Pfffffunk...eee

In the immortal words of one Robert Bunker, "Listen to me." Before you dig too deep into this blog entry be advised there are links to three YouTube songs.  If you only have time listen to one, please make it the last one, "Blisters" by War - It's way too short at just over two minutes but it captures the whole story here. Knock yourself out...

Hopefully the extra "F's" and "E's" up there have helped you draw out the word the way I intend. You see, it is sticking in my pitiful brain this morning and I want to share the stick.

Pfffffunk...eee, as in funky... funky down Broadway.

As an exploratory effort, right now I am listening to a Parliament Funkadelic tune from 1978, "One Nation Under a Groove". I can't say this is a great song and I am trying to capture some serious "funk".  I am looking for something that is head-bobbing, compelling bass, catchy rhythm and lyrics kind of funky.

Ahh, now it is working!  I called upon Mother Google and she has directed me to Wickipedia wherupon I have discovered some definitions and some direction to what is sticking here.  Sly and the Family Stone, War, The Commodores... that is what I am talking about here this morning.  I am going to run to YouTube and find something that nails this mood.  Be right back...

This is it... War's extended version of "Slippin into Darkness"... first time I have ever heard the extended version and it is great.  Check it out  

He is slipping into darkness when he hears his momma say, "Pretty soon your gonna pay."

Then, there is my favorite, "Blisters" from their "Deliver The Word" album.

That... is Pfffffunk... eee.

Sunday Morning... Going Down

A month or two ago Berkeley Breathed penned his last "Opus" cartoon for the Sunday papers.

From a personal standpoint there is grave significance to this.  You see, for some time my Sunday morning routine consisted of reading the paper front to back while saving the frosting on the cake, the comics, for last.  

(I should point out here that our paper, the Sacramento Bee, recently downsized the paper and changed to a density that resembles tissue.  This means when you open it to read... it flops all over the place like a limp ____.  This is  another sure sign of our depressed economic times, but that is another story.)

Anyway, when I read the comics I only focused on four; Dilbert, Doonesbury, Pearls Before Swine and the comic of all comics... Opus.  

Now that it is gone, my Sunday mornings are a shell of what they once were.  I am incomplete.  I don't know what I am going to do to fill this cavernous gap in my day.  Maybe I will write a blog... nah.      

Royal Fleece

Goldman Sachs Posts First Loss Since Going Public

 

Bloomberg News

Wednesday, December 17, 2008 

Goldman Sachs Group yesterday reported a fourth-quarter loss of $2.12 billion, its first since going public in 1999, as the most profitable of Wall Street's biggest firms succumbed to the global credit crisis. The loss of $4.97 a share in the three months ended Nov. 28 was smaller than analysts' most pessimistic estimates, and the company's shares rose 14.4 percent, or $9.54, to close at $76 on the New York Stock Exchange. The firm reported net income of $3.22 billion, or $7.01 a share, in the corresponding period a year earlier. Chief executive Lloyd C. Blankfein, who led the firm to its lowest annual earnings since 2002, gave up his bonus after converting Goldman Sachs to a bank-holding company and accepting $10 billion in bailout funds from the U.S. government. The firm, which set a Wall Street profit record in 2007, has cut 10 percent of its workforce as its stock has plummeted 65 percent this year and revenue fell by half. 

What you don’t see here is this very same report points out that these guys paid 1% in taxes.  One Percent.  

Rachel M and others figure they are likely sheltering their money offshore somehow. 

At the same time, we gave them (through our elected government representatives) $10 billion dollars as part of the recent bailout?!  What is wrong with this picture?  

Joe the Plumber and you... and me are in the 30% bracket or thereabouts and our government is using the money we pay them to “bail out” an entity that is paying 1% in taxes. Un… Freaking… Believable. 

This is just another of many things that are fundamentally wrong with our system.  We have met the Sheep and the Sheep is us… we are getting a royal fleecing. So for those of us who think the “system” has our back, it’s time to think again. 

I have to turn this all over to the “F-bomb Governor”.  He will set up a deal no one can refuse, as long as we make his wife the Illinois Lottery Chief.

 

  

Baby Blue & Speed

She was a nosed and decked baby blue ’49 Merc’ and she was hauling ass across the eastern New Mexico plains. The year was 1964. She had left Cannon Air Force Base near Clovis and was headed for Logan, New Mexico. It was near dawn and her flathead V8 was singing a 75 mile an hour tune. About a half hour into her trip, her headlights caught their first glimpse of the breaks. The breaks were 100-foot cliffs marking a natural cut across the landscape as far as the eye could see.  

As she decelerated slightly for her drop to the lower plains, the sounds inside her passenger compartment at times almost drowned out the sound of her screaming engine. She was carrying two young Air Force airmen who were right in the middle of trying to match the full volume of her radio as the Beatles, “I Want to Hold Your Hand” played.  That music was blasting from Wolfman Jack's Mexico station.  The Wolfman was operating what was called an outlaw "border blaster" station that used powerful wattage to cover large areas...all well in excess of US regulations.

There were other occasional noises cutting through the night as well. Every few miles the Mercury would pass a farmer’s irrigation engine. These were unmufflered big block Chrysler Hemi’s, Fords, Oldsmobiles and Chevy’s that would constantly crank at about 2,000 rpm. They provided a lifeline of water for the peanut, cotton, corn and grain crops in the area. They also gave off a deep-throated, powerful rumble that was pleasing to the young ears of the car’s occupants. The big blocks just sat on engine stands, exposed to the elements. They almost seemed to be waiting for the rest of the automobile body panels, tires and wheels to be wrapped around them so they could peel out and head down the highway.        

