Had a great 4th.

First, check this out. This guy's got an interesting take on the upcoming Live Earth concert. Also, see there where Al Gore's son was recently nabbed doing about 100 in his Prius, trying not to get caught driving drunk, with a bag of weed and pills in the car. Nice to see that those hybrid cars can really pull out when you need them to.

And now, I hope you all had a great 4th of July. I did (click on any of these to enlarge them).



Here are some shots to prove it. Started out the day at about 8AM, going to a good friends house for breakfast. She cooked us all eggs, waffles, ham and biscuits. I think that I started out the day full as a tick, and kept that full feeling going all day long.

Then I went over to Temple and picked up my dad, and we went to watch the annual Belton 4th of July parade. The folks from breakfast were going to meet us there.



Soldiers from Ft. Hood always march in the parade, near the start. Always emotional to see them. There weren't a lot of them this time though, but it was still good to see them.



The marching band from the local high school always shows up, and plays patriotic music.



One of our two senators, and his lovely wife. Our congressman was there too. George W was here in 2000, during the campaign. The crowds then were ridiculous.



Always lots of folks riding horses. There's a rodeo that goes on here this week, coinciding with the holiday, and we'll be attending that this weekend. Love the outfits the vaqueros wear. My dad rode horses in this parade, 60 or 70 years ago.



He always gets teary when I bring him, remembering old times. He does that a lot. My earliest memory of this parade is from sitting on his sholders, standing on the sidewalk down town, down by the county court house.



Things have changed since then. I could almost put him on my shoulders now. Ain't life funny?



There are always a lot of beautiful horses, and horse women...



and then there's the guy who has to follow along after the horses! Wonder how you get that job? Or maybe this guy's followin' along after the Senator? Dunno.



There's always some cool old cars...



and some special vehicles, for advertising various products. This one is selling pretty girls and booze, I believe. Gotta love that.



And then there was this friggin' thing! Local grocery store lost a cart, I guess. Was the hit of the parade. Made a hell of a lot of noise.



And then there were more horses (this is Texas, after all).



Police and fire departments from all the surrounding towns.



Our local Sheriff, riding at the head of his posse. Dan Smith. Nice guy. Met him a few times.



My one surviving uncle, in the pink, and his wife, in the red, and a few of my cousins at the end of this row. Don't know who the scowling woman in the burgundy top was, but she can kiss my ass.



Anyway, the parade wound down main street to the county court house, and then headed out east towards I-35. It was a good time, and though it was overcast, I was happy that it didn't rain or anything. After, I took dad back home, I gave mom a big smooch, and took a few pictures of her back yard...



Had the good camera, so why not. Look how tall those flowers are on the right. Here's a closeup.



And even closer.



Ain't nature cool!




Dad and the dog soon assumed their regular position on the swing, and I was off. After leaving the folks, I joined my friends at one of the local fireworks barns off the highway. We plunked down $70 for all sorts of rockets and other sundry piro, and then headed to the house.

Our objective was to head to one friends house, where we would all congregate, grill dawgs and cheeseburgers, eat and drink and watch the huge fireworks display that is always set off on the base. These folks can see it clearly from their back yard. Very handy. After that we'd set off our own fireworks out in the street in front of their house. We went over there and hung out all day. A good time was had by all. This is Steve, my hosts 15 yr old son, and Steve's pooch, Trevor.



He's a great kid. At one point I told him that when I was his age, living in San Antonio in a secluded cul de sac, my friends and I had set off a whole roll of Black Cats one 4th and watched it erupt. About fifteen minutes later we were in the house when we heard this godawful noise out front. He and his friend had unwrapped one of the rolls of black cats and set it off. It was a LOT louder than I remembered, and smoke went everywhere. Hilarious. I felt bad for a second, and then realized that his mom was cool, and everyone was enjoying themselves.

It had rained that afternoon, so everything was wet and we didn't have to worry about fires starting anywhere. The cops didn't even roll by as the neighborhood erupted in merriment. A few neighbor kids showed up and we let them set off a few rockets. They reminded me of my own childhood in Missouri, when I'd go out with a friend and his dad to shoot off about three grocey sacks full of bombs and bottle rockets while my folks sat inside and watched fireworks on TV. Fuck, some things you need to do yourself, even if it's dangerous or illegal.



Our host busted out the good fancy liqueur. Sweet as hell, and smooth goin' down. Tasted like syrup, with a kick. I told her "Well, this stuff is great, but it's probably not good for the DIABETES!" Laughs all around. Shit, I was eating and drinking all sorts of bad stuff, but my reading this morning was fine. No worries.



Towards zero hour, the clouds began to look like we were gonna get drenched, but it held off till after the official and unofficial fun.



Tried to take pictures of the official fun, but I haven't really figured out all the settings on this camera yet. After all my screwing around, this one is probably my favorite. You can kinda make out the fireworks in there, somewhere. The above shot was taken with a timed exposure, hand held. I know. Whatever!



This one was taken with the "Fireworks" setting turned on, but I could never time the shot right. Wanted to capture the grand finale, but I gave up taking pictures of the official fun and we retreated to the unofficial fun in the front driveway. Turns out this thing is much better at taking conventional shots, or maybe I am. I mean stuff like...



Like more back yard flower shots! Eventually we went out front, where the kids were already setting up for the illicit fun.



Here's Steve, trying to set off a home made smoke bomb. He learned how to do this on YouTube. The Internet is such a cool thing, eh?



It didn't go off as planned though. An earlier one had worked, but this one just flamed up. The weather was cooperating nicely, so i put the camera down and we had a great time firing rockets and watching other fireworks be set off in other driveways down the street. Swore I also heard a few celebratory gun shots. Had broached the idea of loading one of my AKs with blanks and cutting loose, but level heads prevailed. Figured we'd be risking enough with the illegal fireworks. Why tempt fate?

Well, that was most of my evening. The rest is private, and none of your friggin' bidneth. maybe some day I'll talk about that, but not here. Hope your 4th was as much fun. Cheers.

A little history on the 4th.

Was thinkin' the other night, realizing the day of days was almost upon us again, and decided it had been a while since I pontificated on this page at length.

Was thinking about the date, and maybe that a few of you don't know the first time that date became important to the Father of our Country. Ever think why, even in his life time, he was called the Father of the Country? It wasn't because he slept around. Turns out he was a hell of a guy, but he wasn't much of a battlefield general. Only won about three battles in his whole lifetime, but you really don't learn much from winning, do you? Some people don't even learn much from defeat, but Washington not only learned lessons from defeat, he earned the undying respect from his soldiers and his nation, and even his enemies.

