side Gang might not be so quick to agree. That said, here’s the fact; very good players I know, some of whom play for a living and are very demanding about what their instruments sound and play like, went nuts for this guitar. Everyone who played it, even folks who watched it get built and did not frankly care for Dennis’ methodology turned 180 degrees after playing her and said, “She sings, she’s beautiful!” One of those folks summed it up perfectly when he said, “I’m not sure I agree with his construction methods, or even if I understand then that well, but who cares; it obviously worked for him, it’s a great guitar!”

That’s what it’s all about to me. One of the things I think we need to take to heart is this, especially when we’re participating in any of the great online communities we share; tolerance for differences is not only important, it’s critical. The writer Robert Heinlein once said, “A society that gets rid of all its troublemakers goes downhill;” and that’s well said.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not knocking scientific or right brain building or builders! If we did not pay attention to the fundamentals of how stringed instrument works, we’d build stuff that does not work and that is surely not our aim. What I am offering up is appreciation and acceptance of diversity in building methodology and concept. I’ve taught a lot of things in my life; skiing, tennis, rock climbing, fire fighting, police work, and sales among them. I can’t tell you how many times some absolutely green rookie said something that made me stop and say “What’d you just say?” The rookies usually think ‘Oh crap, now I’m in trouble,’ ‘cause they assume the teacher always knows and they shouldn’t have shot their mouth off. Fact is, I bet I’ve learned as much from those instances as I ever taught.

I was taught to SCUBA dive in 1974 from an ex Navy Seal who had only been out of the service for 6 months. He was a great guy, but his class reflected his training and experience; if you’ve ever seen video of what they do to SEAL trainees in a pool, our experience was not unlike that. In the middle of one of those classes, I hit the water with a few other students, only I did the classic tuck and roll entry I’d watched Jacques Cousteau’s guys do so many times on TV. When I surfaced, John was looking our way with a very serious expression; he said “Who did that entry?” I swallowed and said “I did”. He gave me a pretty deep look and said, “Very nicely done,” and then went back to what he’d been doing.

However we build, whatever we build, may we never forget to learn.

Pickin' with Tommy Emmanuel

Twice a year, every year, I haul my band an hour north to play the Blue Bonnet Cancer Retreat, a very cool 3 day free camp for those fighting or who have fought cancer. They feed ‘em and wine ‘em and dine ‘em and they’re among a group of folks in the same boat. It’s put on by my friend Randy, who’s a Methodist Minister; it is just a wonderful thing, and they love us to pieces every time we play there.

So Randy calls me, confirms the date, and then says “Well, this is awkward, but we have a headliner playing Saturday night who is staying overnight, and he wanted to play one song during communion, and if I know him, he’s gonna want to sit in on all your stuff too; is that OK”

I told him that was fine, no problem, and if they guy wanted back up from us on his cut, fine and if not fine, whatever he wanted to do, and of course he can sit in with us, no problem.”

Randy sounds relieved and says, “Well cool, I’m really glad you’re OK with that. Now, you can’t tell anyone, because if you do, 1000 people are gonna show up here and try to crash this event, but the player I’m talking about is Tommy Emmanuel…”

(Sound of the fur going up on the back of Eben’s neck, combined with jaw hitting the floor)
“Are you shitting me?” I spluttered?

No; Randy has been a fan for along time. Randy had simply emailed Tommy's Manager about the retreat, and the manager told Tommy, and the first thing out of his mouth was, “Can I come and hang out for the weekend and meet these people and play some”

HOLY SHIT!!!! I’m gonna play with Tommy Emmanuel!!!!!

And so we did: yes, friends and neighbors, Tommy sat in with the band for our set, and we with him on a couple of tunes. I have now had the pleasure of turning around and saying, "Take one, Tommy"

I'm still on cloud nine, big time...

And yes, I did put an Aerie in his hands and yes, he played it: He tried a Madrone '32 L-0 and said and I quote, "Fantastic!" I said, "No smoke, Tommy, I can take it, how is it really?" He replied, "This is a beautiful guitar, Mate; you got the magic in this one..." And yeah, I got the cheese shot to prove it! As we said our good byes, he gave me a very intense look and said, "Keep doing what you're doing with the guitars; you're doing the right thing." Now I'd call that a direction worth heeding, wouldn't you?



What a wonderful, kind, and unbelievably talented man;
Tommy, it was truly a pleasure I'll never forget, thank you!

You Load Sixteen Tons...

And whataya get? Another day older and deeper in debt…

Well, I am indeed older today, 49 as of mid morning, anyway. I don’t recall ever loading 16 tons of anything, other than bullshit, and the last time I shopped at the company store was summer camp in ’71, so I think I’m doin’ alright…

Hmmm, life reflection: Well, I am a better person than I used to be. Still an ass, mind you, but a less hostile, less self-centered one than I was, so that’s progress. I won’t ever be rich or famous, won’t ever play professional sports or have a 30 year career in anything: I guess I coulda, but I didn’t and frankly, I’m fine with that.

Here’s what I would like to do down the line: I’d like to be a great husband, partner and friend to Monica. I’d like to be a good step dad to three fine young men. I’d like to play music semi-professionally for many years to come. I’d like to get a book and a song published. I’d like to make many fine guitars. I’d like to see the world. I’d like to do what I can to make this earth a better place. I’d like to be at peace with myself.

I’d like Cuban Crime of Passion to STOP running through my head.

That’s not asking too much, is it?

Happy Birthday to me, and thanks again, Ma and Pa!

Market Watch...

Ah the markets…

Investors are “nervous and scared,” the markets tumble, is there an end in sight?!?!?

Yeah, there is, it’s called common sense.

I saw a cartoon in the latest New Yorker that showed a couple talking at a party, and one of them says, “Well, limiting Wall Street bonuses might stifle creativity, but if they get any more creative I’m afraid we’ll go bankrupt.”

That about says it right.

Investors are nervous and scared? They fucking better be, if they’re not, they need to put some serious work in on their investing skills…

When it comes to the markets and Wall street, I quote, Rhett Butler; “Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn…” Can’t you hear the markets crying; “But Rhett, where will I go, what will I do?!” I. Don’t. Give. A. Damn.

