I've come to the conclusion that curiosity is not always a good thing. Since my last post about Mr. Samuel James Tilden Moore III, I just couldn't resist digging deeper to find out more about what I suspected was an interesting, if not sad story. Intrigued by the lack of information readily available about Moore and his background, I was determined enough to do some real digging in the archives. Suffice it to say my suspicions of connections, voiced previously, were not only confirmed but underestimated.
Herein lies the rub. In my zeal to dig up a juicy story, I forgot that knowing more can sometimes be a bad thing. I'm left now with an overwhelming sadness for his family, both living and departed, as well as for old Sam the 3d himself. His story is not unlike that of many privileged offspring that somehow are lost in the wake of the accomplishments and expectations of their prestigious families. It's sometimes hard for those that were underprivileged to grasp how wealth, connections and advantage sometime have such a destructive impact on one's life. It appears that such is the case here.
Out of respect to a fine family, I'm going to hang up my detective hat and relate none of the specifics on what I have gathered to date on Sam and his kin. If there are those that wish to know more, there is a wealth of information if you are resourceful enough to find it. My recommendation however, would be to let it rest. It's just another tragic tale of a fine Southern family lost in the aftermath of a kingdom vanished.
Good luck Sam. You're damn sure gonna need it. GOBs are a dying breed.
Friday, February 29, 2008
T G I Freaky Foto Friday!!
Here we have a couple of shots from the wedding of Mr. and Mrs. Broaddus Z. Pugh who were married at their home in Sow's Branch, Arkansas.
Next, we have unearthed an early promotional foto of the B52s before they discovered drugs and a better manager.
And finally, proof positive that the Southern Baptists are indeed becoming more progressive. Who knew?
Next, we have unearthed an early promotional foto of the B52s before they discovered drugs and a better manager.
And finally, proof positive that the Southern Baptists are indeed becoming more progressive. Who knew?
Thursday, February 28, 2008
So What's Your Story, Sam?
Something tells me Mr. Samuel J.T. Moore III is quite an interesting character. Thanks to the Times Dispatch's coverage of Mr. Moore's illustrious rap sheet, my curiosity about this guy was definitely piqued. His perfect record of acquittals on some pretty major charges, coupled with his pedigreed moniker inspired me to do a little web searching. Turns out Sam's father is an author and southern historian of some note, having published a comprehensive history of Richmond during the Civil War as well as being a frequent presenter to and past president of the Richmond Civil War Roundtable. For those that know anything about old Richmond society and the Great Lost Cause, them's pretty impressive credentials in the GOB circle.
Think about it. Who but someone with connections (good or bad) can beat a string of charges like murder, malicious wounding, sexual assault, rape, etc. and still be around to enjoy a pretty high (albeit seedy) lifestyle in the community? Membership, status, and some damn fine lawyers must be in the mix here. Something tells me there is a good back story to this saga and I really hope some ace reporter can sniff it out. I haven't seen a potentially juicy local story like this one since Clyde "the glide" Pitchford had his infamous run.
Let the fun begin.
Think about it. Who but someone with connections (good or bad) can beat a string of charges like murder, malicious wounding, sexual assault, rape, etc. and still be around to enjoy a pretty high (albeit seedy) lifestyle in the community? Membership, status, and some damn fine lawyers must be in the mix here. Something tells me there is a good back story to this saga and I really hope some ace reporter can sniff it out. I haven't seen a potentially juicy local story like this one since Clyde "the glide" Pitchford had his infamous run.
Let the fun begin.
Friday, February 22, 2008
Way to Make a Good First Impression National Theater
I start my day today by finding the following message on the National Theater website:
In the wake of the forecasted threat of a winter advisory predicted to blanket the Metro Richmond area with ice and snow, coupled with the final wrap-up of the City inspections taking place first thing tomorrow, The National owners have decided to air on the side of caution and postpone the sold out Dark Star Orchestra concert to Monday February 25th @ 7:30pm. The National will honor all tickets for tomorrow’s sold out concert for the rescheduled show on Monday night, February 25th with the added benefit of The Radiators at no additional cost. If desired, refunds are available at the point of purchase.
There are some pissed off Deadheads out here and, dammit, we have a right to be. There are a helluva lot of people that have been planning for and anticipating this show for a long time now. Adding to the excitement was the fact that the show was scheduled for a Friday night. In the past, Richmond ususally got DSO on a week night as they passed through town for a major weekend gig. This was big. We get DSO, a brand new venue, and a night to party down with no work the next day.