I love tellin' this story to my students. I've even, on a late night after a long tiring day, found myself fighting back tears, standing there sniffling like a fool, telling them how much we owe this man. For those who pay attention, the history of this country is a rich palate, and there is so much passion in it, I can't tell ya. It chokes me up all the time.

Lots of people have heard that he had wooden teeth. They tell it like it's a joke, and don't stop to think why. Of course, they weren't wooden. Whale bone I think. Painful to wear. Thing is, his teeth rotted out of his head because of a period in his youth when he suffered from malnutrition. The man who would become the richest planter in Virginia actually starved for a period in his childhood, like a lot of farmer/settlers did, when the vagaries of weather moved against them. He didn't become the great, rich planter until he married Martha, who was an older widow. He raised her children from her previous marriage, but they never had children of their own. So he ended up latching on to some of his staff, like Hamilton, Lafayette, and Knox, and seeing them as his surrogate sons.

First time Washington's name came up in the history books is around 1752. The French had moved troops into Western Pennsylvania, up state New York, and the Ohio country, trying to run the British and Colonial American settlers and fur traders off, trying to establish firmer control over the territory. This set of events will eventually turn into something called the French and Indian War, one of the most important events in our history. Without it, there might not have been a revolution.

The French had never been able to get a lot of settlers to go to New France (Canada), and the English colonies were steadily encroaching on the lands they claimed, and Indian tribes they traded firs with. The English used their colonies as a dumping ground for all the religious groups or petty criminals/poor folks that they didn't want to live with in Britain. As a result, the population of the colonies was doubling about every 26 years. For the French, seeing this demographic wave cresting over them, control of the continent was at stake. The French moved south in force, and drove all the settlers and traders out of the territory. A few of those fir traders were from Virginia. The Lieutenant Governor of Virginia, named Dinwiddle, sent a young, 21 yr. old planter and surveyor, member of the Virginia legislature, George Washington, on a diplomatic mission to tell the French they were trespassing on Virginia's territory.

Back in those days, none of the colonies had western borders, and Virginia claimed everything west of her, and north and south of her. The place in question here, where these Virginians had been run out of, was a fort at the confluence of the Monongahela and Allegheny rivers, where those rivers join to form the Ohio. Today, that place is called Pittsburgh.

Washington was led up there by a Seneca Indian named Half King, and was told by the French that this place was theirs, and that he should return to Virginia. He did, was promoted to be a Lt. Colonel in the Virginia militia, and sent back with troops to try to take the place. He got up there with his militiamen, and Half King's Seneca warriors, and found that the French had strengthened the fort. He didn't think he could take it, so he decided to build a new one nearby.

Long story short; Washington's choice of where to put the fort was a disaster, and when the French came down on him, he was forced to surrender to keep his men alive. His inexperience cost his men their lives, and he never forgot it. The day he surrendered... July 4th, 1754.

The French sent he and his men back to Virginia after he signed a surrender document, written in French, which Washington didn't speak or read. The whole incident sparked a wider war in Europe, and made Washington's name famous both here and in Britain. Washington went back to Virginia, was promoted again (WHAT?), and goes back up into the disputed wilderness in 1755 at the head of a larger force, led by a British general and a few hundred British regulars. They got up into what is now western Pennsylvania and were jumped by hundreds of Indians who were allied to the French. In the ensuing disaster, the British general and many officers are killed, and Washington was forced to take over.

In the process of getting most of his men out of this mess alive, he had 3 horses shot out from under him, and 4 musket balls shot through his coat without hitting him. In this instance, and over and over again in the Revolution, Washington displayed amazing personal courage in the face of the enemy, inspiring his men and his nation to love him. What's more important, he didn't waste their lives in fruitless adventurism or self aggrandizement. After this disaster, called the Battle of the Wilderness, having become a huge hero in the colonies, Washington put in for a regular commission in the British army. They turned him down, and he took off his militia uniform, not to put it on again till his country called in 1775.

During the Revolution, Washington's role was almost more political than tactical. He was like a combination of both Generals Marshall, Eisenhower, and Bradley in World War Two; keeping the cause going in the face of an overwhelming British superiority, and the ineptitude of the congress that was supposedly running things, running the tactical and diplomatic side of the war, and keeping the force together and trained, so that American soldiers, by the end of the war, were a match for any in the world.

In the process, Washington was seen more and more by everyone as our surrogate executive. The institution that the people followed was increasingly the Continental Army, and not the disappointing Continental Congress. People were heard to say, "The Brits have their George (King George III), so why shouldn't we have our George?" Americans, after all were really British people, with a British political culture, so it was perfectly natural for them to crave the order that the monarchy symbolized. It's often the case, when a people try to make the transition to messy and frustrating democratic government, that they choose to back slide and allow some general or set of colonels to take over and restore order. The British did it, after their Civil War in the 1640s. We came very close, and it's probably Washington's greatest moment.

The war began to draw to a close in October of 1781, after the American/French victory at Yorktown. Our diplomats began negotiating terms with the British in Paris, but the treaty wasn't finished till November of 1782. Washington had to keep the Continental Army together for about a year, while the diplomats argued. The men were camped in Newburgh, New York, and they weren't being paid or supplied. The state governments were no longer interested in shelling out the money, since the war was over. The 13 colonies were now 13 sovereign nations, joined together in a loose union, and no one could make them pay up. The officers could resign their commissions and go home, but out of solidarity with their men, many of them stayed, and the complaining eventually turned into plotting. They decided that Washington had to be made king, or all they had fought for would be wasted. Order had to be established. One problem though; Washington didn't want to be king.

The news got out of the plotting, that we call the Newburgh Conspiracy today, and congress went into a panic. Washington found out about it, and what do you think he did? Did he send loyal troops to arrest and hang the plotters for treason? Nope. He found out when and where they were going to meet next, and he showed up there and talked them out of it. He stood up in front of them as the representative of the congress that he detested, and convinced them all to give that congress another chance to work things out. In doing this, he preserved the notion of civilian control over the military, and the notion that we in America don't solve our political disputes with military coups and gunfire. When the time came, he had a huge party to say goodbye to his men. They all cried and embraced, and then he took off his uniform and went back to his private life.

Many of these early leaders were all educated in classical terms, and one story that they'd all heard was the story of the old, retired Roman general Cincinnatus. About 2300 years ago, Cincinnatus was living on his villa, growing grapes, when an army of Celts crossed the alps and began ransacking Italy. The Senate sent several armies to deal with the issue, but they were all defeated. Finally, in desperation, the senate offered Cincinnatus absolute power, a Kings power, if he would lead the army.

At that time, this kind of power was given out only in dire emergencies, and it was expected to be given back to the Senate when the emergency ended. Cincinnatus defeated the Celts, driving them back over the Alps, and then, with all the popularity of a victorious general, and the people behind him, he handed the power back to the Senate and went back to his villa. Ever since then, the image of Cincinnatus has been used to illustrate the notion of Statesmanship, and Nobles Oblige.

