My Tears...

...land smack on the last few pages

Of a fine book

On this eve of the new year

The Art Of Racing In The Rain

A novel by Garth Stein

Man... I am a sucker

For a good dog book!

Avatar The Movie!

An extraordinary film

An extraordinary experience

In IMAX

In 3D

Daughter Sam and I

Saw it this evening

All the classic elements

Of a great movie

I walked out of the theater

And proclaimed to her...

"I could turn around...

Go right back in to see it again!"

Taken... By The Wind... By The Wave

This I write:

Spring and leaves grow

To capture the sun

And nurture the tree's trunk

Autumn and the winds take

Leaves to the ground

Weakest first

Wind makes way

For the leaves of spring

And live begins anew

When it is time for me to fall

I hope to look up and see you

Lingering

Stronger than others

Selfish I know.

And this written by another: Epilogue (Author Unknown)

With twig in hand

I wrote in the sand,

"Darling I Love Thee!"

Then a wave from the ocean grey

Washed my token of love away.

Frail twig

Tender letter

Cruel, cruel wave

Ah, but then I would pluck from the forest

The tallest tree

Dip its tip in the molten Vesuvius

And write across the sky

In flaming letters,

"DARLING I LOVE THEE!!"

And I would like to see any damn wave wash that away...

Tenderness

For those you love

For soldiers past

A rhapsody on Taps

Here is the beautiful rendition in very good resolution

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OyEL3NJSHIk

Here are the words (Author Unknown):

My love you go away
it's so sad and you know that
What useless days
I will live by thinking of you
I'll give my life to have you always
close to me
Like a voice that by now
I know already,
this silence will speak to you of me
nothing could change
even if I must wait

Like a voice that by now
I know already
this silence will speak to you of me
My love, you go away ,
but you'll return again
Good night my love
I'll see you in my dreams
Good night to you
who are distant

Clues

1.) ___ is the sum of Euler's totient function for the first fourteen integers.

It is also a dodecagonal number and a centered triangular number.

2.) Send me a postcard, drop me a line,

Stating point of view

Indicate precisely what you mean to say

Yours sincerely, wasting away

3.) Is the photo

19th Street Red

Pal of 42 years

Julieann flies in to New Orleans to meet me

I am taking a break from work in Baton Rouge

We are going to spend the weekend tearing up the French Quarter

At least between the hours of 8am and 10pm

In deference to my aging bones

Not hers

The rented Hot. Rod. Lincoln. is camped in valet.

We're going to be hoofing it

And riding streetcars for the weekend

First afternoon we cruise the Quarter

Down Bourbon Street, around Jackson Square

Then back among the shops on Royal

We pass an antique shop

I notice a framed set of old buttons

And think of pal; poet and writer Annie K

She collects those things for some strange reason...

Maybe like I collect Harley Dealership pins

At the suggestion of lifetime friend and brother Paul

We hit Pat O'Brien's and split a hurricane

Those suckers are huge after all!

That night the Commanders Palace for a famous dinner

Where the world's benchmark

For customer service was set

Next morning on the streetcar

Up St. Charles past the mansions

Headed for Audubon Park

On the SRO streetcar

We are distracted by conversations

About the day's PoBoy Festival on Oak street

So we stuck with the streetcar past the park to the party - sure is nice to move without a set agenda sometimes...

We cruise the street and crowd

Wonderful smells of all kinds of barbecue and such

The occasional street musician plus bands with stages at each end

We come upon 19th Street Red

Playing a ZZ Top-like, funk southern jam

I whip out the iPhone for a film clip

I posted it later on YouTube here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mogHLMe60WU

I also buy his album

Good stuff

You can find more of Red on YouTube if you like

40 of the most famous restaurants

Are represented that day

39 1/2 are owned by the famous Brennan family I believe

That evening back on the Quarter

We have a great dinner at Mr. B's (another Brennan place)

Julieann sits at a corner seat commemorated as twice used by Ronald Reagen

I am permitted to gawk at her.

We hit the Quarter again briefly

Loving the live music and friendly people

Through open doors everywhere

Out the next day... visit too short

Appetites whetted (sensory, gastronomical and all them there things)

We vow to return

When we are younger... so we can party harder.

You Cannot Win

If you do not

Roll the dice.

NOLA Sky

Interstate 10 - Red Stick to NOLA

5:45 AM

Thanksgiving Eve

Traffic is steady at 80+

Sun is rising to my eyes

Straight ahead view is framed...

Smooth straight four lane highway on the bottom

Dense southern forest on right and left

Candy Apple roof line of Hot. Rod. Lincoln. On top

Sky runs grey to red

From bottom to top

With purple, yellow, green and blue in between

Splashed by at least three

Different types of cloud formations

It is the Divine Painter reminding me

That I am damn glad to be here.

(Note: the sunrise you see is actually in Australia... but you get my drift right?!)

Don B!

This is my

Cigar chomping

Wine swilling

Book reading

Golf club swinging

World travelling

Pal Don B. (AKA "Greyhound")

It is the Zambesi River

In Victoria Falls

Zimbabwe

He did another in South Africa

Some no-name canyon

Three times as high

Don is nuts

So are the rest of my buddies

You know who you are...