People can accept the truth but, in a case like this, bullcrap is not acceptable. For god sakes, don't try to blame this lack of planning on the weather. Give me a break! There is "...a threat of a winter advisory"...and the decision is to "air" on the side of caution (nice English Mr. PI officer) and postpone the show? What the hell? Does a politician run this freaking theater? Give it to us straight National Theater owners. Tell us you screwed up. Tell us the City screwed up. Tell us something that makes sense! Take some responsibility and don't blame a fictitious weather advisory that never called for shit in the first place. If you're not ready to open, come clean with it. "Air" on the side of having some balls!!!
Now all the folks that work for a living will have to settle for refunds, be no shows on Monday, and hope that this kind of bullcrap doesn't happen again. Thanks for ruining my weekend Mr. Blame the weather can't get your shit together owner of the fucking lame ass National Theater!
Oh, in case I failed to mention it, I'm pissed.
Peace
In the wake of the forecasted threat of a winter advisory predicted to blanket the Metro Richmond area with ice and snow, coupled with the final wrap-up of the City inspections taking place first thing tomorrow, The National owners have decided to air on the side of caution and postpone the sold out Dark Star Orchestra concert to Monday February 25th @ 7:30pm. The National will honor all tickets for tomorrow’s sold out concert for the rescheduled show on Monday night, February 25th with the added benefit of The Radiators at no additional cost. If desired, refunds are available at the point of purchase.
There are some pissed off Deadheads out here and, dammit, we have a right to be. There are a helluva lot of people that have been planning for and anticipating this show for a long time now. Adding to the excitement was the fact that the show was scheduled for a Friday night. In the past, Richmond ususally got DSO on a week night as they passed through town for a major weekend gig. This was big. We get DSO, a brand new venue, and a night to party down with no work the next day.
People can accept the truth but, in a case like this, bullcrap is not acceptable. For god sakes, don't try to blame this lack of planning on the weather. Give me a break! There is "...a threat of a winter advisory"...and the decision is to "air" on the side of caution (nice English Mr. PI officer) and postpone the show? What the hell? Does a politician run this freaking theater? Give it to us straight National Theater owners. Tell us you screwed up. Tell us the City screwed up. Tell us something that makes sense! Take some responsibility and don't blame a fictitious weather advisory that never called for shit in the first place. If you're not ready to open, come clean with it. "Air" on the side of having some balls!!!
Now all the folks that work for a living will have to settle for refunds, be no shows on Monday, and hope that this kind of bullcrap doesn't happen again. Thanks for ruining my weekend Mr. Blame the weather can't get your shit together owner of the fucking lame ass National Theater!
Oh, in case I failed to mention it, I'm pissed.
Peace
Freaky Foto Friday Weather Warning
If you walk out the door in the morning and
see this in the sky:
Just go back in the house, pour yourself a cup of coffee with a shot, and stay there.
It probably isn't going to be a good day.
see this in the sky:
Just go back in the house, pour yourself a cup of coffee with a shot, and stay there.
It probably isn't going to be a good day.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Motivational Thought for the Day
This little animal is called the Naked Mole-Rat and is from Africa.
So, if find you are having a bad day or feel sorry for yourself,
Remember:
Going through life is hard enough, but to go through life looking like a dick with buck teeth is horrible!
So, if find you are having a bad day or feel sorry for yourself,
Remember:
Going through life is hard enough, but to go through life looking like a dick with buck teeth is horrible!
A Heartwarming Story!
STORY OF A LITTLE GIRL AND HER DEAD GOLDFISH
Now and then it is good to have one that is just cute and sweet.
(click on image below for larger size)
There now, wasn't that just a cute and sweet little story?
Now and then it is good to have one that is just cute and sweet.
(click on image below for larger size)
There now, wasn't that just a cute and sweet little story?
Monday, February 18, 2008
Here's to You Dead Dudes
I was the perfect house husband today. I had the day off because I work for one of those organizations that let us have Mondays off whenever one of the holidays I affectionately refer to as Dead Dude's Day comes around. I never know when they are coming. I just wait for someone at work to remind me that we have a day off. It's usually on a Friday when I leave with my standard, "See you on Monday". The strange look I receive from my staff tips me off. It's that exasperated loook that says: "you poor lost dumbass, you've been working in here for 20 years and you still don't know!"