Washington, coming from common background, spent his whole life reading books and studying how to be a real gentleman. When the time came, and we needed a Cincinnatus, he was our man. He wasn't perfect, but no one is. The point is, he could have been a Napoleon or a Caesar, deciding to take power to save the day. In stead, he chose to be a Cincinnatus. We owe him everything for that. Later, when serious deficiencies arose with the system we had originally adopted, he was instrumental in getting the Constitutional Convention going in 1787, and acted as the presiding officer at Philadelphia. Then, being the only man everyone trusted with the job, he served two terms as our first president. He's the only president to receive unanimous votes in the electoral college, twice. He died of pneumonia, maybe bled to death by his doctors, after riding around his land in the dead of winter, checking his property. He died as he lived, doing his duty, and trying to be a good shepherd. Next time you take out a dollar bill, look at the picture, and say thanks.

When you watch the fireworks tonight, as I will, remember why they're there. Remember the War of 1812, and the roughly 1000 men and women at Ft. McHenry, outside Baltimore, and what they went through. On September 13th and 14th, 1814, they withstood a day and a half of bombardment by the biggest guns the British had. An American lawyer who was on a ship tied up with the British fleet, trying to win the release of another prisoner, saw the flag flying defiantly as the sun came up on the 14th, and was inspired. Frances Scott Key supposedly took and envelope out of his pocket and jotted down this poem;

Oh, say can you see, by the dawn's early light,
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming?
Whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the perilous fight,
O'er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming?
And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.
O say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

On the shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep,
Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes,
What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep,
As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses?
Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam,
In full glory reflected now shines on the stream:
'Tis the star-spangled banner! O long may it wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.

And where is that band who so vauntingly swore
That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion
A home and a country should leave us no more?
Their blood has wiped out their foul footstep's pollution.
No refuge could save the hireling and slave
From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave:
And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.

Oh! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand
Between their loved homes and the war's desolation!
Blest with victory and peace, may the heaven-rescued land
Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation.
Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,
And this be our motto: "In God is our trust."
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

Never heard the whole thing, have ya? I can't read it without ballin'. Of course, the first stanza was soon put to the tune of a popular drinking song, printed up and distributed around, and eventually became our national anthem. Isn't it cool as hell that our anthem was a drinking song? What would the tight-assed bastards these days do with that if they could? I can't stop thinking that our forefathers must be spinning in their graves, seeing what we've allowed to be done with the freedom they left to us.

I can't stop thinking about all the people who've died fighting to build and protect this country, and that we owe them everything we have. More importantly, we owe it to the future generations who'll inherit the country from us. Hell, we owe it to the people we stole the place from, not to let the purveyors of propriety and safety ruin it any more than they already have. It's a huge responsibility. Think about it tonight, when you're having a good time. Knock one back for the folks who are watching us from somewhere else. Light one up for the folks who didn't make it, and can't be here with us today.

I told this to my class Tuesday afternoon, just before letting them go for the holiday. One guy, a soldier who has served in Iraq, smiled and said he would be having a few extra beers Wednesday for his buds who didn't make it back. I know a few vets from an older war that feel the same way. I can't say it any better than they could. I'll tip a few for them tonight, watching the fireworks display on the base, wishing we could watch it together, slap each other on the back, hug each other and laugh about it all. Maybe some day.

So, when you're watching the fireworks tonight, think of those folks, all those hundreds of years ago, and right up to today. Think of all it took to build what we have, and don't forget it. Don't let it be pissed away. The future is in our hands, and nothing is written. People and nations create their own destiny, so think about that, and what you can do in your own life to ensure that our nations future is as rich as it's past. Cheers.

Another little musical interlude.

Metal not your cup of tea? Well, there's a time and a place for everything I guess, if you've got an open mind. Found a killer video on YouTube the other day. A piece of a live concert filmed in Paris in 1970 that'll rock yer socks off, but I won't post that for a few days. One of the best live performances I think I've ever seen from this band, filmed in their youthful glory.

Sometimes I need to feel the drums, bass, and electric guitar in my gut. I crank up some power trio, or some power trio with a singer, and I close my eyes and bang my head like a fool. The chills go all the way through me. Sometimes I need to hear some old Black man sing and play the slide, tellin' me about his woman, his sorrow and his travails, so that by listening, my own seem lighter and easier to bear.

Sometimes I need to hear a man from the hills of Kentucky, wailin' and strummin' a mandolin, or a guy from Texas with a cheap guitar, yodelin' and singin' about life in the Dust Bowl and being a sharecropper, both of them givin' me their versions of the blues. Sometimes I need to sit back and enjoy the softer, more melodic side of things.

Along those lines, as a break for some between the loud guitar solos, here's a great little piece called Fantasia on a Theme of Thomas Tallis. It's by a great British composer named Ralph (pronounced Raiffe) Vaughan Williams. I love this guy's music. You may recognise this from the film Master and Commander. They use it lavishly. Again, turn up the speakers, close your eyes, relax and enjoy.

There's a picture meme goin' around.

The Hammer tagged me to post a picture of me as a kid. Think I already did, but here goes. Alright ladies, all together... Aaaaaaaaawwww.

Here's the official portrait, from Bermuda in 1960.



But this one is one of my favorites.



Apparently I was walking very early and getting into mischief quite often. Fascinated by the kitchen cabinets. And for perspective...



You know, I grew a little bit. Nowadays I can reach just about any friggin' thing I want. That's my buddy Rascal, by the way. RIP buddy!

Anyway, who am I gonna tag? Hmmm, well, a lot of bloggers are understandably reluctant to go there. Understand that, and won't ask. There's Mushy, but he's already done it. Hmmm, how about the Goddess, over at Blond Ambition? Come on babe, just a kiddy shot. Nothin' too revealing! How about Bruno? Lets see a before and after big guy. No pressure man. And maybe... the shrinkwrapped scream. Based on her last post, It sounds like she's game.

Soooo, what's your cold dead corpse worth?

$4650.00The Cadaver Calculator - Find out how much your body is worth

And it's a friggin' HUGE body at that. Well, I'll have take better care of it now. Maybe it'll appreciate in value.

And for Metal Monday, how's about a little Stinkfist, by the band Tool? If this don't wake you up and freak you out, nothin' will. Love these guys. Saw them in San Antonio at the Sunken Garden Theater back in about 2001 or 2. Amazing show. Maybe the best I ever saw, so far. Videos are always freaky. Oh, and you really will need to crank this. Enjoy.

Here's what the guy's singing:

Something has to change.
Un-deniable dilemma.
Boredom's not a burden
Anyone should bear.

