Taterhole Whirled

I FOUND IT!

2012-01-17T18:17:00.000-06:00

http://www.rollingstone.com/music/albumreviews/black-sabbath-vol-4-19721207?print=true

I've always recalled the reviewer's line about "Quaalude popsicles". That sums up Sabbath, doesn't it?

What a review! I doubt this guy was ever published again...but he probably didn't care!

Damn, Rolling Stone! Spent more time in the AUM library reading it than I did studying. And here I am today! All that wasted brilliance! "You're gonna be an engineer." "You'll be a great writer." "You're gonna go far, young man."

BWAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Black Sabbath, Vol. 4

Black Sabbath

by: Tom Clark

As the Sabs poured into "Wheels of Confusion" like giant gobs of wet cement gushing from the heavens in the never-ending sameness of a taffy-pull performed by mutants, people began pouring into my house. One by one they instantly began digging the Sabs, nodding, heavy dudes one and all. Everyone picked up that old Sab neck-wobble trip where your head sort of rocks back and forth on your neck python-fash, right? Where the organ comes in over the big slow power chords; no it's not an organ, call it a component, yah, straight out of the Middle fucking Ages! Sorta walks right on out. Like some giant prehistoric plant learning how to walk ... right over your house ... so boogie while you can. But you can't lose that dyno chthonic zoomout riff 'cos it's right there in the middle of the next song, "Tomorrow's Dream," which got us so zonked we felt absolutely heavy. The cat did too. Then on into a foxy sorta Carole King piano folk song or something, whew, "Changes," kind of David Bowie we guessed, hey orchestra right? What? Went its evil way? Ooh. The room got kind of deep and spacey, brown all over, and the notes then sounded sorta while coming out of that ... y'know? Like a snowfall? It went on forever. We could dig it. Like we dig chewing gum made out of caulking compound. Right? So then can you conceive of a piercing tone followed by reverberating percussion noises called "FX," huh, that was the next tune, then we got tight with some heavy familiar Sab vibes again, swimming right up there to deep space where nothing hears or talks, right? "Supernaut." My sister had a vision of electronic buffalo ranches on Uranus, so help me. The drum solo in this song did it to her. Also, my watch stopped. But the Sabs didn't. Who needs a watch? I ripped it off my wrist & stomped on it. Slowly. Crunch. Side one groaned to a close, but soon side two followed it, without delay adhering to the walls of one's septum — the total "icicles in my brain" riff — right — "Snowblind," no less — climbing those big staircases made out of vanilla fudge, right up into your mind — so feed your nose, hey? God's a Fuzz Tone, right? The Abominable Snowman? Hey. La Fucking Brea! The tar pits was a heavy scene, right? Ask Freud or Dave Crosby. What a streaming feast of nerve gobble anyhow! But on with the snow, I mean show. Time for a Pez break. Whew. Monster slowness of the unelusive strikes again: "Cornucopia." I about fell out. Ten-ton dogs snarled in the mouth of the volcano. Storms of liquid metal blasted their way into the soap factory. Soaring zoos, etc. Then on to babies' time; breakfast on a sleigh in Hawaii with violins, titled "Laguna Sunrise." All sweet lime stripes across a popsicle spiced with Quaaludes, right. A million artichokes can't be wrong. Dreaming in the sun with their eyes open? Sweet music must end. Grunting, we tumble on into the new dance craze, you guessed it, "St. Vitus Dance." You drive me nervous. Pieces of hair got into my mouth during this one. Same old power saw on Venus move, lovely. "Under the Sun" starts out slow, like dinosaurs yawning, then it speeds up a little. Or does it? I can't tell. Fantastic four-second guitar solo by a gorilla in there somewhere, right — beautiful — gorilla! The Sabs pour it on, man, it's right near the end of the record now and here's a great three-second drum solo by a polar bear, no shit! Put mud in my ears if I lie! I can dig it! Great buncha chords there too, I couldna chose better myself, whew, we're thudding down toward the ultimate rip chord now. Gotcha. Over and out. Molten rocks hurtling across space imitating the origin of the universe, you dig? Ah, lay those chord slabs on my grave ... whew.

Update on Mole Relocation/Extermination Process

2012-01-05T17:07:00.003-06:00

I use the term 'relocation' because the plan for this coming spring is to kill all the grubs, thus depriving the molemen of their food source. I assume once the food supply is cut off, the moles will see fit to move on to a neighbor's yard where they can tunnel their little asses off for all I care.

In the meantime, that damn worthless mole trap's kill count remains at 1. However, on a potentially promising note, two months ago we procured an insane half beagle/half Tasmanian devil puppy who appears to be fond of mole pursuit. To my knowledge she hasn't caught any of the critters yet, but she has turned my backyard into an almost exact replica of the World War I Battle of Passchendaele. Her trenches are quite accurate from what I can ascertain looking at old maps and charts. On more than one occasion, I've seen what appears to be troops moving through the labyrinth. This is a photo I took in the gray of morning the other day.

IDing Song Drove Me (and a few others) Freakin' Nuts

2011-12-14T10:21:00.001-06:00

Sent a song to a pile of friends recently. It was on a CD I'd made of various and uh sordid artists some time back and I couldn't recall who it was. So I enlisted the aid of twenty or so friends. I'd done the ol' lyrics search and come up empty. Had someone with that Shazam app hold their phone up to the speaker to nail it down...crappo! Nuthin'. How can that possibly be in 2011?! I mean you can find anything on the interwebbies!

Well, at 3:52 this morning (which coincidentally is one digit higher than the incredible 351 Cleveland engine that was in my father's 1970 Mustang Mach I) it came to me and I sat up in bed, startling Chloe (new pup) out of her snoring stupor. I knew what that damn song was! It's a song by the Dawn Barham Band. I met Dawn at the Howlin' Wolf Museum fundraiser I attended several years ago in West Point, Mississippi. She was at Harrell's Barn milling about with all the West Point upper crusts...and me. How the song's lyrics escaped all the lyric searches I don't know. You'd think either the lyrics would show up somewhere on the internet or Shazam woulda nailed it, but who GARA now!

Dawn's band now is the Juke Joint Gypsies and you can check them out on ReverbNation if you are so inclined. (I have no idea what the angle you are at has to do with any of this...)

I'd like to express my sincere thanks to everyone who made the effort to ID the song. William Mc and Bill S in particular. I know that Willie Mac went to ridiculous lengths to ascertain the artist's name, even ruining his weekend by devoting 24/7 shifts to the task. I can't replace the time he lost, but I will buy him some wings...someday...maybe...probably not. But I do appreciate the work he put in.

What a past week. Tim Tebow walks on water, drones turn themselves in to the Iranians, someone named Newt threatens to become president, and I finally remembered the performer of that song.

Cool.

There's One Less Mole in the World - FINALLY!

2011-10-20T13:51:00.003-05:00

His new tunnel was at least my 15th target. I'd moved the trap just yesterday to a brand new pathway and, by god, this time I won! You see, the little bastards have no idea how persistent their pursuer is. The damage these guys are doing to the lawn had to stop. I wasn't quitting. The trap had sprung once before, but when I pulled it from the tunnel months ago, it was bereft of mole. Not this time. You goofed, you little POS.

I was playing with Turd Ferguson this morning. It was chilly as a blast of Yankee air came visiting last night. I love the cold and Turd was bouncing around like a puppy when I let her out. On my days off, I generally either get out on the bike real early or, after feeding Ferg, I wander the backyard, picking off the spent rose heads, saying hello to all my plants and flowers, and stomping down mole tunnels. It's what old farts do. I'm sure the neighbors hear me muttering about the tunnels and giving Turd tips on how to kill moles. She used to at least attempt to nail them, but, after digging many unsuccessful holes, she gave up.

As I neared my shed on the last leg of my backyard rounds, I saw that the trap was sprung. It's a strong trap. When it slams shut, it slams hard. But, looking at its design, it's always appeared to me that as a mole pushes upward and triggers the thing, at best, the mole would be momentarily trapped between the two ends of the contraption. A quick side dig would allow the mole to carry on his merry way. As I pulled the trap from the ground this time, my heart fluttered a bit as I tugged at the earth. I see grass...sand...dirt...MOLE! HOLEY MOLEY! There's a damn mole in the trap! A certain trap owner who'd written glowing reviews of this trap on Amazon (I'm sure he must be the owner of the company that produces them) had recommended having a shovel nearby, as oft times the varmint will not be dead and can escape as you pull him out. So I was ready, but this li'l mole had the misfortune of the trap snapping his spine. He was a goner. He was cold and he wasn't going anywhere.

I dusted some of the sand from his little face. Moles ain't cute. Well, they have little pink feet and a pink tail, but their lack of eyes somehow makes me feel less evil for wanting them to die en masse. It's not that I want all sightless creatures to perish, but the wee fellow simply had no personality. And I think that's partly due to his lack of eyeballs.

So finally, after 4 months, I have my first trophy mole. I have 6 more regions/districts (I'm not sure what the moles call them) to purge of the little bastards. As sad as the recent photos of all those beautiful tigers and lions lying together dead in Ohio were, I'd love to see 6 or 7 moles laying side by side breathing no more. I'm not optimistic, but I'm going to ride this high for a while and get really aggressive. I may hang this one near a highly populated area so the others can see their impending fate. Wait, they can't see. Hmmmmm...I could put Braille notes in all the tunnels...

My young neighbor has never seen a mole and has been anxiously awaiting this moment. I've emailed her that she can finally gaze upon the rarely seen critter when she gets home this evening.

I am crossing this subterranean ghost off my list of seldom seen monsters: the yeti, Nessie, the chupacabra, and Phyllis Diller remain, but at least one mole has been spotted, knocked off, and will destroy that section of my yard no more.

Riding Yesterday

2011-10-17T10:41:00.006-05:00

Sometimes in life you hit that spot where everything falls into place and is absolutely perfect.

I fixed the problem with my bike the other day. Spark plug wire problem. I'm not a mechanic (far from it!), so I was real proud of actually getting in there, digging around under the seat and tank and correcting the skipping I'd been occasionally experiencing. It's now running so strong that it's ridiculous. Yesterday I rode EVERYWHERE. The last part of my ride was down this road toward Hayneville that we rode a million times as high schoolers to a friend's farm to party. It's got lots of curves and undulations ... swoops ... areas where the dips are long and smooth. A coworker I described this road to called me and my bike an "asphalt dolphin". It's almost orgasmic in the spacing and feel. I wasn't even "of the earth" whilst flying through there yesterday. I don't guess that woulda worked out so good if a pickup truck had pulled out from a side road, but things went well. Perfect day, perfect temp, and the bike running so well. Nothing could mess it up...except I kept being pissed at Bruce for not being around to ride in the truck and listen to music with me! He and I had ridden the roads I was on so many times...

Anyway, I rode the interstate home...making sure everything was running right up to 90 mph and then back down. Aaaah....perfect. Got home, parked it, and stepped back to admire the beautiful machine that had transported me to an ethereal place just moments before...and saw a f**king nail in the rear tire!

Gotta get something done about that. Shit.

Moles, You Are Gonna Die!

2011-07-06T09:05:00.008-05:00

I am beginning a new stage in my mission to destroy the mole/vole population in our yard. They are waaaay outta hand at this point. The front is currently under assault, and that's the last straw. I've worked too hard creating a beautiful lawn to put up with this shit any more. I've spent mornings and evenings crushing tunnels out back. I mashed at least 30 feet of tunnels just this morning in the backyard where the little bastards have run wild for months. It's over. They are going down. In the recent past I've run a hose from my truck's exhaust pipe into tunnels to no avail. I have poured gas into them. I have flooded them with rushing torrents of water. I can't use bait out back for fear of harming my dogs and it's failed miserably out front.

After exhaustive research I have ordered this product: Mole trap Amazon

Read some of the first review of this product. The guy is hilarious. But more importantly, it appears this trap will get the job done. The reviewer has become a mole serial killer. I wanna be like him. I wanna be the John Wayne Gacy of mole killers. The Ted Bundy. The Henry Lee Lucas. If I fail to wipe out our clan, I will hire that guy.

It's on, folks. The moles are going down.

Stay tuned. I will report on the efficacy of this trap. The Ray Charles, Jose Felicianos, and Stevie Wonders of the undergound are doomed.

Running the Stadium Steps

2011-06-10T09:09:00.011-05:00

Ford must be proud.

Stanhope Elmore's mascot.

The new fieldhouse from the stadium.

