SomeThings Need Saying, Even If the Listener is Departed

For example,

Dear Milton Berle, it just wasn't funny when you dressed up like a woman.  You did that a lot, and you always acted like you thought it was really funny.  Not even close.  RIP.

Dear Vaudeville,
A pie in the face is not funny. It has never been funny.  Perhaps there is one obscure exception to the rule.  I doubt it. Comedians tell people it is funny so people laugh. They do what they are told in crowds like that. Also, some of them may be embarrassed for you so they laugh; or they don't want to be odd man out so they pretend to see the Emporer's new clothes.

But seriously, the pie is not funny.  You may be funny, but the pie is not the key to your humor or anyone else's.  Broken knee caps aren't funny either.  Look, just trust me, Vaudeville, the pie-in-the-face school of comedy was wrong.  Not funny.  I think their certification has been revoked.  They no longer count.

RIP


For some reason I was thinking about these things as I plodded through work and travel.  Lot of driving to and from the workplace.  I am able to do much much more than I could at this time last year.  I guess the poison pill is doing the trick.

I am doing my part mentally, too.  Once I get started, I keep putting off breaks until I finished.  Then I take the break.  I am afraid that I won't be able to get moving again if I stop for a break.

On the way home, I am often ultra sore, but it seems to come in waves and leave in waves.

Really, though.  It is as if everyone went along with Milty, pretending his cross dressing was comic genius, when everyone knew he just liked the excuse to let out his inner whatever.  It wasn't funny.  It is just one of those things where someone carries a tacit sort of power and no one knows why for sure. But they still fear breaking the silence on the truth of the issue.

So, everyone patronized Milton Berle because he was often funny and witty.  And he was rich and connected.  But they were afraid to even admit to their friends the lack of funny when Milt cross dressed.  So, you can see that even a posthumous lecture on humor to Milt carries risk and danger.

While we are at it, nothing about food fights is funny.  Someone took a lot of time to grow or raise or synthetically create that food.  Besides, it is not funny. Messy. The kind of stuff that might be like a halfway house for fecal throwers.

Sorry I had to go there. The truth is so damned harsh when you are full of koolaid.  People do weird things.  Often the only trace of motive stems from sex or other bodily functions.  And often the act may relate to such things, but any shred of satisfaction or remotely rational motive is absent.

I caught a regular news channel the other day.  Obama was all over the place on there.  I watched many allegedly important people testify to the news people regarding their status as righteous, holy and better than you.  And I wondered, "Do people really believe this nonsense?".

Yes, I think they do.

Heart Breaking Laments

Here's the deal.  There are those who may have broken my heart, but have absolutely no clue that such a thing was done. Some of them would not even remember my name.

Something in the above smacks of insanity.
.

Sound Advice

Why Not Me?

I Really Want You

about a week before 4th of july 015. that belly comes and goes.  It is not as it seems, I'm sure

Mr. Relaxation, the dog

So, with the exit of Max, the beloved gigantic dog who was very kind, and large, they decided to go look at the great pyrenees place in Ramona.  They just didn't want to deal with the void.

Out plops a 3 year old rescue named Frank.  He comes out and lays down, sort of turning on his back.  They brought him home.

He's a lot smaller than Max.  Max weighed somewhere around 160, so Frank must be about 120 lbs is my guess.  Still big.  He's got a different look altogether.  I think he has the blues.

The story is, he lived in northern California and ran away 16 times.  Small town or out in the country I think.  I guess they had to pay the shelter every time to bust him out of dog jail.  The last time they told the shelter to just put him down.  After 16 visits the people there knew Frank.  First name basis and all that.  No way did they want to put him down.

So, they contact a guy who contacts the lady in Ramona, and next thing you know, there he is.  I have no idea how they induced this creature of leisure to run away.  He is happiest laying down while wagging his tail.   One indication of something not quite right is the fact that his hair is so long and matted.  A little grooming is in order.  Also under all that fur was a choker collar, on so tight that they had to cut it off with bolt cutters.

He seems pretty happy to be where he is but I think he is waiting for the other shoe to drop.   He knows his name and does what is asked, most of the time.  So easy to get attached.  I try to avoid that.  Dogs and cats don't live that long.  It is easier getting attached to other people's pets though, because I like the freedom of being able to split on a moment's notice without wondering how the animal will be accommodated.

It may be that after all the recent change, and his previous people encouraging his execution, he is out of energy and just wants to lay down for a month.  His check up revealed no reason for the exaggerated sense of leisure and relaxation.

And so it goes.  Now I have to train another creature.  Pet owners never seem to know what they are doing. It is up to me to explain cats and skunks and humming birds.  And to teach the animal all it needs to know.  I try to avoid it but what can you do.  Most people are awful when it comes to training pets or raising their children.  They need third parties, who don't feed the creatures, to manage that.

Harbinger of Doom? Maybe not even a harbinger

The dramatist, the thespian in me tends to see signs and symbols in things that may just be happenstance.  Like Max, the very kind, gigantic dog, suddenly coming down with a type of aggressive bone cancer which is an adios sort of condition.