Constant over stimulation numbs me
and I wouldn't have
It any other way.

But it's not enough.
I need more.
Nothing seems to satisfy.
I don't want it.
I just need it.
To breathe, to feel, to know I'm alive.

Finger deep within the borderline.
Show me that you love me and that we belong together.
Relax, turn around and take my hand.

I can help you change
Tired moments into pleasure.
Say the word and we'll be
Well upon our way.

Blend and balance
Pain and comfort
Deep within you
Till you will not want me any other way.

It's not enough.
I need more.
Nothing seems to satisfy.
I don't want it.
I just need it.
To breathe, to feel, to know I'm alive.

Knuckle deep inside the borderline.
This may hurt a little but it's something you'll get used to.
Relax. Slip away.

Something kinda sad about
the way that things have come to be.
Desensitized to everything.
What became of subtlety?

How can it mean anything to me
If I really don't feel anything at all?

I'll keep digging till
I feel something.

Elbow deep inside the borderline.
Show me that you love me and that we belong together.
Shoulder deep within the borderline.
Relax. Turn around and take my hand.

Is that some freaky shit or what? Love it!

What does your ability to sign your name with your mouse say about you?

Took me a few tries to get something on there that looked a bit like my signature. Try it, It's harmless.



What does your handwriting say about YOU?

The results of my analysis said:

You plan ahead, and are interested in beauty, design, outward appearance, and symmetry.
You are a shy, idealistic person who does not find it easy to have relationships, especially intimate ones.
You are affectionate, passionate, expressive, and future-oriented.
You are a talkative person, maybe even a busybody!
You enjoy life in your own way and do not depend on the opinions of others.

Well, I wish I didn't care what other people thought, but the rest is pretty damn good. Hilarious.

Another cool pic from the Astronomy site.

Explanation: Vertical cliffs of nearly two kilometers occur near the North Pole of Mars. Also visible in the above image of the Martian North Polar Cap are red areas of rock and sand, white areas of ice, and dark areas of unknown composition but hypothesized to be volcanic ash. The cliffs are thought to border volcanic caldera. Although the sheer drop of the Martian cliffs is extreme, the drop is not as deep as other areas in our Solar System, including the 3.4-kilometer depth of Colca Canyon on Earth and the 20 kilometer depth of Verona Rupes on Uranus' moon Miranda. The above image, digitally reconstructed into a perspective view, was taken by the High Resolution Stereo Camera on board the ESA's robotic Mars Express spacecraft currently orbiting Mars.

Scratchy old video from Yes in the round.

Saw this concert tour when they came through Ft. Worth in the late '70s. Wish the video was better, but oh well. Enjoy.





The pajamas and the Key tar are such a giveaway. 70's stoner rock, but I love it. Spinal Tap bustin' out all over, but I love the hell out of it.

Hilarious!

Your Penis Name Is...

Poka-her-hontas

Penis Name Generator

I wonder if this mother fucker cares how many lives he's ruining to pay his bills?

On that cheery note, I'm headin' over to get dad and pig out on Chinese food. Enjoy your weekend.

Q&A time, and another Friday trip to Dynasty.

Recently went over to the Shrinkwrapped Scream, and read a post she wrote answering questions put to her by another blogger. Kind of a meme, but different. Her answers were great. She said if anyone was game, to speak up and send her a comment. I did, and she emailed me these questions.

My job now is to answer her questions and then pass this thing on to anyone who desires to be grilled. So, here we go. My answers are in blue. Her first question:

1) Let's begin with a little background. I know you grew up as a military brat. Did that mean your father was often absent? If so, what impact, if any, did it have upon family dynamics? Were you closer to anyone in particular there? On average, what was the longest time you stayed in one house? Did you ever get boarded? If so, did you enjoy that experience?

Holy shit! Is that all one fuckin' friggin' question? Ok, first of all, my dad was in the Air Force, so we went where he went. If he'd been in the Navy or Merchant Marine, or if he'd gone to Vietnam, we would have had long periods without him, but the way things were, he basically had a 9 to 5 job. He drove to the base in the morning and then home for dinner in the evening. We just lived in a foreign country while some of this was going on. Mom ran the house and took care of us, and dad was the bread winner. They saw it as a partnership, and it mostly worked out well.

We lived in England from 67 to 70, but the rest was in the US, in places like Nebraska, Missouri, and Texas. I was born in Bermuda, at the Kinley Air Force Base hospital, in 1960. My sister was born in England, during my families first tour there in the early '50s.

Longest time we were anywhere during dads career was maybe 3 years. Then, after he retired, we spent 18 years in Ft. Worth, living on the southwest side of town.

I guess I was closer to mom as a kid, but really, I don't remember being too close to any of them. I was a loner, in my room most of the time, in my own world. We were (my sis and I) just beginning to get the hang of living there, making friends, when we were picked up and moved to Missouri. Starting over was rough, but that was our life.

Some people deal with that by learning to be more gregarious and outwardly fun loving (sis) and some by shutting into themselves (me). Got used to living that way, and I'm only now trying to learn how to work my way out of it. No boarding schools for me, but it might have been a good thing.

2) An extension of no.1 really. What is your adult relationship like with your family? Do you all live near to each other? How did you choose to settle where you did? Are you settled, or can you see yourself living elsewhere at some point?

We've been through a lot together, the Wilson clan, and we're still a tight little unit. Sis jokes about how no one else is allowed in, trying to explain why nether of us have been able to have much of a successful social life. She left home at 19, getting away from the folks in a rage over stuff that seems stupid now, but I got along with the folks pretty well.

I was in school or working most of the time, and did my own cooking and cleaning, laundry included, but I stayed at home till I was about 30. I lived at home through college and grad school, and then got the job in March of '90, living and working on Navy ships that were deployed around the world, but all my stuff was still with Mom and Dad.

I loved the hell out of that job. Sailed or flew around the world several times, seeing a war and a lot of other eye opening things. I grew up a hell of a lot in the process. When my folks decided in the summer of '93 to move from Ft. Worth to Temple, to be close to my ailing maternal Grandmother, they moved all my stuff there too. I looked into teaching on the base here while I was between cruises, went out on one more ship, and then started teaching on Ft. Hood part time in January of '94.

Lived with the folks while I made car payments on the new Jeep (was makin' about 16 or 18 grand a year then), payin' it off as quick as I could, and then moved out in the summer of '97 to go back to school in San Marcos, to get qualified to teach more classes. Been out of their house since then, but still see them all the time. Take Dad to eat Chinese food every Friday night, and see Mom on Fridays and usually on the weekend.