So Who's the Dork?!

Sunday morning in NOLA

Preparing to head out for streetcar ride

Along St Charles

To Audubon park

Julieann pulls out new sweater

Puts it on just right

For the occasion and the weather

I offer that she needs to "...pull the shoulders back a little."

"So as to not let the sweater droop in front.

Otherwise it looks dorky and I am not accustomed

to hanging around with dorks."

Her response;

"Well I am!"

Road Warrior Rule #1

Suck up to the bartender

You may get overpour

Kooooozaaaaaaaa!

Couple days off the job in Red Stick Louisiana.

Flew to LA to join family

In celebration of daughter Samantha Marie's

Twenty-first B-Day.

First night son Tyler's bands

Arden Park RoOts and

The Livin's Easy

Had a show at Cafe Boogaloo

In Hermosa Beach.

We purchased the services of a designated driver

For the evening

A fine oriental fellow, "Chris"

With a 2009 Lincoln Town Car

The Friday show at the Beach was great

The crowd was fine

We made it back to the hotel

In Century City safe and sound

Saturday we had breakfast in Venice, CA

At the pier... In perfect weather

Then in the afternoon

We hit "Kooza" on the beach

At the pier in Santa Monica

Its a Cirque de' Soleil show in all its glory

In a tent - actually several tents

right on the beach...

We had amazing tickets

Fourth row, dead center, VIP extras

Before the show, outside

We spotted Gary Busey chatting up an attendant

He was wearing a grey sweatsuit

And sporting a prominent pot belly

And looked much the worse for the wear

We think the lady with him was embarrassed

In the VIP tent

Much going on

A great South African wine

A cabernet pinotage

Was being served

Along with many other complementary drinks

Julie, Samantha and I worked the appetizers

And a little of the booze

Sam proud of her now legal ID

Ten minutes til showtime

An announcement

We file to our seats

The numbers don't match

But there seems to be room

So we sit.

Samantha points out the guy and his family

Who are sitting in two of our three

seats

From Nip-Tuck, Juliean McMahon

Immediately in front of us, Barbara Streisand

And close friends or family we couldn't tell.

The show begins stunning

A human Jack in the box blows out and lands

On the stage

We have three hours of serious

Mouth agape fun

Including schmoozing with Barbara... sort of

During intermission

Beautiful weather, beautiful city

A weekend too short

I love LA

Especially since daughter Sam is a Bruin!

K0000zaaaaaaaa!!!!

Apple Pie

On the way to the Gymnauseum yesterday

We stopped at the farmer's market

It was a crisp fall morning

The smell of apples was in the air

I was thinking I would love to have something

Freshly baked from apples

That evening pals Don and Laurie

Came over for dinner

Laurie had made a scratch apple pie

We swilled some great wine

We had a fine meal

My all-time best pal Julieann had cooked

Then we launched into that pie

Early this morning I noticed one last piece

Waiting on the kitchen counter

I wanted to thank the pie for coming over

But by the time I thought of it, it was too late

It was the perfect companion

For my first cup of coffee

So....

I had already ate it

Hot. Rod. Lincoln.

From the song made famous by Commander Cody and His Long Lost Airmen..."My Pappy said, Son, you will drive me to drinkin'

If you don't stop drivin' that Hot.

Rod.

Lincoln."

But now Pappy is gone

And Hertz of New Orleans

Screwed up my reservation

So they gave me a Hot Rod Lincoln

For two weeks

A MarkZ that is.

My pedal is to the metal

And I am grinning

Power

By the hour

Or rather by the day

Suits me

They gave that luxury hot rod

To the wrong renter

I am having a ball

If I don't get a ticket

Something's wrong here in Red Stick, Louisiana

PS for Big Bad Bobby Bunker...

You will want to know what I had for dinner

Again and again.

It was Acme's Oyster House

One glass of Newcastle Brown

One dozen char-grilled oysters

One serving of Cherries Jubilee

A decaf coffee back

There is a heaven on earth Bobby

It is inside of any Acme Oyster House

What Freakin TIME is it?!

On the road.

Still.

Sunday.

Time to turn back the clock.

(suspend punctuation in deference to pal Jack Sender)

Did just that

In my Hot Rod Lincoln rental

And in my room

All is well... clockwise

Monday morning alarm goes

Clock says 5:30

Check my iPhone for messages

It says 6:30

WTF?!

Get ready

Go to work

iPhone was right

I am an hour later then intended

Done for the day

Heading back to room

After dinner

I am thinking

Maid must have set clock for me

Not realizing I had already done so

Back in room

Clock is now right

WTF again?!

Maid has fixed it I am reckoning

The path to Hell

Is paved with good intentions

But at least my clock is okay now...

Road Warrior Sightings

All on the same Sunday

From Sacramento to Baton Rouge

Via New Orleans

Denver airport to change planes

Hanging out in the food courts

With a fine cup of coffee

Man also with coffee walks up to trash can

He is nicely dressed, longish hair, in his 50's

Dragging the customary rolling bag

Just another of thousands of travelers?