The immediate responses that come to mind stem from my former profession, take your pick, markets;

Have a nice day, somewhere else, or

AMF, YOYO, (Adios Mother Fuckers, You’re On Your Own)

You have had decades of decadence, years of excess, trillions of waste and greed, illegal, immoral and improper support from countless administrations and congresses, and what have you provides US during all that? Are most Americans better off for your presence and activities? Is our country better off? Is our government better off? Is our industrial base better off? Is the world better off? Is the earth better off?

Rhetorical, I know; the answer to all is a resounding ‘No’. So who or what is better off? The few, the privileged few, the wealthy, the fat cats, the Captains of Industry; just them.

Does what happens to you impact me? Yeah, it does, I grant that.

Because it does, do I want to help you out, bail you out, make it right, shore up the walls? No, not in the least.

From GM to AIG, General Electric to Nabisco, to all of you fuckers in between who have screwed the working people and the country and the earth to line your pockets, I say the following; Go fuck yourselves; die, you gravy sucking pigs. I don’t have a dime for y’all. Jump out of windows, sell pencils from a tin cup, fade away to whatever mysterious Caribbean country you’ve stuffed all your ill gotten booty into.

And when the scum are gone, let us begin anew. Let us again find out what we can do, all of us, one by one and then together. If the industries are gone, let’s be smart and build new ones. It’s a world market, and we’re world citizens and capable, smart, tough, resilient people. What does the world need and want that we can do and make? We’ve risen from the ashes before and ended up better, let’s just do it again.

Truly, it is the tough times that make us change; we never come through the other side the same as we were.

We come out better.

VOTE FOR MIRANDA!

You might have heard about the competition for the 'Best Job in the World', and if not, well, suffice to say it's aptly named: It involves being the caretaker of an island on the Great Barrier Reef, so, 'nuff said, huh?

Our wonderful daughter in law, Miranda has put together a video as an applicant for the job, so....

Please check it out and vote for our girl, - The short list will be generated in only 6 days, so get after that votin' thang!

(And yeah, she really is that nice and that cool!)

Guitarras Mexicana

I spent the last week in sunny Mexico, Puerto Vallarta in particular.

There I saw many really nice guitars; guitarrons, requintos, bajo sextos, tresillos, vihuelas, and huapangueras to name a few. I have limited but usable Spanish, and when I explained to virtually any player that I make guitars, they happily handed them to me and explained when and where they had bought them. The vast majority came from Paracho, which is no surprise; that town boasts several thousand builders, some 3rd and 4th generation builders.

What was surprisingly to me was the fact that quite a few guitarrons came from Ixtapa Zihuatanejo, specifically Guitarrons of surprising beauty and quality. If you’ve never been down there and need an excuse, Ixtapa hosts an annual guitar bash that is reported to be a pretty amazing party – Check out this link for more info.

Of course these axes were working instruments; it makes sense then that these instruments are well cared for but heavily used. There are not many fancy woods, and no end to end bling on these babies, just solid performing woods and designs. Since these are virtually all nylon string instruments, the majority I inspected were plain Cedar backs and sides, (And the big guitarrons and bajo sextos probably need to be for those guys to haul them around and play them night after night!). There were a couple of guitarrons made of a heavier hardwood, both from Ixtapa, and the owner of one said it was Granadillo, and maybe it was; either my eyes weren’t that good or I’d had too much Tequila by the point that conversation took place!

A couple of models which got me thinking: First, the requintos romanticos were very cool, kinda the Mexican version of a Django guitar and with a very nice voice indeed. I saw several soloists pulling great leads on those guys, and the large oval sound hole is striking indeed.

And the vihuelas, ahhhh the vihuelas; from the top they look more or less like a standard nylon string axe, but turn ‘em around and you find this beautiful, deep bowl back. The projection of those little guys was noticeably better than a lot of the other sizes and shapes I heard and saw played.

Not long ago, a customer brought me an 1848 German parlor of unknown make; I loved the shape and size, and it too had a deep bowl back like those vihuelas; the shear use that little thing had seen made me think that we might be missing something about that shape...

The curve of the back culminates, more or less, at the waist, meaning both front to back and side to side, the bowl is greatest at that point; this of course puts that point pretty much dead beneath the sound hole as well. Now this stuff might be common knowledge to y’all, but it sure wasn’t to me and it makes me think that I would do well to do some experimenting one of these days. There are plans for quite a few of these South American stringed instruments and expanding ones horizons is always a good thing, don’t you think?

DIRTY ROTTEN SCOUNDRELS!

Well, as Kenny Hill noted, “Just when you think you’ve seen it all…” kenny is a very well established, high end American guitar maker. He was contacted by a potential client who seemed knowledgeable and legitimate, and he ended up selling one of his guitars to the guy COD/Cash/Certified payment upon receipt, which as Kenny noted, isn’t that unusual in the guitar business. The guy had said the axe was for his kid, and called back a couple days later wanting another one; the last BRW model he had, in fact, and Kenny sold him that too.
See it coming? The guy’s Certified Cashier’s Checks were forgeries.
Not only that, he got two with the same scam off Howard Klepper, another fairly legendary American Luthier.

So this asshole has tens of thousands of dollars of stolen guitars.

The shithead gave his name as:
Jonathan Silk
1915 San Francisco Ave
Long Beach CA 90806.

Kenny found the real Jonathan Silk, a former UCLA Professor living in the Netherlands who had nothing to do with this.

If you’re a builder, collector, or player, be on the lookout.
Go here for Kenny’s info, and here for Howard’s.

I realize there are lots worse things that happen in the world, but stealing guitars from folks who have put so much heart and soul into a beautiful art for so long is like stealing purses from invalids; it’s wrong on a whole bunch of counts.

Dude, whoever you are, we’re looking for you, the word is out – We will find you, and then you’re gonna learn a thing or two…

Et Tu, Brutus?

Well, there was a Special Convention of the Episcopal Diocese of Fort Worth this Saturday: Now, there’s a new diocese, a new Bishop and a new Standing Committee and the old one is swept under the rug for the time being.