After staying away for a long time, Sis has moved closer to be near the folks as they get older, and she and I are still single. I'll be here, teachin' on Ft. Hood, as long as they are alive. When they both go, It'll be a wrenching experience, breaking a connection that is basic to my existence, but I've grown pretty strong since I flew off to Naples on that first teaching job, and I know I'll make it through, with the help of good friends. Then, who knows? Think some times about selling everything and going out on the ships again. Seeing the world again. Who knows?

3) What was your first paid job? What did you see yourself doing when you first left school? What are you doing now, and what would be your dream job? Oh, one more (I can fit as many sub-questions as I like in here, we're playing by my rules now, my friend) did you ever follow in your fathers footsteps and join the military, and if not, why not?

My first paying Job? I had a job at a local Revco drug store in high school, and then one at the Seminary South Cinema in Ft. Worth. Nether lasted too long. I was a scared little puppy, and didn't deal well with crowds or anything else back then. I made some money for a while mowing lawns, and then I started getting VA money in college, from Dad's retirement pension, and that allowed me to avoid the inevitoble for a while.

Then I found out about a tour to the Soviet Union, run out of the Russian language department at UTA (I took Russian in school). My folks told me if I wanted to go, I'd have to get a job and raise the $2000 myself. I found a great job through a buddy as a security guard at an oil company named Gearhart Industries, off I-35 on the south side of Ft. Worth. Put the VA money in the bank along with most of the money that Gearhart payed me. I kept that job for years. They basically payed me to sit and study, and drive a cool old LTD around the place and jam.

Loved the midnight shift that first year. Cool nighttime temps in the Texas summers, and very few people to mess with ya. Eventually I went on that tour, and spent 5 weeks in Europe, including 2 1/2 weeks in the Soviet Union (summer of '83). When I got back, I moved to the 4-12 shift. I learned a lot about other people, and myself, in those years. Had that job till the place went under during the oil glut of the mid '80s. Still see the place every time I drive up I-35 to Ft. Worth to see friends. Lots of good memories there.

A little while later, while I was in grad school, I got a job as a night shift security guard at the Colonial Country Club. That place was a trip, I wanna tell ya. Rich people are crazy, and a huge pain in the ass. Had the keys to all the walk-ins and was there all night, mostly by myself. Perfect job for a fat hairy shut-in. I started working out at a gym while I worked there, and while I finished grad school. I lost a lot of weight and got stronger, and felt a bit better about myself, actually had a girlfriend for a while, but nothing came of it. I still mostly stayed to myself, and didn't let her get close. I missed out on a lot of fun in my 20s and 30s, because I was so painfully shy. Wish I knew the hell why, but there's no going back and fixing it.

When I got my Masters in History, I put out a lot of resumes, trying to get a job teaching History at a community college. After about a year, the folks at Central Texas College called, wanting me to fly off to Naples, Italy and get on a destroyer, the USS Thorn. Scared the piss out of me, but I did it anyway. I almost turned around and flew home half way through the trip over, but made myself do it, and ended up having a great time. I loved the hell out of that job. It changed my life. I felt real confidence for the first time. Felt like a grown-up for the first time. Think I got real respect from my father for the first time.

Today I teach History and Government for Central Texas College and Tarleton State University. I'm still officially part-time, but get all the benefits of a full time teacher, and make as much money, or more, than a full time professor. Just have to teach more classes to do it. As far as my dream job, It'd probably be the one I have now, only makin' a LOT more money and workin' a lot less. Well, ether that or playin' slide guitar in a blues band, or piano in a cat house.

And no, I never joined the military, though I did do two years in ROTC in college. If I had it to do over again, 18 again, being the man I am now, I think I'd enjoy the hell out of it. The kid I was back then though, they'd a eaten me alive. I'm a very different person now.

4) Who was your first love, how old were you, how did you meet, are you still together, and if not, why? When was the last time you saw her?

Back in England, just before we were sent home to the states, I began to come out of my shell a bit. Had a few friends, and some of them were horny as hell. I was in a strip club for a while; little kids (8 or 9 years old), goin' out in the woods and showing the others what we had. Show and tell. One girl, don't remember her name, showed us everything, and we hit it off. We crawled into a bush once or twice and rubbed asses, not knowin' what the hell we were doin'. I think If we'd stayed in England for another few years, I might have lost it in about the 5th or 6th grade. Those girls were crazy. Her mom found out about it all and I never saw her again.

Anyway, a while later, just before we left town, my heart was broken by the little girl next door. Her name was Marsha. I hung out with her for a long time and we did everything together, till one day I saw her with another girl, sitting on the grass, watching the other kids play ball. I walked up to her and tried to talk to her, but she just flat out told me that she wasn't going to play with me any more. I was stunned. I went back the house, climbed to the top of the wooden fence that separated our yards, and I cried my eyes out.

Her dad came out and asked me what was wrong, and I told him "Marsha doesn't love me any more." I was fucking destroyed. He didn't say much. Turned around and walked back in the house. My mom told me later that she suspected that her folks had told her to stop playing with me. Didn't want their little Catholic daughter getting to close to the Protestant kid next door. Shit, I didn't know one from the other, but I think I learned to stay to myself from then on. Being out there was too painful.

Believe it or not, that was it for romance. We moved to Missouri, and I went back in my shell. We moved a few more times, and I think I missed out on whatever stage of socialization that teaches you how to relate to others and be a normal human being. In stead I learned how to fake it, and got pretty good at it. Still tryin' to work my way out of all that crap today, with the help of some friends. It's the one thing I still have left to learn about being a fully human being.

Met someone recently; British, ex service wife, administrator at the college. She's a bit older, but still very well preserved. Sweet as hell, and smart. Found out tonight we have the same birthday! What the hell are the odds of that? We'll see what happens.

5) Money is no object, you have given to the charities and causes you support, what do you want to do with the rest of your life?

If I didn't have to work, and could do anything? Dude, the fish would all be in sooooo much trouble. I'd do nothing but travel the world, fishing and canoing, and seeing friends.

I'd rent one of those huge yachts and pay for all my blogger buds to sail to Alaska, or Fiji, or wherever.

I'd buy about 500 acres on the edge of a national park in northeast New Mexico and live like a king. Live simple, self-sustaining, off the grid, but very well. I'd have a place in the Hill Country of Texas too, and Alaska. Damn, I can spend imaginary money like a fool.

Seriously, I'd probably get a PhD in History just for the hell of it, and then spend the rest of my life taking care of my friends. We'd do all the stuff we ever dreamed of doing, and I'd pay the bills. What the hell else is money for?

Well, that's more crap about me than anyone ever needed to know. Question is, do YOU want to be interviewed?

Interview rules:

1. Leave me a comment saying “Interview me.”

2. I will respond by emailing you five questions. I get to pick the questions.

3. You will update your blog with a post containing your answers to the questions.

4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.