Nope!

He roots around in the trash can

Looking for leftovers

Finds chip bag

And works over the few remaining munchies

"WTF?!"

Shake loose my bug eyes

And head for the departure gate

Lady on bench close to window

Is breast feeding

With cloth discreetly draped over

I suppose it is not so uncommon

But I have never seen this

In hundreds of thousands

(maybe a million?)

Miles of air travel

Arrive in Baton Rouge

Check into hotel and head for dinner

At nearby Macaroni restaurant

It's early

I sit at table in bar area

A couple of employees

Settle at far end of bar

With take out dinner

From "South of the Border"

I'm thinking this is not a restaurant

Its a Food Court

Another customer shows

And also heads for the bar

Oriental lady, fairly large

Acting sort of strange

In movements

Pulls things out of a plastic bag

Maybe candy bars

And starts nibbling away

Pauses to rummage inside of large bra

Pulls out cell phone

Checks messages

My eyes must be bugging again

I am definitely in a Food Court

Macaroni must have changed its business model

Or this day I have traveled in a different dimension.

In Deference...

... to my friends

Whom I worship

For some demented reason

I have deleted the previous political post.

I have found (and I should have known)

That I have stirred polarity of the left and right kind

So I will refrain from similar posts

In the interest of preserving those

Who give me comfort

When I am out

On a fragile limb

And need a gentle

Force to sustain

My precarious position

On matters far from my control

To those of you

Who agreed with me

Thanks

But this position

Will not sustain me

For the balance of my life

Like you will

And They Pass Through

The multitudes pass through

The great airports of the world

All kinds to the curious eye...

Buff and

Morbidly fat and

Morbidly skinny and

Average build... but

"But what is that?!"

Ugly

Plain

Natty

Disheveled

Drop dead gorgeous

Drop dead likely... at any moment

Fast

Slow

Nervous

Calm

Happy

Mad

Guilty

Innocent

Self-possessed

Guileless

Withdrawn

Ready to fight

Ready to flee

Their bags roll obediently behind and

They pause frequently to shift their load and

They pause frequently to ponder...

"Where are the bathrooms?

What time is it?

What time do I board?

Am I early?

Am I late?

What gate"?

"Do I have time to eat?

Am I hungry?

Will I get hungry on the plane?

If I don't eat now?

Do I look as tired as the rest of these people"?

"Will I make my connection?

Will my bag make the connection?

Should I grab a bottle of water?

Do I have enough to read?

How long has my fly been open"?

I will join the multitudes

Asking the same questions...

Again...

As I pass through.

But then... We snap out of it!!!!

Once. Twice. Three Times a Dummy.

My rental for two weeks on the job

In Raleigh, North Carolina
A Mazda MX5 mini crossover SUV

Headlights are not automatic on-off

Can't tell if there is a warning signal

My ears decided to ignore high pitched signals a long time ago

Can you see trouble coming?

Once...second or third day in Raleigh
Out of work late... To dinner then hotel
Tired. Turned in early

Next morning Dead...

Not even enough juice to respond to signal from key
Call Hertz tow to come and jump start

No one accuses me of being stupid
I confess anyway
Run the car a few miles to get a little charge on the battery

Then show up at work... Humbled

Twice... Three or four days later I drop my guard again

The little Mazda punishes me for my oversight

Dead as a doornail.

Figure hertz will be on to me this time

And want to charge a fortune for the jump-start

Check with concierge

One of the employees has jumpers

She starts up smoothly

Seems a little smug in teaching me another lesson

Three times... Dinner with friend the night before returning home for the weekend

Long day and I am in a slight fog... mental that is.

Up at 3:30AM the next morning

All packed and ready

Thinking I have spent many years at this

And am getting pretty good at long haul travel

To the car at 4:30

She is dead...yet again

My travel skills are dealt a punishing blow

Plane boards in hour and a half

'Quick! What in the hell am I going to do?!'

Get rental agreement our of the car... Lock the little #$^&$&^ up.

Tell her to have a nice weekend.

Return to hotel

Ask clerk to call me a "cab"

She doesn't nail me with the old joke... sensing I am in somewhat unstable condition

I call Hertz and extend rental to cover return trip

Meaning I get to spend another couple of weeks with the $&%**&^% Mazda

Only good news is the rental is cheaper overall as I now have a longer term contract

I am about 50 minutes from boarding time

Figure if the cab takes 20 minutes to arrive

I will still be okay

20 minutes from boarding I am still standing in the lobby

I am busy inventing new ways to swear

I am calling to change flights when cabbie shows

"They close the gates 10 minutes prior to departure."

"Can you get me there?"

Cabbie says yes and we're off!

He goes fast but not fast enough.

I arrive at gate three minutes from departure

Plane is there but no one is at the gate, or nearby to help me.

Done for.

But wait! There is another flight!

I hit it on standby and make it

I manage to hook up with with my original connection in Chicago

Home at last! Home at last! Great God almighty I am home at last!