The two had worked all day and partied well into the night before they began their Thanksgiving Eve trip. They were running on pure energy…and Dexedrine… “speed”. In those days the powerful amphetamine wasn't controlled. It was routinely dispensed to pilots as the “go” pills on tongue blades that had a bottle of them taped on one end and a bottle of “stop” pills on the other. The blades were even color-coded at each end, red for go and blue for stop. Pilots on long missions would take “go” pills to stay alert during flights and “stop” pills to help them come down after landing. 

It wasn’t exactly illegal for the airmen to have the go pills but it would definitely be frowned upon if they were caught so they kept the whole thing on the sly. They were medics and had unlimited access so they would use them from time to time to extend a lively evening of partying. One small problem…they were clueless about the near term effects of extended use. Consequently, that day the riders were on a routine…pop a couple of go pills every four hours or so and just keep going.

By the time they reached their destination they had already been on speed all night. As they arrived, they each popped two more tablets for good measure. They were invited guests for Thanksgiving dinner at a local family’s home and they didn’t want to crash right in the middle of the meal.  It was a fairly simple matter of avoiding a face first splat into a plate of turkey with trimmings. Their plan wouldn’t work.

After an hour or so at the home of their friends, one of them was suddenly overcome with a racing pulse, clammy skin and incredible weakness. He hit the floor in the living room and tried to keep calm until the symptoms subsided. He kept the others there calm by just claiming to be overly tired and needing a little rest. He was naïve but not so much that he didn’t realize it was the speed hitting him. Resolutions are usually reserved for New Years but he made one that Thanksgiving, “Never again.” It was a no-brainer.  It would hold for the rest of his life.       

Tatizzle

Look, Google uses a made up confirmation word when you are posting comments on other folks blogs.

(I think I am going to start more sentences, verbal and written with the word, "look".  I have noticed that our President-elect likes to do this and I have decided it sounds presidential... doesn't it?)

So look...today I was making a blog comment and the God Google asked me to enter the letters, "tatizzle".

Look, let me be the first to nominate this as a new word in our lexicon. I mean it just has a pleasant ring to it doesn't it?

Now look, I have to make up a definition.  I am going to go for the obvious here and call it a really "hot" tattoo.  As in, "Wow!  your idea of putting a skyscraper, one on each leg running from toe to hip really has tatizzle!"

Say it out loud three times real fast and you will earn the puzzled stares of anyone near you. 

Tatizzle!

Tatizzle!!

Tatizzle!!!

Fun eh?!

Look, you read it here first. 

(Note:  I was going to post a photo of a sizzling tattoo here and cruised Google images for a hot one but had to stop.  Its the permanence of the things that scares the H--- out of me.)

Heart Warrior

Sarcastic, cynical, pedantic.

You will hear this

But you won't believe it

It is not part of you

It is just a top skim

A brief look

Reality is buried within

Checked for later

(be sure to keep your stub)

It is just communication after all

Like everyone else

On the outside

You don't always get it right

But within you it is always

True to the target

A laser from the heart

To one you love

To one you care about

To one you admire

To one you love again

A heart warrior

You keep firing them constantly

You wish you could hit them all

But you only hit a few

At least that is what you sense

From the responses

Or the lack thereof

It stems from a desire to touch

With impact

A desire to reach hearts

And remain

With affection

Consider these lyrics:

"I'm a gonna hit that bar

Goin downtown again.

I really need to hit that bar

And I'm gonna take Fair Oaks Boulevard

I feel like I'm someone prepared to get down

And I need that something gonna' turn my frown upside down.

I feel like I'm someone prepared to get down... and I need that something right now"

("Downtown Again", Copyright, 2008, Arden Park Roots/Tyler Thomas Campbell, www.ardenparkroots.com)

Someone else's lasers

Fired with the same intensity

I'm gonna do a better job

Of picking up on someone else's sincerity

I'm gonna avoid hanging labels

Spare the Sarcasm

Spare the Cynicism

Humor the Pedantic

I'll try.

Hybrids!?

Well now... isn't this interesting?!   Ford, GM CEOs Heading to Washington in Hybrids

This is a new role for us... the public that is.  

Now, we have to carefully scrutinize the behavior of management staff at publicly held organizations and tell them when they are doing the wrong thing (i.e. flying corporate jets to Washington to plead for bailout money).  If we don't do this routinely, they will be prone to 'fly' off and do frivolous things... kinda' like many of our politicians.  

This must be the "check and balance" part of our great democracy my teachers unsuccessfully tried to bang into my head in high school.  Now I get it - the responsibility is ours -  as opposed to the avarice ridden minds we tend to put into high powered political and business positions.  

We are the 'check' in the equation. I guess we are up to it. Aren't we?  

Elliptical - 2028

Just a week shy of my 83^rd birthday now.  

It seems like a hundred years since we went through Great Depression II in 2009.  It is good to have witnessed the re-birth of a self sufficient United States.  That amazing President, Barack Obama pulled off the most remarkable recovery and he did it by teaming up an eclectic 'Wild Bunch' of politicians.  He turned them around from fighting cats that were at one time slashing at one another like Jack the Ripper.  He put them on the same course, gave them a vision and blammo!!!  Here we are.  We have paid off our 35 trillion dollar national debt and therein freed our kids to create their own prosperity.

So now we have an openly gay President, Rachel Maddow.  So much for “don’t ask, don’t tell” right?! Rachel is an Oxford educated Rhodes Scholar and the first of her kind to move from newscaster to Senator to President.  Who would have thought?! I will tell you she is a pistol of the first degree.  She has us on a steady track of retaining human values while dealing with world population growth problems that stagger the imagination.  I am betting that will be the defining point of her Presidency.  I am also betting she will succeed. 