About two weeks ago, I embarked on a serious exercise program . The purpose is to see if I can muster the discipline to stick with anything long enough to actually see some results. I'm doing 600-1000 of my modified crunches daily and I run the stadium steps at the nearby high school as often as I can get over there. On the second day that I ran I saw a guy in the school's tee shirt mowing the football field. I figured I should ask him if it's alright to be running up his stadium's tiers. He said, "Sure, knock yourself out." I told him that was exactly what I feared most.

Yesterday, I pushed it. I know it doesn't sound like much, but there are 34 steps which I take two at a time in my rush to the top. Generally after 4 trips, I can lean on the railing at the top and feel like I'm going to either explode or flip over the top. Look, I'm freakin' 56, almost 57, and I spent a lot of years abusing every organ, muscle, and joint in my body. Well, yesterday, I made 6 trips to the top row.

I woke up in a crumpled blob this morning. I was laying at the bottom row of the upper level of the stadium. Apparently I fell and passed out. No one spotted me, or, if they did, they laughed at the old man and went on their way. I was awakened by a chicken. It licked my face, I got up, ran the steps again, and hustled home to shower and get to the office.

It seems that, in the short time I've been doing this new batch of exercises (as well as eating so much lettuce that I crap every 15 minutes) my belt has already moved over a notch and my jeans are saggy. Between the crunches and the steps and the salads, I may get rid of this gut. I thought I saw a muscle in there this morning, but it must have been the outline of my liver throbbing from past abuse.

Barney and Mom and Horst

2011-05-24T11:55:00.011-05:00

I believe it was around the time of my dad's death that I became aware of Barney Cargile. Mom must have shown me his gravesite in the small, rural cemetery where we buried my father. Turns out Barney was the love of my mother's life (I found this out years later.) They grew up near one another and were crazy in love with intentions to marry when he got back from the war. I found a few pics of Barney a long time ago and became interested in him.

Just recently I found a nephew of his. I sent the pics to him and he responded with a few shots of Barney's funeral. He knew very little about his uncle and nothing about Mom. Barney had attended school at Auburn and done officer training at Notre Dame and Columbia. Apparently he was a pretty sharp dude. On Barney's headstone was a ship and mom told me he'd been killed in WWII off Anzio during the invasion of Italy by the Allied forces. His ship was actually an LST, which sailors said stood for 'Large Slow Target'...and it was an easy mark for the Germans.

Noting the headstone's ship had a number on it, a friend and I wondered if it was actually Barney's ship designation or maybe a generic image used on lots of sailors' headstones. Simultaneously we Googled the info and were stunned with what we found: scads of information on the sinking of the LST, the rescue of survivors, and the German sub that sank her.

On the 20th of February 1944, Barney Cargile's LST was about 44 miles off Anzio when a German sub commanded by Horst Arno-Fenski fired a torpedo at 1:57 a.m. The torpedo ripped the bow off the ship. A second torpedo 20 minutes later split the LST in half and she sank to the bottom. 24 men on board died...Barney among them. Most of the 75 or so survivors were badly burned..

So the man my mother intended to marry wasn't going to come home. Since mom's death I've learned of how severely this affected her life. I guess we all wish we'd known more about our parents when we could have talked with them. Regardless, Barney's death apparently was absolutely devastating to my mother.

Now the part of this story that gave me chills: when I was checking out info about the submarine commander who sank the ship and killed my mom's husband-to-be, Horst Fenski, my eyes bugged out when I saw where he was born: Konigsberg, East Prussia. That's the home of my granddad. My father's dad came from there. The city is now known as Kaliningrad and is part of Russia..

Let me make this real clear: the German who killed the man my mother was to marry was from the same town as her future husband/my father's dad. At 2 in the morning, in the dark and the cold, a German who was from the same town as my dad's dad was slipping around under the waters of the Mediterranean Sea and torpedoed the ship that my mom's husband-to-be was on. Clear?.

Holy smokin' penguin balls! How the hell does something like this unfold?!?! Now, do I owe a debt of gratitude to Fenski? If he hadn't killed Barney Cargile, I wouldn't be here. Yet I have this admiration for Mr. Cargile..

http://www.wrecksite.eu/wreck.aspx?13741

Horst Fenski.

Fenski's sub in northern Italy.

Barney and his brother, Robert.

Potential Demise From Food Tampering

2011-05-03T09:57:00.005-05:00

Not that the cereal itself isn't capable of causing a painful death (or at least so many bathroom visits that you'd wish you were dead), please be aware of the following incident:

I grabbed my just purchased box of Kellogg's Fiber Plus Berry Yogurt Crunch about 30 minutes ago. Upon opening the cardboard box's sealed top, I noted that the inner liner bag was wide open. There was/is an odd crumby patch at the top on both the front and back of one corner. Hmmm...I suppose the prudent thing to do would be to return this to Wal Mart. However, the line at the customer service area is generally 20 deep and populated by people returning everything from Kleenex to lawnmowers to DVDs they've just finished ripping. Screw it...how much cyanide could someone dump into a box of cereal when Wal Mart's aisles are teeming with munchkins knocking box after box of Froot Loops onto the floor? So, after debating: painful cyanide death/going to Wal Mart...I opted to risk death.

I sampled a flake. The cereal was perfectly crunchy and fresh, so I ate two large bowls of my possibly tampered with Fiber Plus. So far, so good. However, if anyone finds me writhing in torment on the kitchen floor, please either drag me into the bathroom...or call the morgue.

NOTE: As I am adding this info today, apparently the tampering involved either a very slow-acting agent...or there was no tampering at all. I have survived and will continue to chow down on the contents of the box.

Bruce

2011-02-21T16:10:00.052-06:00

Bruce's favorite pic of him and Stephanie. Jennifer got this to me.

Bruce let me paint a huge "walking eyeball" on the roof of his VW bug. This was the Beetle with the hole in the floor, Donna.

Capitol Oyster Bar. I believe Delta Moon was playing this night.

Prior to Bruce's 1st wedding.

Tuscaloosa. Shannon, Debbie (Cook) Poe, Bruce, Jimmy Shashy, and George Poe. Debbie and George came in from Oklahoma for the OU-Bama game.

Lane Young, Bruce, and my beloved Bronco II. We were on one of our excursions into Lowndes County.

Donny Johnson, Bruce, and me at BG's 2nd wedding.

Bruce and Steve Richardson when we played on the 5 Kings softball team.

That's Jake in the foreground with Jack at our Posey's Crossroads place. Bruce, Bobo Arrighi and Billy Weldon under the tree.

Bruce and Donnie at Bruce's house. We did enjoy a cold Bud from time to time.

Brad Richardson, Steve R, Jimmy Bowles, and Bruce.

Josh (background), Ray Ledford, and Bruce at Donna's house.

Brew Pub.

Gail visited a few years back.

When we went to Cincinnati.

Peter Shashy, Sherry Case, Doug Brown, Bill Pepper, me,and Bruce.

Shannon and BG.

Bruce and Derilyn at Marc Yeoman's farm maybe fall 2009(?).

Deri, Marc, Bruce, and Alex.

Derilyn and Yeoman.

This was my first visit out to Marc's new place. Derilyn, Bruce and I rode out to see him.

There's no way I can sit down and transfer to this blog all the things flying around in my head about ol' Bruce right now. I have yet to accept that he's really not gonna be there when I pull up in his driveway or when I call to see if he wants to get out for a while to listen to music. What I'm going to do is post pics as I can. I may never be able to post the things that need to be said about him. I don't know if this format trivializes a life that was so important and so good. For now, the photos will have to suffice. If I ever get to where I feel comfortable writing about the guy, I'll do so. Right now, his death seems completely surreal and impossible to comprehend. He deserves more than a piece in a blog. He deserved far more than he received at his funeral. Those who knew Bruce...aka "Goose Burley" aka "The Gurley Mon" (my sons liked to call him that) aka BOG (Big Ol' Gurley as Lane and I called him), enjoy the pics for now.

He was my best friend for nearly 40 years. He was my big brother. He was a month younger than me, but he was my BIG brother! No telling how many times he got my stupid ass out of a crack. He was supposed to always be there. No way he was going to be the first to go. We talked about being old men sitting around some restaurant bitching about sports, music, and women. I take that back. Bruce was always a gentleman when it came to women. He would never say anything personal about a girl he cared about. He was decent when the rest of us were animals. He cringed when I was crude in the presence of ladies. Or if a girl was being " discussed", he'd defend her virtue. I never heard him say anything off color about a woman. Never! In 40 years!

I wish I had a photo of the look on his face when I told him our destination had changed for our trip to sell the tee shirts I designed when the Bengals were playing the 49ers in the Super Bowl. The original plan was to sell shirts in Miami, where the game was being played. But, unbeknownst to Bruce, I decided we would go to Cincinnati instead. He came to his door in shorts. I suggested he grab a coat. In Cincy, I stood in snow blowing sideways with my shirts while Bruce, wearing several tee shirts and sweatshirts, glared at me from our rented van.

When we'd come across some awesome music, we'd call each other and jump in the car to ride around and check the new stuff out. Between the two of us, we figured we had virtually every album, tape, and CD ever produced. I imagine we've contributed mightily to the gas problems we're about to face. There's no telling how many miles we logged out in Pike Road and Lowndes County and out Butler Mill Road, Hickory Grove Road, Hillabee Road, Ada-Union Academy something or other road, out toward LeGrand and Grady and Petrey. And now...how am I gonna ride those roads without him sitting to my right?

We must have played a billion games of ping pong and thump football over the years. I can still see Bruce ducking as I fired a ping pong paddle toward his head after a particularly intense game when I lived in Shopton...down in Bullock County. The paddle went through a rather expensive piece of glass in the front door of an old plantation house I was renting. Bruce was really quick back then..the big guy could move.

We used to "argue" about WWII a lot, too. His mom is British and my dad was German. We'd get into it about the Battle of Britain and the whole Brit-German aspect of the war. It was always me saying "We'd have kicked your ass if the oil and steel hadn't run out." Bruce always grinned and got the last word: "Who won?"

This is awkward. The thought of this being on the internet is at once, both wrong and right. He was a very private person and I don't feel comfortable discussing him in such a public arena; yet he was such a great human being...which was barely mentioned at his funeral (partially Donnie's and my fault, because, when asked by Stephanie if we'd like to say something, neither of us felt we could get a word out without breaking down)...that maybe this is the only way to allow folks a glimpse at the gentle, caring, big-hearted, giving man he was. Jake and Josh always considered Bruce their uncle. I told him a million times I wish I'd been 1/10 the father to my boys that he was to Stephanie. Anyway...I feel extremely privileged to have been a friend of Bruce's.

As I said, I'll add photos as I come across them. I don't have a ton, though. Hopefully, other friends will post pics or get them to me to post. I'll note where they came from if they're not mine.

Want A '3 Weisman' Tee Shirt?

2010-12-16T16:51:00.002-06:00

Come visit my store on CafePress!

Probably my best design ever. I sell 'em thru Cafepress 'cause I've gotten too lazy to have 'em printed myself.

Jagerschnitzel Saved Our Lives

2010-11-30T07:41:00.012-06:00

http://www.whnt.com/news/whnt-deadly-wreck-i565-huntsville-112910,0,3702340.story

Shannon and I came up on this terrible collision maybe 30 seconds after it happened. We saw smoke all over our side of the interstate as traffic was slowing down. I’d guess we were about 25-30 cars back from the mess. At least 8 rescue trucks came by, several fire trucks and ambulances, lotsa police. We knew it was really bad. We sat for 45 minutes before we got to a spot where we could turn around on the interstate and head back toward Huntsville.

The 45 minute delay put us in B’ham at exactly 5:00. Dark, pouring rain, and total gridlock. Drive a few feet, stop. Drive a few feet, stop again. WTF?!?! How could anyone want to live in that city?!

Ummmm…just to clarify: I’m not trying to compare our “hardship” of being delayed and caught in heavy traffic and rain to someone being killed in an accident.

Eveybody please slow down. Be careful. Particularly in the rain. Especially when vehicles are barreling head-on toward you on the wrong side of the highway.

Oh...the jagerschnitzel. Shannon had called me from the office and said she'd be out around 2:30. Just about the time I knew she'd be coming down to the car, I realized I should visit a restroom before we headed back to Montgomery. At my age, these visits are often emergency runs...as in get there very quickly! I left her a message to not go to the car unless she had a key...and that I'd be in the lobby soon. Of course she called me from the car, in the drizzling rain, wondering where I was (she never checks her messages.) Anyway, the couple minute delay due to my less than stellar timing and complete lack of control of my bodily functions may have saved us from participating in the collision referred to above. So Shannon can thank my having some German pork and red cabbage at the West End Grille in Huntsville for keeping us alive.