But that little dead Mazda is still in the parking lot

Waiting on my Monday return

Smiling through that little chrome mouth of hers

She definitely has the weekend... OFF.

Such is the life of an itinerant worker...

The Ashtray

The famous bar in all it's wacky, tilted glory.

It said, "Bass Ale" on each of four sides.

The two Air Force Medical Service Corps officers 

Sat at the famous original Liberty Bar

In San Antonio Texas

Around thirty-five years ago

He was fairly fresh from a 

Trip to Europe where he had given

MSC Career Development presentations

At Ramstein Air Force Base in Germany

Torrejon in Spain

And Aviano in Italy

While in Italy he and his former boss

A physician and commander there

Made a side trip to Venice for a day

There, he had proudly

Purchased a fine Burberry trench coat

It was a rainy evening in the Alamo city

So he wore the coat to suit the circumstances

They met for dinner and drinks

To discuss the state of affairs

In the Corps and health care in general

For they were both fierce members

One doing staffing for what was then Systems Command

The other doing assignments and career support for MSCs

At the Air Force Manpower and Personnel Center

Before the evening was over

They would also discuss many personnel and health care delivery issues

Often veering from one topic to another

Interesting how beer can redirect topics

Such was the state of affairs

At the Liberty Bar

The one with the slanted floor

And the slanted opinions

As it happened

Bass Ale was their beer of choice

So the evening was filled with many

And the stage was set for a lifetime friendship

As it also happened

There was a Bass Ale ashtray

At each table there.

To commemorate the occasion

He resolved to place

Their ashtray under his Burberry

Melamine Bass Ale ashtray

When the evening was done

He walked out with it

Today, the Bass Ale ashtray

Resides on the patio

Of his home in Sacramento

It is the only ashtray in the home

It is used on evenings

When friends are over

For an after dinner collegial stogie

For times when friendship is shared

It never fails though

When he does bring it out

He thinks of his dear friend

And their time at the Liberty Bar

Of his friend thirty-five years ago

His friend still of today...

And the views they share

About the wonders of life

Maybe he will return the ashtray

To the Liberty Bar one day

So that it may find a new owner

And travel as stolen goods under the folds of a raincoat

Maybe it will begin to commemorate

An enduring friendship anew.

Maybe.

(Update:  In May, 2010 the famous Liberty Bar closed and relocated due to a rental dispute.  Good thing I rescued that ashtray so many years ago... On another front, the Burberry remains stashed in a garage coat closet, serving as a moth magnet.)

The Perfect Appletini...

... is dead.

Dead I tell ya'!

I would walk into Wasabi Restaurant

A Thai and Japanese place

In Cary, North Carolina

For starters I would order an Appletini

It was the first place I ever ordered one

The waiter would walk to my table with it

A perfect sense of balance

For the glass was filled to the absolute top

It was clear, with a few pieces of shaved ice floating on top

I was unable to pick it up without spilling a little

I would clean up the spills

Then sip that puppy to my hearts content

Delicious and rare in its quality of taste and presentation

I really wouldn't order it anywhere else as I have found

Others are a disappointment in comparison

Then, not long ago

I returned to wonder again

At this artful cocktail

The serving was a good half inch short of full

(Right where many would argue my brain typically is)

The mixture was cloudy as opposed to clear

There was no shaved ice afloat in the concoction

To top it off the Thai beef fried rice was bland

When finished and having paid I asked for the manager

The man who walked up was the very same who mixed my drink

I told him anyway

As nicely as I could

Because I hoped to return one day

And find that perfect martini

Still alive

I few days later I was there for lunch

And noticed the bartender, different, was the one

Who had prepared those amazing drinks

For me in the past

There is hope for my return after all!!

iPhone 15 Cobra Lightening

He said, "What is the price of tea in China."

The instant response in the center of his forehead

Was, "Thirty cents an ounce."

"Response One of Three Hundred and Fifty Five Million - give or take."

He said, "Two." Instantly he heard; "An old expression

Associated with a dismissive sentence as in,

"What does that have to do with the price of tea in China?

Often thought of as a smart ass remark."

"Response Two of Three Hundred and Fifty Five Million - more or less."

No one thought twice of the man wandering around

Seemingly talking to himself.

Everyone did it.

"I hear voices." took on a literal and perfectly normal meaning.

People learned to ignore the chattering cacophony

That occurred in all public places.

The tiny moniters in his ears

Drove voice recognition software

Long tuned to every nuance of his voice.

They wirelessly transmitted to the

iPhone 15 Cobra Lightening

Attached to his belt.

The iPhone, in turn, drew from the

Powers of Google,

The powers of all man's knowledge.

He literally knew everything.

It was just a matter of sorting it.

Luckily he had programmed it to include a sense of humor.

Thine Eyes

Thine eyes
Oft blight

Strike the piercing glare

That cast my eyes to the ground

Then rise to blink away tears

Fix the sound to its direction

Shift thine eyes to meet the coming

Mark with bold stare

Amuse your muse

Any one of nine

Spread your cloak to cover

Shelter your students from the chill stare

Protect your pupil's pupils

Quickly set the look

Of thine eyes

Let the glare beware

(Nope... Absolutely no idea what this means... even though my fingers struck the keys to set it in story.)

