It's a BallisticTour Kind of Life

There are some things that I'd love to write about, but it just doesn't pay to spell it out here. I'm too lazy to write it up as a parable of some kind which would make the point but be so obtuse that no one except those involved would draw out the symbolism as it relates to reality.

So, I have to settle for vague generalities which symbolize nothing. Pretty much.

Oh, I can list one or two specifics. Someone from one of the open mics invited my Copper Creek band mates, plus another guy I know to come play music out his house. It was a music house-party. They all brought wives and such. I arrived alone, but did not feel bad because I was not feeling all that lonely.

It has been an educational few days. It's good to be back home only for peace of mind knowing it is still here. Tomorrow I expect to be up the coast a little way, once again, then all will be quiet and the ships that pass in the night will go their own ways. Oh, there I go, breaking my own rules. Maybe I am really talking about ships. Sleek vessels, well appointed, and what the heck.

But there is always that damned pirate ship lurking around trying to sink you. Or maybe the Coast Guard gone rogue. Can't let that sort of thing prevent one from experiencing the joy of a well made, responsive craft. Take the good and hope to dodge the torpedos.

It is amazing the kinds of things being done independently by individuals which seem to bring them a bit of freedom, independence and security in one form or another. Lots of people are their own bosses, and own companies. Nerve and confidence go a very long way. Talent alone rarely wins the reward. Seeing that kind of thing in action and being a temporary part of it is inspiring. And else.

I've been out of the comfort zone and not in circumstances in which I control much. That is tough and it causes me to assess my attitude and try to bend it in the right direction. It is easy to want to come up with something from my past or present so I can prove my worth, even though I am the main person who is questioning if I possess any.

Such times can make or break you. You either fall into childish abandonment fears and start forcing people to pay attention to you for no reason, or you get over it and appropriately assume your proper role in that venue. Sometimes it is not my stage and hogging it, or trying to, would just screw up the show and benefit no one.

I did OK. And I reaped some benefit by doing so.

Obviously I have filled this page with what could be considered symbols and metaphors and everything I said I wasn't doing. But I did not make it into a story like, "Once there was a skunk who ran with a gazelle in the three-legged race on field day at the boarding school", or something like that. Besides, everyone's already heard that story. The skunk and gazelle routine has been done to death, if it has been done at all.

Kick Starting; again

It may be some organic syndrome--medical weirdos who studied me because I am weird chalked much up to "organic syndrome"--or it may be how I've been conditioned forever from without and within. Often external conditioning becomes internal and the organism produces its own shock treatment when considering choices that yielded pain from external sources in the past. That is where one can get pretty crazy and self defeating.

I fall into that latter category, and have discovered that knowing the score is not enough to affect the proper course. It is a start.

So, knowing I have to change some things, mostly because I am not satisfied and I want project and passionate challenge in my life, I started thinking...

That resulted in considering what I would do if I won a great deal of money; enough to take the limits financial embarrassment brings out of the equation. Soon I realized that most of these things could be done right now.

It would be tragic to be wealthy and isolate, avoid exploring various possibilities, let one's self become out of shape and unhealthy, etc. --all the things I'm doing. All of those things can be changed without a huge bank account or trust fund. I may not be able to build a machine shop for creating whatever right now, but I do have some tools and materials and a place to work and create. Make do with what you have.

I don't need a car so I don't dream of money falling in my lap so I can buy some exotic auto. Mine does the job very well. I have a good amp, and only need a delay pedal, and can get by without if need be. Besides, I am not making use of that.

Things I'd like to market I have yet to pitch. Things I want to write I have yet to finish. Money is not the key to that. The more I hear of the 99% the more I want to be the .1%. The 1% is not a lofty enough goal. I'm not interested in being the 1%, or more accurately the .1% or .01% who wield power and control over others--the .1% who are free, happy and purposeful. And financially secure.

Maybe that is because I was present for the 60's and early 70's and I discovered that a huge portion of hippies and group protestors were insincere, selfish, duplicitous and just out for sex and party time, and usually in a way that was horribly materialistic while masquerading as the opposite. Not a big fan of any era, but that scene was cruel, and failed miserably. They protested during Vietnam and created the concept of never ending wars, domestic roadblocks, mandatory helmets for everything they can get away with, and a general open season on minding everyone's business and making laws to force others to conform. That is the flower power generation--useful idiots for tyranny.

