Regardless of one's religious beliefs, within some limits, the Christmas hooplah, even the big over commercialization of it, serves as a small link to the past. Some of that would be erased from the culture, and any records if many trendsetters had their way.
The image of people tipping their hats as they passed on the street, around the end of the 19th century, or even later, is something worth preserving. And I certainly wish we had the girl selling matches in the freezing snow, half alive due to poverty and bad luck. She was a person of character and honor.
I really wanted to comment about the end of the world. Doesn't it seem that the end of the world is about the same as the middle? I'd have never guessed that the end of the world would be the same as before the end. I'm not sure what I would have guessed.
What if the world did end, and this is how death works; you just keep doing whatever it is you think you do. Probably not.
Seriously, it stands to reason that the head calendar guy for the Mayas said, "OK, let's knock off now, we have the calendar set up until the end of this big era. Who makes plans hundreds of years in advance anyway? Let's just pretend we're working. Who will know or care?"
So, they just quit with the calendar thing. Such a coincidence that the last day of their calendar coincided with the end of the world. People sure do crave prophesy. It is like a mental illness which is intrinsic to our species.
I realize that pointing to anything which is of European cultural origin, like the added social niceties and kindness which our stylized remembrance of things indicates was present in old fashion Holiday Land. I may not be white enough to get orange Blossom special, but I do feel at home with my imaginary images of people on the street from the land of Dickens, and Scrooge.
It doesn't escape me that there were some very poor people, hard times, and all that, but I am fine with ignoring that, and instead focussing on the ideal of the times.
At any rate I like Christmas despite the fact that I have trouble with some of the tenets of just about all of the Christian religions. That is really not the point. I'm not out to change the various churches. There is something to be found in this holiday that is of a positive nature without involving one's self in religious debate.
How many angels can dance on the head of a pin? As many as will fit.
.
Sunday, December 23, 2012
Saturday, December 22, 2012
Holiday Disclaimer
On the off chance that your long anticipated Christmas, Quasi, Hanukkah, Solstice, or Rumdum greeting and/or gift has not arrived, and if I got your holiday wrong or improperly spelled, you can be sure I'll send it sometime later on. Maybe in 2013.
I may have either forgot or just didn't get it done because I live in another time zone. It doesn't mean you weren't on my mind, or that you shouldn't send me things of value.
Figuring out if someone is married or otherwise taken can be a trick. Especially of others are around and the dynamics make it awkward and unadvisable to quiz the object of interest. That's right, I said, "object". Why is that? I think it is because I am obviously not PC, and must be a real masher. Is that bad?
I'm going to find a way to learn the facts of this case, and proceed accordingly.
I stocked up on trinkets to bestow upon various people, and I ran out. There have been years when I spent twice this year's total budget on each of maybe five people.
The ones that mattered most cared the least. It is a bummer to give something you think is cool, and know has market value, but the recipient doesn't like it. I've only found a very few people in my life who did not appreciate either the significance of a gift or the item itself or both. It has happened though.
Fortunately, I have no concerns this year. Everyone matters, but not in that way. And I went to no great expense.
I like all jingle bell lights and such around. Out in the sticks Christmas is much more enjoyable than in the congested areas.
I may have either forgot or just didn't get it done because I live in another time zone. It doesn't mean you weren't on my mind, or that you shouldn't send me things of value.
Figuring out if someone is married or otherwise taken can be a trick. Especially of others are around and the dynamics make it awkward and unadvisable to quiz the object of interest. That's right, I said, "object". Why is that? I think it is because I am obviously not PC, and must be a real masher. Is that bad?
I'm going to find a way to learn the facts of this case, and proceed accordingly.
I stocked up on trinkets to bestow upon various people, and I ran out. There have been years when I spent twice this year's total budget on each of maybe five people.
The ones that mattered most cared the least. It is a bummer to give something you think is cool, and know has market value, but the recipient doesn't like it. I've only found a very few people in my life who did not appreciate either the significance of a gift or the item itself or both. It has happened though.
Fortunately, I have no concerns this year. Everyone matters, but not in that way. And I went to no great expense.
I like all jingle bell lights and such around. Out in the sticks Christmas is much more enjoyable than in the congested areas.
Friday, December 21, 2012
Playing
So, after laying out for a week or so, I showed up at the Thurs coffee house open mic. It being the one before Christmas, I figured it would be an interesting event.
A lady I've never played with (with whom I've never played) asked me to play. That worked pretty well. She sang well and kept a steady guitar going. It was good to just lay in a little background.
Then a guy I haven't seen for at least 6 mo.s asked me to play. The time I played with him, long ago, I didn't feel like I was able to do much with the tunes because of the complexity of the progressions and trouble feeling the melody. Not that he doesn't sing well. It is just the sort of thing that's tough to get a handle on the first time.