It was one of those God moves in mysterious ways moments when, a bit later, I found myself talking on the phone to my friend Brian, (Who just happens to be the Vice President of the House of Deputies of the Episcopal Church of the United States of America). Brian runs The Episcopal Church of the Resurrection outside Spokane, Washington. ECOR is what I think of when I think of an Episcopal church. Anyone is welcome, and all feel welcome. Whether you’re rich or poor, black, white, brown or green, smart or a fool, well dressed or wearing rags, you’re welcome there; pretty everyone who attends regularly feels that way and so do the guests.

I recalled a sermon he had given many Christmas Eves ago. He started the service in full, high Church regalia, but slipped out right before the sermon. The place was packed with regular attendees and C & E Christians, (Christmas and Easter). Then out walked Brian in shorts and a polo shirt. Little blue haired church ladies about keeled over; it was priceless…

He told a story of visiting the south while on Church business, when he decided to go to a Sunday service at a local Episcopal Church. He was wearing the same things he was wearing as he now gave the sermon. And when he walked into the church… Everyone was in suits and ties and dresses. No one greeted him. No one looked at him, except for sideways vaguely disapproving glances throughout the service. No one shook his hand at The Peace. Brian related this and spoke of the Episcopal Church that we know, of the welcoming, equipping, inclusive, open church that we know: the place he’d visited wasn’t like that.

At Trinity, there are a few black people, Hispanics, a handful of gay folk, and everyone else is white and upper middle class. To be fair, your color doesn’t seem to matter that much, but still... One of the things we've noticed about north Texas is the diversity - It is much more vibrantly diverse than anywhere else I've lived; so why aren't more of these folks in my church: Why isn’t there the diversity and vibrant membership that I’ve seen in so many Episcopal churches throughout my whole life?

The Presiding Bishop is wonderful; I heard her introduce herself over and over, to young and old alike with a warm, "Hi, I'm Katherine." Ted Gullick, the new Interim Bishop of Fort Worth, also seems genuinely warm and very cool. He also the Bishop of Kentucky, and I know nothing about that diocese or him, but he seems genuinely cut of the that I am used to as an Episcopalian. I pray that he will indeed bring some badly needed change and openness to a diocese that has been dark and dire for far too long. Iker is gone, and that is a huge blessing. He is no Episcopalian and neither is his raft of nasty little minions; I bid them and theirs bon riddance and wish them well, somewhere else...

I am glad that the change has brought a new guard, but I still pray for yet more change.

Why, Ach Sheli?

I watched an episode of Star Trek – Enterprise yesterday in which the Vulcans, or rather, the ruling Vulcan government, had become illogically warlike, preying even on elements of their own society. The faction in question had determined that the society was flawed, intolerant, evermore warlike, and had strayed irrevocably from the logical peaceful past they had arrived at after nuclear war had almost destroyed them a couple thousand years back.

This show is old, and so I am sure there is no way that the writers thereof could have been thinking about modern Israel, but the similarities struck me as quite poignant.

I have always been sympathetic to the state, even if the inception there of, post WW II, was rather hawkish. Simply put, the things that this people had been put through in history more or less justified the means in my mind.

I have felt that way right up until the last couple of years, and now, I am not so sure. I have Israeli friends, so I believe I have not spoken out about my feelings predominantly because of that fact. I have friends in the IDF who are fighting as I write. I am sorry for that. I am sorry that their government has placed them in the middle of this.

The war perpetrated on the people of Gaza is unexplainable to me. I know that having rockets launched at you can bring one to the breaking point, but this kind of response seems so out of proportion it's mind boggling...

Today I listened to a Human Rights Watch spokesperson describe how he, first hand, had toured houses where white phosphorus rounds had been used on civilians by the IDF. Do you have any idea what that type of shell does? WP spontaneously combusts in the atmosphere when the shell explodes. It produces horrific chemical burns that will burrow through a body. If you live, the burns you have will be deep and incredibly painful. The HRW employee noted that the shell had “Melted a father and four small children” in one home he had toured, while IDF soldiers sat outside on a tank, eating potato chips. That kind of image just makes my heart ache - No one, especially good people, should grow so callous.

What has the Israeli government become? The IDF has struck marked UN safe havens, hospitals, schools, and many, many civilians. I don’t believe that the average citizen of Gaza is any more responsible for the troubles than the average Israeli citizen is responsible for persecuting Arabs. I cannot believe that both don't want, first and foremost, to live in peace.

My greatest heartache comes because it appears that the oppressed have become an oppressor of epic and terrible proportions. It is Old Testament eye for an eye logic employed in a crowded and complex 21st Century world, and no one seems able or willing to stop it.

Gandhi said that an eye for an eye leaves everyone blind. I am afraid that right now, in the Middle East, almost nobody can see, and the world is growing rapidly darker.

Inauguration Day

I am a WASP, a word that I don’t see used very much anymore. It stands for White Anglo-Saxon Protestant, and that’s what I am. My genealogy is predominantly English, with Scots, Dutch, Welsh mixed in. The books entitled Atwater Genealogy and History, of which there are five or six, states therein, “David Atwater, one of the original planters of New Haven, Connecticut, came from London and settled in New Haven in 1638: All in America who bear the name of Atwater are descendants of David. None have yet been found whose lineage could not be traced to him." So there you have it. The three generations preceding John all lived and died in Royton, Lenham, county Kent, in England.

My family’s ancestors in this country probably owned slaves; there are instances where the evidence points pretty solidly to that fact, and there are instances where Atwaters were staunch abolitionists and assisted in the underground railway.

I was raised in Concord, Mass, in a liberal education system where one of the earliest inner city busing programs dropped kids from Boston’s rough areas at our little suburban schools every day. I grew up in a privileged town, yes, but was surrounded by friends who were every color of the rainbow. I thought that was the way things were supposed to be and I still feel that way today.

I am sure I have biases and prejudices, in fact I know I do, but frankly, race superiority, at least as I am able to understand and act upon it, ain’t one of them. I am of the opinion that whatever amends and restitution Black Americans and Native Americans ask for ought to be granted; there is no excuse for how they were treated, and that’s a fact. A formal apology, funding, exceptional access to the privileges of education and work, whatever it takes is fair for my mind.