If they mean the modern day version of that crowd when they claim to be the 99%, count me out.

OK. That was a bit of a tangent there. The point is, resources at hand often hold the key to opportunity, and behavior can be altered by realizing it in a way that becomes internalized. Maybe some kind of special pill would help too, but I've not found any useful, long term, in my quest to get out of my own way.

Odd as it seems, my drastic move out west, and rambling travels have been baby steps toward breaking out of destructive patterns which create a mental prison. Plus I have enjoyed the travels, and learned a lot about sleeping in a tent.

Empathy; double edged doodad

People tend to get worked up, feel self righteous, while identifying the downtrodden. Sometimes they assume some group is more beat down and powerless than they really are. I guess that is more a manifestation of a superiority complex and a need to appear benevolent than it is a true indication of empathy.

Even so, I've seen and known people in certain circumstances which tended to earn them the scorn of those who think they know what that situation is like to live, but they do not know. Some people are incapable of imagining any condition of life feels differently than their own. They are ignorant, and either totally lack imagination or brains, or something.

The thing that tends to happen when it becomes open season on judgement of a group, where they become the scapegoats of frustration, is that a lot of unjust things happen. If you can paint such vitriol with the brush of egalitarianism or self righteousness, then any values which go by the wayside are unnoticed.

That is much of what is happening with this class rhetoric which has provided a release for so many who just need something to blame and hate because life is a bit more tense than it ought to be. Rich is evil, therefore we should cut them down to size by confiscating their wealth for ourselves. That is as unfair, and cruel as some of the games which are played on the poor and ignorant.

Payment selling was designed to financially rape the poor. If they weren't ignorant, and greedy, it would not work. The guy making ten grand a year ought to know he cannot afford a twenty five thousand dollar car. But, if someone says they'll carry the note or the lease, he'll sink himself into it. The only reason why is that he is too greedy to use his head, and/or he does not realize that just because someone will allow him to do it does not mean it makes sense. In this case there is a bit of reality denying and greed on both sides of the board. "He signed the contract!". Yea, but you knew he was a half wit or otherwise highly unaware. I've been there. It is an ugly thing, and those jobs wear thin.

Empathy, or lack of it, cuts both ways. I'm highly empathetic to people who have made a lot of money through very consistent, disciplined effort and planning. Many times they are very bright. To think they do not deserve it because someone else is poor is a very stupid thing. One person creating and accumulating wealth does not make someone else poor. We are putting thievery and dishonesty aside for now.

When I hear this 99% talk, I still wonder what exactly that means, why is it nobler to be part of the average mass than of the exceptional few, and how you can decide that everyone is to be grouped in terms of income. Some mega wealthy people are evil, and some are not. Many of the self proclaimed 99% are greedy bastards who want to control the wealth of others, and some are not.

Maybe "we are the 99%" means we aren't the 1% who live under a bridge, in prison or have a terminal disease. Hadn't considered that, but it is a bit heartless and cruel to then protest that 1% of struggling unfortunates.

I'm pretty sure they are talking about money though. It gets confusing. People raising hell about the greedy rich, while they advocate spending the money of the rich on things they deem worthy, and which will benefit them. Sort of like the extortionist calling the miser greedy. In some cases the thief calling the victim greedy.

Just because someone has wealth does not mean they in no circumstances deserve empathy. It may be a surprise to some to know that even the wealthy feel pain, have hearts, heartbreak and cannot do everything they'd like for some of their loved ones. They cannot cure the incurable or ward off mortality. They are not by definition evil.

I've met as many (more, in reality) people of meager means who were evil and violent, unfeeling and lacking conscience as those who had some wealth. I feel far safer walking down an ultra wealthy street than I do a street in a housing project. That fact alone causes me to conclude that poverty is by no means a virtue, nor does it necessarily spawn decency and compassion.

I could be in poverty at any minute. I wouldn't think it would give me the right to mug people, be violent or destroy that which others have created and worked to build. I'd ignore licensing and zoning laws if I had to make myself a shelter. I'd ignore licensing laws if I had to sell trinkets on the corner trying to get a foothold.