Whatever, I like surprises. Anyway, I decided to surprise Angie by cleaning the house, washing and folding all the clothes, and preparing a wonderful gourmet meal. It was a beautiful 70 degree day today but I resisted the temptation to play on the river and set about doing all the weekend chores that we put on hold so we could do nothing. Strangely enough, today, all those irritating chores became satisfying and I occupied myself all day floating between tasks with the ease of a seasoned pro, juggling food prep with laundry and cleaning, finishing just in time to greet the love of my life at the door with a drink and a kiss.
After a glorious meal, one of my best ever, I mentioned to Angie that maybe this house husband thing may be a good idea. I could quit work, we could save money on house cleaning, and she could be spoiled everyday with my attentive service. Didn't work. "I'll quit work and do all this for you", she said.
The finality in her voice awoke me to the fact that retirement is not in my immediate future. Oh well, at least I've got all those Dead Dude Days to hone my domestic skills.
Whatever, I like surprises. Anyway, I decided to surprise Angie by cleaning the house, washing and folding all the clothes, and preparing a wonderful gourmet meal. It was a beautiful 70 degree day today but I resisted the temptation to play on the river and set about doing all the weekend chores that we put on hold so we could do nothing. Strangely enough, today, all those irritating chores became satisfying and I occupied myself all day floating between tasks with the ease of a seasoned pro, juggling food prep with laundry and cleaning, finishing just in time to greet the love of my life at the door with a drink and a kiss.
After a glorious meal, one of my best ever, I mentioned to Angie that maybe this house husband thing may be a good idea. I could quit work, we could save money on house cleaning, and she could be spoiled everyday with my attentive service. Didn't work. "I'll quit work and do all this for you", she said.
The finality in her voice awoke me to the fact that retirement is not in my immediate future. Oh well, at least I've got all those Dead Dude Days to hone my domestic skills.
Friday, February 15, 2008
It's FFF Again!
As I have been sick with the flu for the last four days, writing anything intelligent or inspired has been out of the question. Just when I'm about to forego posting for yet another day I suddenly remember, It's Freaky Foto Friday!!! Enjoy:
Friday, February 8, 2008
Hurray it's Freaky Foto Friday!
What did we ever do without the world wide web? We certainly didn't have as many pictures to amaze and entertain us!
First we have a shot from the first Olympic competition for transplant recipients. This gymnast, from the tiny island nation of Maui Momo was the first recipient of a replacement head. As no suitable donors were found, she had to settle for a bit less. Her new "head" does come in handy in breaking nasty falls off the balance beam.
Next we have Stretch Armstrong. As a boy, Stetch longed to become a basketball player; however, growing up in the suburbs his parents preferred he play soccer. Here he is today protesting an illegal use of hands call.
And finally, we have a picture of Bob after having lunch at his favorite cantina in Tijuana.
First we have a shot from the first Olympic competition for transplant recipients. This gymnast, from the tiny island nation of Maui Momo was the first recipient of a replacement head. As no suitable donors were found, she had to settle for a bit less. Her new "head" does come in handy in breaking nasty falls off the balance beam.
Next we have Stretch Armstrong. As a boy, Stetch longed to become a basketball player; however, growing up in the suburbs his parents preferred he play soccer. Here he is today protesting an illegal use of hands call.
And finally, we have a picture of Bob after having lunch at his favorite cantina in Tijuana.
Thursday, February 7, 2008
John Wade, I Salute You
I just finished reading Richmond's Style Weekly article on John Wade who, at eighteen, was branded a "terrorist" as a result of the federal government's (Anti-) "Patriot" Act and sent to federal prison for three years. John Wade's crimes were neither against humanity nor threatening to any human's safety (other than his own). His intent was to exact a monetary price against those whose actions conflicted with or symbolized a threat to the well being of our environment. While one can effectively argue his tactics and actions as misguided and malicious, there can be no arguing the passion and commitment behind them. It is the same kind of single-minded and passionate commitment that inspired ordinary citizens to throw barrels of tea off a British ship in New England, occupy campus buildings, and burn sections of our country's cities. All of these actions are now popularly viewed as natural responses to injustice rather than the crimes they were at the time. Yesterday's "terrorists" sometimes become today's heroes. I hope environmental activists will someday enjoy such status. The impunity with which our system of government destroys land and natural resources for the sake of the almighty dollar will hopefully one day be seen as equally unjust as other atrocities that we have successfully fought to change.