So today, although I do not come from a minority experience and do not know what this day means to such people, I am proud indeed to be an American. I never, ever thought this day would come. There is much wrong with our country, and as President Obama said in his acceptance speech for the nomination, fixing it won’t get done in a year or a term. But the fact that I can today write the words ‘President Barack Obama’ is an amazing, wonderful, momentous and truly astounding thing.

I have great hope and faith in the people of this country; it has been our government that I had neither for, for many years now. My hope and faith in our government has been restored, and I wish to do what I can to make sure those sentiments are not wasted.

God bless America and the rest of the world. Let us work to make things right.

Comparative Animation

Saw a pretty good little documentary about Pixar the other night. Quite an amazing outfit if you think of what they’ve put out over the years: Toy Story, A Bug’s Life, Monsters Inc, Finding Nemo, The Incredibles, Cars, Rattatouille, and Wall-E. Beyond the fact that these are all movies I’ve actually seen and enjoyed, (Some more than once), you realize that there’s not only no duds among them, but that they are in fact all box office hits. Try and name another studio, any studio in any genre that has done that and you’ll come up short.

The founders, led by Ed Catmull and John Lasseter, came from seminal computer graphics programs at a time when only a handful of schools even had such a thing. Naturally, they looked to the talented staff at Disney as their role models and heroes. Eventually Lasseter worked there as an animator, only to be let go in relatively short order for apparently pissing off a jealous boss. Eventually teaming up with Steve Jobs, enroute from Lucasfilm and Industrial Light and Magic where he met and worked with Catmull, the two formed Pixar and off they went.

Meanwhile, as Pixar grew and succeeded, Disney under the wise tutelage of Michael Eisner decided that 2D animation was dead and fired or laid off entire staffs of fantastically experienced and talented folks, who ended up largely at… Pixar. In 2006, the game went full circle when Disney, under new management, acquired Pixar and made Catmull President of the animation studios and Lasseter Chief Creative Officer.

What I found most fascinating though, was the fact that throughout the inception and blossoming of Pixar’s rise, it was the legendary Nine Old Men of Disney’s glory days who were held up by the 3D and feature length wizards as the true heroes of animation. Les Clarke, Ollie Johnston, Wolfgang “Woolie” Reitherman, Frank Thomas, John Lounsbery, Eric Larson, Ward Kimball, Milt Kahl and Marc Davis were the pioneers who made Mickey dance and Snow White twirl. Although kids of today have no idea who these guys were, and probably have never seen any of their seminal works, the folks at the cutting edge of animation revere them to this day. Last April, the last of the lads, Ollie Johnston, died at age 95. He and Frank Thomas had cameo roles in Pixar’s The Incredibles, a last swan song for the legendary ones…

Though flip books and the hand inked and painted cells of traditional animation seem antique today, the fact is that this is the basis of how animation is still done today, whether computer generated or not. Look at a scene of Pixar staff working on a project, and you see hand drawn frames of the same character moving ever so slightly each time, lined up on the walls and tables of their work space.
My only disappointment in the show was that there was no mention of some other pretty successful folks and methods that still survive in the 21st century: Bruce Bickford’s clay animation, Terry Gilliam’s wonderful work with Monty Python, Ray Harryhausen’s models, and Ralph Bakshi’s graphic animation come to mind as seminal works from my youth.

As more and more things become computerized and computer based, I trust that the arts community will have enough forethought, as Pixar did, and not discard the very things that make animation vibrant and diverse.

Zeitgeist

I was totally verklempt, dahlink...

A friend asked me to watch Zeitgeist, the viral YouTube documentary of sorts; I did and here's my response.

Well, I watched most of it while cooking yesterday...

Now, first a bit more background on moi, since it has bearing on my comments that follow: I have to say that, more than being "Churched" or having "Religion" as folks seem to like to say, I'd define myself as being a spiritual person with a fairly active spiritual life. I chose the Episcopal Church, FYI, not because my family has been Episcopal since the 17th Century, but because in my life it has been a bastion of acceptance - We acknowledge almost all baptized Christians, acknowledge that Buddhism, or Islam or most anything else likely has merit as a theology, and the faith has been tolerant if not downright progressive on women's ordination, non-white ordination, and acceptance of gay and lesbian folk - Until recently, that is - I don't know that you're aware of the watershed split the church is experiencing right now, but it's pretty nasty and very discouraging - While our parish stays true to the national church, the acrimony and politics has almost driven me away a few times now..

Anyway, I say all that because I am an open minded spiritual being before I am a Christian: If that sounds odd, it simply means to me that I don't claim to know answers and am open to other interpretations and beliefs... The so called legs of Episcopalianism are tradition, reason, and scripture; this implies a need for an individual to interpret their own faith, rather than letting someone else do it for them. My take on it says we are called to study, reason, and acknowledge the past for what it was to the best of our ability. As to whether or not there is a higher power, I just can't even fathom how there could not be - To much complexity, too amazing, too wow for there not to be, for my heart and mind...

Now, all that said, here's where the flick struck me: Over all, this was done by folks with a burning agenda who fundamentally believe in conspiracy theories: That's not to say that there aren't conspiracies, but it does say to me that the persons who produced this is VERY convinced of such in many facets of life today, to the point of being somewhat paranoid about 'em, for my mind... Personally, I think we're always called on to be healthy skeptics and to say no to what shouldn't be allowed - I think you and everyone else knows what I think of government and big business - Frankly, many churches could be lumped in the same vein there - Many of them are here to line their pockets, exert control and maintain their existences, just like the worst of the former entities I just mentioned...

Now, first to the faith shredding section and the contention of the film that all modern religions are basically just derivations of astrologically based mythology from earlier days, well... Yes and no - Let's face it, the heavens are powerful, and as long as man has been about to ponder what's there, the perceived vastness and majesty of space has held quite a sway over us. Secondly, I might go so far as to say that if there are other beings out there, (I find it quite arrogant and unlikely to assume that there are not, frankly), if we've gotten anything right, mathematics might just be the universal language, the tower of babel if you will. To posit that all this stuff comes about simply because of base astrological predilections among the majority of humans, and specifically among those who founded modern religion is not only arrogant, it's as obfuscatory a point as the one they're trying to make about religion: I mean, yeah, I'm aware of all the parallels that are laid out equating Christianity with earlier religions, and frankly, my response is, "No shit, Sherlock?" Of course our current organized faith has roots in what came before; good lord, if it didn't, I'd question whether anyone has any of it right or ever did! I mean, duh, guys...