Who knows, maybe I'm wrong. Maybe the rich should hate everyone and anyone who wants to be richer should hate those who are. They all deserve the wrath; rich and poor alike. Nervy bastards.

Roadside Ramblings/Seasoning-spice Update and Correction

The smoked hot paprika from Spain is really not that hot when cooked into things. Take it straight and it is. Cook it into Grandma Ballistic's hundred year old recipe for potato extravaganza instead of using regular paprika, and it is quite the thing.

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I've noticed more and more in my travels that the hip thing to do in traffic law enforcement is to threaten double fines. At first you think, "OK, workers are in danger so they are out to ensure their safety".

Then you realize that the last five double-fine work zones have consisted of a couple of orange signs, maybe one giving a reduced speed limit, but no work, no workers, nothing. Just a few miles of harassment and paranoia.

Then there are the "Safety Zones", which sometimes have a slightly different name. "Safety Zone Next 20 Miles, Fines Doubled. Drive Carefully." Oh shit!, I better be safe and careful for a change. Time to quit driving with my toes from the back seat. It never occurred to me to drive carefully at 70 or 80 miles per hour. If they hadn't told me, I'd have gone on driving without care, concern or attention.

It's always a relief to get back into the unsafe zone where all hell breaks loose and everyone goes back to watching tv, texting, having sex, and blogging as the drive. And where the fines are only one time as bad instead of double the trouble.

Now I'm seeing that "fines doubled" thing on side roads which have a 40 mph speed limit, and the same fake work not going on.

I guess they want money and want to be able to extort it at will. My thinking is, "Do I really want to give money to an outfit that does business this way? NO!!!!"

How we became a culture that not only accepts, but often encourages, this kind of big brother, police state mentality is beyond me. I guess people look around and think others are idiots who need heavy handed guidance. But they fail to consider who it is that sits in judgement and pulls the strings---often those with no moral compass or good judgement whatsoever. Often just thugs who missed getting drafted by the Mafia.

I guess a safety zone is a nice way of announcing an extended speed trap, and possible venue for random searches and the like.
If only people here and elsewhere were not so damned afraid of freedom. I believe it is partly their fear that makes them need this kind of parenting as adults. It is strange.

Insights of Meditation; part a

It came to me in a flash of clarity.

Ever wonder where Trump and his son, the wannabe mini-me-Trump, got that poker face thing they do on the apprentice, and what makes them think it is cool?

The Donald picked it up from the old Alfred Hitchcock series. Al would parade into view wearing that expressionless expression, then begin his droll narrative. No matter what he said, it seemed highly intelligent and beyond reproach due to his delivery and that emotionless countenance, which still managed to convey an air of superiority.

It is clear that the Trumps have studied this and practiced imitating Mr. Hitchcock's manner, incorporating it into their management style. I suspect that they watch old Hitchcock intros then run to the mirror to see how close they can come to duplicating the look.

Now Trump's secret is out. I can't believe I am the first to realize the influence behind the man and the show. Just goes to show the power of meditation, daydream, and living half in one dimension and half in another.

Movie Review: Midnight in Paris

Say what you will about Woody Allen, he can write a script and make a movie. Fortunately, I am not overly familiar with his affairs. From what I understand he kept it in the family, so there you have at least some version of family values. I prefer that to elites visiting Castro and Chavez then coming back praising them as geniuses and great men while wearing a Che T shirt. For all I know Woody did that when I wasn't looking.

That aside, I liked this flick, partly because I am an Owen Wilson fan and identified with his character in this movie. No good outward reason to do so, I just did. That happens sometimes.

The concept is great and they carry it off in a way that is never boring. It is one of those movies that you hope won't end. The humor is good, and it is a good escape. A clever film, I'd say.

So, if you are thinking to yourself, "Should I rent one of the Jackass movies or Midnight in Paris", I heartily recommend the latter, unless you are a fan of Jackass movies, in which case I suggest you get yourself a six shooter, load every other chamber, and in the privacy of your own home, with no children present, play Russian roulette with your pals prior to watching whatever movie you rent. You'll probably be tempted to film yourselves in hopes of one day marketing your own jackass movie. I torn between encouraging that or not.

Taming The Spice

First, I have decided I am a good catch because I cook the best two or three things, sandwich, omelet, Mexican extravaganza of anyone on the planet, as far as I know. I admit that the spices friends have encouraged me to test have made all the difference.