Essential Music

2010-11-10T05:25:00.079-06:00

Gonna try to do something I've wanted to do for years. This will be an amalgam of the music that I consider essential to human ears. Essential in that it's great music, or groundbreaking music, or cool as shit music. Obviously this list is only my very opinionated opinion. My wife despises everything I listen to, other than AC/DC. I have yet to figure out her affinity for them, but I count that as a minor win for me. Regardless, I have close to a billion and a half LPs, cassettes, CDs, and mp3s that have made life better every single day, so here come a few of them right atcha!

The plan is to comment briefly on each selection. However, that may be impossible to do as my computer is so slow that I'll probably snap before I can get three albums completed. I am NOT a musician, so my thoughts will be presented in non-technical terminology. I know what I enjoy and I know what I don't want to hear (hiphop pouring into my yard from the nearby high school would fall into this latter category.)

I'm certain I'll forget a lot of stuff. I'll probably be adding to this for as long as I live, as new music comes into my possession and old stuff that I neglected to post originally will pop back into my cranium. I may list some items simply for the album art (Hipgnosis/Storm Thorgerson did a bunch of covers for a band called Brand X. I don't think I ever listened to any of the LPs I bought, but I loved the cover ideas)...or for just one brilliant song on the album (The Smithereens come immediately to mind). As per the usual, I will ramble incoherently quite a bit, I'm sure. I may have to come back in and make corrections as to songs' titles, who's playing what, etc. as I intend to do this from memory and not bounce around the freakin' internet for hours. So if you discover errors, please let me know...or just suck it up and know that I tried like hell to get it right.

Note: I could and should insert virtually every Beatles album. That would be ridiculous, so I've only plopped a few in here. I could add several more Zeppelin albums as well...Mountain, Traffic, Dylan, Tull, more Sabbath (Ozzy only), etc. Obviously I've already gone beyond "essential" as it is, so I'm trying to be reasonable here.

JethroTull's Benefit. As so many late '60s thru the '70s bands did, Tull had a unique sound. Ian Anderson's vocals and flute and Martin Barre's guitar were part of a great mix on this, their 3rd LP. Beautiful songs, heavy stuff, good lyrics. This would be on my "You can only have ten CDs on an island" list.

Asleep at the Wheel's Texas Gold. Very cool album. "The Letter That Johnny Walker Read", "Tonight the Bartender Is On the Wrong Side of the Bar", and "Nothin' Takes the Place of You" are my favorites. This one was a bitch to find on CD.

Herb Alpert, Whipped Cream & Other Delights. Good memories. A childhood filled with Herb Alpert, Henry Mancini, and Frank Sinatra wasn't all bad...not at all. This cover was seared into my brain at a young, impressionable age. Thanks, Dad!

Alvin Lee and Mylon LeFevre got together and did this monster of an album, On the Road to Freedom, with assistance from George Harrison, Steve Winwood, Jim Capaldi, and others. Excellent songwriting and musicianship throughout. I looked for this on CD for years before finding it recently.

Wishbone Ash, Argus. Whoohoo! Twin guitar attack...beautiful, melodious playing and heavy as hell, too. This album blew me away on my first hearing and has held up for lo, these many years. Andy Powell and Ted Turner created a sound like no other band then or since. Note: when the little fish came dancing up over the foot of my bed in a phalanx formation at the beginning of "The King Will Come", I was ecstatic.

Sabbath's first. What can I say? Wow.

My boys loved "Rock Lobster" on the first B-52s LP. So did I.

(Below)The European cover of Delta Moon's latest. US cover elsewhere in here. Twin slide guitars. Great live band.

Love Dave Walker's vocals on this SB album.

Don't like to throw out "Best Ofs..." and "Greatest Hits", but in Mancini's case, this is a killer collection: "Baby Elephant Walk", "PETER GUNN"!

And this is a damn good buncha Burritos tuneage.

Beautiful versions of "Shouldn't Have Took More Than You Gave" and "Sad and Deep As You".

Terrible shirt choice, Mylon. Makes Seinfeld's "puffy" shirt look manly.
But "Second Hand Lady" is awesome.

Talton and Boyer's "Please Be With Me"...as good as it gets.

Radio Moscow is a threesome from Iowa. I love that some kids are playing this kind of old-school, blues-drenched heavy music.

Thelonius Monk is unreal. I don't know squat about jazz or piano, but I do know that Bruce and me rode around and around Billingsley, Alabama for three or four hours listening to a tape of this. Long story.

Craig Fuller had a great voice. Pure Prairie League never sounded better.

"Fairies Wear Boots" may just be the coolest song ever commited to vinyl.

One of my absolute favorites of all time. Perfect album. Earl is the man. No, not you Lemmy!

Mark Sandman's band before Morphine. Great album.

Only chose this one because I couldn't narrow it down to a
particular Zevon album.

Budgie? Just 'cause I wanted a Budgie album in here.

"Let There Be Rock" is religious. Can I get an "Amen?"

Regarding Alabama's loss to South Carolina Saturday...

2010-10-12T09:16:00.003-05:00

I get over these things much quicker than I used to. I hate the Tide losing the game, but my disappointment doesn’t linger. Too many important things to worry about. Like:

Determining just what is Amish about the potato salad I bought the other day. Says on the top: Amish Potato Salad. It's excellent...got pickles and celery in it...just as I like it. But WTF about it is Amish?! So far I've found no beard hairs in it...
Getting my feet out from under the pedals on Shannon’s shrunken SUV. I got in to put her sunshade up and I thought I’d never get out. Between the steering wheel being set low and my thick-soled riding boots, I was temporarily trapped. I think that new Ryan Reynolds movie is based on an incident like this. I felt his pain.
Escaping from a rampaging horde of fire ants. I had raked up a nice big pile of pine straw. As I was kneeling (easier on my back than bending) to put the straw in the wheelbarrow, I noticed the pile of straw was moving. Dismissing the possibility of a long-awaited chemically-induced flashback, I came to the conclusion that there were billions of ants in the straw. Jumping up I saw that my legs were covered in the little biting bastards. I rolled my shorts up and found ants as high as my knees. I was seconds away from yanking my pants off when I thought I had killed the last of the little boogers. Note: Crocs do not keep ants off your feet. Reeling from the attack, I decided to move the pile of straw. Yep, I had raked it onto one of those low-slung beds hidden in the grass. Sort of a ranch-style antbed….low and spread out, ya’ know?

This Blog

2010-01-20T08:58:00.003-06:00

Obviously I have not made much effort to keep this thing worthy of reading. Skip the ridiculous aquarium crap...come to think of it, skip the entire blog. The intent was to satisfy those who kept insisting that I publish my allegedly humorous musings and rambling stories.

Well, the blog sucks. All I have managed is to consistently fail to maintain the spontaneity that is so crucial to my writing. I don't enjoy writing in here, the photos are a bitch to situate, and I absolutely loathe sitting at a computer when I am not forced to do so.

So...screw it. If I take a trip on the bike and meet someone who is so interesting that I need to write about them, I will. If I fabricate another instrument on the level of the infamous dethatcher, I will make you aware of it's existence. Otherwise, I doubt I'll see this place much.

To those who thought this would be a good outlet for me, sorry...you were wrong. I have no idea what I should do with the garbled nonsense filling my head.

Georgia Aquarium Trip

2009-11-21T13:17:00.009-06:00

Thursday, my wife and I visited the Georgia Aquarium. What better way to celebrate the 12th anniversary of our wedding day. We enjoyed it thoroughly and would like to suggest to anyone who hasn't been....GO!!! Unbelievable place. The big tank is 286 feet long and I forget how deep and wide. Two feet of acrylic separate you from whale sharks, manta rays, groupers, hammerheads, etc. It was very difficult to get any good shots due to the thickness of the walls. Other areas, such as the tunnel where fish swim over and around you, are thinner, but lighting, reflections, etc. make a good pic tough. So these are the best of what I got.

We could have sat at the big tank all day. It was designed to accomodate 6 40' whale sharks. Right now, they have 4, I think the biggest of which might be 25-30' long. Huge critters. Standing at the tank watching a graceful ray or a grouper the size of a VW Beetle, the whale sharks would pass by above you and snatch your attention. Amazing creatures. All of them. There are penguins, otters, alligators, sturgeons...all kinds of animals throughout the facility.

Legal Seafood came highly recommended. We walked from the aquarium to the restaurant, took the elevator up and settled in at our table. I thought the food was great, but I didn't get my tea until I had almost finished my bluefish and cheese grits. My wife didn't get her water until she had eaten about half her meal. Refills arrived as we were leaving. The waitress came by at one point and said, "I gotta take the bread." I was halfway through a roll at that point. No explanation...nothing. We noticed she was taking everyones' bread. I asked the manager what was going on and he brought some more rolls. I ate half of another one and then...there she was again, grabbing the plate of rolls. I asked her what the problem was. "We have some bad bread." Hmmm...I looked at the piece I was eating. Mold. Great. Someone at another table had noticed it and pointed it out the waitress. Apparently all the bread they were serving was bad. Oh well. Other than that,,,and the lack of drinks...I enjoyed it.

This shot is obviously not from the aquarium. Seahorses aren't this big. I shot this on an early morning ride a few days ago. I was looking for the breeder where we got Roni 12 years ago (there's that number again) and saw these horses enjoying the dawn sunlight.

Aging

2009-11-17T17:10:00.002-06:00

Aging is that insipid, creeping bastard in the night that you think will never happen to you. (That sentence makes absolutely no sense whatsoever).

It's having to roll over veeeery carefully to get out of bed in the morning.
It's finding that putting socks on ain't as simple a process as it used to be.
It's realizing that everything you eat makes you fart...it's not just the broccoli and raisin bran any more.
It's releasing that basketball-sized gas wad while riding the bike and worrying that I've just dabbled my britches with fecal matter.
It's stretching every so often at your desk so that you can walk normally down the hall.
It's having to take a walk down the hall more frequently than you can believe possible.
It's getting sleepy after two beers instead of getting wired after 15 of 'em.
It's having to have your wife and coworkers repeat every damn thing they say.
It's finding that those "cute" comments that used to get you laid now get you arrested or looked at as "that crazy old guy".
It's concluding that you'll probably never make that Pinhoti Trail hike again. And that doing any more of the Appalachian Trail is fuckin' nuts.
It's realizing you won't be able to pick up your beautiful 6 month old granddaughter if she gains another pound.
It's calling your dogs by the names of pets you had as a child and referring to your lovely wife as 'girl' because you have no idea who she is or how she got in your car.
It's having to have surgeries to repair all the crazy damage you did to yourself flinging your body all over the place playing ball.
It's telling the gorgeous young girl who cuts your hair that you used to actually have hair to cut.

I will occasionally add to these thoughts, I'm sure...if I can remember to!

Random Photos...Some Old, Some Not

2009-11-12T10:42:00.009-06:00

Mom with Dad's Cordoba (rich Corinthian vinyl).

My beloved old VW bus and the boys.

POS Cutlass I bought from a coworker. The only GM product I ever owned 'til I bought my '99 Silverado (R.I.P.)

Caption says it all.

My close encounter with Bigfoot on Bald Knob in Wetumpka, Alabama.

Friend of my older son's on his Ninja. siiiiigh

My Motorcycles Over the Years

2009-10-28T08:33:00.028-05:00

Whoa! First "bike" I had. A Honda Cub 50. I have a black & white pic of me on it somewhere, but this is all I've got right now. Step-thru frame...nasty! A couple friends and I had these monsters. We took off the beige "wings" and removed the muffler's baffles. We thought we were terrorizing the populace. Pitiful little bike, but you gotta start somewhere. Nowadays, folks start out on a Hayabusa and die real quickly. We learned on small ones and worked our way up.

Again, this isn't my bike, but I can't locate the one pic I know I have. Will replace these first 2 with my shots when I locate them. Black and gold Yamaha 250. Bought used. Mine had a ridiculously high sissy bar. 2-stroke screamer. I raced this mutha in a field where we'd built a racetrack for dirt bikes! Many times I'd ride home with turn signals hanging by the wires after dumping it in a turn. But I hung with those dirt bikers! Everybody knew that bike 'cause I'd also take it up the huge hills when they were building the new interstate.

Next up is my beautiful '74 Kawasaki 500 Triple. A two-stroke, 3 cylinder rocket with no suspension and weak brakes. Made to go really fast in a straight line. Pictured is me in my wild days and mom on the bike. I absolutely loved this bike. Wish I had it now. A power company employee caught up with me one afternoon and told me he'd seen me scream by beneath him as he worked on a power line earlier in the day. He wanted to buy the bike right then. And he offered me enough that I parted with it. Like I said, I wish I had it now. Beautiful styling and a crazy fast engine.