But I am missing the point of this story… my elliptical machine.   Well, it’s not exactly mine.  It is one of several at the Del Norte club, our neighborhood gym.  There are a half dozen of these along with an equal number of stair steppers, treadmills and in-place bicycles (all cardio machines) along with the usual assortment of weight machines.

About ten years ago, contractors laid pipe perpendicular to our two rows of new cardio machines.  The machines were then all configured to capture the energy produced by our workouts.  It worked great and it wasn’t long before we were generating enough electricity to completely power our club.  We even generated enough excess to help replenish our community electrical reserves and help power buildings that had no self sustaining ‘human’ generators.  We could also apply excess electrical credit to our own homes!  

It all worked so well that it within five years it was hard to find a home or gym that wasn’t similarly wired.  Even plug-in autos would pull up to a gym for a quick charge.  We all got so ‘charged’ up about the new technology, we were spending twice as much time on our machines.  I even dropped enough weight to drag my old Air Force blue suit out of the closet and watch it sort of hang off me.  I’ll tell you, this was happening in millions of closets back then.

I guess you didn’t have to be an epidemiologist to predict some of the after affects of this whole cultural change.  For example, the incidence of diabetes and other weight related illnesses has declined dramatically. We are also getting older and older as a population and we are retaining our faculties pretty well along the way too!  I have to give Google some credit here as well.  After all, there is no knowledge that can’t be found there and our extremely old baby boomers aren’t shy about using it. When we geezers aren’t generating electrical power, we are writing semi-literate passages on everything under the sun.  It sure has added a lot to our geriatric bag of tricks.  Our sons and daughters and all their offspring aren’t doing bad either.  Our new found collective fitness has reenergized and sharpened the thinking of everyone in the government and the private sectors. 

Then around five years ago, we installed yet another generation of elliptical and other cardio machines.  These were optically wired with high resolution telemedicine capability and allowed us to run our annual physicals at the same time we were generating plain old electricity.  The attached earphones we typically used for music also had super sensitive receptors to measure many of our critical vital signs. 

When we grabbed the closest set of hand bars (the ones we normally used to check our heart rate) during our physicals, we also generated information that was instantly sent to our primary care physician.  After that, all we had to do was stop by the lab for specimen collection and our physician soon had what was needed.  On our next trip to the cardio machines, we had a direct hook up to the doc who would share the results and free us for another year or ask us to come in for additional tests.  Our exercise club also had an on-site med tech who assisted us with special hookups for more sophisticated tests when needed. 

That’s it for now, I have to go.  Julieann and I are stepping out tonight for a little dining and dancing.  We are giving our ellipticals a little rest…

Journey

If you were to stop in the front yard of a home

In a certain small town in Willow City, North Dakota

You would find me thinking...

What's it like to leave your childhood friends and move to...?

If you were to ice skate to the middle 

Of a certain lake in Michigan

You would find me wondering...

What's it like to leave all your relatives here and move to...?

If you were to walk to a certain spot

On a Lake Erie beach in Ohio

You would find me thinking...

What's it like to board a bus and head west across the States to...?

If you were to ride a city bus to downtown Seattle

And hang out in the pool halls with the sharks

You would find me wondering...

What's it like to become an Air Force Airman and fly to...?

If you were to step into my backyard in Northern California

And toss the tennis ball for Molly a few times

You would find me weighing in on life and saying,

"This is good.  I am fortunate.  I wonder what will be next...?"

You have made these moves, and had these thoughts...

In different places

Your fingers are on these keys - your words - your memories replace mine...

And you wonder... or you don't.

"It's all part of the journey" (Donald W. Palen Jr., August, 2008)

Infirmities of the Lesser Kind

Lets start with the biggy.. I have AIDS 

Hearing that is. 

Yup. Just picked them up today.

So heres the story:

Mid-1960's.

Eighteen year old Airman stationed at Cannon Air Force Base New Mexico. 

Some of us went to the drag races at Amarillo, Texas Raceway. 

In those days you could sit in the grass right next to the starting line if you wanted to. 

The cars were so loud you could feel your ear

drums vibrating.                         

Of course, in those days no one thought at all about long term hearing loss. 

Wild Bill Shrewsbury was there with his, “Hurst Hemi Under Glass”, a rear engine Plymouth Barracuda that would lift all four wheels off the ground at the start and stay in a “wheelie” for a whole quarter mile… and back! 

We had a ball, but I probably lost some hearing there.

Late teens to early twenties… 

Heading down the highway, windows open and volume as high as you could stand.         

Singing rock and roll at the top of your lungs. That’s the way we did it then. 

Had a ball, but probably lost some hearing there.

1969 and 1971 

Two tours with Air Force in Thailand. 

Lived in open air hootchs near flight line. 

B52s taking off at first base, F105s taking off at the other.                             

More loud music too.                                                                        

A fine time, but probably lost some hearing there.
1972, the Forum in Los Angeles.

Julie and I were living in Riverside.                                                 

Actually had never been to a concert before and we wanted to take my visiting brother to one. We bought tickets...the expensive ones on the floor right in front of the stage.          

Iron Butterfly and Canned Heat. 

The Sound Engineer and his gear were behind us.                                             

He had it dialed in so loud the music was in the center of my head the entire concert.  I was young and indestructible.  I wasn't complaining.

My ears were ringing when we left and continue to this day. 

Definitely lost some hearing there.

Aging now, not mentally (as some would argue)... just physically. 

They say you naturally lose some hearing as you get older.                          