He must have covered symptoms for some time because he's just been diagnosed and now he is going fast.  He is going to be put down in a day.

The nature of this is that by this time it also spreads all over and amputating the immediately defective leg would do no good, and any buying time options would be pure misery.  Soon the bone itself falls apart.  This is not a good thing,

So, after playing for Crest and their parade I went in to Pt Loma to see Max, and see the fireworks from their impressive viewpoint.  This is tough on the people.  Veterinarians like my friend spent a lifetime in that field because of deeply caring about animals.  He takes it hard when they go. Especially the one's he likes the best. He's no fool.  He knows some dogs and cats and other critters are jerks, and some are A OK.

So, as I left I told Max I'd see him on the other side.  If other side there be.   I hope so.

If I'm not careful I could end up like Max.  But maybe not, if I am lucky.  If I do.  I'm not overly eager about any of the options.  Chemo-lite is not so bad.  I get some side effects but I can cover them fairly well.  I do not like that the itching issues seem to be thinking of returning.  Not quite full blown but annoying.  At the same time, I can still tolerate much more heat, and I can do more than I could at this time last year,

Today, I feel like I don't care if I ever play any music ever again. I just don't care right now.  People depend on me for the moment, and I may be helpful so I keep at it.  Also I would be way too isolated if I quit without some other source of contact with humans.

You never saw a 160 lb dog be so spoiled. Eggs and bacon for breakfast today.  Hamburger and toasted buns for lunch.  Little bit of bagel for a snack, and the best pain pills a dog can get.  He was crashed out mostly.  It hurts him to get up, but he does his best.

I do not think things are going to get much easier than they are now.  I have to re-assess my view of hardship so I won't feel overwhelmed and such.

Something has got to give.  I won't rush it though.  But inevitable is inevitable.

Max, Me, and I don't know

It turns out that Max, my gigantic canine pal, has an aggressive form of cancer which affects bones, then all else.  He'll be with us for only a short time now.  Probably a matter of a few months at most.  A few weeks is also a possibility.  He is a very gentle kind creature.  When I was house sitting, he knew when I was having a tough time.  He knew when I came down with weird disease over a year ago.  I swear, he treated me differently and was quite nice and supportive.

His people are quite sad and spoiling him like crazy.  We all are.

I've never been an over the top dog or cat person.  I absolutely disagree with those who claim there are no bad dogs, only bad people who own them, etc.  And I do not agree that all breeds are wonderful.  If one or two breeds supply the majority of the aberrant individuals who eat babies and maim pedestrians, I tend to think that maybe something is up.  If you have one of those hell dogs and it is just marvy, good for you.  

If you are one who owns a hell dog and tells unsuspecting guests, as the rude animal is baring teeth and growling, "Oh, he just needs to get used to you--just don't make any quick movements", then I would posit that we will all benefit by putting down your pooch, and you.

That said, Max is not even in that league.  He's one of those creatures who almost cries if you seem displeased with him.  And he can take No for an answer, though he may test you a few times just to be sure you really mean no, and not yes or maybe.

He's limping because the disease is first working on his lower left leg.  But he still gets excited at the thought of a walk.  He just can't go all that far.  If it was a slowly progressing condition, I'd build him some sort of rig with wheels so he could keep trucking.

Not sure how I am doing.  OK, I guess.  We played House of Blues on Tues night.  A few groups played--an hour each.  We were on at 8.  I'd say we made a favorable impression.  It looked to me like we were the highlight of the evening. 

I can't whine about my mistakes or the sound or any of the usual frustrations.  I played how I play--maybe better than some times, and the sound guy gave me excellent sound, and the mic was plenty hot, meaning I could work it by backing away and such, which is what I like.

The cute girl bass player from the group Daddy Issues, gave me a fist bump afterwards, and complimented my playing.  She's about 23, and one of the best players around.  She also teaches violin and such to kids.  Love the name of her band, but even though their front person is a looker, I think the bass girl outclasses that group.  That's neither here nor there.  I just get a kick out of the girl.  Her guitar strap broke the last time I saw her group. So she finished the song lying on her back.  She's like the daughter or girlfriend anyone would want--depending upon your age, and/or grip upon reality.

So I was sitting here resting, reading, planning the next week's work and music schedule, and the sadness swept over like dense cloud enveloping me.  Overwhelming sadness with no focus.  I'm a mess I guess.  No idea where I'm going or why.  Playing the music keeps me healthier than I would otherwise be, I think.  The hydrea must be doing something to various blood cell levels because itch attacks are only mild now, and not debilitating.  My lungs are great but I still seem to lack O2.  Probably the faulty cells not holding enough.  But I can still feel the much expanded lung capacity compared to when I used to smoke. 

Sometimes I go up to this place when I am lost, alone and want to hide for a few hours away from everyone and everything.   I may be the miracle boy, but I do not always think I am really going to pull this off for that much longer.  It doesn't matter.  I just wish no sadness was involved in being me. Free floating, f'ing sadness.  I hate it.  Loneliest stuff there is. It is some nasty junk. 