Well, tonight was different. That happens. It all has to do with where my mind and attitude are. I couldn't play any of it now from memory, but at the time I was able to play all up and down that progression, and in a way that worked with the song.
Then Cliff played, and as often is the case, he wanted to play stuff that I could nail. He covered a song written by a friend of his, in C minor. I'm not sure how it sounded to others, but that may be the best I've played. We also covered a John Mayall tune, something about Don't blank blank blank with your jive. Blank stands for, I don't know the word.
Laying off, and not playing for a little bit helped. I played some yesterday so I wasn't rusty. It is rare that I play on that many songs, especially including some I haven't played, without hitting any notes I sorely regret, or feeling like I have limits and need to play it safe.
Still, you never know how it sounds unless someone sends a recording or video. They may have both. It felt good and that has been missing. That probably came through. Most fun I've had playing in quite awhile.
Some people before us did Christmas stuff. One guy did such a nice job, both vocally and on guitar that I opted not to play any seasonal tunes. The ones I would have played were mostly the same and I liked the guitar version better. That opened me to jam on that minor key thing and the Mayall tune. And other song too. Kind of a bluegrassy version of House of the Rising Sun. I believe this version is the original which predates the Animals by maybe 100 years. It's actually a very old song. I really like both versions, but this one is perfect for Cliff.
A lady I've never played with (with whom I've never played) asked me to play. That worked pretty well. She sang well and kept a steady guitar going. It was good to just lay in a little background.
Then a guy I haven't seen for at least 6 mo.s asked me to play. The time I played with him, long ago, I didn't feel like I was able to do much with the tunes because of the complexity of the progressions and trouble feeling the melody. Not that he doesn't sing well. It is just the sort of thing that's tough to get a handle on the first time.
Well, tonight was different. That happens. It all has to do with where my mind and attitude are. I couldn't play any of it now from memory, but at the time I was able to play all up and down that progression, and in a way that worked with the song.
Then Cliff played, and as often is the case, he wanted to play stuff that I could nail. He covered a song written by a friend of his, in C minor. I'm not sure how it sounded to others, but that may be the best I've played. We also covered a John Mayall tune, something about Don't blank blank blank with your jive. Blank stands for, I don't know the word.
Laying off, and not playing for a little bit helped. I played some yesterday so I wasn't rusty. It is rare that I play on that many songs, especially including some I haven't played, without hitting any notes I sorely regret, or feeling like I have limits and need to play it safe.
Still, you never know how it sounds unless someone sends a recording or video. They may have both. It felt good and that has been missing. That probably came through. Most fun I've had playing in quite awhile.
Some people before us did Christmas stuff. One guy did such a nice job, both vocally and on guitar that I opted not to play any seasonal tunes. The ones I would have played were mostly the same and I liked the guitar version better. That opened me to jam on that minor key thing and the Mayall tune. And other song too. Kind of a bluegrassy version of House of the Rising Sun. I believe this version is the original which predates the Animals by maybe 100 years. It's actually a very old song. I really like both versions, but this one is perfect for Cliff.
Thursday, December 20, 2012
Got to Do Something!!!! neurotic;panic;hysteria;
It happened after 911, and happens all the time on the local level in places like California. Disaster strikes, whether man made, lone lunatic, gang, hurricane, earthquake, doesn't matter. The immediate aftermath sees the same bunch wringing hands, hysterically breathless, demanding that "something be done!!!"
Facts be damned, reality be damned, logic be damned; JUST DO SOMETHING!!!! it doesn't have to make sense.
Not one of the measures used by TSA in searching and screening passengers would have prevented 911, but everyone feels better because we gave up most of our 4th amendment rights to be sure it didn't happen again.
So, here we go with wild, unsubstantiated statistics, erroneously derived causal relationships, general name calling for any who question facts--be they bogus facts or of some substance.
And a whole lot of pain by proxy. Tragedy surfing. I feel the pain more than you, so I'm right, even though neither of us actually experienced the tragedy. Our contest is to see who can hijack first and fastest.
And of course, let's use this to put more power in the hands of those who create the majority of stupid problems; our federal government. They will make it better, just like they do everything.
Geez, people. They are making money and enjoying power, and it has absolutely nothing to do with what the say. The think we are so stupid that we'll just keep the ones in there who sa what we want to hear. Forget what they really do.
And they are right. People want to appear smart, so they go along with those who appear smart. Doesn't matter that it is pure fiction made up to increase the power of those already in power, and soothe the guilt of the hysterical idiots doing their best to transfer pain of a distant event to themselves.
Facts be damned, reality be damned, logic be damned; JUST DO SOMETHING!!!! it doesn't have to make sense.