As for the Jesus 'myth', well, here's my take: I believe there was indeed a prophet who said and did some amazing things back when. I don't think anybody can "prove" much more than that, or disprove it convincingly either, frankly. Now Jesus may indeed have been the Son of God; for all I know he may not have been - But the guy had something going for him, big time, and the fact that it survives to this day speaks loudly to that; to be able to instill in folks for thousands of years the basic tenet of, "Love one another as I have loved you," and for caring for those least fortunate, that';s powerful and a good thing, regardless of the source. If more folks took to heart such a message and acted on it, where would the world be now? What'd Ronnie Rayguns say back in '80, "Are you better off now than you were?" Honestly, with the dogma stripped away and the words taken to heart, I can't fathom how anyone could find fault in the beauty of that advise... Bottom line to me is this; myth or reality and no matter who and what he was, his message has survived pretty well, despite the ministrations of the Catholic church and tens of thousands of other posers over the millennium: Oh, and remember, he warned us about that shit too, ya know...

The flick's summary quote in this regard; "Christianity, along with all other theistic belief systems empowers those who know the truth, but uses the myth to manipulate and control societies. It reduces human responsibility to the effect that "God" controls everything, and in turn awful crimes can be justified in the name of Divine Pursuit. The religious myth is the most powerful device ever created, and serves as the psychological soil upon which other myths can flourish." Again, yes and no - As for the first line, I would contend that good faiths, (And yes, there are some whether these guys like it or not), seek for everyone to know the truth, and to use it for the good of humankind and our planet; by the same token, there are also undoubtedly those who steer as this quote suggests and they are without question rotten. Ok, second point; have horrid things been done and continue to be done in the name of faith? yes, no doubt, but I'd tell ya that is the fault of the weakness of humans and our shitty predilections whenever we incorporate to any significant degree, more so than it is the fault of faith itself. Fact is, the more I am around even a good church day to day, and see how much politics and subterfuge and ego and arrogance and greed and power seeking rear their ugly heads, the less I like churches, too! My Senior Warden told me about her Uncle, who was a Senior Warden before her, in her home town: He went to his Doc who examined him and said "Frank, you're stressed, what's stressing you?" Her uncle told the doc it was his job as Senior Warden. The doc's response was classic; "First off, change churches, and secondly, don't get there until Sunday service, and when that's done, don't go back until the next Sunday." Sage advice, that... In all fairness, and in direct response to that statement, though, my church has never said that God controls everything and that we are helpless; on the contrary, it has always spoken of the need for people to develop a personal relationship with God, and that we are in fact called to perceive God's will in our lives and act accordingly - We must help ourselves and one another and our planet, or nothing will get done... Doesn't sound way manipulative to me... As for that third quote, well, that line may be true, but in the context in which it is delivered, it is presumptuous, derivative and quite simply out of context...

Part 2, dealing with 9-11, ahhh, OK... Well, I am not a conspiracy theorist, but I have read and thought about this quite a bit, and I have to tell you that I would not be surprised in the least if the majority of assertions herein were not true to some degree. In fact, I've read quite a bit more of the technical, tactical and strategic considerations of that day, and it stinks, to be honest - Something was rotten in Denmark, I just don't know what...

Part III, sheesh - Well, these targets are some of my favorites, but I gotta tell ya, if you held a Conspiracy Whack-o-Meter up to the film makers, it would peg its needle way out there in left field... I've read more military history than anything, and more 20th century than any other age - To the majority of contentions made therein, I say Bullshit with a capital B! Thins happen and folks respond to take advantage, no doubt about it, but anyone trying to build a case showing that the U.S. wanted in to WW II saw three other conspirators on the grassy knoll in Dallas... Now the SPP does indeed stink to high heaven, but it reeks of profit making;, the whole third section tries to make something exist that doesn't, for my mind - The fact is, government and big business have always been in it to make huge profits for themselves and have always been whores in that regard; they care not where and how their dough comes as long as it keeps coming, this we know. But to try and make a National Treasure style Grand Conspiracy plan outta the whole thing strikes me like the hunt for a Unified Field Theory; yes, it would be cool, and maybe it does exist, but don't hold your breath or the next generation's waitin' for it to come to light, OK?

So overall, I gotta say this - The flick strikes me like a Michael Moore work; some good stuff, thought provoking, interesting, coupled with great silliness and off the deep end supposition.

In the end run, zealots of any stripe make me nervous, 'cause they's still first and foremost zealots, ya know?

Fun with Leveraged Hedge Funds

My Pop was an Economist; Harvard and MIT trained, and taught there in fact… Purty prestigious, huh? So, that said, it is telling to me that Dad, when explaining things economic, he used pretty plain English. His Doctoral dissertation at Harvard was entitled, ‘Some Economic Implications of Modern Personnel Management and the Situational Approach.’ Now, we might not understand the intricacies of the concepts, but what that was about is perfectly evident, ain’t it?

So, it was with some disdain I listened to a story on NPR this morning wherein economic pundits tried to explain why the market is tubing, even after the greatest two day rise in twenty one years. I heard analysts explain that the market “Was in liar phase,” and “Decoupled from the economic environment.” Now I don’t know about you, but that sounds more like a bunch of idiots trying to emulate Greenspan’s semantic gymnastics than somebody honestly trying to explain the situation to the masses…

The gist of the report focused on the supposition that the market was largely being pushed by the vagaries of “Huge multi-billion dollar hedge funds.” Bemoaning “forced sales” and margin calls, the pundits stated that “Perfectly good stocks were being sold to pay for other stuff.” Now I don’t know about you, but this kind of obfuscation genuinely pisses me off; as such, I’d like to take just a moment to go ahead and call a spade a fucking shovel…