Really. You don't need a big spice rack. All you need is pepper, the good salt, Howling Wolf, Richard's Delicious Seasoning, and Pimenton de la Vera. Deciding which of the last 3 items to use depends upon mood at the time as much as what is being cooked.

Once again, I ate no breakfast, and not much lunch, so it seemed a perfect time for a breakfast extravaganza for supper. A 10 pm delight. This was a perfect chance to test the La Chinata Pimenton de la Vera. Need I say every time that the accent is over the O? Thought not.

Having been around the block a time or two, I knew not to gob this stuff on top of things. I put a wee mite and a half into the omelet mix--extra large eggs, finely chopped spinach, a dab of sour cream, and a trickle and three quarters of half and half.

Hash browns on the side with a vegetarian's version of bacon. I like those pictures of bacon that Morningstar farms sells. Sue me, give me lectures about why not just kill a pig? I don't care.

So La Chinata smoked, smoking hot paprika was cooked in, and I used it sparingly. Worked as if I knew what I was doing. I dare you to make me a better omelet. Oh it had plenty of extra sharp cheddar as well. The one you make me can have feta cheese and such. Spend a fortune if you have it.

Next I will test it on some sort of bean bonanza Mexican edible pinata---it's the n with the tilde not the other one---surprise.

What people do, other than become grossly obese, if they have more spices, I do not know. You'd want to eat way more than is recommended by federal and state agencies, and their wives. The grocery bill for buying stuff to cook with the seasonings would be enough to keep you in recapped tires for a year.

What I don't get is why so many eateries out there have no clue when it comes to preparing good food. Maybe they get carried away with variety. People do that. They eat slugs, squid and things that only the sophisticated and ambitiously elite would bother ingesting. But it is still a badge of class to do so. They eat worms off of fine china, therefore they are way the hell ahead of me.

I think the weird things eaten around the world is probably a secret contributor to war and religious fanaticism. Not that I care, or would care if the worm chefs would also fix something I find edible without having it all mixed up with worm bits because they arrogantly refuse to clean the cooking surface. Easy to see why I avoid places many people love. It is just not fun. And to think, I helped catch the fish the gang down in Florida ate one night for supper. See? It isn't that I would not help others get what they want. But turnabout in the marketplace does not work in my favor.

That could be because many vegetarians who adopted the habit for reasons that don't fit me tend to try to make everyone do what they do, and even claim to be helping save the planet, whatever that is supposed to mean. I am not of that group. As a matter of fact, I think they are part of the planet's problem, like all people who go around trying to force others to change when it is not their business.

In Praise of Sour Cream

Let's say you discover a package in your PO box and when you open it you discover it is something called pimenton de la vera--accent mark on the O. You are quite happy you waited until you returned home to explore further.

Oh, a new seasoning, you think to yourself. You also think, I hope people don't imagine that they have to send me something just because I sent some of Richard's their way. Even so, it is a thrill to get packages in the mail.

On this outing I actually had two packages. One, which is unrelated to sour cream, was a gigantic candy cane from a factory in Scribblerville New England. It is remarkably artful and I've even seen pictures there on Scribbler's blog showing it being made. This is going to last me a little while. Well, maybe not too long.

Mmm mmm, the people at Tucks Candies, famous since 1929 -and rightly so, know how to make a candy cane like none I've ever seen or tasted. You think you will bust teeth to look at it, but just a gentle bite and you have a delightful mix of flavors like no candy cane ever. It is crunchy but not a jaw breaker. It has a little mint and maybe a little licorice, not sure, but it is great.

Here is the chief elf making my candy cane. I stole the pic from Scribbler who was conducting industrial espionage at the candy factory for the Grinch, I think. Or possibly for some secret TSA mission.

Excuse me while I take another nibble.

OK, so I get home and decide to check out the little tin my food (and other things) snob friend picked up in Spain. I mean "snob" in the most complimentary sense of the word. The woman is a friggin genius so she has reason, sometimes, for this eccentricity.