We should all ponder where would we be if inspired people never found the courage to stand up and take action against status quo. Even if the extreme actions of zealots are sometimes misguided and immature, they get people's attention. Attention that, for good or bad, inspires the actions of others. Scary stuff for a country like ours that thrives on the status quo and the sheep-like compliance of it's inhabitants. And that, my friends, is why we have the friggin (Anti-) "Patriot" Act and is also the reason John Wade is labeled as an extremist and a terrorist.
Today we humans are beginning a national dialogue about our future on a depleted planet. People like John Wade, through his actions and his example help us to begin that discussion. Thank goodness he had the courage to not back down after being abused by the system. John Wade has emerged from his imprisonment remarkably committed to pick up where he left off. Only this time, hopefully, his maturity will guide him to more effective means of affecting change. John Wade for his actions as an adult, not as an adolescent, is a hero and I wish I had half the conviction, passion and commitment that he has. You go boy!
Peace
We should all ponder where would we be if inspired people never found the courage to stand up and take action against status quo. Even if the extreme actions of zealots are sometimes misguided and immature, they get people's attention. Attention that, for good or bad, inspires the actions of others. Scary stuff for a country like ours that thrives on the status quo and the sheep-like compliance of it's inhabitants. And that, my friends, is why we have the friggin (Anti-) "Patriot" Act and is also the reason John Wade is labeled as an extremist and a terrorist.
Today we humans are beginning a national dialogue about our future on a depleted planet. People like John Wade, through his actions and his example help us to begin that discussion. Thank goodness he had the courage to not back down after being abused by the system. John Wade has emerged from his imprisonment remarkably committed to pick up where he left off. Only this time, hopefully, his maturity will guide him to more effective means of affecting change. John Wade for his actions as an adult, not as an adolescent, is a hero and I wish I had half the conviction, passion and commitment that he has. You go boy!
Peace
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
End of the Line for Twit
The political scene has pretty much dropped off my radar; however, occasionally a political piece will catch my eye enough to actually read it. Especially if it's deals with the political demise of Twit, er Mitt Romney. The Slate's political blog "Trail Head" features such a piece today and it retored my faith that people in this country are not totally out to lunch.
Chadwick Matlin writes:
"So, what now? Romney's last hope was to remain relevant in California, but that worked about as well as his two-dozen different campaign messages. The next few contests—Kansas, Louisiana, Washington, Virginia, and Maryland—don't really favor him, but that's because the country doesn't favor him. The only region where Romney did especially well was in the mountain West, where Mormons live and news stories go to die. His political life has run its course. It's time to end it."
Follow this link for the entire article.
So long Twit. Your 15 minutes are up. The only sad thing is all of the money you swindled out of hard working people that believed you were something special. Now go back to doing what you do best: being irrelevant.
Chadwick Matlin writes:
"So, what now? Romney's last hope was to remain relevant in California, but that worked about as well as his two-dozen different campaign messages. The next few contests—Kansas, Louisiana, Washington, Virginia, and Maryland—don't really favor him, but that's because the country doesn't favor him. The only region where Romney did especially well was in the mountain West, where Mormons live and news stories go to die. His political life has run its course. It's time to end it."
Follow this link for the entire article.
So long Twit. Your 15 minutes are up. The only sad thing is all of the money you swindled out of hard working people that believed you were something special. Now go back to doing what you do best: being irrelevant.
Saturday, February 2, 2008
Notes on a Strange Day
February 2, 2008
12:00am-2:00am
Catch up on the 2 latest episodes of L-Word. Wonder if lesbians actually watch this show. Wonder if lesbians all looked as good as these women, would there be any heterosexual woman at all. Realize that L-Word has jumped the shark. Sad. It was a good show.
2:00am-3:00am
Sleep fitfully. Awakened at three by Keith sending text message asking if I'm still up. Drunk dialing.
3:01-7:00
Sleep fitfully
7:00am-9:30am
Wake up pondering the theory that Britney Spears has actually been possessed by the lost soul of Anna Nicole Smith. Make mental note to contact Pat Robertson and Dr. Phil and suggest exorcism. Imagine the network bidding wars for that one.
Shower, dress and brace for Suzanne's funeral at 10:00. Wonder what goes on in Baptist churches. Take big slug of Bailey's Irish Cream and head out the door.
10:00am-12:00pm
Arrive at church and pleasantly surprised to find a non-traditional funeral gathering in a hall filled with tables. Mingle. Look at collage boards of pictures. Cry.