5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

Ok folks, who's on first?

Well, It's Friday, so you know what I'll be doing tonight. I'll take dad out to eat Chinese, visit with mom for a while, and then probably look up that new friend. New wrinkle on the old routine. It'll take some getting used to, but I think I can handle it.

Wouldn't live there if you paid me, but wouldn't mind visiting.

You Belong in Brooklyn

Down to earth and hard working, you're a true New Yorker. NOT! And although you may be turning into a yuppie, you never forget your roots. Yuppie? Eat my fuckin' ass, yankee. Never leavin' Texas again. TEXAS FOREVER!

Where Should Your Inner New Yorker Live?

Aw go on, click on it. It's harmless.

And here's a little somethin' for a sick buddy. Enjoy man.



And why not, here's another.

Went to Dallas over the weekend and had a great time.

I told you guys Friday that I'd been invited to go up to Big "D" with some friends to see a food show at the Convention Center (Thought it was gonna be at Market Hall - Not!). We had a great time, even thought a few of the folks turned out to be dullards (love 'em anyway). The others are still up there, staying till Tuesday. I had to teach classes Monday, so I couldn't stay that long.

We left the main campus (central meeting spot) at about 8:15am. I drove my own car, wanting to be able to jet if the scene turned out to be lame. Another guest (not a cook, but a friend like me) rode with me so she'd have a way to get back. We stopped in West for a breakfast of Czech bakery fare, and made it to Dallas by 11:00. We unloaded everyone's crap, parked the cars at a lot down the way, and checked into the Hyatt.

These folks were on an official visit for the school, so their rooms and entry fees to the show were paid for by the college. The room I got bit my ass for $160 for one night, but what the hell? It was worth it to enjoy the weekend. It's only money. I can make more. The room was very comfortable and nice, and I'd do it again in a heartbeat. Here's what my view looked like out the window,



looking at the train station (white bldg. in foreground) and the downtown area beyond.



And the view down left, towards Dealey Plaza, and the old Texas School Book Depository, now the Sixth Floor Museum. I'd been there a few times, but others in the group hadn't, so when we were thinking about things to do this first day, I said that we should walk over there.

It's a very moving place. The emotion wells up as you think about what happened there, and what might have been. It's a shrine to JFK and the official memory of the Camelot era, which can be a bit nauseating if you know some of the details of the history, but you can't help but be moved in that place. I have persistent fantasies, standing next to the 6th floor window and looking down at the mark on the street where it all happened, wishing I could be magically transported back, beat that syphilitic mother fucker to death with his own rifle and throw his ass out the window. Anyway, If you ever get to Dallas, you should check it out.

We walked back to the hotel after, and I tried to go swimming in the piddly-assed little pool on the 3rd floor roof. That lasted about 15 minutes. Then we got together and talked about going somewhere and getting some food; just a snack before dinner. We didn't want to get a full meal. A few in the group were taking naps, and we had plans to go out on the town and get a big dinner eventually. I told them we could walk back over just beyond the JFK museum and check out the restaurants in the West End. Lots of cool spots over there. So that's what we did.

We ended up going into a place called Gator's, and ordering the Garbage Nachos and chips 'n queso. The nachos were covered in sour cream, guacamole, Cheese, pico de gallo and salsa, all piled onto a plate of chips. That stuff was great, and filling, and I stayed full the rest of the day. We noted that the place had a piano, and a roof area that some people were heading up to, but the sun was out and we weren't interested in goin' up there and bakin'. After eating we strolled back, checking out the menus and prices at all the steak places along the way. Goin' out with these cooks is a trip, I wanna tell ya. Not only do they know how to cook, but they know what sounds like a good deal from the cut of meat and how it's prepared. It's like eating with pros. Well, it's like them going to the Sixth Floor with me, frankly, and then asking me a lot of questions. We complement each other very nicely. Good friends.

So, we walked back to the Hyatt and relaxed for a few hours. I watched TV in my room with the lady that had ridden up in my car. She was feelin' kinda like a fifth wheel. Didn't wear the right shoes, and was working up blisters on one foot. She soaked her feet in my tub and I gave her a foot massage at one point, and then she used my band aids to bolster her hooves for the nights walking (I'd cut my finger a few days earlier, which is why I had the band aids). We were gonna be heading back over to the west end, and I was determined to get these guys to go to Deep Ellum if I could swing it. I wanted to hear a real Blues band, and wasn't gonna be denied.

When the time came, we walked over to the west end and decided to try the Hoffbrau Steak House. There were seven of us in all, so we had to sit and wait for a table that was big enough.



As we sat there, the professionals looked over the menu and we all decided what we were gonna have. I ordered the 16 oz. T-Bone, a side of bacon wrapped shrimp (BBQ this time, and different from the ones I've told you about before - called Sweetwater Shrimp), fried okra, a good salad, and a large, cold draft Coors Light from the tap. The drinks came out quick, and the salad and bread came soon after.



One little loaf for the seven of us, so the professional set out to cut it neatly and we ended up having more than enough. We were all still full from that late lunch anyway, and didn't need the bread.



My first draft didn't last long. Went down so smooth and cold, I killed it way ahead of the others. Just ordering it threw the others into a tizzy. They know I don't usually drink much, so after I ordered it, the lady next to me (cutting the bread earlier) was so frazzled she ended up ordering a root bear float as her beverage (she'd been thinking of having it for desert). We all looked at each other and laughed, but that float was damn good. I was seeing people walking up the street with ice cream cones, so I knew what desert I was gonna be looking for after we left.

The cone was chocolate chip, and it was delish! Two scoops. Head west down the way from Hoffbrau and you can't miss the place, on the left. As we walked out of the restaurant and looked for the ice cream, we heard music coming from across the way. The band was playing on the roof of Gators, and they sounded good, doing a cover of Blue on Black, by Kenny Wayne Sheperd. I'd given up on getting these folks to drive down to Deep Ellum and see some real Blues bands by this time, so I figured this was my only shot left. Most of the group went back to the hotel, but the lady who'd ridden up with me and one of the cooks joined me on the roof. It couldn't have been a better night.



Turns out they have live bands up there most nights, performing from 9pm to 1am. These guys go by the name Elmo Blue, and they rocked our asses off. They played a mixture of contemporary and classic rock/blues covers, from Santana to ZZ top, to SRV, to a rocking rendition of Ticket To Ride that was better than the Beatles version. Plus they played some older blues tunes, some of which I didn't recognise. They took a fifteen minute break at about 1145, and then came back with Red House, and then I'm Tore Down. My buddy and I couldn't believe our luck. He ordered another round of CLs, and the three of us were feeling very happy. May well have effected my picture taking.