Not one of the measures used by TSA in searching and screening passengers would have prevented 911, but everyone feels better because we gave up most of our 4th amendment rights to be sure it didn't happen again.
So, here we go with wild, unsubstantiated statistics, erroneously derived causal relationships, general name calling for any who question facts--be they bogus facts or of some substance.
And a whole lot of pain by proxy. Tragedy surfing. I feel the pain more than you, so I'm right, even though neither of us actually experienced the tragedy. Our contest is to see who can hijack first and fastest.
And of course, let's use this to put more power in the hands of those who create the majority of stupid problems; our federal government. They will make it better, just like they do everything.
Geez, people. They are making money and enjoying power, and it has absolutely nothing to do with what the say. The think we are so stupid that we'll just keep the ones in there who sa what we want to hear. Forget what they really do.
And they are right. People want to appear smart, so they go along with those who appear smart. Doesn't matter that it is pure fiction made up to increase the power of those already in power, and soothe the guilt of the hysterical idiots doing their best to transfer pain of a distant event to themselves.
Sunday, December 16, 2012
My Unusual Life; part 12162012
So, I figured the party the 12 string guy convinced me to attend would be mostly a Mormon get together. Did I ever mention that this guy is the king of vague, and mild surprises? Well, he is that.
It puzzles me that I put up with it, except that the adventures prove educational and generally enjoyable. Strange, but worthwhile.
Anyway, first we go to a children's nativity thing at a Mormon facility. I chose to follow in my car so I had travel under my control. The affair was quite informal and their about a thousand kids and maybe 40 adults. I respect people who multiply like rabbits, as long as they take responsibility and parent the kids. No one can say these people do not do that, and one way or another, they seem to provide quite well for them.
However that works, we went from there to the party. I'm not sure who he knew that handled getting us invited. I figured out along the way that this wasn't going to be like playing a gig.
We did play some, and it got the attention of one person there; a pleasant surprise. She may not have been the only one, but the others do not represent the same potential. The value of this remains to be seen.
When we arrived and were introduced to the host, he pointed to the food and the beer and the worth soft drinks. Most of the time, if they have non-alcoholic drinks, they are things like diet Sprite. This guy had old timey root beer and other things that did not have diet drink sweeteners.
I have no idea what was going on, really. I think it may have been a company party. Lots of Mexicans who seemed to sort of enjoy themselves but they'd speak spanish to one another like you weren't in the room sometimes. I understand enough to know they weren't talking trash.
The host looked kind of like a hippie surfer. He had some nice guitars but he didn't play. It seemed that we made some friends, but I have no idea who does what or why. We played completely acoustically, sitting in the den (?) by the fire.
There were adults, kids, smokers, non-smokers, drinkers, non-drinkers, and what looked like Mexican banditos. Nice house. No telling where the money comes from. Lots of people around here seem to manage decent income, but I have no idea what they do.
I don't know how I wind up in these places, but it is cool when ages range from 3 to about 87 and a half. These people were not Mormons but they do well with the kids anyway. Not a creepy kid in the bunch.
The guy seemed happy we showed up because it kind of livened things up and offered a buffer of sorts. I think he felt like he had to keep up some kind of guard with the people from whatever company it is they run.
I left with more questions than I had going in. It was worth the drive.
.
It puzzles me that I put up with it, except that the adventures prove educational and generally enjoyable. Strange, but worthwhile.
Anyway, first we go to a children's nativity thing at a Mormon facility. I chose to follow in my car so I had travel under my control. The affair was quite informal and their about a thousand kids and maybe 40 adults. I respect people who multiply like rabbits, as long as they take responsibility and parent the kids. No one can say these people do not do that, and one way or another, they seem to provide quite well for them.
However that works, we went from there to the party. I'm not sure who he knew that handled getting us invited. I figured out along the way that this wasn't going to be like playing a gig.
We did play some, and it got the attention of one person there; a pleasant surprise. She may not have been the only one, but the others do not represent the same potential. The value of this remains to be seen.
When we arrived and were introduced to the host, he pointed to the food and the beer and the worth soft drinks. Most of the time, if they have non-alcoholic drinks, they are things like diet Sprite. This guy had old timey root beer and other things that did not have diet drink sweeteners.
I have no idea what was going on, really. I think it may have been a company party. Lots of Mexicans who seemed to sort of enjoy themselves but they'd speak spanish to one another like you weren't in the room sometimes. I understand enough to know they weren't talking trash.
The host looked kind of like a hippie surfer. He had some nice guitars but he didn't play. It seemed that we made some friends, but I have no idea who does what or why. We played completely acoustically, sitting in the den (?) by the fire.