The Kaw 750 Triple to the left is exactly like the one that a good friend was killed on. I rode it once and it was dangerous...in a good way. FAST!!! Poor ol' Mike was riding without a helmet, though, when he left the road and hit a tree.

On to my Yamaha 750 Special. Another favorite. Also a triple, but a 4-stroke with shaft drive. Took my first long trip (to Oklahoma, Texas, etc.) on this baby. Had it for years and years. When my wife and I lived in the sticks in Bullock County, I rode it 45 miles to school at Troy State University for 9 months. She and I took it to the Smokies and camped out and then rode on to see a friend in North Carolina. Eventually I slapped a good ol' Vetter Windjammer on it 'cause I was riding so many long rides. That fairing didn't add to the bike's aesthetics at all, but it served its purpose. The aforementioned Mike bought this bike from me and I bought it back a year later.

Here's my oldest son and me with my '79 Suzuki GS850G. I hadn't bought a used bike since the Yamaha 250, but I got this one in Birmingham and thought it was a diamond in the rough. Lotsa rust and wear on it when I got ahold of it, but I had it looking brand new in no time. Excellent machine. Thoroughly enjoyed this one, but didn't keep it long. The boys were young and money was short. Plus, I wanted to be around to see them grow up!

I took the pic below at the farm we lived on in Posey's Crossroads, AL.

I didn't own a bike for quite a while. As the boys grew up and I worked 2 jobs at times, money was tight and time was short. Working a bar job for extra cash also meant too many "extracurricular" activities, so bikes had to wait. My current wife then suggested I should get a bike. WHAT?! A wife suggesting a husband buy a motorcycle?! Has she got insurance on me that I'm unaware of? Who cares?! Yeeha!!! Rushed over to a friend's dealership and plopped down the money for a new Suzuki Volusia, now called a C50. The pic above is of a girl who owned a bar/restaurant in Selma.

The Volusia (at left)was a very good bike. Just a little underpowered. When I was offered virtually what I'd paid for it, I sold it after a year of riding. On the way home after delivering the bike to its new owner, I saw a motorcycle parked at a bank. It was one of those, "Holy crap! What is that?!" moments. i stopped, tracked down the owner and asked him about the bike. It was a black Honda VTX1800. BEEYOOTEEFUL!!!

I had to have one. A couple days later, en route to see my wife's parents, I stopped at a dealership and inquired about a 1300. I'd read enough by this point to realize I didn't need the 1800. Couldn't afford it anyway. The owner took me in the back and showed me a black 1300S in the crate. He told me he'd have it assembled for me to test ride that afternoon.

My wife suggested that I not tell them that day that I wanted it. I rode it, fell in love with it, walked back in the shop and said, "Service it. I'll be back Tuesday to pick it up." Sorry, honey.

Honda VTX1300S - packed and ready to roll to North Carolina in '06. She now has over 47,000 miles on her. I may keep this one forever.

On the Gee's Bend Ferry in west Alabama.

My oldest son and me with our bikes.

My older son on some of his bikes. He's a helluva rider. A bit rough on the machines though.

My Top Ten as of This Morning

2009-10-25T08:35:00.008-05:00

1 - Texas
2 - Alabama
3 - Iowa
4 - Florida
5 - USC
6 - Cincy
7 - TCU
8 - LSU
9 - Oregon
10 - Ga Tech/Penn State/Boise St/Oklahoma (tie)

Do I think Texas or Iowa (or Florida, for that matter) would beat Alabama? No. They all have weaknesses. But so does the Tide. There is no overpowering, dominant team this year. Texas can't run the ball a lick. Iowa hasn't played anybody and their QB turns the ball over too much. Florida's offense is crippled by their inability to pass downfield. I predicted elsewhere that Mississippi State could beat Florida (man, did I catch some hell!) and they damn near did it. Alabama has a similar situation in that they no longer force defenses to respect their passing game. Defenses load up to stop the run and McElroy isn't able to stretch the D.

It's gonna get really interesting the next few weeks.

As far as Bama's win, I still haven't completely recovered. A couple aspirin and two very nice nurses at the local hospital helped after my heart attack, but I'm still convalescing.

The shoulda lost talk, though is strange to me. We were up 12-3 with about 3 minutes left. Mark Ingram, who had never fumbled since dropping a rattle at age 4, had the ball ripped loose. The Alabama defense then allowed their first TD in 3 weeks. Next, whilst I cowered in a closet, the Vols recovered an onside kick that everybody on earth knew was coming. Then Terence Cody asserted every ounce of energy left in his mammoth body and blocked his second FG attempt of the day.

In my mind, Bama shouldn't have lost the game. Blocking field goals is part of the game, is it not? They busted their asses and won. And knew they would win it...even as Tennessee lined up for that kick. The players said they had no doubt that FG wouldn't go through. Not that that means shit. Julio Jones gets so high on blocks, it's a wonder any FG gets up. But for Cody to penetrate as far as he did...wow. Amazing.

The Birmingham News headline was a classic on Sunday: GOOD OL' ROCKY BLOCK.

Tampa October 09

2009-10-21T16:37:00.026-05:00

Due to my aversion to putting pics of my kids or their kids online, I wil not be exhibiting any of the pics of my gorgeous granddaughter, nor her beautiful mother, or even her lovely dad. If you know me and I haven't sent you some pics of them...and you actually would like to see them...let me know and I'll email them to you.

Now the "safe" stuff:

Day one I've already discussed: the nasty sewage smell in Tuskegee, the ride itself, the searing Florida heat.
We always gravitate to the Green Iguana restaurants. This trip, we hit the one located in Ybor City, which is the entertainment/shopping/cigar store area of downtown Tampa.

We had a great time with the baby. She never whined a bit, while twins at the table next to us howled. The Iguana serves some really tasty food. My salmon (left) was excellent and the kids enjoyed their meals, too. Dear god...are blogs supposed to be this boring?!

Sure would have liked to hung around and seen Trower at the Ritz. Cool looking theater.

These signs were everywhere. Tampa is very gay-friendly, I guess.

Crappy touristy shot.

'nuther 'un.

Had a blast keeping the baby from noon to 9 on Saturday. She didn't poop once! I coulda dealt with it, but it was nice to not have to. Saturday couldn't have been any better a day: got to spend lotsa time with my granddaughter, the Crimson Tide beat Mississippi, Arkansas knocked off Auburn, then LSU-Florida that night. Excellent day.

My son and I ate at another Green Iguana (we must like that place) on Sunday and watched the pitiful Bucs get their asses stomped by the Eagles. Ate a ton of wings and a good burger. Met Sanovia, a 6 foot chick who was pretty crazy...even by my standards. We had a great time talking with her and her friends. She assumed I was a country music fan because I'm from Alabama. Stereotyping sucks.

Tuesday was leaving day. I hated it. May have to move down there.

Got to Homassasa Springs or somewhere along there and decided to go see the Ted Williams museum. I figured I was gonna get some cool pics to blow y'all away with. I mean it's Ted Williams! Took the road to Lecanto and pulled up to a bank with a Ted Williams Museum sign. Odd.

Ted looked pretty lonely. I think Lecanto was where he dropped anchor and retired. Now he's decapitated and frozen in a lab in Arizona. Lecanto wasn't that great, but, considering Ted's current status, it ain't that bad a place.

A guy in the lot waiting for the bank to open told me the museum had been moved to Tampa, at the Rays' stadium. All the memorabilia is in Tampa...where I'd spent the last 4 days! A guy in the bank saw my head drop and he opened the doors

and let me in to shoot pics of the only two items remaining there. Two murals. Damn. Here's one of 'em:

Cross City. Cypress Inn. Ate too many collards and pork strips (odd little bastards they were...but damn tasty). About an hour and a half later the populace of Quincy, FL suffered because of this meal. I destroyed a restroom at a convenience store. Friendly tip: avoid Quincy for oh...maybe a month or so. However, in spite of the resulting apocalyptic event, if you're ever on Hwy 19, and need an inexpensive GOOD meal, stop at the Cypress Inn Restaurant. $7.00 and everything was damn good. Just be prepared to stop again not too far down the road.

A group of old guys was hanging around the convenience store parking lot. One of them stopped me and asked if I was coming down to the big Harley get together in Tallahassee. Told him no and that my bike was a Honda. He was stunned. Earlier, in one of the little towns I cruise through on 19, a guy at a light asked me if I was on an Indian. Damn I'm glad I ride a dependable Honda, rather than either of those two manufacturers' machines!

Inside the restaurant and my view of my trusty steed.

The aforementioned restroom that I annihilated. Rather than the standard bathroom wall graffiti fare (Rosie gives great **** 867-5309), a football fan had left the local high school coach a suggestion.

Played tag with an FSU coed for a long time on 19 and then 27 into Tallahassee. Wandered around Tally a while just to slow things down. Then hit I-10 (only interstate I took on the trip...hate 'em on the bike) to Blountstown. Decided to take some backroads into Dothan, Alabama, then bring it on home.

Missed a great photo op around Malone or Cottonwood. To my left, two red tractors were discing a field. One coming toward me, one going away. As I went past, my bike startled a gaggle of those white birds that hang around cows. It stuck with me for a long way. The birds all up in front of the tractors...oh shit...anyway, it was very cool looking to me.

Wanted to ask a local how this community got its name, but being this close to home, I just kept boogiein'. Beat the rain and the cool weather and rolled into the driveway about 5:30 Tuesday, the 13th. Another excellent ride. And another shitty blog post.

Bama QB Update

2009-10-20T07:59:00.002-05:00

Greg McElroy has regressed badly the last two weeks. Whereas he had been looking to his 2nd and 3rd receivers, he now locks on to Julio Jones and, by god, if he's triple-covered, he's still gonna force the ball in there. And where Mac had pulled the ball down and scrambled, he now seems panicky and tosses it straight to a defender. Uh, Greg, Colin Peek is still around, too, ya' know? Granted, he has faced much better defensive teams the last two weeks, but, if he and Coach McElwain don't straighten things out, the Tide could easily lose to Tennessee this Saturday and to anyone else on the schedule (other than Chattanooga).

To clarify my McElroy post's intentions: I never said he was or should be a Heisman candidate. I said that if Notre Dame's Jimmy Clausen is a Heisman candidate, then McElroy should be as well. It was a comparison of QB stats at a certain point. McElroy could turn things around and finish the year with great stats. Even if he were to finish with a better QB efficiency rating than Clausen, I would still not think of him as a Heisman type player...unless he throws 50 TD passes with 0 interceptions the rest of the way.

I really don't care if any Bama player ever wins the Heisman, but,, if he continues racking up yards like he has, you couldn't ask for a more deserving kid than Mark Ingram. And what a polite, well-spoken guy he is. He goes overboard to be friendly and polite to interviewers. He is definitely not friendly or polite to tacklers. What a load to bring down!

And the coolest thing is, Trent Richardson runs just as hard. Damn, we got some running backs!

Florida and Murderers

2009-10-14T10:05:00.005-05:00

Some observations from my trip:

1 - Lotsa golf carts down there.
2 - Lotsa roofing company billboards. Apparently a lot of roofs (rooves? ) become airborne.
3 - Lotsa skanky women with lotsa tattoos.
4 - Lotsa gorgeous women with brown bods.
5 - Lotsa Spanish spoken. I enjoyed it in the stores and restaurants.
6 - Lotsa HEAT and HUMIDITY. Jesus H. Christ! It's October...gimme a break. Record highs all over the place.
7 - Lotsa people gettin' early dirtnaps. You can't ride or drive a mile without coming upon a locale where there was a famous slaughter. Lake City, Orlando, Tallahassee, Homasassa Springs, Gainesville...I mean it never ends. Either some fuckwad offs 4 to 5 women (Ted Bundy, Danny Rolling) or rapes and kills a little girl (Bundy and the old neighbor dude in Homasassa) or a mom offs her kid (Anthony case in Orlando), or a kid is missing and presumed dead (Haleigh Cummings).

Shit, if not for Florida, Nancy Grace would have no reason to live.

I may add to this as my memory returns.

Here's the Chiefland High School photo I mentioned earlier:

Check the years. Quite a dynasty they got going!

The Ride to Tampa

2009-10-09T09:57:00.011-05:00

10/8 Left home around 6:15. As I entered Tuskegee, the day looked to be a good one. Approaching my turn at 29 to head to Union Springs, I got a whiff of something godawful. A sewage treatment plant employee would have immediately identified the stench: raw sewage. The right lane a block south of the town square was awash in human waste. The odor was nasty as hell and I made sure to keep my tires out of the wet lane. Oh well, the day was gonna get much better than this, no doubt. And it did.