Sit at a table with Emily and Keith and listen to family and friends tell Suzanne stories. Ponder whether Suzanne can actually see and hear us as we struggle to make sense of the absurdity and awkwardness of grief. Keith and I have a giggling fit to the horror of the somber ones among us. I am satisfied that Suzanne would have wanted us to laugh. Angie and I pop Suxanne's last CD into the player and leave the funeral in search of the best Bloody Mary available.
12:00pm-2:00pm
Bloody Mary search successful. Brunch wonderful. Mission accomplished.
2:00pm-8:00pm
Watch "Five Easy Pieces and "Edward Scissorhands". Wonder how either was ever considered to be good. Busy myself by preparing the obligatory huge pot of chili for the stupid American faux holiday known as Super Bowl Sunday. Drink beers. Pour beer into pot of chili. Drink more beer. Wyatt comes by to let me know of band playing at Cary Street Cafe tonight. Decide that drinking more beer in a crowded, smoky bar full of hippies seems like an attractive proposition.
Trudge upstairs to post a blog because I made a resolution to do this every day for 365 days. Think of Suzanne. Wonder if there is really life after death and, if so, what is Suzanne doing. Probably still getting registered and moved into her new digs. What's the dress code in the afterlife?
8:00-8:10
Stare at the monitor and scan brain for excess bullshit to type into PC. Prepare to log out. I'm going to drink beer, listen to music and be thankful that I'm alive, healthy and here on earth with the rest of the fuck-ups.
Peace
Bye Suzanne. We won't forget you.
12:00am-2:00am
Catch up on the 2 latest episodes of L-Word. Wonder if lesbians actually watch this show. Wonder if lesbians all looked as good as these women, would there be any heterosexual woman at all. Realize that L-Word has jumped the shark. Sad. It was a good show.
2:00am-3:00am
Sleep fitfully. Awakened at three by Keith sending text message asking if I'm still up. Drunk dialing.
3:01-7:00
Sleep fitfully
7:00am-9:30am
Wake up pondering the theory that Britney Spears has actually been possessed by the lost soul of Anna Nicole Smith. Make mental note to contact Pat Robertson and Dr. Phil and suggest exorcism. Imagine the network bidding wars for that one.
Shower, dress and brace for Suzanne's funeral at 10:00. Wonder what goes on in Baptist churches. Take big slug of Bailey's Irish Cream and head out the door.
10:00am-12:00pm
Arrive at church and pleasantly surprised to find a non-traditional funeral gathering in a hall filled with tables. Mingle. Look at collage boards of pictures. Cry.
Sit at a table with Emily and Keith and listen to family and friends tell Suzanne stories. Ponder whether Suzanne can actually see and hear us as we struggle to make sense of the absurdity and awkwardness of grief. Keith and I have a giggling fit to the horror of the somber ones among us. I am satisfied that Suzanne would have wanted us to laugh. Angie and I pop Suxanne's last CD into the player and leave the funeral in search of the best Bloody Mary available.
12:00pm-2:00pm
Bloody Mary search successful. Brunch wonderful. Mission accomplished.
2:00pm-8:00pm
Watch "Five Easy Pieces and "Edward Scissorhands". Wonder how either was ever considered to be good. Busy myself by preparing the obligatory huge pot of chili for the stupid American faux holiday known as Super Bowl Sunday. Drink beers. Pour beer into pot of chili. Drink more beer. Wyatt comes by to let me know of band playing at Cary Street Cafe tonight. Decide that drinking more beer in a crowded, smoky bar full of hippies seems like an attractive proposition.
Trudge upstairs to post a blog because I made a resolution to do this every day for 365 days. Think of Suzanne. Wonder if there is really life after death and, if so, what is Suzanne doing. Probably still getting registered and moved into her new digs. What's the dress code in the afterlife?
8:00-8:10
Stare at the monitor and scan brain for excess bullshit to type into PC. Prepare to log out. I'm going to drink beer, listen to music and be thankful that I'm alive, healthy and here on earth with the rest of the fuck-ups.
Peace
Bye Suzanne. We won't forget you.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Puuuhleeese, Make it Stop!!