There were adults, kids, smokers, non-smokers, drinkers, non-drinkers, and what looked like Mexican banditos. Nice house. No telling where the money comes from. Lots of people around here seem to manage decent income, but I have no idea what they do.
I don't know how I wind up in these places, but it is cool when ages range from 3 to about 87 and a half. These people were not Mormons but they do well with the kids anyway. Not a creepy kid in the bunch.
The guy seemed happy we showed up because it kind of livened things up and offered a buffer of sorts. I think he felt like he had to keep up some kind of guard with the people from whatever company it is they run.
I left with more questions than I had going in. It was worth the drive.
.
Friday, December 14, 2012
Today I Love Everyone, almost
There are times when I refuse to join the macabre bandwagon which involves adopting tragedy of others as one's own. Depressive roller coaster that I seem to be, I find no art in using, and relishing, the pain of others to feed my already swollen narcissistic tendencies.
It has been nearly 24 hours since I smoked. Something is amiss and I am not sure smoking wouldn't cause serious damage; more than is already done. duh
Anyway, I have felt myself react as if I have an aversion to cigarettes any time I thought about it today. Kind of like I feel about boiled, unseasoned squash.
We relish these days of rain here in SoCal. It rained all night and sprinkled all day. Temps out here in the 30's, chains required for Sunrise Highway. Still overcast and wet. The roads are more slippery than they'd be if it rained more often due to build up of oils and such. Not everyone gets that concept.
Some people, and I have no idea why, tend to tailgate even more in the rain. I suppose they are surprised when they crash. Rain equals crashes like crazy in Southern California. Bless them one and all, I'm sure they mean well.
Turns out the cowgirl up the hill has been Jonesing for some Richard's Delicious Seasoning. Major points were made when I had a brand new container of it to give her. Thanks Joel. They all think it was my idea. They have no idea that you almost had to force me at gunpoint to take a jar of it with me on my travels, and try it.
Maybe I'll play that party with the 12 string guy tomorrow night. I still haven't picked up any practice harps at home, and I'm skipping the afternoon open mic at Downtown Cafe, El Cajon. I was once at that place with Dorrie on a hot afternoon. A big part of it is all open air but with a roof over your head. ou can do that here without bug worries. Outdoor style space heaters in winter, and misting fans on the hottest days. Much of the time no temp adjustment needed.
Actually, hanging out there has tempered my view of El Cajon. The highway patrol office there may suck. Does suck. Bunch of fascist idiot thugs. But, that little strip where Downtown Cafe is located is a nice area, with sidewalk cafes and whatnot. It is a short walk to the courthouse complex, in case you get into trouble or want to score a marriage license. The CA highway patrol office is miles away. where they belong.
So, though I am not jumping up and down cheering in manic bliss, it is clear the cycle is on something of an upswing. I can certainly observe my own peaks and valleys, and know that I can only listen to the happy stuff if I am to survive. My "not today" technique for ignoring the worst of it pays off.
It has been nearly 24 hours since I smoked. Something is amiss and I am not sure smoking wouldn't cause serious damage; more than is already done. duh
Anyway, I have felt myself react as if I have an aversion to cigarettes any time I thought about it today. Kind of like I feel about boiled, unseasoned squash.
We relish these days of rain here in SoCal. It rained all night and sprinkled all day. Temps out here in the 30's, chains required for Sunrise Highway. Still overcast and wet. The roads are more slippery than they'd be if it rained more often due to build up of oils and such. Not everyone gets that concept.
Some people, and I have no idea why, tend to tailgate even more in the rain. I suppose they are surprised when they crash. Rain equals crashes like crazy in Southern California. Bless them one and all, I'm sure they mean well.
Turns out the cowgirl up the hill has been Jonesing for some Richard's Delicious Seasoning. Major points were made when I had a brand new container of it to give her. Thanks Joel. They all think it was my idea. They have no idea that you almost had to force me at gunpoint to take a jar of it with me on my travels, and try it.
Maybe I'll play that party with the 12 string guy tomorrow night. I still haven't picked up any practice harps at home, and I'm skipping the afternoon open mic at Downtown Cafe, El Cajon. I was once at that place with Dorrie on a hot afternoon. A big part of it is all open air but with a roof over your head. ou can do that here without bug worries. Outdoor style space heaters in winter, and misting fans on the hottest days. Much of the time no temp adjustment needed.
Actually, hanging out there has tempered my view of El Cajon. The highway patrol office there may suck. Does suck. Bunch of fascist idiot thugs. But, that little strip where Downtown Cafe is located is a nice area, with sidewalk cafes and whatnot. It is a short walk to the courthouse complex, in case you get into trouble or want to score a marriage license. The CA highway patrol office is miles away. where they belong.