They (I) also say that as you get older you begin spending more time discussing your infirmities. 

That is what I am doing now... with you.

In Partial Defense Of...

…those bottom-feeding, scum-sucking automaker execs.  Yes, there is a lot of blame being placed at their feet and that is where it should be.  In partial defense, for years they have been hitting the market with just what we demanded... the occasional economy car, lots of medium gauge gas suckers and a bunch of high end, over-sized guzzling behemoths.  But we, including the auto workers had a ton of dough and were ambivalent about the volatility of gas prices as well as environmental issues.   

This was a simple supply-demand equation and the auto makers were just meeting our demands.  That’s capitalism right?  I mean that is what is keeping the tobacco industry alive while they kill us off right? 

Over time, we may have progressed just fine, with a slow but gradual displacement of the big momma vehicles as the public gradually ‘warmed’ to the idea of global warming.  Unfortunately, the global economic crisis has blown out the bottom for all industries, leaving the buying public a bit short of funds for purchasing autos of any kind let alone gas guzzlers.  

For the automakers the playing field is now level with all who have been hit by this crisis – it’s just that their situation has been magnified by the sheer size of their industry.  So, they head to Congress for a bailout – it’s simple.  I mean, the banks led the way right?  Well, not so simple.  After adding to the mortgaged future of our grandchildren, Congress finally woke up a little and said, “Wait!  Before we can rescue you we have to see your plan for recovery.” – sort of a gigantic business plan.  Of course this is SOP for anyone one in business but the auto guys figured if they hurried to Washington, hat in hand they could ride the wave without bothering with the detail. Who can blame them? 

But now, whoops(!) Congress is taking a look at their compensation packages as well and telling them to literally “cool their jets” or at least give up part of their fleet. 

So now they have all jetted, separately of course, back to Michigan and are camped out with their spin-doctors, building plans that somehow consider the uncertainties of this amazing world-wide disappearance of purchasing power.  Stay tuned.  This should be a good one!!!  

If you want an on target, bright-eyed perspective on all this, watch the Rachel Maddow show...    

Our August Senate(?)

Thursday night I watched tapes of our august Senate giving a standing ovation to a felon recently convicted on seven counts.  It was a pretty disgusting display… like their moral compass was in the grip of some kind of powerful magnet, spinning wildly through a three hour tribute to this criminal while the nation’s and world economic crisis cries for their attention.

Today, I read that the same felon is stepping down a few weeks early. Some speculate this will allow time for Bush to pardon him.

Here is a short summary of his illustrious career: This man was the champion of earmarks… architect of the “Bridge to Nowhere”.  As he himself carefully said over and over… he was for Alaska period.  Well, he was also for himself and his innovative financing of personal home construction projects.  But where was the champion for the United States (?) the part we most needed (?)… he was giving rambling speeches about the Internet being a “series of tubes”.

Okay!  Well we have that problem solved. Case closed.  Great job Washington!  It is good to see that your priorities are straight and your problem solving skills remain sharp. 

As a voter, doesn’t it make you feel proud to have elected these great Americans to office?  In fairness, not all Senators participated in this dark comedy – thirty were there…including Byrd, a man whose faculties left him sometime ago. And who can forget the world’s greatest foot waver, Craig?  Yes, he is still hanging around there… on our dime by the way. 

How are we managing to survive with such a fractured legislative body?  I think it is all entirely on us.  In good times, we tend to become complacent so we reelect officials simply because they are there.  It is not a sound approach. America is only great, America is only beautiful, America is only the greatest country because we work at it.  If we stop, it won’t be. 

Two CAO Blacks

It was a week in early February, 2008. I was in the world’s greatest home office working on a PowerPoint Presentation, “Proposal Development 101” for a Nevada health care firm.

A fine CAO Black

I started early; around 5:30... just in case any Eastern clients (8:30 their time) were trying to see if I was paying attention to their email or calls. Since it was the 10^th or 12^th rendition of the presentation I was all over it like a cheap suit and had it in pretty good, updated shape by 11. 

I called the Coyote to check in and found out  he was up for playing hooky that afternoon so we made arrangements for a tee time.  Our regular playing partners, Chuck “Coach” Spooner and Don “Greyhound” Brunelle were both working (wimps) so we were held to a twosome.

The weather was in the low 60s and calm. The starter put us on the first tee early and we were just getting warmed up when a third, “Jerry” asked if he could join us so the three of us took off. 

On the first hole, I was playing a sweet little mulligan and ended up getting a par while Jerry, cleverly disguised as a construction worker in matching denim shirt and jeans, got a birdy.  The Coyote was playing the game we both normally play, which is to say all over the course.

A couple of holes later, Coyote and I were resigned to a day of average golf and beautiful weather.  I had tapped a fresh order of CAO Black stogies before leaving the office so the Coyote and I lit a couple. 

Canadian "tuxedo."

Jerry turned out to be an electrical contractor who played a dynamite game of golf.  He reached at least half the greens in par that day and ended up with three birdies.  Al and I enjoyed watching him play even as we settled in to our average mix of hits and misses accompanied with mighty fine cigars. 

We were getting along okay with Jerry so I told him the story about denim.  

One day a few years ago, I was wandering around our house wearing a blue denim Harley shirt and Levi’s.  Son Tyler showed up and, after looking me over a little, inquired as to where I might have purchased my “Canadian tuxedo”.  I have avoided wearing a complete denim outfit since then.  Jerry may be thinking twice as well from now on. 

I hadn’t had a stogie in a couple of months so around the 12^th or 13^th hole, I asked the Coyote if he wanted another as I was getting ready to crank one up.  We did. 