I’ve made a conscious resolution to limit my blogs to either humor or the promotion of ideas and issues I’m passionate about. I never want to come off like some old fart curmudgeon that bitches about what this world is coming to. We have enough Andy Rooneys already. You know the type, has beens or never weres carping about the good old days (which I believe to be a myth) and how things used to be so much better. Things were probably better back then because they had hair and could get it up. Dare I break my rule? Can I suffer in silence? Shit, resolve be damned, I’m about to tread on forbidden ground. TABLOID MEDIA IS KILLING ME!!!!!!
For the love of Christ!, what the hell is it going to take to get Britney Spears off my TV, PC, Grocery Store aisle, and out of my freaking awareness for-eeeeever!!!! Why the hell is it news every time Spears has a meltdown? Well, I know the answer to that. Because, Britney news makes the tabloid industry major $$$$$$. Our public appetite for scandal and dirt is insatiable, and this poor little ignorant hose bag is one of the few that cooperates by allowing public access to her own little private Idaho. I guess Twitney is the heir apparent to Anna Nicole Smith now. Every time she slurs, snorts, farts, belches, or passes out, it becomes a major story accompanied by photos and video footage. How much of this can the general public take? Apparently more than this dude can.
Making my morning rounds to various major news sites, I am aghast to find that every freaking one is prominently displaying a Britney Spears story. Every single one. Curious now, I go to the major European news sites. Britney story there too. I had to go to a damn Chinese news site before there was no Britney story displayed. I couldn’t read a goddam word on the site but at least it was Spears free. Makes me want to go out and buy Rosetta Stone’s Chinese Language CDs. At least those people have the intellect not to be sucked in by the likes of Bayou Brit, the redneck twit.
I guess Andy Warhol wasn’t Nostradamus after all. His fifteen minutes of fame prediction grossly underestimated the public’s appetite for sleaze. Even the lowest forms of humanity can turn their 15 minutes into 15 years, provided they are willing to consistently degrade themselves publicly.
I’m disgusted with myself now. I just wasted 15 minutes of my day and an untold amount of patience ranting about the one person I most want to forget. Maybe she’s not so dumb after all. I think I’ll go buy her new CD. I hear it’s pretty good.
For the love of Christ!, what the hell is it going to take to get Britney Spears off my TV, PC, Grocery Store aisle, and out of my freaking awareness for-eeeeever!!!! Why the hell is it news every time Spears has a meltdown? Well, I know the answer to that. Because, Britney news makes the tabloid industry major $$$$$$. Our public appetite for scandal and dirt is insatiable, and this poor little ignorant hose bag is one of the few that cooperates by allowing public access to her own little private Idaho. I guess Twitney is the heir apparent to Anna Nicole Smith now. Every time she slurs, snorts, farts, belches, or passes out, it becomes a major story accompanied by photos and video footage. How much of this can the general public take? Apparently more than this dude can.
Making my morning rounds to various major news sites, I am aghast to find that every freaking one is prominently displaying a Britney Spears story. Every single one. Curious now, I go to the major European news sites. Britney story there too. I had to go to a damn Chinese news site before there was no Britney story displayed. I couldn’t read a goddam word on the site but at least it was Spears free. Makes me want to go out and buy Rosetta Stone’s Chinese Language CDs. At least those people have the intellect not to be sucked in by the likes of Bayou Brit, the redneck twit.
I guess Andy Warhol wasn’t Nostradamus after all. His fifteen minutes of fame prediction grossly underestimated the public’s appetite for sleaze. Even the lowest forms of humanity can turn their 15 minutes into 15 years, provided they are willing to consistently degrade themselves publicly.
I’m disgusted with myself now. I just wasted 15 minutes of my day and an untold amount of patience ranting about the one person I most want to forget. Maybe she’s not so dumb after all. I think I’ll go buy her new CD. I hear it’s pretty good.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
In Memory of Suzanne
I lost a friend yesterday. She was very brave. I've known her for years and for most of those years she's been fighting cancer. She beat breast cancer twice and throughout all of her battles she was never down. She was one of the bravest and nicest people I ever met. Everytime I saw her she looked great. Even when I last saw her a few weeks ago. When her cancer returned about 6 months ago, we all knew that it was bad this time, but she looked so good and was so upbeat, I thought that just maybe she could pull off yet another miracle and beat this thing again. A friend called day before yesterday and let us know she was reaching the end. I was so tired that night, I decided to put off visiting for one more day. That was a mistake. She died early yesterday and I didn't get that chance to say goodbye. I deeply regret that and probably always will. I will always remember her however and hope that she is finally resting without the pain that I know she has covered up for all these years. Farewell Suzannne. This world will miss your laughter and cheer. Rest well, you fought a good fight.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Kellie Pickler, Bless Your Heart
A friend of mine once made the observation that genteel southern folk did not speak disparagingly of other people. If they didn't have anything nice to say, they just say "bless their heart".