So, though I am not jumping up and down cheering in manic bliss, it is clear the cycle is on something of an upswing. I can certainly observe my own peaks and valleys, and know that I can only listen to the happy stuff if I am to survive. My "not today" technique for ignoring the worst of it pays off.
Thursday, December 13, 2012
Climate Change
It seems my eyes have become heavy nimbus clouds, raining an ocean. No other explanation for it. Climate change. I know it hasn't always been like this. Probably a serious thing. Or not.
A very competent professional once told me that a lot of people who cross that line into permanent insanity, or maybe severe depression, actually have some awareness of the point at which they gave up the fight and the hope.
That is actually useful information because I've often felt myself approaching the doorway to that room, but chose not to enter. Not today. That's what I tell myself. Not today. The choice is still there. To have choices is to have power. Believing one is free to choose gives hope.
So, let it rain. That's OK. Just don't drown. Some things can't be helped, but more often than not there are different ways to react to those things. Choices. Not like the best of the options leads to eternal bliss or riches, but any shred of power over one's predicament is better than nothing.
I still haven't picked up the practice harp. I have a couple of Hohner Golden melodies, couple of Lee Oskars, and a couple of Bushman's which I have handy for practice. Plus the amazing Susuki Easy Rider, a very cheap harmonica which, in this case has lasted a very long time and plays well. It happens. That's the one I have yet to bring back from its place in exile across the room.
I did go play with my mountain friends at K and L's last night. These are nice people. C and his wife, L2, (two different L names so we have L and L2) were there too. We ended up singing Christmas songs, including 12 days of Christmas. L had the words and she, L, and I rotated verses.
Mine were the three French Whores, lords a leaping, swans a swimming. I know, French Horns, or is it Hens, is the proper thing. Just how it worked out. Perhaps wishful thinking. Wasn't my idea. I was told what to sing. I prefer the way we did it.
It would have been rude not to play in that situation, but I can't play at home right now. And I am not going to any of the other usual things this week. There is a request to play at some kind of party with the 12 string guy, so I may do that. I won't know anyone there and maybe some magic angel will be there to heal me.
Home alone is when the weather changes and I am in less control of it. Most problems occur in or near the home. That tells me that long distance travel is probably the best way to avoid trouble.
A very competent professional once told me that a lot of people who cross that line into permanent insanity, or maybe severe depression, actually have some awareness of the point at which they gave up the fight and the hope.
That is actually useful information because I've often felt myself approaching the doorway to that room, but chose not to enter. Not today. That's what I tell myself. Not today. The choice is still there. To have choices is to have power. Believing one is free to choose gives hope.
So, let it rain. That's OK. Just don't drown. Some things can't be helped, but more often than not there are different ways to react to those things. Choices. Not like the best of the options leads to eternal bliss or riches, but any shred of power over one's predicament is better than nothing.
I still haven't picked up the practice harp. I have a couple of Hohner Golden melodies, couple of Lee Oskars, and a couple of Bushman's which I have handy for practice. Plus the amazing Susuki Easy Rider, a very cheap harmonica which, in this case has lasted a very long time and plays well. It happens. That's the one I have yet to bring back from its place in exile across the room.
I did go play with my mountain friends at K and L's last night. These are nice people. C and his wife, L2, (two different L names so we have L and L2) were there too. We ended up singing Christmas songs, including 12 days of Christmas. L had the words and she, L, and I rotated verses.
Mine were the three French Whores, lords a leaping, swans a swimming. I know, French Horns, or is it Hens, is the proper thing. Just how it worked out. Perhaps wishful thinking. Wasn't my idea. I was told what to sing. I prefer the way we did it.
It would have been rude not to play in that situation, but I can't play at home right now. And I am not going to any of the other usual things this week. There is a request to play at some kind of party with the 12 string guy, so I may do that. I won't know anyone there and maybe some magic angel will be there to heal me.
Home alone is when the weather changes and I am in less control of it. Most problems occur in or near the home. That tells me that long distance travel is probably the best way to avoid trouble.
Wednesday, December 12, 2012
Uh oh, Penn Wins Own Award, Edging Out Foxx
“He’s one of the most important forces we’ve had on this planet,” the actor said at the candlelight vigil for the health of the Venezuelan president, who is currently in Cuba undergoing his fourth cancer surgery.
I guess if anyone reading this is fool enough to believe Chavez and his idol, Castro, are good human beings, then that person sees nothing wrong with theft or murder, and probably would assume this sycophant of foreign dictators and thugs, Sean Penn, is a hero.
It's beyond words. Really. Is it something in the water, or the air?