“Liar phase,” and “Decoupled” are akin to using the word ‘Parse’ to mean ‘explain’; The fact is, ‘parse’ has a specific meaning pertaining to language usage, to dissect a phrase into its components and describe them grammatically; it is not a generic term for ‘describe’. ‘Liar phase’ means nothing, but it is a very dangerous throw away solipsism;it implies that times when the market reflects nothing but its own lack of fecundity are de rigueur and perfectly OK; fact is, they’re not, and it’s not OK. ‘Decoupled’ shouldn’t be used when one means ‘dislocated’. Decoupling implies the elimination of a relationship, not a temporary displacement; if one is implying the entire economy is in the toilet, one should say so and not employ doublespeak. The fact is, the last time the market did not reflect reality this badly was in ’29, and that’s not good, but if that is in fact the case then let’s bloody say so and get after it; being cute analyzes and explains nothing…

Now as for hedge funds; do you know what they are? If you say yes, I think you’re fooling yourself; what we know is what the media tells us they are. Most folks think of a hedge fund as a little exclusive club of the super-rich, designed to make them more so. Yet if these analysts are firing off statements about “Multi-billion dollar hedge funds,” messing up the whole market, how small and exclusive are they? Forbes magazine alternately described hedge funds as, “The sleaziest show on earth… A business rife with exorbitant fees, phony numbers and outright thievery.” Now that floats my boat higher than that other balderdash… Mark my words, friends and neighbors; something that’s only been around for maybe a dozen years that has such a pervasive reach is to be feared and squashed, not admired and encouraged.

The fact is that there ain’t no clear cut definition of what a hedge fund is: They are generally speaking, some kind of business entity that manages investments, but the key component thereof seems to be the fact that they are almost always highly leveraged entities. Now, it is real important to understand what ‘leveraged’ means in this context, and it’s real simple: ‘Leveraged’ means ‘borrowed money’ plain out and simple. Now where that concept began I don’t know, but it was somewhere around selling swamp land and bridges to carnival goers, I can guarantee you that… You see how this works? I am a financial wizard, but I don’t have shitloads of money, (Yet, I’m gonna soon though, and it’ll be yours by the way), but you do, so loan it to me and I’ll make you one hell of a return!!! Whether the investment is equity, debt, foreign exchange or derivations thereof, this is what these jokers do, fundamentally.

Now, do they do this out of altruism, just to make their investors more dough? I don’t think so… They get paid, in fact, at both ends of each transaction. Up front, there’s the matter of a Management fee; see, I’m the expert, remember, so you gotta pay papa, right? And of course after my alchemy turns your lead into gold, I get a cut, ‘cause that’s only fair, right? So the Incentive Fee comes into play at the back end to cover that. And down the middle, there might be some Administrative fees here and there, all par for the course of course… All told, I will easily skate with 20% to 30% of your money before it’s all through; pretty good return, huh? Wow, you think, those guys rake it in, huh? Well yeah, but to protect your interests, they’ll likely have a Hurdle rate built into the deal too.. Huh, you say, a what rate? A hurdle rate means I gotta perform at a certain level, or I don’t get the full Incentive fee, which is where the lion’s share of my dough is gonna come from. That’s a good protection for you, huh? Sure, except that the hurdle rate’s gonna be tied to some conservative measure of success, like the LIBOR fer instance, the London Interbank Offered Rate; today’s read on the 1 year LIBOR rate is 2.74%: If I can’t make you 2.74% on your money, uhhhh, I’m in the wrong business, or you’re really fucking dumb, or some viable combination thereof, ya know? Oh sure, there are other safeguards, like High Water marks, which are quite common, and are tracked for each investor individually; basically, that just says I only get full fees for what I make above and beyond the high point that existed when you got in, as opposed to the full fund value… Hoopty doo! I mean, if that wasn’t there, they wouldn’t be called Hedge Funds, they’d be called Wall Street Muggings and we’d all know how things really work, right?

OK, let’s get back to that one little word, ‘leveraged’ AKA borrowed. So, you ask, what’s so bad about that? I do that shit too, I mean, I bought a house and I owe $100,000 on it and I only put $5,000 down? Well sure you did and when times are good, you’re good too; that house might be worth $150,000 then and if you sold it, you’d pay off the bank, pocket $40,000 and be an arrogant ass at the bar: But campers, times ain’t good… What if the house is only worth $75,000 and your friendly bank ain’t so friendly anymore and they want to make sure their full investment is covered; what happens then? Well, frankly, you’re gonna hear a knock on the door and Guido and Vinny are gonna be there looking for their twenty five large, capice? And when your house is a “Multi-billion dollar leveraged hedge fund,” there ain’t enough muscle to collect on that shit, dig?

While the concept of the hedge fund has been around quite a while, (This is basically what A. W. Jones & Co did in the 70s), they’ve modernized, AKA obfuscated their concepts and strategies appropriately for the 21st century: Clearly, they don’t want this stuff to be simply explained, because if it was, the smoke and mirrors would be set aside and folks would no longer pay any attention to the dudes behind the screens. They call their schemes things like ‘Directional Strategies,’ AKA betting on big picture market trends and investing accordingly; ‘Market Neutral Strategies,’ AKA picking a specific market and trying to take advantage of specific changes therein while avoiding being steamrollered by the big picture; and ‘Event Driven Strategies,’ AKA taking advantage of a single companies fortune or demise by betting on the aftermath of a merger or divestiture, that sorta thing: Notice all of these are basically betting on stuff and hoping you’re right? You can have all the computers and models and heuristics you want, but the fact is, Texas Hold ‘em is still poker gang… Now the way all this bullshit really works is much simpler yet; what these funds do is infuse massive amounts of liquidity, AKA cash, into the market. And of course, the market likes that a great deal and therefore respects said funds in the morning, if you catch my drift… Now that’s all nice and good, but just providing bucks to the market and getting a spread therefore ain’t gonna make me a billionaire, so there’s gotta be more to it, and there is, and that is… Leverage again.