Well, Kellie Pickler, "bless your heart".
Things Not to do in China
While researching places and sights to see while in China this Spring, I've definitely discovered a couple of things I won't be doing. Ever wondered what the beaches are like in China? Check this out:
That's just freakin insane! It also poses several questions:
1) Where do you relieve yourself (other than in the sand or the water?
2) With all those umbrellas, does anyone ever even see the sun?
3) How do you find your kid is they get lost? I guess you don't.
4) If you happen to get in the middle of all those people, how the hell do you ever get out? I guess you have to wait until dark.
I DON'T PLAN ON EVER KNOWING THE ANSWER TO ANY OF THESE QUESTIONS!!!
A second Chinese attraction I have decided on foregoing is the Wild Elephant Valley. On the surface, it's sound thrilling to get up close and personal with some of the world's most exotic and mysterious creatures; however, a report out of Beijing yesterday causes me a little concern. Read the following:
BEIJING, China (AP) -- A wild elephant in southern China picked up an American tourist with its trunk and threw him in the air, causing the man to suffer from fractured ribs and stomach injuries, an official said Monday.
Jeremy Allen McGill, who teaches English in the central Chinese city of Wuhan, was found unconscious around dusk on Thursday at the "Wild Elephant Valley" nature reserve in the Xishuangbanna region of Yunnan province.
"It wasn't clear why he was attacked," said an official with the Xishuangbanna foreign affairs office who would give only his surname, Chen.
McGill's abdomen and lungs were "seriously injured" and he had broken ribs, Chen said. He was hospitalized and had stitches up to 40 centimeters (15 inches) long on his stomach, said Chen, who had no details on McGill's hometown.
I don't want anything to do with Dumbo the raging pachyderm or Chen the foreign affairs guy while over there. I think I'll stick with more pedestrian pursuits such as eating, drinking, and staying out of the way of beach mobs and charging elephants.
That's just freakin insane! It also poses several questions:
1) Where do you relieve yourself (other than in the sand or the water?
2) With all those umbrellas, does anyone ever even see the sun?
3) How do you find your kid is they get lost? I guess you don't.
4) If you happen to get in the middle of all those people, how the hell do you ever get out? I guess you have to wait until dark.
I DON'T PLAN ON EVER KNOWING THE ANSWER TO ANY OF THESE QUESTIONS!!!
A second Chinese attraction I have decided on foregoing is the Wild Elephant Valley. On the surface, it's sound thrilling to get up close and personal with some of the world's most exotic and mysterious creatures; however, a report out of Beijing yesterday causes me a little concern. Read the following:
BEIJING, China (AP) -- A wild elephant in southern China picked up an American tourist with its trunk and threw him in the air, causing the man to suffer from fractured ribs and stomach injuries, an official said Monday.
Jeremy Allen McGill, who teaches English in the central Chinese city of Wuhan, was found unconscious around dusk on Thursday at the "Wild Elephant Valley" nature reserve in the Xishuangbanna region of Yunnan province.
"It wasn't clear why he was attacked," said an official with the Xishuangbanna foreign affairs office who would give only his surname, Chen.
McGill's abdomen and lungs were "seriously injured" and he had broken ribs, Chen said. He was hospitalized and had stitches up to 40 centimeters (15 inches) long on his stomach, said Chen, who had no details on McGill's hometown.
I don't want anything to do with Dumbo the raging pachyderm or Chen the foreign affairs guy while over there. I think I'll stick with more pedestrian pursuits such as eating, drinking, and staying out of the way of beach mobs and charging elephants.
Friday, January 25, 2008
BUI?
Good thing you can't get arrested for blogging under the influence. I would be making bail about now. I was definitely way over the legal limit for safe blogging last night. If I remember correctly, I drank some white lightning with a friend of mine, went home and, it gets a bit fuzzy past that. As wasted as I was, I somehow remembered to post a blog. God, I'm committed (however uninspired or drunk I may be)!