Sorry, Jamie Foxx, Sean Penn just edged you out for the Sean Penn Righteous Fool Award for Dec. 2012. You're still going to get the Al Sharpton Racist Jackass Prize, though, so chin up!
.
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
Maybe Time to Quit Again
Playing the stupid blues harp used to be fun. Sometimes. At the very least it was a way for me to scream and cry without anyone knowing that was what it was about for me. The one place I could express whatever that gut knotting conflict that consumes me is. Sometimes.
There were times that I threw away the harmonicas--out the car window--and quit for a year or so. There were times I did other, more productive, intellectually challenging things. That must have been a long time ago.
In my usual foggy, delusional view of life, I had come to think I was at least a mediocre and somewhat original player. Then the subject of Orange Blossom Special came up, and there was a guy who can play it well.
I still cannot play it. Not only do I just not get it, but whatever it is that you have to do to play it right seems beyond the capability of how my body is made. Can't do it!! Can't can't can't.
On top of that I do not even like it that well. I admire those who can play it, and kudos to them. It's a friggin fiddle tune, and unless it is played like a mellow violin, I don't much like fiddle. Only sometimes do I like bluegrass. Nothing wrong with it but it does not hit me where I live.
I tried to figure out the OBS again, and got so frustrated I threw the harmonica across the room, and I refuse to go pick it up. Right now if I get near it I will smash it under my shoe. Too bad no boots are handy. I do have a sledge hammer, though.
If I cannot play that tune and play it as it should be played, I must be much worse than mediocre. I'm no good at all. Nice people around here but I wish I had never started playing with them. They get the kind of country music that I don't and they like orange blossom hell.
I'm going to avoid the next two or three get togethers where people play, and often ask me to sit on things I don't know, don't like, and don't understand. It has ceased being fun because that gut thing gets no outlet with this stuff. And seeking out more bluesy or rocking venues would mean dealing with less likable musicians. Everyone's a badass in some of that, or drunk or drugged, and I don't like anyone right this minute.
I can't turn down the group up here on the mountain if they expect me to come play tomorrow night, but after that I may lay off for a long time.
It isn't that I even want to play that tune, although tune gives it more clarity than I think it deserves. It is a classic in some circles. I wish only fiddles were allowed to play it. It is that I should be able to do it. If I could I would play it once, then tell people that's the first and last time. But I can not do it.
It makes me want to drink, I swear. And move away. And I hate being me, even though I wouldn't want to be anyone else I know, just maybe be sane like some people I know.
Weird how the most insignificant thing can set a person into a psychotic self-destructive rage. Or at least make you feel like you are inches away from letting reality go completely. That's my life. One tiresome, losing battle against nothing.
I do have a theory about Orange BS and some of the other music I just don't feel. I may not be white enough. It's kind of a reverse on Steve Martin's Jerk. Then again, I'm not very black either. I'm not even sure I'm human.
There were times that I threw away the harmonicas--out the car window--and quit for a year or so. There were times I did other, more productive, intellectually challenging things. That must have been a long time ago.
In my usual foggy, delusional view of life, I had come to think I was at least a mediocre and somewhat original player. Then the subject of Orange Blossom Special came up, and there was a guy who can play it well.
I still cannot play it. Not only do I just not get it, but whatever it is that you have to do to play it right seems beyond the capability of how my body is made. Can't do it!! Can't can't can't.
On top of that I do not even like it that well. I admire those who can play it, and kudos to them. It's a friggin fiddle tune, and unless it is played like a mellow violin, I don't much like fiddle. Only sometimes do I like bluegrass. Nothing wrong with it but it does not hit me where I live.
I tried to figure out the OBS again, and got so frustrated I threw the harmonica across the room, and I refuse to go pick it up. Right now if I get near it I will smash it under my shoe. Too bad no boots are handy. I do have a sledge hammer, though.
If I cannot play that tune and play it as it should be played, I must be much worse than mediocre. I'm no good at all. Nice people around here but I wish I had never started playing with them. They get the kind of country music that I don't and they like orange blossom hell.
I'm going to avoid the next two or three get togethers where people play, and often ask me to sit on things I don't know, don't like, and don't understand. It has ceased being fun because that gut thing gets no outlet with this stuff. And seeking out more bluesy or rocking venues would mean dealing with less likable musicians. Everyone's a badass in some of that, or drunk or drugged, and I don't like anyone right this minute.
I can't turn down the group up here on the mountain if they expect me to come play tomorrow night, but after that I may lay off for a long time.
It isn't that I even want to play that tune, although tune gives it more clarity than I think it deserves. It is a classic in some circles. I wish only fiddles were allowed to play it. It is that I should be able to do it. If I could I would play it once, then tell people that's the first and last time. But I can not do it.