This guy is a great buddy of mine. We went to see ZZ-Top a few months back, and had a great time. We love the same music.

I remembered another good buddy about half way through that Hendrix number. Thought about how much he'd be lovin' this whole scene. I thought about it for a while and then remembered that I had his cell number. I opened the phone and gave him a call. I knew it was WAY past his bedtime, and that I'd get his voice mail. I set the phone down to try to let him hear the music for a bit and hoped the message would get through. Life is fucking useless as hell without good friends to enjoy it with, and I've got some great ones, but they're spread out all over. This one lives too fuckin' far away. One of these days buba!

The view from the roof was cool as hell, from the green argon lights of the Bank Of America Building, reflecting on other buildings around it...



To the sight of the amazingly cantilevered ladies that were strolling in and out of the place (Sorry, no pictures). One such product of surgery strolled up on the arm of an old geezer, and my buddy and I just looked at each other and started to laugh. Our female companion laughed as hard as we did, watching us act like fools. The night was good.

After the band shut down, we went downstairs and had a listen to the piano player. He was good too, but I was missing the guitars. Someone yelled out that they wanted to hear Piano Man, and he yelled back "Fuck You!" Hilarious.



We walked back to the Hyatt, and my buddy was bobbing and weaving from the booze.



I took this picture from the walk home, showing the green lights of the Bank of America plaza. reflected in the glass of the hotel.

I told him "Son, you need more meat on those bones, to soak up that alcohol." I was steady as a rock. We got him to his room on the 20th floor, and then I left this nice lady at her room on the 16th, and then headed to mine on the 8th. Showered and collapsed on the queen size. Woke fresh as a daisy at 9ish, thinking "Is that rain?". Turned out to be the trains across the way. I called around and found out the plan was to head over to the food show at about 11. There was a shuttle to the convention Center from the hotel. Easy peasy.

We hit that place like a storm. It was a lot like a gun show; lots of rows to walk up and down and cool shit to look at, and folks tryin' to sell you somethin'. The first three rows were all booze.



All these vendors were trying to sell this stuff to the folks who run restaurants and bars. I was swillin' little cups of this vodka, this other beer, and that smoothie, thinkin' that if this crap keeps up, I was gonna be lit up in no time. Hell, It wasn't even 1130. And the stuff was good too. Free booze and all the crap you can hall away. Pens, Frisbees, you name it. It was like trick-or-treating for adults.



And the place was HUGE! This is isle 3, out of 28. Lots of walking. They had every sort of kitchen implement, freezer, oven, dish washer, even refrigerated trucks, that you could imagine. And the food; there were little finger foods all over. Fried this and that, sea food, dessert pastries, ice cream, and more booze. We just walked around and grazed all day. The Borden folks even had a cow or two.

Some dude was demonstrating food carving.



Purdy eh? There was even a seminar on restaurant security; how to keep from having all the copper ripped out of your AC units, and your kegs stolen. We sat in just to take a load off for a while. One guy talked about putting razor wire around the roof of his walk-ins to stop crooks. I thought, "damn!" I know enough about that business to know that if they're loosing shit out of the walk-ins, it's more likely the employees doin' the stealin'.

My passenger and I cut out at about 4pm, after seeing everthing there was to see. We had to drive home, and I was tired! The drive was OK. Filled up the tank in Waco for $2.72 a gallon. We stopped at a Mexican place in Temple for dinner, her way of paying me back for the ride, and I dropped her off at her place in Killeen. It felt good to be home. Great to have a weekend that tires you so that work seems easier. I'm gonna go back though. Too much fun to be had up there. We're all talking about going tubing in New Braunfels in a few weeks, so the fun will continue.

Another little musical interlude.

Most of the stuff in my CD collection is typical classic Rock/Blues, but I've also loved real classical music most of my life. It comes from the time in the late '60s when I was about 7 or 8 years old, stuck in the house in England during all that friggin' rain, or just avoiding the older kids that were always roaming the base housing we lived in lookin' to kick my ass. I was bigger than they were, but too young to know how to kick their ass back, so they had fun at my expense. I'd like to meet a few of those fuckin' guys today.

Stuck in the room, my folks made sure I had books, and my sister and I had record players and a set of old encyclopedias to kill time with. I used to go to sleep most nights with a half dozen of those volumes on the floor next to my bed, usually open to sections dealing with the Romans, or Dinosaurs, or the like. While my sister amassed a nice collection of pop records, my Mom would buy me records at the BX that told all sorts of cool stories. The Lost World was a favorite, and Ali Baba And The Forty Thieves was another. Some of them actually came with a Classic Comic in the wrapping. Loved the hell out of those comics.

Ali Baba was set to the music of Nicolai Rimsky-Korsakov's ballet Sheherazade. Of course, I had no idea that's what it was at the time, but I listened to that record for years and it must have burned an appreciation for the complex orchestrations of the music into my brain. I still can't deal with watching dudes in tights prance around, but the music is amazing.

When I heard the music by itself for the first time many years later I couldn't believe how familiar it was, and then it hit me. If my mom had sat me down and told me "Sit there and be still and I'm gonna play this music for you, and you're gonna learn to like it, and you're gonna grow up to have an open mind!", I probably would have ignored the whole thing and turned the channel back to the Beatles as soon as I could. Of course, she had no idea ether, but the effect was to widen my horizons.

Of course, I fought it for a long time. Classical music and country music were definitely NOT cool when I was growing up. Back then we used to think that our music was so much more sophisticated and superior, and we laughed at the folks on Hee Haw (dads favorite), Lawrence Welk, and the stuffy looking classical shows on PBS. Hell, now I find that stuff when I'm surfin' the TV and I sit there mesmerized. I guess when I got older, and the smoke from the generational war cleared, I found that I really did like some of that stuff. Kids are so stupid, driven by fashion and peer pressure. What are ya gonna do?

By the time I was in high school I was buying my own records, and cassette tapes, including soundtrack albums from some of my favorite films, like Jaws, Close Encounters, and the Star Wars films, and I learned to appreciate just about anything composed by John Williams. I also loved the soundtrack for Apocalypse Now, with those great Doors tunes set against the whir of the ceiling fan and helicopter blades, and the Wagner blaring out of the gun ships? You can never, ever go wrong with Wagner!

I know, most people can't bring themselves to listen to Classical music. It's too formal, or it's unfamiliar, or they think it's too sterile. People have been socialized to think that it's only for snooty old white folks, and prefer sexier rock and roll, or soul, or blues music. Folks who don't listen to it a lot don't know what they are listening to even when they hear something good, which has GOT to be frustrating as hell. So I thought I'd try to inject some classical energy into the blog. It won't last. I'll be back to Rock 'n Roll soon enough, so indulge me.