Ayn Rand Redux

I've read a lot of books.

Watched a lot of television.

Seen a lot of movies.

Heard a lot of conversations.

In my life.

But I have never seen or heard anything that even closely approximates the dialog I have been reading in Ayn Rand's "The Fountainhead".

I have only a couple of hundred pages left in the opus and I am already feeling bad about the end of this remarkable late discovery of mine.

"Ine Baby" nailed the development of two extraordinary literary characters in her lifetime, John Galt of "Atlas Shrugged"' and Howard Roark of "The Fountainhead." If I would have read these books carefully in my formative years I might have been a different person; that's how profound they are.

I think I will be doing a wrap up post on the book when I have finished but I already know I will never be able to do it justice.

Also, there is another gifted (though unpublished) writer I have been reading the past couple of years. Her name is Meri Sender and her brief observations on life and self are an absolute delight. Her wonderful work is at: http://waitingforthebiggiant.blogspot.com/.  Only problem is, she hasn't written an entry since 2010!  C'mon Meri, you can do it!

Nope. I am not getting paid for this plug... by either of these remarkable authors! Although I should be right?!

Woodstock

I was wrong about Country Joe of Country Joe and the Fish.

Over the years, when I have been up against a stressful appearance of some kind, I have often taken comfort in the memory of Country Joe facing several hundred thousand people at Woodstock and saying, "Hey Man! I'm scared shitless!" or something like that. In fact, I have often told the story to sooth friends and family who find themselves coming up against something similar.

Here we are, some forty years later and I am watching a YouTube video of Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young during Woodstock. Sure enough, it turns out that it was Stephen Stills who said it! It figures as CSN&Y had only one public session together before that performance and it was the largest crowd they would ever see.

I like it when we are referred to as the "Woodstock Generation"... that rings a lot better with me than "Baby Boomer". But then, our generation has stubbed it's toe pretty well on some pretty big deals... such as Iraq and such as the Recession...so I am not sure either moniker will go down in history as ringing well with anyone. Anyway, in setting aside those monumental muck ups for minute I can enjoy what the sounds of Woodstock meant to us and still means to this day.

Peace, love, understanding, tolerance and thoughtfulness are just a few of the attributes displayed en masse at that event. So, when you get a chance, pause for a moment to reflect on the pure joy of Woodstock. Check out this amazing video by Santana and note the great performance of his drummer, Michael Shrieve. Michael was only 19 at the time. Michael lives up in the Seattle area now and his band appears every Monday night in the Fremont district. What a dream for him and those who listened on that day!

Rock The House

July 30th and 31st, 2010

Location: Robbinsdale Lounge, Rapid City South Dakota

Two bands, with the same members, and a great venue with 16'x20' stage, large dance floor, and seating with tables for at least half the crowd.

Son Tyler's bands, Arden Park Roots (http://www.myspace.com/aproots) and The Livin's Easy (http://www.myspace.com/thelivinseasyband) would be playing both nights.

I am in town for two of the worlds' best reasons, to hear the bands perform and to take part in the Mother Of All Bike Rallies, Sturgis.

First night: Butch (Tyler's Uncle and my fellow Harley riding buddy) and I pull into the parking lot around 20 minutes before show time. The lot is packed with cars and we have to pull around way in back. When we get in, we have to scrounge seats from the gambling area of the lounge as everything else is already taken.

275 show that night. We are tagged with wristbands at the door and I don't know why until I find out they are tracking capacity as they have to make sure they don't go over 300. The first set is "Arden Park Roots - Award Winning Band from Sacramento" and, as they are unfamiliar with the music, the crowd mostly listens at first but there is unanimous applause. As they get more comfortable toward the end of the hour and a half session they take to the dance floor and get gradually louder. When the second set kicks in, they are recognizing Sublime songs from the first couple of notes played. They really get into it then, packing the floor and singing back the lyrics they have memorized long ago. At the end of the night, the band plays two encores and Ty finishes up with four acoustic Sublime solos. "By The Rivers Of Babylon" has them swaying like they are hearing a modern day "Kumbaya".

Second night: The word is apparently out that these bands are good... really good. The place is packed to capacity a half hour before showtime and we are glad we have arrived early. I get there an hour before to set aside a table for our group and do okay but don't get my choice. I later notice that there is a steady line of one to two dozen waiting outside for others to leave so they can get in. We have an idea we are in for something special that night and it is.

The crowd warms slowly, as they did the night before. (Tyler attributes some of this to the crowd's level of intoxication... I think this partly true... that they play off each other.) During the first set, Tyler coaxes the crowd to shout "APR!, APR!..." after the band's initials and records it with his iPhone - this is the recording:

When they hit the second set, around 11Pm, the crowd is fired up in anticipation and, according to Ty's prediction, the booze has released any inhibitions they may have had. As the first 2-4 notes of the first Sublime song are played, 50 or so rush to the floor. They remain there for the rest of the show, again with two encores. With the combined sets the band plays for 3 and a half hours - a feat of endurance that is Springsteenesque in it's length.