It makes me want to drink, I swear. And move away. And I hate being me, even though I wouldn't want to be anyone else I know, just maybe be sane like some people I know.
Weird how the most insignificant thing can set a person into a psychotic self-destructive rage. Or at least make you feel like you are inches away from letting reality go completely. That's my life. One tiresome, losing battle against nothing.
I do have a theory about Orange BS and some of the other music I just don't feel. I may not be white enough. It's kind of a reverse on Steve Martin's Jerk. Then again, I'm not very black either. I'm not even sure I'm human.
Monday, December 10, 2012
Vere Ah Your Paypahs? hmmmm?
Coming soon; random obesity checks---How much do you vay? (for those who've never known even a taste of 4th amendment rights, that is a reference to the oppression of the nazis circa WWII)
I've had time to cool off, but I'm doing a slow burn, with pent up rage aimed at every idiot teacher, cop, and adult in America who is too damned bull-headed to comprehend how irritating tyranny can be. And how their compliance will come back on all of us, and already has.
Only a mile or so down the road from my house, on the way to Descanso, the Border Patrol decided to set up a make shift road block. Not just for an hour or so. They may be there for days for all I know.
Hardly anyone ever takes that road. Most people get groceries and such in Alpine. The road loops between the two towns. It is 2 lane. You see more animals than people. I live in the sticks, partly because I am sick of officialdom.
Today, as I was headed to Descanso post office, I encountered the orange cones and 5 mph signs. I noticed the trailer on the side of the road which contained elevated big lights. I slowed and went through, no stop.
A few hours later, I came home that way, which I often do because the road is usually empty enough that I can put the car in neutral and glide the last 3 miles. I like that road. The bright lights were blazing, the border patrol cars had their cop lights flashing and they forced anyone coming through to stop.
"What country are you a citizen of?", I was asked. "U S A", I replied, although inwardly I was thinking "The Independent Republic of F$%^ YOU! and the bastards who hired you!"
I know Mexico is maybe 10 miles further south, but that does not constitute probable cause for stopping me, shining a flashlight at me, and through the back windows of my car to see what I have in there. By rights I could have refused to answer, demanding to know why I was being asked and if there was any reason to suspect me for doing something illegal.
If I were here illegally, and got stopped by a local cop, the cop is not supposed to ask me anything. You give up that privacy if you are a citizen, I think.
It is a problem created by government. Insane drug laws, and insane tax methods. Go to the Fair Tax, just can the drug laws and forget it.
The thinking is the same that grade school teachers used when they would hold the entire class hostage until someone either fessed up to some indiscretion, or someone else told on the perp. Half the time, most of us had no idea what was the crime that set the "educator" on the warpath.
This has gone on so long that most people have no idea what freedom, even a little of it, is supposed to be. You are not supposed to have to prove your innocence at the whim of authorities out in the middle of nowhere. And that is what roadblocks are; places in which citizens are required to prove their innocence of crimes for which there is no reasonable expectation that they are guilty.
If such things do not scare you, you will do well in the People's Republic of Compliant Idiots.
And the bit about, "If you ain't doin' nothin' wrong, then ya got nuthin to worry 'bout", is absolutely mindless BS. I worry about anyone or any institution that stops me, essentially at gunpoint, hoping to discover I've broken some law, of which there are so many that no one person knows them all.
I'm usually polite at such encounters. This one, right in my backyard, flipped the switch. I was not happy. Had I been in a muscle car I would have laid rubber for half a mile on my way out.
Things are as they are because, throughout humanity's history, people will believe anything, and they don't mind forcing others to comply to their wishes whether or not the others' normal actions would interfere with their right to seek happiness. They are more inclined to go along with things if little crumbs like obamaphones are tossed their way.
Part of the Big Pretense is that any of it makes sense. I live just outside a Sanctuary City--meaning illegals needn't worry about have their feelings hurt-- yet I am required to prove my legitimacy within sight of my own driveway.
Want to fix immigration worries? Use some logic, fix the underlying system which both rewards moochers and encourages thugs. That goes to the tax system, the way that criminals are actually compensated should some aberrant institution like Mexico's government whine that some sheriff defended himself when the thugs tried to run him over, etc.
And the drug thing.
That is money and power which includes the governments who declare war on drugs. Another bit of pretense; wars on inanimate objects and vague nouns are truly meaningless. But they are good excuses to use the people's money to enrich some slimy power brokers and their pals.
Needless to say, this particular development which has placed Big Brother in my back yard, sent me over the edge. If I had a big old truck, really big, I think I'd just go crashing through and destroy their vehicles in the process. Good thing I don't have a bazooka, big truck or anything else more forceful than a Subaru and a machete.