And that, friends and neighbors is the essence of how these funds make ridiculous money: They get dough for providing dough, and then they leverage all of that, all of it, and make more dough. Sounds easy, right? Well in fact, it’s not rocket science; it’s pretty basic stuff for folks that know what they’re doing. The problem is that this doesn’t work so great when overlaid on the Big Picture Boom and Bust cycles that we all know too well. I used to sell mortgages; the fact is, trained weasels can sell mortgages when a boom’s on. What’s not so easy is selling them when times suck. I know, I did it through a couple of those cycles too… The problem with this hedge fund Ponzi scheme is that doing this stuff is very, very risky indeed. When the shit hits the fan, you are hanging out a mile and a half: When it all goes to hell, you in fact are the one left holding the bag, and everybody wants theirs back, now… Now go back to what I just said about mortgages. In the booms, anyone can sell and believe you me, they do… You get fucking arrogant idiots with a GED who don’t give a flying rats ass about their clients, they just know you can make shitloads of money doing this and they want in: So Citi and Countrywide and Ralph’s Pretty Good Mortgages hires these morons and off they all go… And then the wind changes, and lo and behold, things suck, bad, really bad. Welcome to today… It is not unusual at all for these funds to lose everything, and I mean everything they had; and remember gang, it ain’t my money, it’s yours! This has in fact happened to large funds throughout the time they have existed; there is case after case to be cited. We notice now because this is a big down and they’s all circling the big drain.

Now there’s one more concern you need to be aware of before we’re done and it has to do with the folks running these things; remember what I said about folks selling mortgages in the good times? Welcome to the GED boys… There’s also fraud, you see, just like Forbes warned us about. From plain ol’ greed to amazing personal excess and outright criminal stupidity, amazing wealth can and does lead to amazing wrongdoing. From Lipper to Beacon Hill, and Lancer to Maricopa, billions have been lost and more will follow…

Most recently, hedge funds figured out that they could market themselves to somebody other than wealthy individuals; they began to go after institutional clients, like state retirement systems and educational entities. So tell me, as I wind this up; with that last point in mind, they’re only doing that out of altruism, right, to help those kinds of clients make bigger bucks, right?

I mean, it couldn’t have anything to do with deeper pockets and more suckers, could it?

Ahhhhh, Fall...

I am torn as to which is my favorite season, it’s a tossup between fall and winter.

Here in Texas, I’ve leaned toward fall, simply because it and spring are the seasons where you can actually see sustained and distinct seasonal change.

Summer is just plain freaking hot, and winter is a crap shoot, but as fall rolls through, you can feel the crisp mornings, watch the leaves change and know that stuff is happening…

It’s also the second growth season for goodies, a benefit of the relatively mild climate here. Spring is basically storm season, and that can and does trump growth when it feels like it. Tomatoes and peppers and herbs don’t take kindly to having the snot knocked out of them by hail, and neither do our trees.

Where we live, west of Fort Worth, is the place during Storm Season where big nasty storms roll in from the west. If you watch the radar, you see deep red commonly, and even pink, purple and white headed right toward us. The colors represent dBZ, or “A non-dimensional unit of radar reflectivity which represents a logarithmic power ratio (in decibels, or dB) with respect to radar reflectivity factor, Z; the Z is best expressed in the ratio Z/R, or “An empirical relationship between radar reflectivity factor z (in mm^6 / m^3 ) and rain rate ( in mm / hr ):” All that aside, if you ever watch the weather radar and live in tornado alley, colors like deep red, pink, purple, and white are very, very, very bad; they mean that deep shit is headed your way and regardless of how that manifests, it’s going to be an ugly ride…

In all the years we’ve lived here, every single storm that looked like that has waited until it was dang near on top of us and then split neatly into and roared off northeast and southwest, leaving us fine and dandy and knocking the crap out of those less fortunate: But not last April… That storm came on and roared dead overhead, packing maximum hail of roughly baseball size, common hail of ping pong ball size, and winds in excess of 80 mph. Now ping bong balls falling from the heavens wouldn’t hurt ya, and might even be kinda cool; ping pong ball sized hail might crack your skull and is definitely not cool. I have been out in storms in the mogollons at 9000 feet, and all over the western US, but I have never been through anything inside a structure like that storm. I thought the house was coming down, ‘cause it sounded that way, but it wasn’t that bad.

After it passed, hail lay several inches deep and the roads ran like rivers. Our trees and plants got the shit knocked out of ‘em, as did our roof, greenhouse, shed, cars, and grill. An insurance claim later, all that was settled, but the plants didn’t forget…

And it took ‘em until fall to catch their stride, but boy did they; we’ve been blessed with incredible crops of tomatoes and peppers, “Pretty enough for a Burpee catalog,” according to mom. The trees had bit harder time, but they’ll be OK by next year and the only recollection of that storm will be a skinny growth ring many years down the pike.

I Can See Clearly Now The Rain Is Gone

Wow…

We went to bed before the results came in, as much excited as maybe still a wee bit scared. About 2 am, it got the better of us and we opened up Monica’s laptop in bed and had a look, and…

We smoked ‘em! Oh my Lord say your prayers or thanks or sighs of relief, leaps of joy whatever you got let it fly!

I almost can’t believe it. I heard an NPR interview with a 109 year old black woman, daughter of an emancipated slaves saying, “It’s a blessing, it’s a miracle…” Indeed it is my dear, and I am so thrilled you were alive to see it, let alone me. I wish Obama’s Gramma could have lasted another day, but I am sure she’s swinging her legs on the edge of a cloud and grinning from ear to ear as I am today.

Rosa sat so that Martin could walk; Martin walked so Obama could run; Obama is running so that our children can fly. I am told a black, 19 year old single mother texted this to a friend; whoever said it, it is prophetic and touching.

And how about McCain’s gracious and poignant concession speech? Thank God he wasn’t so heartfelt throughout the campaign or he might just have won! I kid, I kid because I love… In any case, his request for all Americans to join him in pulling together with our new President-elect, was, to my ear, sincere and the perfect thing to say.

Obama's acceptance speech, strong and equally gracious, credited the work of many for his success. He noted, gravely and honestly, that the work that lies ahead is arduous; “The road ahead will be long. Our climb will be steep. We may not get there in one year or even in one term. But, America, I have never been more hopeful than I am tonight that we will get there. I promise you, we as a people will get there.”

I believe you, Sir. I believe in you and that’s why I voted for you. Your voice is a comfort to me, as is your strength and your resolve. May God protect you and yours and keep you safe always, so that these qualities, your energy and drive, may go to work on our behalf.

I can see clearly now the rain is gone. I can see all obstacles in my way. Gone are the dark clouds that had me down, gonna be a bright, bright sunshiny day.

Gonna be a bright, bright sunshiny day.