All in all, it was one of those days of great company, great weather and great fun with a couple of fine stogies thrown in for good measure. 

Like the t-shirts say, “Life is good”.

Like Bunker says, “It’s all good”.

The Bullet Train Effect

The pernicious, noxious fumes blasted through his nostrils like a speeding “Shinkansen,” the 300 km/h train that connects Tokyo and Osaka, and as he woke from a deep slumber he realized he had accidentally tucked his head under the covers while bunking with his old pal, Aught; a pal who enjoyed a world-wide reputation for emitting things rank at all hours.

(I need help with this sentence.  I need to know how to make it worse... and it should stay at 50-60 words or less.)  If you have ideas please share them with me.  Thanks! 

Shine a Light

65 is the new 39!

Mick Jagger was 65 this past July.

Two and a half years older than yours truly.

He is a lean, mean rock and roll machine who moves like a man in his 30s.  If he was five years old, some concerned parent would have him on Ritalin. 

“Shine a Light” is the Martin Scorcese film about the Stones. 

It’s is actually a concert, or two, with some old film clips added. 

We saw it last in the Sacramento IMAX theater last May.  Our pal, Meredith S. wrote about it back then so we went. I am just commenting on it now because I am a left-handed Saggitarius... which makes me a natural procrastinator prone to sentimentality (thanks M) and many other disturbing characteristics.  

It was a magnificent piece of entertainment. 

But this is not a review of the film. No Sireee... 

It is a statement of awe.  Mick and his band are still squeezing all they can out of life.  It’s amazing.

Makes me want to lose (quite) a few pounds then go out and dance my ass off.

So Little Time.

So many roads to travel. 

To our families, to our friends, to our next destination 

So much love to give. 

To our families, to our friends, to our work, to our homes. 

So much heart to share.

With Tyler Thomas and Samantha Marie. 

So many sunrises. 

The colors, the air we breathe, the day’s adventures ahead. 

So many sunsets. 

The peace, the family together, the feelings of a good day spent. 

So much laughter. 

At the small things, at the big things, with each other. 

So much energy. 

To fulfill life, to fulfill each other 

On a path paved with forgiveness. 

Almost 40 years. 

So little time. 

To spend with you. 

Thank you Julieann Marie. 

I Love You.

The Medics

Ute Dam in Northwestern New Mexico, 1964. Open less than a year.

They found that skiing was best just after dawn and just before sunset. That was when the water was typically smooth as glass. The surrounding terrain was flat but much of the reservoir water was shielded by rocky cliffs. During the day the wind normally whipped the water into small whitecaps. It was a mild climate though and water skiing weather was pretty good from Easter to Thanksgiving. 

The small group of medics from Cannon Air Force Base were regulars at the Dam.  They had little money but one of them had re-enlisted and had enough to purchase a small used boat… an Aristocraft Torpedo.  The Aristocraft was a great, aerodynamic looking 14 foot mahogany ski boat that would comfortably accommodate a 50 horsepower Mercury outboard engine.  The combination worked good for a couple of passengers and one skier.

It could be a little rough getting the boat to plane and get the skier up at times.  If a dock was available, they would set up with the skier standing on it with one foot in the front binding, ski pointing up with a lot of slack on the ski rope.  When ready, the skier would yell, “Hit it!” or nod and the spotter would have the driver put the boat at full throttle.  That permitted the boat to plane off and get almost fully up to speed before bearing the weight of the skier.  At the last second, the skier would leap off the dock.   The ski would slap the water and quickly plane while the skier used the free foot to drag the water like a rudder..  Once stable the skier would place the free foot in the rear mount and be fully underway.

Of course after the inevitable fall while attempting jumps or extreme “S” curves, the skier would have to relaunch while partly submerged… this was not a problem as long as the skier wasn’t  “too pooped to participate”.

The group had made fast friends with a local family from nearby Logan, New Mexico whose son and daughter liked to ski and were about the same age.   The entire family treated the medics warmly with home cooking and occasional overnight accommodations when the weather turned too cool for lakeside tents. 

The rocky cliffs of Ute Dam were tempting targets for the group.  A slalom skier would move out to the side of the boat’s wake and make a high speed direct run toward the cliffs.  At the last second the skier would cut deeply into the water sending a solid spray as much as 20 feet up the cliff sides. It was a pretty spectacular stunt.  No one contemplated what would happen if the ski rope were to snap under the tremendous pressure a good slalom skier could make when cutting sharply.

There was a day when the group noticed a small crowd gathered just down the beach toward the dam.  They approached to see what was happening and found a teenage boy laying there with a frightened look in his eyes.  One of the members of the crowd explained that the boy had fallen while climbing among the rocks and they had sent someone to get help in treating him.  The youngest of the medics knelt over the boy and, seeing no visible injuries told him he “would be all right”.  That seemed to calm the boy a little.  With nothing further to be done, the medics returned to their campsite on the beach.  

A few days later the medics learned the boy had died of internal injuries.  It was an experience the youngest medic would never forget… a lesson on just how little he knew but also learning that his first inclination was to help.

Ute Dam near Logan, New Mexico in 1964.  The Shiplett family of Logan… great Americans who treated military members with respect.  Not such a common occurrence in those days.   

Break. Break. Break.

Thought the Stock Market would get down and boogie today.

New President!  Yippee!

Nope, just more manic-depressive behavior

For my retirement barometer.

Aw Snap!

I want to work until I am 90 anyway.

This recalls a short ditty from my childhood:

"Break. Break. Break.

If all the waves in the ocean were to break,

They wouldn't be as broke as me."*

*Nope.  Don't know who said/wrote it.