From Union Springs to Eufaula, there were plenty of signs that somebody is spending a bit o' federal stimulus money. There is a lot of road work going on, folks. No need to doubt that your tax dollars are being spent. Lotsa nice, smooth new asphalt and pretty bright yellow paint being applied in east Alabama. Very nice ride east.

As I rode through Eufaula, which is always enjoyable, I decided I wouldn't mind living there. What a beautiful, but too short, ride under the overhanging trees and betwixt the rows of incredible old homes. Hard not to veer off and wreck the bike as I stared at beautiful house after beautiful house. On to a road I'd wanted to take previously, but never had: 82 east into Georgia. Cuthbert had some weird homes and a very strange-looking school, Andrew College (left). Wanted to shoot my own pics, but needed to haul ass. On through Dawson and into Albany, where it just so happened, my wonderful, sweet mom-in-law was attending a funeral yesterday. Didn't see her, but thought about her. South of Albany, lots more fed bucks at work...road work for miles.

When I left home yesterday morning, my leather jacket was feeling just right. I had all the vents open and just enough cool breeze was blowing through. Couldn't have been more comfortable. As I made ground southward and the hours went by, I knew my attire might become a bit of a problem. Note to self: Uh, dumbass...you're riding in FLORIDUH. Just south of Monticello, I scarfed down some wings and tea and relaxed for a while. There was a lot of bitchin' and moanin' in the Tallahassee Democrat about ol' Bobby Bowden. Speaking of old...my old body was starting to feel the miles. Actually I was hurtin'. But the brief rest did wonders and when I got back on the bike, all was good in the world.

When I got to Chiefland, I couldn't help but smile at the high school's sign. So I looped back around, parked in the school lot, and got a pic. I'll add it later. Signs all around the lot prohibited trespassing and warned creepy old guys on bikes to stay away from the local kids. I thought about how this must look to the school security personnel: old guy, black jacket, black helmet, school is close to letting out, guy's got his camera out, out of state tag on bike...this can't be good. As I sat on the bike, I made a call to a friend who I knew would be able to find me a good local attorney quickly if need be. Yeap wehat! I gotta roll. So on down Hwy 19 I headed.

More than a few pteradactyl-sized bugs slammed into my faceshield after I got back up to cruising speed. Not full-grown pteradactyls...more like infant-sized ones with a wingspan of two to three feet. Healthy suckers that bang off your shield sounding like bullet impacts. I hadn't seen a drop of rain yet, so I kept the leather jacket on and the rainsuit stowed away. Sometimes my dumbassery boggles meself. According to the Tallahassee paper, record high temps were anticipated. Lovely. As I hit either Cross City or Crystal something or other, here came the rain. I saw a sign for Lecanto, which I had been considering visiting to see the Ted Williams Museum. (Apparently Lecanto is where the baseball great retired). As the rain wasn't coming down hard enough to clean the road, I dipped into a car wash bay to wait it out or to put the rain gear on. I got off the bike to call my son to ask about how far Lecanto was out of my way and to see if it was raining in Tampa. As I paced and talked, I was sweating buckets in that damn jacket. I was quickly edging toward extremely miserable. Josh directed me toward Lecanto and also to the Suncoast Parkway. I pulled back out intending to see Ted's crap, but then saw that I could hit the parkway (a toll road that cuts off many miles of 19, a miserable, trafficlight loaded, strip-mall blighted stretch) really easily from where I was. Sweat-soaked now, I headed toward Brooksville and hopped on the toll road. Once up to speed, I cooled off and dried out somewhat. That toll road is a lifesaver. Rather than dealing with the constant stop and go and bumper to bumper traffic that I experienced my first ride down here, it's miles of open, lightly traveled highway. Worth the combined $3.75 that I had to give up at three toll booths.

The exit I took in Tampa practically spit me out at Josh's house, so here I sit this morning after an evening of playing with the baby, enjoying a good meal, and scarfing down a beer with Josh and Kim and the neighbors. We're going to Ybor City in a few minutes, I think. I know Kim's glad to have Josh at home on a Friday and is anxious to get out and about for a change.

10/10 Here it is Saturday and I'm alone with a gorgeous woman in my arms. Don't fret, Punk...she's six months old and drooling all over my shoulder. Josh and Kim have gone to a friend's wedding at a beach. They'll be back this evening, so I'm babysitting. Yesterday was hot as hell, but a good day nonetheless. Ybor is an interesting area. Lots of cigar places, good food, and more tanned breasts than a man should have to look at. This morning we watched Josh's flag football team win a tough game, 7-6. Arkansas is wrapping up their win over Auburn and THE game of the day is about to begin, so Ryleigh and I have to go back in the other room.

Must remember to write about bevel worshippers. Pictures to be added ASAP.

Ah...the National Press Finally Catches Up

2009-10-07T09:49:00.006-05:00

http:espn.go.com

Regaining the edge: McElroy vs. Snead
October 7, 2009 10:18 AM
Posted by ESPN.com's Chris Low

If any quarterback in the SEC has looked like a Heisman Trophy candidate through five games, it’s McElroy.

And if it’s not him, it’s his counterpart down south in the state of Alabama -- Auburn’s Chris Todd.

I won't post the entire column, but suffice it to say, Mr. Low acknowledges the performance of Greg McElroy (to this point) as being far superior to "Heisman worthy" Jevan Snead of Mississippi. Not that I, or anyone else, needed confirmation from ESPN, but McElroy's numbers are damned impressive, especially considering he had never started a college game 'til this season.

There's a long way to go, and again, I could care less about the Heisman Trophy. But, if you look at the numbers, #12 has to be among the candidates. He may fall flat on his face down the road, but I doubt it. The kid is so much more in control of the Tide offense than any QB in years, it's ridiculous.

The Heisman? Who cares. Another national title is all any UA fan wants.

Whoohoo! Drivin n Cryin is Back!

2009-10-01T09:10:00.005-05:00

http://www.drivinncryin.com/store/download/

Listen to the clips on the link above. If you enjoy crunchy raw rock 'n roll with a sweet soft southern edge tossed in, you're probably already a Drivin n Cryin fan. Well they're back. Kevn Kinney and Tim Nielsen have returned with the old DnC sound on this new album, (Whatever Happened To)The Great American Bubble Factory.

Be seeing them in either Tuscaloosa, B'ham or Mobile in November. Pics to follow.

Ah, good times...

Early Heisman Candidates

2009-09-30T14:35:00.012-05:00

Since before the start of the 2009 football season (college...is there any other?), I've been ranting and raving to anyone who would listen that Greg McElroy is going to be one of the best quarterbacks in years at Alabama. No more feeling like there is no hope of putting the opposition away. No more waiting for the game to slip away because of a Bama QB's inability to adjust or to get the ball downfield. McElroy is the real deal. He has the confidence of his coaches and his teammates and he has a hell of an arm. As an announcer said during last Saturday's Arkansas game, McElroy seems to have been "given the keys" to the offense. It appeared to the announcer (and to anyone who watches Bama football) that the coaches have much more faith in this guy who's s started all of 4 games than they did in his predecessor. I feel it and I think most observers do as well: the kid's a winner.

Anyway, I've heard a lot of talk about early Heisman candidates. I don't give a rat's ass about a Tide player winning the Heisman and I don't think the university is concerned about it either. At Alabama, it's always been about the team, not an individual. Regardless, one of the names I constantly see mentioned is Jimmy Clausen, the QB at Notre Dame. He's having an excellent season, no doubt. But after week three I started looking at his and McElroy's numbers. If Clausen is to be considered an early Heisman front-runner, then I submit that McElroy should be considered as well. As of the Alabama-Arkansas game and the Notre Dame-Purdue game this past Saturday, here is where the two stand in the official NCAA stats:

Among QBs with a minimum of 15 passes/game, Greg McElroy ranks 3rd in the nation with a passer rating of 175.15 and Clausen ranks fourth with a rating of 172.86. Heck, the much-maligned (last year) and finally healthy Chris Todd (Auburn) is 6th. Note: McElroy's numbers have been accomplished with Julio Jones missing two games.

Official NCAA Stats

And, if you wanna throw a big IF out there: if any of Alabama's 4 capable-of-starting-anywhere-in-the-nation running backs were to get 20 carries a game, Mark Ingram, Trent Richardson, Roy Upchurch or Terry Grant would be putting up numbers similar to Jahvid Best (California), who may now be the leading Heisman candidate. Richardson and Upchurch both average more yards per carry than Best right now.

Early Morning, Alabama State Capitol

2009-09-26T13:19:00.006-05:00

I took these shots as I crossed the Capitol lawn in Montgomery yesterday morning at about 6:15-6:20. I often wonder how many people work within a couple blocks of this and other monuments and statues, yet have never really looked at them.

ID This Guy

2009-09-18T12:28:00.007-05:00

I found this photo in a used book bought in Montgomery, Alabama about 15 years ago. I named the dude Virgil Lipscomb.

Somebody has to know who this is. Send this pic to any and everyone you know.

Please someone ID this fellow. I have no idea why this matters, but hordes of people have pushed me to do this for quite a while.

The Lawn Ranger

2009-09-04T12:14:00.009-05:00

I have some friends...longterm friends...like 40 years of friendship friends who...how shall I put this...they have an ambivalent attitude about lawn upkeep. They tend to ignore their lawn until their home's roof is all that's visible from the street. It's such a tradition with them that it's ignored by acquaintances. I tend to doubt that their neighbors feel the same way. In the past I've snuck over while they were away and cut their yard, then mailed them bizarre letters, ostensibly from the city or the health department or the federal government. I would suggest that they owed exorbitant amounts of money to whoever I claimed had done the work. I would list the things that were found when the mower ventured into their jungle: Jimmy Hoffa, Amelia Earhart's airplane, Michael Jackson's other glove, Waldo, etc.

Recently I had visited these otherwise wonderful folks. When I got to their door, I told them I'd have been there earlier, but I had become disoriented when I exited my vehicle and stepped out into the tall grass. Took me a while to find my way back to the safety of the driveway's concrete. They always laugh and say, "Yeah, we need to cut that mess." But, in truth, these folks are pretty beat after work..and physically they're experiencing some pretty tough problems, so I understand the last thing they wanna do is cut grass.

So on my day off this week, after calling to be certain they were at work, I waded in with my weedeater and edger and began the process of beautifying their yard. I cranked up my Zune (an iPod-like creature) and edged along the curb and parking area. I thought I heard something and paused my Zune (you can't beat Mountain for cutting weeds. Leslie West's voice keeps you on edge). I peered over the grass to see a neighbor waving at me. "Yes, ma'am?" She offered me her rake. Yeah, I could use that, I guess. Ended up with 4 large piles of limbs and leaves. I began snatching limbs and leaves out of the bushes along the front of the house. The junk had collected there after a storm when they'd had someone push debris from their roof and no one ever removed it from the bushes. I caught a glimpse of something shooting from behind the bushes , then flying through the grass. I jumped back. I had no idea what it was...a wombat? A weasel? A wolverine? All I saw was the parting of the grass. As the critter got to the driveway, I saw that it was a cat. Whew!

Using my friends' mower, I started creating pathways...it was like a maze. Like a British garden. The tall grass bent in the wind, tickling my nose. Lovely. Took two to three passes on each row to cut all the thick stuff.

I finally wrapped up cutting the front yard. It's not that large a yard, but I was completely exhausted. I had failed to bring a blower or broom, so the driveway and walk were carpeted with 6 inches of grass and weeds. I was too whupped to do the backyard, bit it still looked a helluva lot better than it had. I turned to return the rake to the neighbor and saw 5 or 6 folks in her driveway applauding wildly! They were throwing confetti and blowing those goofy horns that unfurl paper. Maybe I'm exaggerating a bit, but there were several folks watching from the lady's carport. I returned the rake and explained that my friends weren't able to keep the yard up...blah...blah...blah.

No one called me about the yard that night, which was cool. I wanted to screw with them for a while anyway. The next day I went over after work to trim the bushes along their house. Everything was going fine, when suddenly two very angry, very large wasps attacked. I scrambled out into the yard swinging my clippers wildly. These same clippers had sent me to the emergency room a couple years earlier when they tried to sever my left thumb. Remembering that incident, I threw them to the ground and fended off the wasps with my hands. After giving them a few minutes to settle their angry asses down, I returned to the shrubs to try to scope out their home. OMIGOD! A monstrous nest, literally 1/2 inch below where I had hacked! Wasps were crawling all over the place...entering and exiting the nest by the thousands. Okay, maybe it just appeared to be thousands, but there were a lot of them.