I Have Finally Found Me a Home

Man, I am well pleased, indeed…

Always wanted a place to kinda call my own out here in cyberspace, ya know? I’ve got a website, and I like it a lot, but that wasn’t it. I got this blog site and it’s very cool, and truth be told, I wouldn’t last long without having a place to blather like this, but it’s not quite it either.

Now, with the help of a bunch of wonderful friends, I have found me a home. It’s called The Luthier Community and it is quickly becoming The Place for me. Actually, it was from the get go, it’s just turning out better than I imagined!

See guitar building is the shit for me, and here’s why. I have always had what we call a busy mind – I don’t know if that’s common or not, ‘cause I don’t go to a lot of parties and say, “Well, I get a song stuck in my head and it won’t go away, does that happen to you?” Or turn to somebody at coffee hour in church and note, “I don’t always sleep well ‘cause at 2 am, my brain is kinda like a hamster with a brand new wheel, ya know?” Like a lot of special folks, I am creative, but I often felt like creativity was something I did to try and stay focused rather than something I’m passionate about. Now, making guitars, I am passionate about. My friend Hesh says “guitar building is how I find my center and nothing else seems to come close;” that says it just right.

I’ve always dug teaching other people how to get good at the things I was good at; from skiing to rock climbing and firefighting to police work, I wanted to share the passion I had found for how to be good at stuff that many people considered too difficult for them. I am passionate about making guitars and I want to share that too. As a guitarist, playing in front of an audience with a guitar I made eclipses even the debut of a song I wrote – It’s that big a rush…

So a website dedicated to that seemed natural, and I gravitated towards them when the ‘net came into being and such sites started to pop up. I belong to a bunch of 'em and have been very active on a couple, but none seemed just right, and I eventually realized that the reason for that was that they weren’t mine. I’m not knocking anybody else’s site or the people behind them when I say I’ve just always felt that I can do this better than anyone else, (Heck they better feel the same way about themselves of they’re playin’ the wrong gig!) Now I’ve been given the chance and I am running with it.

TLC is filling quickly with a great community of folks that I admire and respect and enjoy hanging with. I’ve traveled cross country to meet some face to face and made genuine new friends as a result; how many websites can you say that about? Most of all, it’s a place where those attributes I like seem to be shared by the rest of the members; there are plenty of places online where one can go and run into nastiness and cut downs and just plain mean spirited folks who seem to delight in fucking with others; I believe that the anonymity of the ‘net makes that all the easier – If you don’t really know ‘em, you don’t have to care, and it shows… Our place is the antithesis of this; I am doing what I am doing because I genuinely love it; I dig meeting all these other folks and getting to know them as much or more than their work. But don’t get me wrong, the best teachers know that they learn every day, and if they don’t, they’re not looking hard enough. With instrument making more than any other art, I have found the folks to be genuinely willing, in fact eager to share what they know with other. It’s not about ego, it’s about sharing and learning.

Who said that?

“Politics, it seems to me, for years, or all too long, has been concerned with the right or left instead of right and wrong;” Richard Armour said that. He was a poet who obviously understood American politics just fine. An unknown pundit noted that, “Politicians are like diapers; they both need changing regularly and for the same reason; whomever that was, they were wise indeed…

Alexis de Toqueville noted that, “There are many men of principle in both parties in American, but there is on party of principle;” too right you were and are, Al.

The venerable Albert Einstein said, “All of us who are concerned for peace and triumph of reason and justice must be keenly aware how small an influence reason and honest good will exert upon events in the political field;” oy vey ist mere – too right!

Claire Sargeant, who McCain trounced in the ’92 Arizona senatorial campaign, said, “I think it's about time we voted for senators with breasts. After all, we've been voting for boobs long enough;” she was dead on, however she had not apparently anticipated Sarah Palin…

Is all that tripe about being doomed to repeat the past correct? Well, according to Plato, “Those who are too smart to engage in politics are punished by being governed by those who are dumber;” AKA, apparently so.

Are we in the US the only ones who have these issues? “Politicians are the same all over. They promise to build a bridge even where they is no river;” Nikita Khrushchev said that, so apparently not.

Clarence Darrow, the famous jurist, noted that, “When I was a boy I was told that anybody could become President; I'm beginning to believe it;” with McCain old and infirm and his good friend Sarah as running mate, that’s very, very true…

Is there any great voice not soured by politics? “An election is coming. Universal peace is declared and the foxes have a sincere interest in prolonging the lives of the poultry;” T. S. Eliot says no.

And good ol’ MO Udall, whom I liked very much actually, hit GWB right on the nail head: “We have, I fear, confused power with greatness.” Or if you prefer the thought fleshed out, look to John Kenneth Galbraith; “The modern conservative is engaged in one of man's oldest exercises in moral philosophy; that is, the search for a superior moral justification for selfishness,” ouch, the truth hurts, doesn’t it?

One of my all time faves comes from John Quinton, “Politicians are people who, when they see light at the end of the tunnel, go out and buy some more tunnel;” bingo, bango, bongo, popcorn!

Another comes from P. J. O’Rourke, who happens to be, by the way, a conservative, “The Democrats are the party that says government will make you smarter, taller, richer, and remove the crabgrass on your lawn. The Republicans are the party that says government doesn't work and then they get elected and prove it.”

And for a final thought, I return to Galbraith for what I hope is in the hearts and minds of voters, given the alternatives before us this time around; “Liberalism is, I think, resurgent. One reason is that more and more people are so painfully aware of the alternative.”

Smoke 'em if ya got 'em and watch yer top knot...

Redaction Redux

Ok, well, Monique read my farts blog AND my farts redaction blog and...

She pointed out yet ANOTHER failure in my perception:

Fact is, because of her efforts, our home, inside and out, is a veritable garden; we have plants everywhere and plenty of 'em. Some, even inside, are large enough that it can be said that we coexist, rather than just "Have plants," and yes, one of them IS named Seymour and yes, he is taking over the kitchen, (I wondered about that escalating food bill and where a few of the 17 year olds friends had gotten off to...).

In any case, I am required to point out that these efforts of Monique's definitely counteract any and all emissions on my part and therefore have already rendered me environmentally neutral.

neutral, not neutered...