The crowd is mostly 20 and 30 somethings, largely due to the emergence of Sublime as a world-wide famous reggae/ska/punk band in the mid'90s. Their lead singer/songwriter Brad Nowell wrote around 40 songs and in 1996, died of a drug overdose just before the release of their most famous album. Since his death, a cult has grown around the music and hundreds of thousands have memorized the lyrics.

There are a few exceptions to the ages that night though. In the crowd there are some senior groupies including me and most noteworthy; Ty's Grandmother and Great Aunt. The two are close friends and excited about seeing Ty perform. To my great surprise, both stay until the final song has ended sometime after 1AM. During the show, Ty's Grandmother carefully removes one of the poster-sized show advertisements from the venue, rolls it up and brings it back to our table... a keepsake for the event. I am duly impressed. Grandmother Groupie swiped a poster!

I am also impressed with the music and during their play of one of my favorite Sublime songs, "Pawn Shop". I make my way to the dance floor and move through the seething masses to dance, a couple of rows deep from the stage. It was fun seeing the look of shock on Tyler's face when he noticed the old grey hair there, boogieing.

Yes, I have become perhaps one of their oldest fans. I have always been a fan of Ty's voice and music compositions and now I am a fan of Sublime. I may not agree with some of the themes of Brad's music but I believe he was a brilliant composer and I love the variations in his repertoire.

A few songs into the second set we see that Tyler has been lifted hand-over-hand through the crowd, out about ten feet and then back to the stage during an interlude. I think that demonstrates the gravity of the night for all of us.

Black As Night

"I wanna see it painted, painted black

Black as night, black as coal

I wanna see the sun blotted out from the sky

I wanna see it painted, painted, painted, painted black"

(Rolling Stones, 1966)

It was two months before the 7/11 birth of Tyler Thomas Campbell.

Mid-May of 1980. A beautiful weekend day on the South Hill of Spokane, Washington.

It was an old area of town, covered with small custom homes... something you might imagine pictured in Good Housekeeping.

A few friends were gathering for a neighborhood picnic.They were momentarily positioned between two homes, laden with food supplies and heading for one of the back yards. The western sky was at their back when they noticed the light dimming.

They circled the home to face the sky and saw what appeared to be a black wall carried by the prevailing wind and heading straight in their direction. Picnic plans were immediately cancelled and all returned to their homes to switch on their televisions and see if there was news of the event.

Within minutes it went from sunny spring day to black as night. During those moments absolutely everything that was exposed to the sky was covered with a half-inch or so of battleship grey material that seemed like talcum power in it's consistency.

News reports were quick and effective."Mt St. Helens has erupted. Stay calm. Stay inside. The storm is volcanic ash. We don't know how harmful it may be."

The next morning, they peered out their windows and wondered at the surreal landscape. Homes, autos, yards and roads were totally draped in a mask of grey. He opened the door slightly and their Old English Sheepdog, Gypsy bolted out into the yard. With her mix of white and grey hair it was as if someone had deliberately color matched her with her surroundings.

As he ran to catch her, she ran onto the empty street. Each time one of her paws touched down a cloud of ash would erupt. It was a spectacular and totally unearthly sight.

Another day passed and news came that it might be okay to go outside "but wear face masks just in case the ash is toxic". Water hoses came out all over the neighborhood and people began rinsing the ash off things.

He snapped a photo (I will post it as soon as I locate it) of 7-months pregnant Julieann Marie Campbell while she was outside hosing down the ash. It was quite a site... a little round person with a hat and mask and a hose.

They would later learn that a couple of their neighbor friends, both geologists, had been on an aerial single-engine plane tour of the mountain when it erupted and they had narrowly escaped being caught in it. (He had given his wife the tour as a birthday present.) Dorothy and Keith Stoffel snapped a lot of photos and later included them in a book, "Volcanic Eruptionsof Mount St. Helens, the First 100 Days".

It would go down as the deadliest and most economically destructive volcanic eruption in the history of the United States.

Sometimes life is just bigger than, well, life itself...

Bentley

So I am at the gas station.

I notice a new Bentley.

Pulled in to refuel.

Out pops this gorgeous blonde.

With a perfect figure.

I'm thinking, "Daughter Samantha! You redid your hair!"

But then noticed it was not her.

I then thought, "Son Tyler's future wife?

Mother of my future grandchildren?!"

I guess I can accept that...

The End... Is Near

This is a delicate story.

It's about preparing to say goodbye to a dear old friend.

In a way it is also about saying hello to a new one.

This morning, at 4:22 AM I heard the familiar "thud"...

Of our newspaper hitting our front porch.

Our bedroom is close to our front door.

It is not an annoying sound.

It just wakes me up more often than not.

And almost just as often I am ready to get up.

The "Thud" used to be louder.

You see, the pages were of heavier weight.

The pages were also larger.

Finally, the paper was also thicker with news and, mostly ads.

With all those changes, the "thuds" have become quieter.