Checked with the Master Of All Knowledge, Google

All it says is Tennyson started one of his "bitter" poems that way

Not the same one though.

I am really okay with the "bitter" part. 

"NORT-A-KOTA" Nuggets

Well, that is sort of how you pronounce it if you are from there anyway. It could be that the tough weather makes people hard on their consonants. It can be beautiful though, especially to a kid. I lived there from the ages of 2-10 and to me "Nort-a-kota" was an experience in wonderland.

We lived in the north state towns of Bottineau and Willow City, mostly in Willow City for about seven years. Both were pretty small but Willow City was really tiny with a population of less than 250 (More like 150 now in 2020). It was mainly a place for churches, bars, a lumberyard, a couple of schools, grocery store and gas station.  The largest business there was the God business, with the Catholic Church in the lead. Notre Dame des Victoires was, and still is the largest church but its boarding school, home of the "mighty Redwings," has long closed. I went to grade school at Notre Dame and most of my classmates were farm children who stayed the week and went home on weekends.

At the school, I took piano lessons and the layout remains with me to this day. We had a tiny room with a window that contained five things, a piano, a bench, a metronome, a nun and me. The music we played was as bland as the setting and I didn’t last long. The best thing was the afternoon snack served while we were out on the playground at recess. It was a slice of fresh bread with jam smeared all over it. To me it was delicious and as good as any snack I have had then or since.

*****

Rubber guns were a big deal to us kids. They were typically made of a couple pieces of wood crudely nailed together in the shape of a pistol and sometimes like a double-barreled shotgun. The grip would have a clothespin nailed to it and the tip of the barrel would have a nail sticking out. “Ammo” would be made out of old inner tubes cut into giant rubber bands. We would stretch the bands from the nail to the clothespin “trigger” and when it was released the band would go flying.   

We fought a rubber gun battle on a bridge crossing Willow Creek once. My pals Punky Kunert and Sonny (?) were there. We were taking a break and I had placed my mighty rubber gun on the bridge rail while we horsed around.  I accidentally knocked it off the rail and when I reached for it I fell in. For a moment the water was over my head and I couldn’t swim but none of that registered with me. Somehow, I found my footing on the creek bottom and literally walked to the bank. To this day I believe I would have drowned right there if I hadn’t been given a great gift of good fortune. 

Interesting that I remember Sonny had a pretty serious lisp. When he talked it sounded like he was filtering all his words through spit. My mother didn’t like me playing with him. I think she was afraid I would start imitating the lisp. She was right. I had a lot of fun figuring out how to do it.

*****

The little gas station in town was the first public place to get a television set.  It was an amazing device and none of my pals or I had one at home. On Saturday mornings though, we would gather at the gas station and the owner let us sit on the floor and watch the weekly cowboy movie. Those movies had us mesmerized…more so than the greatest movies made since.

We had a tiny little movie theater in town – its still there but has long been closed. It couldn’t be any larger than a lot of folk’s living rooms today but it has a little 3-4 foot box office in front to give it theater credentials. Once or twice a month I would find my dad at the lumberyard where he worked and bum a quarter. It was a princely sum that would buy me theater admission (fifteen cents), a candy bar at the drugstore next door and a bag of popcorn. 

When I took this photo I felt like I was 7 again.

*****

There were sloughs around town within easy walking distance. They were pretty shallow, a foot or less of water and heavily populated with frogs or tadpoles depending on the time of year. They were also extensively covered with cat tails.  The general set up was perfect for many of our adventures. We would hike to a slough, strip down to our shorts and crawl around chasing tadpoles, playing hide and seek and of course, cowboys and Indians.

*****

There was a firing range near town. It was a simple set up, just a large earthen berm that folks would use as a backdrop for target practice. We would take coffee cans and knives or small digging tools out there and spend a few hours recovering spent lead from the ground. Someone in town gave us a few cents for our caches so it was almost like gold mining for us little kids.

*****

We were friends with a farmer family that lived just outside Bottineau. They planted some sizable crops of corn that would grow mighty tall in the eyes of us little kids.  They also had Shetland ponies and we would occasionally play cowboys and Indians on horseback in the corn; Russ Dinwoodie, Gary Raymo and I. The stalks were tall enough to completely conceal us so there was a lot of hiding, breathless anticipation and giggling.  There were also shouts of “Kerplow! Kerplow!” to simulate a direct hit on your opponent when you surprised him with your stealthy maneuvers. 

So sure, Nort-a-kota could be a harsh environment for adults but for kids...a wonderland of adventures.

My American Idol

September 22, 2006

Tyler’s Mom, Julieann suggested it in the first place...

When she found out American Idol 2006 tryouts were being held she said, “Tyler, you should do that.” He agreed and after we checked the timing on the six city audition locations, we decided on Seattle, the last one. Here is TC’s account of the pending event…

“Put down your drink and check your watch cause it's ass-kickin time. I'm flying to Seattle with pops on the 16th to try out for American Idol. Tryouts are on the 19th. I'm not going in there expecting anything, just going to go on an adventure. I'm not holding back on anything anymore. A good friend of mine has opened my eyes to something lately. All of us are living in shells. I never thought of myself as someone that needed to "come out of his shell" but we all could use some shell rehab. So come out of yours. You could be a pearl. Wish me luck. T”

TC had a couple of months to consider his song selection and over time, we learned he would likely need two. 

Love What You are Doing, Do What you Love

It was difficult to find detail on the sequence of events for the auditions.  The main things we learned was, a couple songs, registration on Sunday, sing on Tuesday maybe.  This was because the AI website suggested they might not have enough time for all entrants.