You can believe that one or the other of these disgusting political parties has validity and makes sense, but the truth is they have given us tyranny in little bitty doses, adding another and another, so that we could swallow each increment without much trouble until we ate the whole thing. This is not right, not respectful of the rights of individuals and not necessary.
Speaking of useful idiots. Here's one that is on a roll. Give him the Sean Penn righteous fool award for Dec. 2012.
I've had time to cool off, but I'm doing a slow burn, with pent up rage aimed at every idiot teacher, cop, and adult in America who is too damned bull-headed to comprehend how irritating tyranny can be. And how their compliance will come back on all of us, and already has.
Only a mile or so down the road from my house, on the way to Descanso, the Border Patrol decided to set up a make shift road block. Not just for an hour or so. They may be there for days for all I know.
Hardly anyone ever takes that road. Most people get groceries and such in Alpine. The road loops between the two towns. It is 2 lane. You see more animals than people. I live in the sticks, partly because I am sick of officialdom.
Today, as I was headed to Descanso post office, I encountered the orange cones and 5 mph signs. I noticed the trailer on the side of the road which contained elevated big lights. I slowed and went through, no stop.
A few hours later, I came home that way, which I often do because the road is usually empty enough that I can put the car in neutral and glide the last 3 miles. I like that road. The bright lights were blazing, the border patrol cars had their cop lights flashing and they forced anyone coming through to stop.
"What country are you a citizen of?", I was asked. "U S A", I replied, although inwardly I was thinking "The Independent Republic of F$%^ YOU! and the bastards who hired you!"
I know Mexico is maybe 10 miles further south, but that does not constitute probable cause for stopping me, shining a flashlight at me, and through the back windows of my car to see what I have in there. By rights I could have refused to answer, demanding to know why I was being asked and if there was any reason to suspect me for doing something illegal.
If I were here illegally, and got stopped by a local cop, the cop is not supposed to ask me anything. You give up that privacy if you are a citizen, I think.
It is a problem created by government. Insane drug laws, and insane tax methods. Go to the Fair Tax, just can the drug laws and forget it.
The thinking is the same that grade school teachers used when they would hold the entire class hostage until someone either fessed up to some indiscretion, or someone else told on the perp. Half the time, most of us had no idea what was the crime that set the "educator" on the warpath.
This has gone on so long that most people have no idea what freedom, even a little of it, is supposed to be. You are not supposed to have to prove your innocence at the whim of authorities out in the middle of nowhere. And that is what roadblocks are; places in which citizens are required to prove their innocence of crimes for which there is no reasonable expectation that they are guilty.
If such things do not scare you, you will do well in the People's Republic of Compliant Idiots.
And the bit about, "If you ain't doin' nothin' wrong, then ya got nuthin to worry 'bout", is absolutely mindless BS. I worry about anyone or any institution that stops me, essentially at gunpoint, hoping to discover I've broken some law, of which there are so many that no one person knows them all.
I'm usually polite at such encounters. This one, right in my backyard, flipped the switch. I was not happy. Had I been in a muscle car I would have laid rubber for half a mile on my way out.
Things are as they are because, throughout humanity's history, people will believe anything, and they don't mind forcing others to comply to their wishes whether or not the others' normal actions would interfere with their right to seek happiness. They are more inclined to go along with things if little crumbs like obamaphones are tossed their way.
Part of the Big Pretense is that any of it makes sense. I live just outside a Sanctuary City--meaning illegals needn't worry about have their feelings hurt-- yet I am required to prove my legitimacy within sight of my own driveway.
Want to fix immigration worries? Use some logic, fix the underlying system which both rewards moochers and encourages thugs. That goes to the tax system, the way that criminals are actually compensated should some aberrant institution like Mexico's government whine that some sheriff defended himself when the thugs tried to run him over, etc.
And the drug thing.
That is money and power which includes the governments who declare war on drugs. Another bit of pretense; wars on inanimate objects and vague nouns are truly meaningless. But they are good excuses to use the people's money to enrich some slimy power brokers and their pals.
Needless to say, this particular development which has placed Big Brother in my back yard, sent me over the edge. If I had a big old truck, really big, I think I'd just go crashing through and destroy their vehicles in the process. Good thing I don't have a bazooka, big truck or anything else more forceful than a Subaru and a machete.
You can believe that one or the other of these disgusting political parties has validity and makes sense, but the truth is they have given us tyranny in little bitty doses, adding another and another, so that we could swallow each increment without much trouble until we ate the whole thing. This is not right, not respectful of the rights of individuals and not necessary.
Speaking of useful idiots. Here's one that is on a roll. Give him the Sean Penn righteous fool award for Dec. 2012.
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About Me
- John0 Juanderlust
- Ballistic Mountain, CA, United States
- Like spring on a summer's day