This is a crossroads in history when 150 year old papers...

Are closing their doors.

We are in transition to news on demand.

It's becoming instantaneous... with all the knee-jerk speculation and sensational wrong turns that might imply.

It's becoming the web.

It's Google that knows everything.

It's the Huffington Post.

The Wall Street Journal of Damn Fine Watch ads on-line...

And others of course.

A good two-thirds of the annual days here in Sacramento find us enjoying great morning weather.

On those days, and in anticipation, I grab that first cup of coffee, the ever thinning paper and dog Molly.

We all go outside where I enjoy the paper while the morning light turns brighter and Molly takes care of business.

This is the way it is supposed to be.

But my time on the patio is getting shorter.

Because there is less paper.

And there is less substance in the paper.

Less substance in the news and in the simple handling of the object.

It has become almost as delicate as tissue paper.

Susceptible to the slightest Delta breeze.

Difficult at times to manipulate.

On the other hand,

This gets me back into the home office quicker.

And on the Internet to catch up on all the morning emails.

And Facebook, and MySpace, and my Blogs,

And on-line news articles that are so fresh... printed papers cannot possibly keep up.

I am having great fun with it all, but I am taking in less glory in the morning.

Does that make sense?

Blacklick

Now humor me for a moment if you will...

Say this reeeaaalll slow,

Maybe three times.

Blacklick.

Blacklick.

Blacklick.

It rolls off the tongue really nice doesn't it?!

Black...lick.

Someone from Blacklick Ohio visited this blog today.

That person has made me think of other names that have a ring to them.

Buzzard's Breath, Wyoming

Tombstone, Arizona

Blacklick, Ohio

Yup, I think it is worthy of that group.

So here's his story:

They said he was from Blacklick, Ohio

That he handled a whip better than Lash Larue ever dreamed.

(If you don't remember Lash, just Google him... Wickipedia will make you a fast expert)

In fact, he could well have been the inspiration for the famous movie character.

His name was (you fill this in)...

He first came to notoriety when he captured a vicious murderer named (you fill this in)

Word had it that the two battled all night with whips first, then knives, then fists until

(you fill in the name) had prevailed midst the broken furniture and flying blood.

Then he realized he had to travel the country... reach out from Blacklick

to rid the land of blackhearted (yeah, I know a little redundant) bandits

who robbed, pillaged and rode Harleys (yeah, I am pretending they had Harleys back in the day).

So he strode forth, and when he had his horse he rode forth, into the near wilderness that was known as... "Cincinnati" (okay, so he didn't have a Harley).

He knew he could help there as "Cincinnati" wasn't near as mean sounding as "Blacklick"

It was in fact, real easy.

So much so that he thought of it as a proverbial "walk in the park".

Even though they hadn't invented the phrase back then.

After that he retired to Blacklick and stayed there.

In his fertile yet pitiful mind, there were no challenges that remained.

So, (and I am asking you to say this reeeaaalll slow... with emphasis on the consonants - sorta like John Wayne style)

He Parked his Black Boots on a Porch in Blacklick and Leashed his Black horse by Bridle and Bit to the Last Black Lamp post along with his Last Black Lash... because he didn't think he needed that stuff anymore.

I may have to do a video news report on this to do it justice....

"Ine" Baby!

Yes, I'm back at it.

I am digging into another of Ayn Rand's works.

This time, its "The Fountainhead"

First published in 1943, it preceded "Atlas Shrugged" by fourteen years.

So here's the deal, I'm about a hundred pages into this mini-opus.

The main character, Roark, is an architect of sorts.

This guy is no namby pamby... no Sir!

He is a bad-ass of the first degree.

I just saw that Cooper played him in a movie of the same name.

I will have to check it out but yea, the "Coop" could probably pull it off.

Through the first hundred pages,

I have to say I have been immersed in the finest dialogue I have ever read.

"Ine" hit this one out of the park...

To think she did it almost sixty years ago!

I wish she was still alive and writing today.

We would all be on pins and needles awaiting her next magnificent work.

It won't be long, you will be able to find it in large boxes in the book section...

for sale at Costco for $15.79 - mark my words on this.

Peanut Butter and Jelly

My wife of forty years left me.
Two nights ago.

She went to a party.
Where friends invite other friends.

As true friends are wont, they sell things to each other.
You know, like Tupperware.

I was home alone.
Left to my own devices.

So I cooked up a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
On fresh wheat bread... the jelly was strawberry.

Copious amounts of each ingredient.
Backed by a pile of salty, greasy Lays wavy chips.

I had a large glass of damn fine Syrah to wash it all down.
I was in heaven.

The sandwich reminded me of my brother.
When he was little, he called them "whowho, jehjeh, petabutter".

That is exactly what I had.
Two nights ago.
When my wife left me.

It would be nice if she left me once a week.
Of course I would have to stock up.
On Whowho, jehjeh, petabutter.

When she reads this I'm a Dead Man Walking.