Got home that evening. Phone rings. "Did you cut our yard?" Me: "Nope. Maybe you guys are just getting forgetful like me and you cut it yourself." Them: "Don't think so. Well, someone cut it. Hope it wasn't a neighbor. You sure you didn't do it?" Me: "Yep, I'm sure. I'll get by this weekend and we'll watch a ballgame." Them: "Cool. siiiigh Whoever cut it...they only cut the front." That cracked me up.

I finally relented after a second call yesterday and admitted I did their yard. Had to. They needed to know about those kamikazi wasps.

District 9, the Cleveland Indians, Armyworms

2009-08-21T07:01:00.007-05:00

Saw District 9 yesterday afternoon. I, along with 5 or 6 others, patiently awaited the "manual" selling of tickets due to a computer crash at the theater. The young staff tried for 15 minutes to get their computers up, then resorted to physically tearing tickets from a roll and counting out change. The horrah! My ticket was $6.75. I handed the young lady $7. SHE USED A CALCULATOR TO DETERMINE MY CHANGE!!! I am serious. What have we come to?! We then entered the dark hallway with the theaters to each side. I asked a popcorn seller where District 9 was showing. "Number 11," came the response. Uh...there are no lights, no numbers. "Oh, man. Try the second one on the left." I asked if the projection might be a problem. "Nah." Luckily, that was under control.

I thought I was going to have the entire theater to myself, but, eventually two couples and a single girl also entered. So I put my clothes back on. Hey! I wanted to be comfortable. I can't recall seeing a movie alone before, but I probably have. On this occasion, my wife was out of town and she had zero interest in this flick anyway, so what better way to spend a dreary, rainy afternoon? Hmmmm...actually I can think of a much better way to spend the afternoon, but I've been good thru this marriage, so why blow the ol' trust thing now?

The movie: Other than a few moments of rough CGI, District 9 is pretty damn good. Occasional cartoony moments aside, especially when one considers the minimal budget for this movie, it's not a bad film. WARNING: SPOILER ALERT The premise that the fluid the Prawns (derogatory term for the aliens) need to fuel their craft is the same liquid that melds humans and aliens stretched my limits of believability. Duh! It's science-fiction, yes. But conceivability is critical to good sci-fi...at least to me it is. I also found it difficult to enjoy watching the main character. For some reason, he bugged me throughout. But that may just be a deep-seated psychological problem that I may or may not have.

The movie touches on racism and apartheid without ever being heavy-handed. The fact that it takes place in Johannesburg, South Africa adds to the viewer's feel for the Prawns' plight. The Prawn father-son relationship would be touching, except for the fact that the young Prawn looks so cartoonish that you lose all empathy. Overall, a bit cartoonish (have I used that term before?), but a decent movie. Better than watching Sportscenter repeat itself all day.

My beloved Cleveland Indians are suffering through another disastrous season. All the pieces seemed to be in place two years ago for another sustained run of division-contending years. Injuries and horrible pitching (other than Cliff Lee, who was traded, of course) did the Tribe in. You can win a lot of games scoring 10 runs a night...but not if you give up 11. The trading of Lee was inevitable, I guess. Last year they traded C C Sabathia, after he won the Cy Young the previous year. I guess Lee's taking the 2008 AL Cy Young meant the end of his days in Cleveland were near. He's now dominating National League hitters for the Phillies. He's 4-0, with 3 complete games. The trade that killed me, though, was letting Victor Martinez go. It may turn out to be a great move for the Indians, but that man was a hitting machine and the most solid of all their guys. Starting over with young arms and bats again. Siiiiigh

On Sunday I went to war with armyworms in my backyard. I spotted a couple of brown spots in the gorgeous flowing greenery that this summer's rains have helped create. Having dealt with the little bastards a couple years ago, I knew what to look for. Yep, there they were. Green and yellow striped creepy-crawlin' sumbitches. Rushed up to the local hardware place. Nothin' there. The elderly salesguy tried to convince me to buy a chemical that didn't specify armyworms on the label. If he'd been a little more sure of himself, I mighta gone for it. But I knew what I wanted and he was waffling. Outta my way, old man! Off to Tractor Supply. Bought two quarts of Agent Orange and covered the backyard and myself with enough chemicals to ensure that I'll never be able to count change at a theater. (When spraying chemicals you're supposed to wear longsleeves, long pants, goggles, air filters, boots, etc. so I always wear shorts, no shirt and go barefooted). I needed two more quarts for the front and outside the privacy fence. Damn! That was $60 I wasn't planning to spend on worm genocide. But I got 'em all. The yard appeared to be undulating. Was I experiencing a flashback from my wild youth? Nope. There really were that many worms squirming about in their death throes. Cool.

Wednesday I spotted the worms in my neighbor's yard. She handed me her credit card, and off I went to the store again, buying a couple more quarts of wormkill. While she sat on her patio and watched, I sprayed her yard (and myself again). Many dead worms later, she plied me with beers while I sat babbling incoherently as she and one of her girls ate dinner. I could blame the effect of the spray on my brain for my rambling, but I've been speaking nonsensically waaaaay too long. It turns out that the entire neighborhood has been invaded by these worms. It seems that over the years man has eliminated their natural predators...apparently wooly mammoths and pteradactyls...so these critters attack lawns like Prawns attack garbage heaps.

I have the greatest neighbor anyone could ever ask for. She's funny, has two great daughters, and they usually have beer. The beer's a bonus. They're great people. Bless their hearts. I love 'em.

RIP Jim Dickinson

2009-08-17T11:50:00.012-05:00

I've always belittled the morons who slap 'RIP Dale' on the back window of their pickup truck. Seems ridiculous to me that anyone would honor a total stranger rather than memorialize a family member or friend. You know damn well that redneck SOB has lost a parent or an uncle or somebody closer to him than freakin' Dale Earnhardt! Then again, maybe public displays of love for deceased family members is crass as hell. Everyone's lost somebody dear to them. I know I don't want to cheapen a loved one's memory by sticking decals expressing my love for them on my vehicle. So perhaps I've been too hard on the owners of the many trucks I see down here slathered with tributes to Mr. Earnhardt. I doubt I'll ever use this forum to express deep feelings for ones I love who have taken the ol' dirt nap. Family, friends, pets all leave us. I can't say anything that would come close to what I feel when death occurs, so I won't try. All that said, allow me to mention a stranger who passed away Saturday morning.

I picked up my Sunday Birmingham News as per my usual weekend morning behavior. I read the sports, did the crossword puzzle (kicked its ass!), then turned to the real world shit. Oh man. Jim Dickinson was gone. Mr. Dickinson was the man behind a crapload of great albums. You've no doubt listened to stuff he did, but you probably never paid attention to his name. He produced, played on, or was involved with albums by the Stones, The Replacements, Aretha Franklin, Bob Dylan, Ry Cooder, and many, many other artists, prominent and not so prominent. I first noted the man in the early 70s when I bought a 1972 LP of his. On Dixie Fried he covered Paul Siebels' 'Louise', so I had to have it, as I love that song. I liked the album a lot and still have it (it and some 500 others).

Much later in life, I was doing my little bit to help promote a North Mississippi Allstars show at the Blount Shakespeare Festival facility in Montgomery, Alabama. The Allstars had just released their first album. I remember that the band was blown away by the beauty of the building...they mentioned how nice it was several times. After the concert, I spoke briefly with Luther Dickinson, the band's guitarist. Seemed like a very nice kid. His brother Cody plays drums and Chris Chew plays bass in NMAS. One of R.L. Burnside's sons, DeWayne, (I think I've got that right) played guitar with them that night. Great concert.

Years later, on a trip to Memphis, I dropped some friends' CD off at Ardent Studios, in the hopes it would find its way into the great Jim Dickinson's hands. I don't guess it ever did 'cause I never received my $1,000,000 check as the band's manager.

Anyway, in June of 2006, my wife and I met my brother and his wife in Memphis again, as we had begun doing a couple years previously. After devouring a pile of ribs at Blues City Cafe, we made our way down Beale Street. When we got to the New Daisy Theater, I saw that Jim Dickinson and the NMAS were playing that evening to celebrate the release of Jim's new album. I asked some guy at the theater if any of the band was around and was told they were doing a soundcheck. After bullshitting my way in, I saw Dad Dickinson and his sons onstage with Chris Chew and some roadies. I meandered down there and mentioned the Montgomery concert to Luther. He remembered it well. He still seemed quite impressed with that building. I asked if I could shoot some photos and he said sure. When I walked over to the elder Dickinson, seated at his keyboard, I told him that I owned a copy of his 'Dixie Fried' album. Without looking up, he muttered, "So you're the guy who bought it."
Since that first album of northern Mississippi hill country blues, I've been a fan of the North Mississippi Allstars and their side projects. Their's and their dad's music is real...not over-produced crap as so much of what is passed off as music is now...just good in the gut real music. Rest in peace, Mr. Dickinson.

http://www.zebraranch.com/

I'M BACK!!! (and offensive as ever)

2009-08-11T14:24:00.004-05:00

I felt awesome! I was back to being me again!

Today at lunch, I went with a friend from work and we picked up her friend, who I'd met once before. Very attractive and cool.

We're sitting at lunch and the friend said her first child had medical problems that doctors couldn't diagnose for months. She said he cried for four months non-stop. I asked what was wrong. She said he had gallstones. Hmmmm...I asked what caused them? She answered that it was her breast milk. I immediately responded, "It'd be worth the risk."

They fell out. I'm back in the saddle again. Inappropriate and offensive. YES!

And she didn't hit me.

See This Movie

2009-08-10T18:12:00.007-05:00

The wife and I had seen the previews and thought it might be okay. So we asked a friend if she wanted to meet us at The Capri to see Away We Go Saturday evening. I wasn't excited about it, but I figured it would be tolerable. It looked like, if not a full-blown chick flick, at least a chick-ish flick. IT WAS GREAT! Funny as hell. John Krasinski from The Office and Maya Rudolph and Jim Gaffigan (funny dude, small part) and some actress I wasn't familiar with, but who was hilarious. The music was incredible, too. Not a bad moment in the soundtrack.

Woodstock this weekend and Gimme Shelter after that. Looks like a Capri-athon for me. My wife and Woodstock are about as estranged a pair as Mel Gibson and kosher food. She won't be attending. Looks like a guys' night out unless I can find an old hippie girl to drag along. I can't believe Mrs. Taterhole doesn't want to see it. Yes I can. Mud, music, long hair, drugs. That's 4 things she was never into. Probably not her kinda flick.

Rain, Biscuits, BBQ, Quebecans(?) and More Rain

2009-08-01T10:03:00.013-05:00

My son and I attended a Montgomery Biscuits game Thursday night. Not much offense, a good bit of rain, a 9th inning RBI single, and the Biscuits beat the Huntsville Stars, 2-1. We thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. My boy had never been to Dreamland BBQ (a terrible failing on my part...I was a bad dad) so we shared some ribs before the game. He's now a Dreamland fan.

Are these Abrams tanks? Or some other armored, propelled gun on the train behind the left field fence?

Yesterday, the wife and I took my son, his wife and my gorgeous baby granddaughter to The Shed in Ocean Springs, Mississippi. We met some family and friends there and chowed down on a ton of great food.

The trip down to the coast was nasty. Heavy rain would blast us every 15 minutes or so like clockwork. We stopped at one point to rest a minute and I told started walking over to some motorcyclists to see where they were heading. My wife told my son that I do this every time I see bikes. After meeting the riders and thoroughly enjoying my conversation with Marie, I told my wife, "That's why I always talk to folks. You never know what you might miss if you don't speak to people."

Marie, 2nd from right, told me they were riding from Quebec to New Orleans. They had 14 days to travel and had been riding a rain-soaked Blue Ridge Parkway the day before. Marie was riding a Kawasaki, her dad and mom were on a Yamaha FJR, and their friend was riding a new Harley. Only Marie spoke English. As I failed to notice the Quebec license tags when I first spoke to them, I had been a little confused by the fact that no one spoke, other than Marie. They just smiled a lot. Marie served as interpreter and I enjoyed every minute of our conversation.

I felt terrible that they were encountering so much rain, since, prior to this past week, we'd had so much beautiful weather. We discussed the merits of different rainwear and the failure of her dad's rainsuit to do its job properly. I have yet to test my new Frogg Toggs suit. I finally got fed up with the heavy suit that I'd had (you tend to sweat so much in most bike raingear that you may as well not wear anything), so I bought a Frogg Toggs set. I'd met a couple on a Gold Wing years ago who had on these light, thin suits and they told me they worked well. They were FTs, so, when Bass Masters had a sale, I grabbed a suit. Guess I need to head to Tampa or the mountains soon and give it a workout.