La Chinata is the brand, I think. My spanish works in Mexico, but not so much in Espana. (little thing over the n). I don't need to look up what Pimenton (accent over the O) de la Vera means. It means you've just been french kissed by El Diablo while he was in a very hot rage. I did not know this before I explored this spice.
So, once I got the tin opened--I like things in tins with the circle shaped cap--I thought I'd just dip my finger in and sample a pinch. Mostly it did not stick to my finger so I unsanitarily touched my finger to my tongue then poked it in the container. Then I licked my finger.

Holy smoke! I only ingested a bare few thousandths of half a gram, I swear. I mean like the equivalent of about four grains of the good salt. Instantly my sinuses cleared, my brain unfogged and steam gently exited through my ears and eyes. If you have family members who have trouble waking up when you need to get them going, just dab a miniscule bit of this Devil's kiss on your finger and stick it in their snoozy little mouths. Then run.

Fortunately I have some sour cream on hand. It is a great soother when dealing with hot peppers and such. I dug my finger in that and stuck a nice dollop on my tongue. No time for fancy spoons and formalities. The cool thing is I could feel the flavor and heat even after that, but it wasn't hot in the way that burns your tongue, even though it was as potent as could be, and the effect that lasted was quite pleasant.

I will experiment with this in my ever evolving quest for non carnivore hermit dishes of incredible tastiness and artful display. I may even share such delights with wild-women, should they happen by, when the mood strikes. Or not.

I would say that one could use this french kiss of the devil regularly and not go through this 70 grams in five years. Maybe even ten. It does not appear to take much.

Another interesting thing is that it tends to do something to the palate that clarifies and enhances the flavor of a candy cane made by Tuck's. You eat the candy a few minutes later, although mixing the two at one go could be an interesting event. And Tuck's candy canes go well with popcorn made as it is best done--on the stove top.

I fear, if not for the sour cream, my tender senses may have run amok. As it was, the whole experience was enjoyable and leaves me eager to create some sort of Mexican tortilla extravaganza or another remarkable breakfast creation which you just can't get these days.

It certainly was nice of these crazy people to send such delights. I've never had the likes of either item. Quite dissimilar except that both fall in the food category, and both are extraordinarily high quality items. So, if you are in a quandary about what to get a non carnivore in the way of edible things, Tuck's candy and cattleprod-in-a-can from Spain.

This thing is going quicker than I had planned. I have to save some to go with espresso in the morning.

+++++Wait a minute!!! I investigated and it says this spice is smoked paprika!! Well my taste was kind of hottt, and now I'm confused. So, assuming it is all the fault of me being an ignorant non-carnivore, and maybe it is smoky and not hot, I just had to repeat the taste test. IT IS HOT! But I do now taste the smoky part and it is amazing. Thank God for sour cream, again.

Open Mic in Santee

Normally I'd be on the other side because I like to be able to see the guitar player's chord hand, but in these things you just kind of end up where you end up and don't waste time worrying with it.

Open mic at the coffee house/deli is not like open jams of the good old days. Mostly it is a little gathering of old codgers who socialize and like to play. They get up on stage, play and sing old folk songs, mostly, and then the next one gets up to do it.
There was a group consisting of three very dissimilar people who had something special.

The oldest guy, maybe 60ish played a big drum--one of those African things I think, kind of a tall drum. --, another guy, maybe 40ish, played a bass acoustic guitar, and the third guy, a Mexican looking guy about 25 played electric through a tiny VOX amp.
They were great, with an unusual sense of dynamics, how to make less be more. Total class, and great vocals.

Enough about them. Cliff, the other guitar player up on the hill--the one who has been around this area forever, and is quite the p[layer songwriter, and I played a few tunes.

The troube with open mic like this is that they can only let people play 15 minutes or they can't give everyone a shot. By the time we quit, I felt like I was yet to settle in. We only did three tunes--maybe 10 minutes. Since neither of us could see the time, Cliff figured don't risk being rude. Half the place knows him and wouldn't mind but it is good to be considerate.
However, it is like a tease situation. Kiss but don't touch.

Even so, it was worth doing. It gets a little notice and notoriety.

Tavernier Sort Of

I did not bring much in the way of photo recording devices so these few pics snatched from borrowed phone of intelligence will have to do.
One includes front of my car as proof that I was there. It is as much to affirm to myself that I didn't just imagine it as it is for any other purpose. I often wonder if I am in the real world or living in fantasy while actually languishing somewhere in a coma, or comma for that matter.