We flew to Seattle Saturday evening and stayed with Tyler’s uncle Dave and his family.  They were very accommodating, giving us the family rate and allowing us to sleep inside.

DAY 1 – Registration and the Teaming Masses

The site said they would allow a waiting line “…no earlier than 6 am.”  We got up around 4, headed out at 5 and lined up about 3 thousandth at 5:30.  The line was cleverly laid out all through the Seattle Center area and well covered with security and American Idol staff.  The AI staff were distinctive in bright yellow shirts with the logo on front and audition locations on the back. 

The location was Key Arena downtown near the Space Needle; Key Arena is famous for a couple of things.  It is the former location of the Seattle Supersonics, a relic from the Worlds’ Fair in the early 60’s and it is site of my early morning revelry on a motorcycle sometime in 1963. The building’s exterior arches encircle the building and are great fun to negotiate on a motorcycle if you don’t get caught.

TC and I were armed with backpacks containing water, two umbrellas (more important than water in Seattle), two small folding stools, some snacks, a camera and a few other things.  It was pretty cool but we were pretty comfortable. 

While we waited, I left the line and headed to front to check things out.  It was near the arena entrance and there was a perfectly placed coffee/water table there serving up Starbucks (What else?).  It was interesting to find that the coffee was $2.50 and the 20 oz. water was $3.75!  We are used to paying outrageous prices for coffee but water?  C’mon!  No one was complaining though, all that stuff was flying off the table.

I bought coffee and wandered over to the front of the line.  I talked with the folks in front for a while and found out they were there around 12:30 am that morning.  I wished them luck and walked the line back to TC. 

As I continued I noticed there were a lot of folks who had been apparently camping with sleeping bags, blankets and chairs.  There were quite a few singing too, mostly Sublime songs.  This did not seem to be a good sign as the songs TC had picked were by Sublime.  Some of you may not know that this group put out a hundred or so very popular songs in the 90’s.  They were known for great lyrics and melodies and remain very popular today.  The lead singer and writer, Brad Nowell overdosed on heroin in 1996.

I got back to TC and while we continued waiting we worked on the greatest pb&j sandwiches ever made.  AI camera crews were on the prowl, working the crowd, getting us to pack together more tightly and cheer the upcoming event.  AI reps would also come around periodically, give us updates on what was going on and ask if anyone had questions.  They made it about as good as it can get with all the waiting and organizing necessary to control a crowd our size.

Around 8am the lines began to move and they really went fast.  By 9am we were registered and outa' there.  We had wristbands, one for the contestant and one for one guest. We also had instructions to keep them in good shape for Tuesday’s auditions. 

DAY 2 – Playing Pike Market

Playing for change at Pike Market, Seattle
Note American Idol wristband...

Monday, we had little to do so we (Ty) decided to head for the Pike Market and sing for his (our) lunch.  We had heard there was a $15 fee for one of the music spots marked on the sidewalk there and Ty wanted to check it out.  You may know Seattle’s Pike Market is famous for its outdoor, mostly undercover fruit, flowers, fresh seafood and other vendor items.  When we arrived, we found out the fee was actually $30 (Okay, we’ll do it anyway just for the experience) and we could only sign up on Tuesdays and Thursdays.  We stated our best, “All we got is today, Monday” case and were outright rejected.  Figuring the worst that could happen was we would be kicked out, Ty set up on one of the music spots on the corner of Pike and Pine, anyway.  He got exactly two guitar strums in and a security lady gave us the boot.  “But we only have one day.”  “That’s what they all say.”

So, we headed for a little park that sits on the edge of Pike Market and borders Puget Sound.  It was a gorgeous spot but there was far too much noise from Highway 99 down below us and very few folks passing by. After 3 or 4 songs Ty decided to pack up.  He made a buck though so we figured it was not a total loss.

DAY 3 – The Day of Reckoning

Lots of waiting outside and in on the day of auditions.  Once in, there was a lot of filming.  One of the AI guys led the whole crowd of 10,000 or so in practicing and belting out a rendition of Jefferson Starship’s, “We Built this City”…on rock and roll.  I have to say the final version sounded really good in the Arena.  Then, Ryan Seacrest stopped in to tape a few pearls for upcoming shows.  He was about 30 feet from where TC and I were sitting and was really terrific with the crowd.  He was signing autographs and chatting with everyone between takes.  Really reminded me of another great soul, Arnold Palmer, who would sidle up to the crowd, making eyes and chatting between shots on the pro golf tour. 

We did a lot of shouting, the wave and a lot of other things for the camera crews for well over 4 hours and then, the auditions began.  Here is Tyler’s account: 

“Today was one of the craziest days of my life.  I found myself huddled up next to my father at 4 am outside the key arena in Seattle during a torrential downpour, waiting for my chance to audition for American Idol with 10,000 other singers and their support.  We sat there, one pathetic mass of populous shivering and foaming at the mouths for 3 hours until the producers of AI decided to let us into the arena.  So we piled in around 8 am and they started filming sequences for the show to be aired in January.  After the producers had decided that they had all the good shots they needed for an opening sequence, it was time to start the auditions.  (Nearly 3 hours later)  So now it is 11 am and the staff drags in 12 booths, each armed with 2 judges.  In an orderly fashion, the stands starting emptying out onto the floor that the Seattle Supersonics once called home.  4 at a time, people would line up in front of the judging booths.  4 at a time, people were eliminated.  (Seattle is the last stop on the AI tour so the judges are picky.)  