After parting company with my new French-Canadian friends, we continued to plow through torrential rain. The 4Runner was packed to its limit, with baby, mom and dad, my wife, and the rear loaded with baby's needs. We had a good time the whole day, in spite of the rain. Arriving at The Shed, just off I-10 on Highway 57 in Ocean Springs, we saw that we hadn't been lied to by friends who'd been there before. The place is a conglomeration of tin, scrap wood, and Christmas lights! Cool as hell. And Buddy Guy will be there next month (or Sept?)as part of a Shed Bluesfest. I may have to go back. Especially if this employee is working:

We ordered a huge pile of food and went nuts. My wife and I shared a slab of babyback ribs slathered in a sweet, brown sauce. Actually, shared may be the wrong term. She ate a couple of ribs. I ate the rest. A Red Sox fan at another table gave up trying to eat all of his order and gave me his unopened baked beans, cole slaw and potato salad to add to our feast. Hell yeah!

Odds and Ends

2009-07-29T10:05:00.023-05:00

I'm awaiting the delivery of my 4 month old granddaughter, so I thought I'd get a few photos up.

As I ride around, I tend to shoot a lot of pics. Below are some shots from the last couple years:

1st Baptist in Selma

Along 29 north of Titus

On the causeway entering Mobile

Union Springs is the site of several unusual homes.

This house is between
Clanton and Maplesville.

Ramer, AL

Biiiig water lilies on
Mt. Zion Rd, south
of Montgomery.

Where's that great shot of the barn out toward Big Bear Swamp? Dammit! Gotta find that one. Adios for now. Baby's here. Yeap wehat!

Churches

2009-07-27T10:50:00.004-05:00

Passed a church yesterday near Troy or Brundidge, AL. It was named something like Holiness Endtimes Church. Not very optimistic, are they?

My wife, her brother, and his wife were riding with me. I proceeded to regale them with my thoughts on attending a church with a name like that. Besides the pessimistic tone of the name, I suggested that, if you had children, you could run into difficulties such as:

"Son, do your homework." "Why, Dad? We ain't gonna be around long anyway."

Seems to me, anyone attending that church could pretty much blow off their mortgage, their bills, etc. It'd be a ticket to complete freedom! That is, 'til the power and gas were cut off. Then maybe reality would set in for the morons.

As we passed the Ariton Church of Christ a year or so ago, I almost turned the car up on its nose stopping to get a photo of the sign out front. (I'll upload it later). The sign read: FAITH BEGINS WHERE REASON STOPS. If that ain't a case of KYOA, I don't know what would be! I love it.

Took a photo of another church sign that I got a kick out of. This one was in Luverne, AL at the Church of the Alpha and Omega (I guess there are a lotta Greeks in Luverne :rolleyes emoticon here:). It read: GOD DOES NOT BELIEVE IN ATHEISTS. THEREFORE, ATHEISTS DON'T EXIST!
All I can say is WOW!

Chicken Shack in Luverne, Alabama

2009-07-15T09:15:00.006-05:00

I usually get up pretty early on weekends, get on my bike, and head out into the Alabama countryside before the temps get to the 100 degree mark. I head home around noon dealing with the life-sucking humidity and heat swirling around inside my helmet. In the interim. as I wander the beautiful backroads, I track down exotic food fare in equally exotic locales.

One such spot is the The Chicken Shack in Luverne. Luverne is about 45-50 miles south of the state capital, down Highway 331. I'd heard tales of this restaurant's existence for years and decided to see if there really was such a place. Easy to find, 331 to downtown Luverne, turn right and the Shack is just down the road on the left. Or, as I did the other day, head west on 10 from Troy. Nice road. Arriving at 9 or 10 a.m. is no problem. These folks told me they start serving fried chicken at 8:30 every morning. Ummmmmm...fried bird for breakfast. Doesn' t get any better than that!

I'm usually the only patron at that hour. So I kick back and read the sports while salivating over a breast and a wing. The chicken is excellent. Moist and cooked to perfection. The cole slaw isn't so mayonaisse-y that it runs, and the fries and rolls are good. Sweet tea, the sustainer of all southern human life, is quite good as well. The waitresses are attentive and friendly and the owner sometimes stops by and shoots the breeze with me for a few minutes.

On one visit, there was a corner table filled with 6 or 7 older gentlemen. Just me and them. I couldn't help but overhear some of their conversation and it was cool as hell. It was obvious that one guy had been a local sportswriter and he was telling tales of encounters with Bear Bryant, Pat Dye, and other Alabama celebs. I couldn't help but wonder where I'll be hanging out when I get a few years further down the road. Nothing like a regular spot to settle in with your buddies and lie to each other, solve the world's problems, and ogle the ladies. siiiiiigh

Now I realize that fried chicken may not be considered the healthiest of breakfast or lunch options. But, as I partake of it so seldom these days (got to watch my svelte figure), the rare occasions that I do eat it are treats. If you need to bump that cholesterol level up a few points, head down to Luverne and get you some Shack bird. Oh, their tee shirts are sharp as hell, too. Great logo and only $10.

I'm Too Damn Healthy!

2009-07-13T18:29:00.011-05:00

Had my physical today. People my age get regular physicals to either confirm our invincibility or to affirm our mortality. Other than a couple nagging injuries and a blasted freakish spine doolio that can be completely benign one day and MAKE MY LIFE A LIVING HELL the next, I am waaaaay too healthy. Blood sugar is great, blood pressure is fine (with the meds, of course), cholesterol is excellent, and my hangnail is gone.

Ah, the miracles of modern medicine. A great doctor to monitor my day-to-day functions, an excellent neurologist to watch my back, neck and arm, a super neurosurgeon to fuse disks, and a pain doc to inject my back and shoot radio waves into me...and I'm good to go! Actually I feel damn good right now. Tomorrow morning? Who knows, but right now all the disks and facets and vertebrae and joints and muscles and ligaments are in harmony and are at peace with their adjoining body parts.

This is what old people do. We talk about our surgeries, our ailments, our aches and pains. I'd never had surgery in my life 'til my first back surgery. I guess that was around '84 or so. Following that, each section of my body was in a rush to be next to go under the doc's knife. Shoulders , tonsils, the back again, neck. Seemed like everything was coming unglued. A few months after I had my neck fused (I had put that off for about ten years 'til it got too nasty to ignore), I managed to flip my riding mower over on top of me. Literally. The damn thing was running (my feet were planted securely on the blade pedal) upside down while I lay beneath it. Musta looked really cool when it flipped. I saw sky, said, "Oh shit", and that was it. I kicked it to one side, cut it off, stomped around my neighbor's yard for a good while, then realized the mower might be damaged. Pulled the plug, drained the oil, let it sit a while, and it was good as new. That's about the time I noticed I was unable to lift either arm. I went to work the next day and the first person who saw me in the building was like, "OMIGOD. What the hell have you done to yourself?!" I musta been walking like something from a George Romero flick. Whatever...got things checked out and no permanent damage was done. Just strained the shoulders (again) and aggravated the piss outta my neck, but the little titanium brace and the dead guy's bone held in place by the brace were just fine.

Shoulders. My favorite body part to destroy. Tore the right rotator cuff making a throw whilst playing softball. Played ten years in pain...couldn't throw overhand at all...everything from me was sidearm. Years after Brad joined the team, he told me he had asked his brother early on, "Who's this cocky bastard throwing sidearm all the time?" He said his brother told him I was lucky to be throwing at all. But I could play. That was all that mattered to me at the time. My kids got a little jumpy from me screaming every time I reached for the glove box in my Bronco, as I contorted my arm to compensate for the shoulder's inability to function as it should. I'd get cortisone injections deeeeep down in the joint. The doc would admonish me to not throw at all for at least two weeks. But I felt great and I'd play the night after the shot. That turned out to be a bad move. I had arthroscopic surgery that cleaned things up a little. When I dove to my right for a throw that had gotten by our second baseman (I played 1st base) and landed on my right shoulder, it was over. Done. Finite. After getting the ball back in, I remember walking to the fence and hanging my arm over it. I was hurting like hell. I knew this wasn't good. Three guys on our team were physical therapists which came in handy a good bit. If we'd had a lawyer and a female masseuse, it woulda been the perfect team. Mark came running in from center field and when he got to me, he told another teammate, "He's through." I tried to bat the next inning, but I couldn't raise that arm at all. We went to the therapy center and tried electrical impulses, heat, cold, anything just to calm it down some. When the docs saw the MRIs, they said everything in there was 'shredded'. Completely torn away form whatever it was supposed to be attached to. A mess. Anyway, a fantastic doctor at the Hughston Clinic in Columbus, Georgia, Lyle Norwood, did a bangup job putting me back together. 7 weeks with my arm locked out in front of me in a brace...day and night...oh, boy was that a fun time! My girlfriend at the time was an angel. I could never repay her for all she did for me.

Had a tournament in Dothan after that. It rained the whole way down and the entire evening, so we assumed we weren't playing. Our bunch was sorta known as a hard-drinking team (aren't all softball teams?) and we didn't see any reason to do anything to soften our image. Hell, there was no way we could play in the wet conditions, right? So we went nuts at the hotel. Then we got the call from the ballpark...our game was on. Oh man. This ain't gonna be pretty. We hauled ass over there. I managed to lock all my gear up in the Bronco. Two of our guys were locksmiths (damn, we had a good crew) and Jimmy got me in a no time. We played and at some point I was heading for third, dove headfirst, and jammed my left shoulder as I got to the bag. In the mud, I got there a lot quicker than I had anticipated arriving. Of course, the beer had nothing to do with my impaired sense of speed/distance/slippery surface/etc. Found the hospital papers the other day where they injected dye and found that the left rotator cuff was torn. I've never had that fixed. There's a lot worse things in this world than a torn shoulder.

Whatever. I hate to stop 'cause, by god, I'm rollin' now, but the Home Run Derby comes on soon and I am gonna watch it. Maybe this little post will get me going. There are so many things that matter to no one at all but me...that I desperately need to write about. This is so freakin' weird. Typing this crap, as if anyone other than myself GARA.

Pictures all have to be resized, and I can't seem to make myself get around to that, but, soon I'm going to post some of my favorite shots from the last few years. Rather than write about rides, events, etc, I think I'll just throw a buncha the better photos in here and write a little about the event(s) they're connected to.

Any typos or misspelled words will have to get fixed later...I'm missing the damn All-Star stuff already.

Brief Flashback to Youth

2009-06-30T12:28:00.006-05:00

Found a damn screw in a tire on my wife's car this a.m. I had my lunch companions drop me off in the middle of downtown's main street so I could pay for getting it patched at Big Ten. I dodged the PT Cruiser that had me in its crosshairs as I ran into the tire store's parking lot. As I approached the door, a very attractive young lady got out of her car and stepped in front of me. I opened the door for her and we entered. Blonde, with a nice tan chest, she was cute as heck. She asked about getting her brakes checked. The manager explained that he'd do the check for free, but that she'd have to leave her car. She then asked if he could have someone drive her back to work. He didn't have anyone to spare, he told her. I, being the gentleman that I am, offered to give her a ride. She said she worked a few blocks away. To allay her fears (if she had any), I showed her my ID and told her I was old and harmless. She laughed and thanked me.

She then said, "I need to go to my house first." HALLELUJAH!!! I've still got it! Whoohoo! The manager and I exchanged knowing looks. I read his mind...JACKPOT!

Alas, as we went outside, a girlfriend called her and said she'd take her. "I'm not afraid of you ," she told me. I thought, "You should be!" I smiled and walked away.

The simple things that entertain me these days...siiiiiiiiiiiigh

I Gotta Be Me!

2009-06-29T15:42:00.000-05:00

Okay. I read back over these things...and I don't hear me at all. I'm writing like a tenth grade English student. Or a celeb "novelist". I can't stand it. I'm holding back so as not to offend anyone. I've got too many things to get to...and I can't write like this anymore.

The ride to West Point, Mississippi for a Howlin' Wolf Museum benefit concert shouldn't be told in such polite terms. Hell, I met Harry Shearer there! Yeah, that Harry Shearer.

If I write honestly about softball daze (sic), I'll offend everyone. So be it. Sorry. I may lose friends, have relatives cuss me out, my wife may bail, but it has to be done right.

The trip to Wyoming with my childhood buddy can be done for a family audience. We were good boys. Dammit.

Fred's Feed & Seed - no problem there. Tampa trips...probably okay for the kiddies to see that stuff. Most of it.