It is weird, the whole playing music deal.  I am now playing with two classically trained people.  The new bass player is allegedly a woman, but I suspect that has not always been so.  OK. Fine,  I don't think she cares for me at all. Weird scene.  However, she is good and pretty much makes her living that way or has.  She's a nice guy, overall, though, just not so much toward me.  I live a weird life.

Anyway, the playing is the main thread that prevents total isolation and waiting to die.  

I think I can do better than this.  At least I am not one who succumbs to dumbass peer pressure of the sort that pushes self styled intellectuals to jump on the "I hate my people and my country" bandwagon.  Listening to white apologists constantly dream up new modes of self flaggelation, while somehow trying to distance themselves from their own genetic make-up, is nauseating. 

They appear to be seeking to endear themselves to ethnic groups who they assume are in great need of their protection and benevolence.  "Hi, I am your great white leader who will not only dream up grievances for you, but I will also wreak havoc upon the white devils who owe you so much!".

So, I guess I would rather be sad, lonely, and a mutant rather than be that.  

Come to Crest, right there on the ridge above Harbison Canyon, just east of El Cajon, on Saturday for a fine time. Fun for the whole family.  

where we will go, no one knows

Weird to Think This May Apply In More Than One Case

If you had any idea how much I miss you, you'd probably shoot me, or yourself.  For that reason, I'll keep it to myself.
Lots of love and unidentified emotional angst,
Your pal,
[REDACTED]

Well, It Did Get Breezier

So, on my way back into El Cajon to pick up my car and drop off the rental, I pulled into the CVS parking lot.  On my way backing out, I was making use of the back up cam, plus trying to find ways to glimpse the world behind and beside the car, first hand.

That first hand look at the world is tricky in that car.  It is good, in that the windows are dark and small so the sun is not too oppressive.  However, as I mention previously, this vehicle is best enjoyed by those who do not care to see where they are going.

OK.  I'm backing up, head on a swivel, left, right, left, up, down, etc., back up cam, all resources in play.  Then I go to shift into drive, still maintaining a vigilant watch over my surroundings.  I reach down for the crazy Chrysler shift knob which is like a tuning dial or volume knob.  I reach down from memory, grasp the dial and turn clockwise which is where drive is located.

Pic doesn't show that this is flat, on the horizontal plane. You see part of the fan knob at top, also on the flat horizontal plane. 

Only the fan sped up.  The fan speed  knob was located just above the shifter knob.  Can that even be safe?  They are close to the same size even.   Much as I enjoyed the new Chrysler car, and as dirty as my 200K+miles Subaru is, I found it to still be the more ergonomic machine. It takes so much less effort because you can easily see who is near you and where you are going, and there is no way you would go to put the car into drive and accidentally turn up the radio or air conditioning fan.

I'm still wondering where is the catch.

The drive shaft assembly comes as such, no separate U-joints.  It is very expensive and they would have had to pull it out of Oregon.  I think that is because they so rarely go bad.  But we are talking over $900.00 installed.  A little over $100 is labor.

Well, once again, my friend Kevin, from up here on the mountain and from the Copper Creek group of which I am the harp guy and sometimes vocals, saved the day.  Seems we were discussing practice fro this past Saturday's gig at the Wine and Song festival--friggin sound was perfect for me. Just how I like it. Anyway, I must have mentioned it.

I did mention it because I talked to the dealer in the afternoon and they agreed to try to find a used part.  Kevin has access to just about ever part source's data base due to his job--maybe he is actually with "The Company".  He calls me back and says, here is where you can get the part $100.00 and they deliver every day to San Diego.  There were some complications regarding payment.

But---here's the cool part---the dealer was fine about the part, and since, for various reasons I needed to pay the parts outfit, they held the money there and gave it to the driver who dropped off the part.  I expected red tape and, "I'm sorry, my hands are tied.  Our policy is, only parts from authorized Subaru parts emporiums!"

They retained me as a customer.  Otherwise I would have grabbed my car and stalked away, forfeiting the minimum fee the always stipulate for looking at your car.

It was one of the smartest moves they could do.  This is what I figured out.  A man like me does not want to think he got reamed by a mechanic shop just because he didn't have time or energy to argue or whatever.  Who wants to go tell people, "Hey did I ever get screwed by the mean service department or mechanic shop.

You sound like a loser wimp. I may be a loser but I don't want to be a loser wimp. That is a bridge too far. Does that even make sense?

Anyway, when they work this way I cannot complain.  I will tell people that El Cajon Subaru-Mazda is OK in my book. I feel victorious in some way, relieved, and full of good will toward that company.

I wonder if service departments and other shops realize how much people value a good experience.  I thought I'd save with an independent shop, and I really wasn't satisfied with what they charged and their reasons. Maybe it was all legit, but it felt like a little legit, a little con.  I doubt I'll be back.  And I can't recommend them.  Marketing.  They could have made more money in the long run.

Guess they counted on me dying.  So did I, but I don't think it will happen soon.  I am the miracle boy from hell, dammit!

If you ever doubt the sure footedness of the subaru system. Just drive it up my hill, then take that Chrysler up the hill.  You will be surprised.  I had no idea how spoiled I'd become to not slipping and sliding all the time./