After about an hour and a half of auditions, during which about 20 people received the coveted gold ticket to move on, it was time for my section to hit the floor.  20 minutes later, I found myself in line at a judging booth that would make or break me.  To my horror, this particular judge was eliminating everyone.  A pretty little blond girl belted out a flawless rendition of Respect by Aretha Franklin and was quickly eliminated, after receiving a standing ovation from about 100 onlookers.  My stomach was in knots at this point.  I stepped up to the table next to my 3 other co-auditioners.  I went 4th.  I don't really remember how well I sang the song but it was 40 oz. to freedom by Sublime.  All I know is that I sang it loud and aggressively.  The judge dismissed all three of the pretty ladies to my right and made my day.  A coveted gold ticket.  Roughly 100 out of 10000 people get to go on to the next portion that takes place tomorrow.  I'm one of them. T”

I can only add that I made a lot of noise when I saw TC emerge from that crowd with his gold ticket.  It was a fantastic, stunning moment I wish his Mother, Julieann and sister Samantha could have shared.  

DAY 4 – At “The W” - I will go right to TC’s account here:

7 a.m. I'm standing in line outside of The W, a 5 star hotel in the heart of downtown Seattle. I am surrounded by an elite force of about 100 survivors from the previous mass elimination at the key arena and about 4 news channels. In front of me is a beautiful Latino girl named Deena (Not sure how she spells it but that is how it sounds). Deena made the show 2 years ago and got to the top 56 in the country. Behind me, a guy in an Uncle Sam costume is being interviewed by the local fox news. In some rights, I've already made it... but I know the day will be yet another test of mental endurance. 

Around 8, we pile into the hotel and enter a floor that has been quarantined by American Idol. They sit us in rows to later be emptied out in groups of five to sing for Charles, one of the shows top producers. For 2 hours, we sit... interviews take place individually where we are asked what separates us from the rest of the crowd. People are singing everywhere; in the halls, the bathroom, and in their seats. Finally, my row is emptied into the waiting area outside Charles' room. One by one, people are sent in and one by one they come out. A camera man waits outside the room to interview the rejected. You can tell whether or not someone made it just by watching him either stand ready to film or sit as they exit. 

I go in. The first song I attempted was again 40 oz. to freedom by sublime. I did not execute it very well due to my nerves, which at that point were so intense I barely remember the experience. "Sing another song," he said when I was finished. I freaked out and went into STP, another Sublime favorite. Not a good choice. A third song was demanded. In The Still of the Night. I was immediately criticized for the back to back sublime performance but the judges seemed to be on the fence. After some minor pleading on my own behalf, I was through. I HAD MADE IT TO THE 3RD ROUND! 

I was then promoted to the larger numbers that you see on the actual contestants on the show. I wore them proudly into the hall where I met my father and we were quickly whisked away to a third floor. Again, this floor was completely occupied by American Idol. I was seated in a line of about 5 individuals nervously awaiting the 3rd round. Holy Shit! I had not mentally recovered from the 2nd round and here I was 10 minutes away from my 3rd tryout in front of Nigel Lithgoe, the executive producer of AI and So You Think You Can Dance! I got down to 3rd in line and the staff decided to break for lunch til 1:15. 

I had 45 minutes to kill til before my tryout. Let's just say, I didn't eat much. Back in line now and ready to rock around 1:20. Now, the field consists of about 25/30 of us. Every single person in this group looked and sounded like a star in their own right. Half of them were being eliminated right in front of me as tearful speeches took place on camera outside the audition room doors. Then my turn... I entered the room confident. I was asked my name and a couple other things that I don't remember. 3 or 4 cameras were on me as well as the eyes of Nigel and 10 or more other producers and staff members. This was a stage set up just like the one you see on TV with Simon, Paula and Randy, except they weren't there. 

I decided to throw a curveball. Started off with a well executed "Jeremy" by Pearl Jam. "Sing another," Nigel said to me. "40 Oz to Freedom" again. "What else have you got?" "In the Still of the Night." 3 songs later, my fate was at the hands of the man in charge. He went on to explain that the problem was my performance. I had not been animated enough on stage. I received no criticism on vocals. My downfall was my stage presence, a problem easily fixable. I'll be back. If I knew then what I know now, I surely would be traveling to LA to see Simon on Oct 2nd. But I am left with the ride of a lifetime and the knowledge to make it happen on my next attempt, American Idol, 2007. -Campbell Out

Immersed in a ballad...

The thing is… I am so impressed by all the contestants I saw and heard.  It takes a lot of courage and, of course, love for music to try and stand out among a crowd of 10,000.  I saw the stress they were going through and conquering, none over 28 years of age and I can tell you without the slightest doubt, there is nothing our American youth can’t do. The people of American Idol?  They were all a class act, including the part-timers they hired locally.

Tyler Thomas Campbell the man?  He is all a father could hope for and more.  He will stop to help a stranger at the drop of a hat.  He has some gifts from The Man Upstairs and he appreciates them all.  He is trying to make constructive use of them as well.  And yes, I think his sincere style is a little like a couple of folks I mentioned earlier, Palmer and Seacrest.

Epilogue:  Ty (songwriter, front man, rhythm guitar player) formed a band in 2007, “Arden Park Roots” info at www.aproots.com.  They have had some fine success so far, winning 2008 & 2009 Sammy awards here for best reggae band and a 2008 Best of Sacramento award for their album, “The Hard Way’.  They also won "Best of Sac" awards in 2009 and 2010.

Epilogue II: Ty and his band have started a side project.  Called "The Livin's Easy", it is a Sublime tribute band.  The fan reaction has been terrific... there is a real cult out there of hundreds of thousands and most have memorized the lyrics to virtually all Sublime songs.  Amazing.