I just gotta write it like I think it. No more , "Ooh...I left a preposition outta place." Not sure what to do about one thing that was mentioned to me. I use asterisks rather than spell out the worst of the cuss words. I had a complaint, and I think it's a valid one: Either spell it out or don't use it. I see the point...yet I still like the effect of implying , yet not offending. So I'm a wuss. We shall see how that goes henceforth.

The sensitive may have to exit at some point. I don't think I cuss a lot. My wife says I do. Of course, she doesn't cuss at all, so that skews the numbers in that argument.

I gotta write about music, baseball, and college football. If I can't cuss in those posts, I may as well delete the blog.

Lynx

2009-06-29T14:13:00.013-05:00

I need to pass along a few links that all...er, most...well, some...maybe a few...hell, probably none of you ...will enjoy.

http://www.firesigntheatre.com/

Yes, they're still around. Many, many nights were spent wandering Montgomery...and Mobile on one occasion...listening to these guys. Richard, I know you're out there...what was your dog's name that we accidentally left at the rest stop on the way to Mobile? Don't worry...we went back and got him.

George Tirebiter, Morescience High, wow. Good days...and nights.

http://www.ralphsteadman.com/
Great artist. I was first made aware of his work in ooooold Rolling Stone magazines. He did the illustrations for the great Hunter S. Thompson's articles. And y'all wonder why I'm the way I am?

http://weatherwars.info/

http://www.berkeleybreathed.com/ Bloom County, Opus, and Outland were my favorite comic strips of all time. Breathed is as good as they come. The man was/is brilliant.

http://zapatopi.net/
I don't know where to begin. This site is amazing. I've probably perused 1% of it to this point.

http://www.honan.net/Hello.html
The son of one of the best persons on this planet, Mat's done some mighty cool stuff.

Any sites to do with Thomas Hart Benton's paintings. The man's work has a fantastic look.

http://www.trollart.com/INDEX.HTM
I've ordered several of this guy's tee shirts for the kids. Very nice stuff.

http://www.webbwilder.com/
One of the funniest, coolest, hardest-rockin' guys/bands on the planet. Miss them at your own peril.

http://bloodshotrecords.com/
Great artist roster! Check out Scott Biram, The Meat Purveyors, Bobby Bare, Jr...a helluva lineup.

http://www.nmallstars.com/
Saw 'em at the Shakespeare Theater. They were unreal. They've done nothing but get better!

http://www.luceromusic.com/site/index.php
A Memphis band that can rock hard as anyone, yet rip you apart with pain as well.

http://www.wildmansteve.com/
Steve Bronson, longtme owner of Wildman Steve's Records in Auburn, AL has a fantastic internet radio station these days. Great music, great guy. Check it out!

http://www.militaryfactory.com/aircraft/german-aircraft-of-world-war-2.asp
Always been fascinated with everything to do with WWII, especially the German equipment.

http://www.venganza.org/
The Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster. How anyone could dispute the legitimacy of this religion is beyond me. Great site. Invite the kids.

Omelettes, Snakes, and Wads of Never-Dull

2009-06-29T13:06:00.002-05:00

Unrest over election fraud in Iran. US troops leaving Iraq. War continues in Afghanistan. Pakistan in danger of Taliban takeover. North Korea's Kim Dong Il doesn't wanna die without a major confrontation with us. Nuclear materials probably in hands of terrorists. Mexican drug wars spilling into US. Honduras in turmoil after coup. Swine flu pandemic declared. No rain in central Alabama for weeks (not at my house anyway). Record heat wave in Texas and southeast US. Thermite found in the WTC debris. Jefferson County in danger of bankruptcy. City Stages declared dead.

The world is in turmoil...as it always has been and always will be. This chaos is delivered to our living rooms all day every day on a multitude of television channels. And what has the lead story been for days now? A pedophile's death. The demise of a child molester. Michael Jackson's long overdue final bow. Weeping faces all over the world plastered on my TV screen. Weeping for what? A screwed up freak who molested young boys. Yes, the "man" could dance, but...um...excuse me...he molested children. Should the House of Representatives have had a moment of reflection in honor of this perv's death? I think not. Geraldo Rivera's slobberfest over Jackson was disgusting...at least what little I saw of it was.

Folks, there are far more important matters to be concerned with these days. Will nuclear weapons fall into the hands of Taliban fighters soon? Will North Korea poke us until we have to respond with military action? Will Daisy pick Sinister to form a slutatoo?

Screw all that. This morning, I boogied up to the Front Porch Grill to chow down on one of their monster omelettes. Some home fries to get the cholesterol level back up and I was on my way into the countryside. I had to get "Bille-f*ckin' Jean" outta my head. Crusing toward the prisons of Elmore County, I came upon a fair size snake in the road. I thought it had been hit and skirted by it slow to get a good look at it. WHOA! This mamba was alive and feisty! As I turned around to get a second look, a pickup ran over it. That had to hurt. The pickup came back and a kid jumped out. He was ticked about hitting what turned out to be a rat snake. Said he cleared varmints like this from housing areas when he wasn't in school. He proceeded to grab the snake by the tail and gradually, as the snake calmed, he worked his way up to snag it right behind the head with his other hand. I failed to take any photos of the actual capture, as we were both sitting in the middle of the road and I wanted to be ready to get the heck outta the way if any traffic came along. The snake appeared to be unharmed. The kid wrapped the snake around his arm and said he was going to take it home. I finally decided I had to get a photo and as I checked the snake out, I saw some damage from the snake's meeting the kid's tires. Anyway, here's the young man and his new critter.

After riding around a while, I headed home 'cause it was time for the bike to get some real attention. The heat has kept me from doing a really good polishing job, but today the temp is down a bit and a breeze is blowing, so I pulled the bike into the backyard and by the shed, set the Zune to shuffle, and grabbed all my cleaning crap. My wife says I have more bike/car cleaning and polishing products than AutoZone. Well, the cars and bike still look mighty good, so no gripin'! Never-Dull on the chrome, various polishes for the rest of the bike, and voila! Perfection! I'm 68 miles from having 45,000 on that bike and she looks so good right now...it's ridiculous! Running strong as hell, too. Gonna get back on it in about two seconds...

Oh! Saw this sign near Maxwell AFB in Montgomery on Sunday morning. Wow! Now we need some volunteers to read the sign to its intended audience.

By the way, the two albums rotating on the Amazon player thingamajig are CDs that I chose to display. Music I like will be promoted on that feature. Unless they (whoever they are) pull something weird, anything you see over there will be stuff I own and love. Play something, see if you like it.

RIPs

2009-06-25T17:08:00.001-05:00

I wasn't sure anything could pull me out of my funk over Farrah Fawcett's passing (actually I could GARA, but at least she was somewhat cute), when lo and behold, what was I just made aware of?

MICHAEL JACKSON IS DEAD!!!! Hallelujah! One less child molester (moon)walking the planet. It's a damn shame he was allowed to exist this long.

Now we have to worry that this is all a publicity stunt and the little perv will "miraculously" come back to life. Please, noooooooo.................

Riding in 300 Degree Weather

2009-06-18T13:07:00.000-05:00

Riding a motorcycle in Alabama requires the rider to either be impervious to heat or to revel in presenting oneself at restaurants, work, etc. as a sweat-soaked, bedraggled, helmet-haired goober. Now that my scalp has relieved itself of most of my follicles, the helmet-hair is no longer a major problem. However, arriving at the office sopping wet is, if not disgusting, at best, very uncool.

Alas, riding the bike is essential for me. I've owned and ridden bikes since I was whatever the minimum age was to get a motorcycle license back in the late '60s. I think I was 14 or 15 when I handed over my hard-earned Hardees paychecks to procure a (keep this quiet) Honda Cub 50. Hey! You gotta start somewhere.

I managed to make an enemy on the local police force within a few weeks of getting on that little booger. A couple other 50 owners and I were cutting through a high school parking lot while, unbeknownst to us, several police bikes were in hot pursuit of us. Undoubtedly we were suspected of dealing in firearms or drugs since we were on two wheels. Anyway, we had cleared the parking lot when an officer pulled alongside (hell, we were on 50s...he could have walked up alongside) and offered to escort us back to the school lot. Upon arrival at said parking lot, we were confronted by an officer covered in mud alongside his bent and twisted Harley police bike.

"You little turds! Look what you caused me to do!" We had to suppress our laughs at the sight of this large uniformed dude, muddied and red-faced and ready to kill us all. Three 15-year-olds on Cub 50s had "caused" this burly policeman to crash his Harley-Davidson!

Hell if I remember the outcome of that mess, but I do know that not long after that incident, the same officer was working security at the hamburger restaurant where I was employed. He asked me if I'd ever been maced. Being somewhat law-abiding at that point in my life, I answered, "Why no, I haven't been maced, sir." Looking back, that turns out to have been a really bad answer. Mr. Policeman pulled out his spray and commenced unloading it into my face. Now in case you've never been maced, let me 'splain how it felt. It ain't good. You try to stretch your eyes as wide open as possible to get air to them. But that doesn't help alleviate the intense burning. So you close them and rub them. Bad move. The scalding of your eyeballs gets more intense with every attempt to ease the pain. I would suggest that mace is a darned effective means of subduing an adversary. However, it appears that mankind, other than myself, has evolved to a point where mace is ineffective. You never hear about it being used today. Tasers, pepper spray, and/or bean bags propelled from a rifle are deemed better methods of stopping a thug in his tracks. If I'd been a little smarter, I woulda sued the PD and I'd no doubt be living a life of leisure today in Pago Pago or in Lee County, Alabama with AU coeds attending to my every need.

Ah, but I digress. Bikes are freedom. Or at least as much freedom as we can experience when family, job, bills, illness, dog shit and ever-lengthening nasal hair are a part of our daily lives. Even a 15 minute ride to work is an adventure. Rather than being entombed in a car or truck, when you're riding...you're out there. You're not traveling through the scenery so much as you're a part of the scenery. Yes, a zen moment. Let's pause...when on my bike, I am one with the universe. It's true. Temperature variations are crisply perceptible. As you hit a bottom on a country road, the temp can drop noticeably. You smell things that you miss when traveling via four wheeled contraptions. Honeysuckle slams you in the face as you barrel down a country road. Ligustrum (or hedge to us southerners) wafts over and through you. Of course, a dead possum swirls its odor all around inside your helmet as well. Okay, there's one negative. But as long as you're able to dodge the incompetent drivers, the makeup appliers, the texters, the "By god, I like the left lane, so I'll stay in it as long as I like" crowd, and the pulpwood trucks which dominate the highways of Autauga County, Alabama and the area around Perry, Florida...then you're good to go!

No doubt, millions of motorcyclists have tried to describe what riding is to them. Bike magazines have devoted articles to readers' descriptions of riding a motorcycle. I don't think it can be done. At least not to where a rider can convey to a non-rider what it's like. The best description I've found is that it's similar to how a dog loves to hang his head out of a car window. So I guess it's just a natural thing. I like to go too fast, to haul ass through a series of sweeping curves, to climb Mt. Cheaha or run through the Tail of the Dragon in the Smokies, to head down Highway 19 to Tampa, or just bounce around central Alabama looking for people I haven't met or places I haven't eaten or things I haven't photographed. These things need to be done...and by god, I'm the guy who's gonna do them!

I may post pics from previous rides on occasion, as dictated by my incoherent rambling. Riding will not be the sole focus of my blog, as I have many subjects that I love to babble about. Ask anyone who knows me. If I don't have an opinion about something, I'll make one up on the spot just to get a reaction. This blog will be dangerous. It will be frightening. And it will be totally useless, just like 99% of television, film, and blogging.

My bad. I forgot what I started writing about. Get used to it. If you intend to visit this blog, you should know now that that will be a regular feature.

I've been through quite a few bikes since that Cub 50. A Yamaha 250 with a sissy bar about 6 feet tall, a Kawasaki 500 Triple (bad brakes, bad suspension, great mill), a Yamaha 750 Special, a Suzuki 850...several year gap here to raise 2 boys...a Suzuki Volusia, and, since 2003 my baby, my beautiful Honda VTX1300S, which has safely delivered me thru many, many miles of fun.

Gotta figure out this blogging thing. Do I relate what I did today? Or what I did 30 years ago? Both? Simultaneously? Whatever...

Be prepared for unannounced shifts in topics, rudeness, opinionated discourse, tales of beer consumption, and hopefully some levity. I'll do what I can. My sweet wife may be shocked/stunned/inclined to begin divorce proceedings/move to South America based on what she sees in here. I have to risk it as I am always brutally honest and my power to change the past has been extinguished.