The Fisherman and The Mermaid

I want to introduce you to this remarkable 18 page, "mostly true" story by my friend Brett Dean McGibbon. Brett drove the publishing experience when we produced "Badass - The Harley Davidson Experience" a couple of years ago. He has spent the last several years in Seattle sharing written tales of spirit and adventure. I think his is a great story but... you be the judge. Oh, and if this is your first e-book you are in for a great treat! You can read the whole thing right here by using the scroll bar on the right and you can toggle it full screen by clicking the icon in the top right.

Also, if you have any comments or criticism, good or bad, please share with Brett at this email address: BrettMcGibbon@DifferentFish.com

TheFisherman&theMermaid-byBrettDeanMcGibbon

Awwww Michael...

You crossed generations
With your amazing energy
Your creative genius

Your music that touched every heart
Your dances that defied gravity
You made simple motion poetic

You created the celebration of life
The visceral... aural... mesmerizing experience
In front of our very eyes

We will all look for you
In the great eternal concert
You will again be our star

I saw him dance to Billie Jean in the Motown 25th Anniversary television special. It was, in that place, at that time, the most remarkable performance I have ever seen. Here is a link to one minute video done later... a stunning performance:




And this poem, just in from a long time friend, Dr. Bernard Buecker:

"the little boy, dressed young with awesome talent
a gift to all the world
wrapped in bows of song and dance
with death as his escape"

And this in from my brother; husband, father and musician David Claud William Campbell:

"After living your life to please so many others, starting when you were a child. I wish you peace. May God grant you unconditional acceptance and love. Oh, and please teach the angels to dance."

And this, a tribute from son Tyler's band Arden Park Roots at the Sacramento 2009 Sammie Awards just last weekend:

$15(freakin).79!

Today.  At Costco.

Two very large boxes.

In the book section.

Filled with reprints of "Atlas Shrugged".

Normal book sized paperbacks.

With readable sized font.

For $15.79.

This, after my struggles a couple of months ago.

With a Barnes and Noble version...

At $20+ bucks a pop!

A thousand plus pages of  tiny paperback sized fine print like this.

I ask you...

Is there any justice?!

Hell no there isn't.

I love that book!

The Test

The student: Philosophy 101...he knew nothing about the subject. He didn’t want to be there either but it was required.

His professor: Not a person of pleasant demeanor. He didn’t act like he wanted to be there either. He seemed mostly bored and impatient.  His teaching philosophy “I lecture. You take notes. I administer tests". So he took notes. Tons of them. No time to think…just write.

The professor; “My final exam will include three of these 5 possible essays.” So the student converted his notes to outline form. Four levels deep; I., A., 1., a.

His wife did the prompting… her patience like no other. After his day job, he spent several nights on the couch moaning and groaning. Trying to force the four levels into his brain one level at a time. First the Roman numerals. Then the capital letters…and on and on. His wife suffered through it with him. They timed him to peak…right at the final. His brain was a piñata of philosophy notes.

The night of finals. Three essay questions as promised on the black board. “Fair enough!”…he decided to write his outlines first. Once finished, he began converting his outlines...notes to longhand. It was tedious but there was no stated time limit. Head down and busy, he continued. Finally, he looked up and there was no one.

No one in the classroom but him and the professor who didn’t want to be there. He had two of the three essays complete. Nevertheless, he gathered his paper and left his desk for the professor’s.

“Look, I am only done with two of three questions. But if you will review what I have and agree to give me an A, we can both go home”.

The professor looked at the outlines then looked at the two essays and said, “Did you bring these outlines in here”? “No, No!” he said, "I wrote them here when I saw the questions and I am converting them to essay form".

The professor pondered a moment. Perhaps he was thinking of a cold brew waiting in his refrigerator. “Okay” he said. They had a deal.

Philosophy 101... probably not quite the way Socrates intended.

His wife ultimately tacked on another of several degrees.  Her name isn't on any of the certificates but she owns them as much as anyone.

Four O

June 14, 1969

It snowed in Rapid City the day before...

Nothing unusual.

They were on the way to the church.

A little late, speeding a little.

The policeman pulled them over.

"We are heading for our wedding."

"I'm going to have to write you a ticket anyway Sir."

They got there even later.

It was a sign for them,

That life would never be boring.

That afternoon in a church,

The biggest Policeman of all found them worthy.

He gave them a long life together.

Two beautiful children,

And Friends then who are still with them today.

New friends along the way.

A treasure chest full of life experiences.

Good health and good  luck.

On June 14, 2009

They hit the Big Four O.

Thank you Julieann... for life.

Thank you God, for setting the stage.

White Satin Blades

Wind farm near Anita, Iowa

One hundred foot towers

Sixty foot blades

Of white satin majesty

Synchronized with the wind

Collecting energy

Driving it into the ground

Wires shooting it to the city

Bright lights 

Staring back at the wind

 

New Spot

This photo of an artist's rendering.

In from son Tyler's shows, 

A 4'x4' canvas

In Boulder Colorado last night.

The artist painted it during the show

And donated it to the cause.

Sometimes,

While dining on the bounties of life,

You glance down on your shirt

And see a bright new spot. 

You want to just leave it there. 

That way you won' t forget it.