First of all, this stuff is NOT for your front parlor and the furniture no one is allowed to sit on. This shit is meant to be played LOUD! It's concert hall music, meant to be played fuckin' loud so that the vibrations from the instruments work their way through your body, burning their way into your brain. It's meant to be played just as loud as those Who, or Jethro Tull, or Led Zeppelin CDs that I love to blare out of the car speakers when I want to get the feel of the guitar and the drums. It's the same emotions, just in a different language, from a different time. Just look at how much these folks get into it.

Anyway, give it a try. It won't last long.

Here's part one of Rachmaninoff's Piano Concerto No 2, played by a guy named Arcadi Volodos and the Concertgebouw Orchestra, conducted by Riccardo Chailly, performing at the Royal Albert Hall in London.

I know, you wish it was Cream's Farewell concert in '68, or their reunion in '05. Well THAT's great music too, but try to see if you can put up with this anyway. Get a beer, turn up the speakers, turn down the lights, close your eyes even, and let this stuff soak into your soul.

I wish to god it was all on one video (why the hell do they do that anyway?), because the person that posted these to YouTube didn't set it up so that you hear the parts from beginning to end. Each of the three sets, for instance, doesn't really end till part way into the next video. What the hell? That guy needs a beatin'.

Oh well, here goes nothin'. This first part is maybe the most famous part of this concerto, and the most heavily played on the radio. Hope you enjoy it.



You're like, "They play this on the radio?"

Here's part two. You may recognise some of this from Eric Carmen's hit All By Myself, from back in the '70s. Yep, ol' Eric ripped off Rachmaninoff. So did Frank Sinatra, when he used some of this concerto to produce his tune Full Moon And Empty Arms. I know, I've never heard that one ether.



And here's part three. This gets pretty good air time too. The violin and piano bit here is the part Frank used.



And finally, part four.



Well? Hope you enjoyed it. if I can find some Claude Debussy or Ralph Vaughan Williams on this thing, you may have to one day endure some of their stuff too. Then again, I might just throw some old Buck Owens or Ray Price at you, so pay attention. We'll see how open your minds really are. Later.

Do you already miss the Sopranos? Ooooh!

"Fuck you Santa!" Ooooh! Love the hell outta that one. Never saw a single episode till they recently started showing them on regular TV. Now I'm enjoying it, when I surf by and it's on. Probably end up buyin' the DVDs.

Goin' to Temple to take dad out again on our regular Friday feed. I'll visit with the folks for a while after, and try to tire out their pooch. Then I'll be hooking up with friends back over here for unspecified fun.

When I was putting this post together a few days ago I thought I'd be spending the weekend in the yard again, working on some landscaping and planting things, the weather permitting. But these folks have invited me to go to Dallas Saturday and Sunday, to attend a food show and see what sort of mischief we can get into on the side.

These are the same folks I go to Terlingua and Sweetwater with every year, to the chili cook-offs, and go tubing down in New Braunfels with in the summer. Lookin' to do that in a few weeks. River should be a blast, what with all this rain we've had recently.

As I've told you before, they teach cooking here on the base for CTC, so it'll be a school function... Which means we'll be having a LOT of fun, and they'll be getting ripped and earning per diem at the same time. Ya gotta know how to work it, and they do.

They'll stay up there till Tuesday, but I'll drive back Sunday, probably giving someone a ride home with me. I'll tell ya how it all went down when I get back, whatever I end up doin'. Enjoy your own weekend, whatever you end up doin'. Later.

" It seems to me that I could live my life, a lot better than I think I am. "

That's what I was thinkin' when I got home from a long day at about 10:30 last night, turned on this thing and saw that one of those ELO vids was messed up. No tellin' how long that thing'd been flashin' "NOPE" at everybody, probably all friggin' day long. Well, maybe these will work better.

I'm still feelin' musical, and I was thinkin' about Bruno's comment about Metal Mondays. Well, I've never been much into thrash, but I LOVE a great power trio, and here's one of the best ever, as you probably well know.

It's amazing to think that after all these years, these three guys; bassist, keyboardist, and singer Geddy Lee, guitarist Alex Lifeson, and drummer Neil Peart, are still going strong, and it's still just the three of them. They're still doin' the same thing they did when I grew to love them in the '70s and early '80s, only grown better with age. Love the hell out of that. Hope to do it myself.

Here's one called La Villa Strangiato, from a gig in 1979, when I was a senior in high school. I used to think that these long instrumental things they did were their best music. Sit back and enjoy the Rush.



Here's another instrumental called YYZ, filmed a few years ago in Rio.



And here's their signature bit, Working Man, originally from their debut album in '74, but this time from their 30th anniversary tour in 2004. Not sure what the tumbling driers are supposed to symbolize, but the boys are makin' a glorious noise. Give a listen.



Ok, I've got some great stuff lined up for my next musical post, but you're not gonna believe what it is. Most of you will probably turn your nose up at it and walk away, but there's nothin' I can do about that. I love it to death. We'll have to wait and see. Maybe in a few days, or next week.

ELO, Part Two - The early rockin' years, on The Midnight Special.

In the mid-70s, ELO was a much more guitar oriented rock band, before they moved over to the softer stuff on great late records like Out Of The Blue. I love that stuff too, but this early stuff has a charm all it's own. They were so multidimensional, with all the different classical instruments, as well as the guitar. Here's one called Do Ya. This was one of the first ones I fell for. The sound on these videos isn't the best, but you get the picture.



Here's a great one called Rockaria.



How's about that guitar? Their mix of classical/Rock hybrid really hit me hard back then, setting me up to be blown away by groups like Yes and Pink Floyd. Somethin' about those Brits, and their classical training in school. Was that Mushy hittin' those high notes in that perm? Naaaaaa!

This next one is called Showdown. I love the way Jeff Lynne sings this one, and his lyrics generally. Amazing genius. All of their classic elements are here on display. The guitar part isn't great. Passable, but ya can't have everything.



And finally, about the rockinest tune I think they ever did, and the one that really turned me and most of the planet onto these folks. Covering Chuck Berry is so much a part of Rock and Roll, whole careers have been made from it, but this is special. That dude on the violin is kickin' ass. Loved the shit out of this back then, blarin' out of the Jensen 6x9s in the old Hornet.



Pfew, that was fun. I hope you liked it as much as I did. Later.

I think I make this look good.

Lin over at If The Creek Don't Rise is tryin' to convince me that I'd look good in a kilt. Did a little work on a picture of me to make the point. I think that's even a Wilson tartan. Hmmmm.



OK, I'm not sure about the Ballet slippers (Ghillie Brogues), but the rest does stir something tribal in me. I think with boots and a cool dirk, to stab the guys who try to lift the thing or give me any shit at all, it might just be fun. So, what do you think?