So, for today I will post a PSA:
Mama, don't let your babies grow up to drink moonshine!
no, that's no good, how about this:
Friends don't let friends drink from a quart sized Mason jar!
nah, too obscure, maybe:
If you must drink and drive, drink only beer!
nuh uh, well maybe:
This is your brain:
And...This is your brain after drinking moonshine:
Just say Yo.
Peace
So, for today I will post a PSA:
Mama, don't let your babies grow up to drink moonshine!
no, that's no good, how about this:
Friends don't let friends drink from a quart sized Mason jar!
nah, too obscure, maybe:
If you must drink and drive, drink only beer!
nuh uh, well maybe:
This is your brain:
And...This is your brain after drinking moonshine:
Just say Yo.
Peace
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Photos From the Vault
What a day.
ZZZZZZZZZeeew.....bllblllbbllblbbluuuuubbllle, oh my god, hello! .... yet here I am typing words that fail to convey much, simply for the sake of ..........zzzzzzzzzzzzzz;.;....0 zzz....
Oh, yeah!..., I remember what I was going to do. I was going to share some cool pictures from the Seventies, directly from the Olan Mills Studio vaults. These things are priceless.
Well actually, I have a lot of them. And, since I may have a lot of uninspired days, I think I'll only give a brief sample tonight. These pictures are great!
Actually, I think this one snuck in from in from the 80's but ain't it grand? This is the stoner that Dad bribed with a couple of bills to get his hair cut and his Mom didn't have time to cancel the photo shoot.
This is Betty Sue. She is from a fine southern family living in a fine southern city. She met her husband, pictured here, while enrolled at a fine northeastern university. He was her anthropology lab instructor.
Bye,
Peace
Read my shit dudes
ZZZZZZZZZeeew.....bllblllbbllblbbluuuuubbllle, oh my god, hello! .... yet here I am typing words that fail to convey much, simply for the sake of ..........zzzzzzzzzzzzzz;.;....0 zzz....
Oh, yeah!..., I remember what I was going to do. I was going to share some cool pictures from the Seventies, directly from the Olan Mills Studio vaults. These things are priceless.
Well actually, I have a lot of them. And, since I may have a lot of uninspired days, I think I'll only give a brief sample tonight. These pictures are great!
Actually, I think this one snuck in from in from the 80's but ain't it grand? This is the stoner that Dad bribed with a couple of bills to get his hair cut and his Mom didn't have time to cancel the photo shoot.
This is Betty Sue. She is from a fine southern family living in a fine southern city. She met her husband, pictured here, while enrolled at a fine northeastern university. He was her anthropology lab instructor.
Bye,
Peace
Read my shit dudes
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Harriet Wheeler, Where are you?
We live in a world where pop stars come and go like the meaningless fluff they create. As with the seasons, their presence and art remain as a warm memory to anchor periods in our life, remembered during occasional flights of nostalgia. It’s rare when an artist can create a body of work significant or worthy enough to command our attention for more than a brief period of time. Even rarer is the artist or group that remains on top for twenty or thirty years, constantly recording or touring enough to garner legions of fans from two or more generations. That type of status is reserved for legendary performers that become enshrined in various halls of fame and, often live the tabloid life that we mortals feed on like hungry sheep.
Thank god for all the fabulous artists and the music they’ve created to move us in degrees both small and large. But, to me, it is for neither the one hit wonders nor the bloated legends that I pine for. For all the artists that have come, gone, or remain as super stars, none hold title to as large a portion of my soul as The Sundays do.
It was in the early 90s that I first heard the voice of Harriet Wheeler, the haunting lyrics, and the jangling melodies that defined the Sundays. While their style could be traced to predecessors like the Cocteau Twins or even the Smiths, it was the voice of Harriet Wheeler that was (and remains) unique. Were it not for college radio or some of the rare independent radio stations, many would have never heard the Sundays. While unique, their sound would never attract mass audiences. That was never what they were about. They did however attract a fan base that would be forever changed and even haunted by Harriet’s voice. While their lyrics were sometimes obscure and even panned by some critics as sophomoric, no one could ever forget the style, passion, and guts with which they were delivered. Harriet remains one of a kind. And with such a gifted voice, a legion of dedicated fans, and the world firmly within her grasp, what did she ultimately decide to do? Walk away. She and her husband David Gavurin, co-founders of the group, walked away to raise a family and live a quiet life away from touring and popular music.
What they leave in their wake is a worldwide group of loyal and adoring fans that remain just as true and passionate about their music as the first time it was heard. Just Google “The Sundays” sometime and you’ll know what I’m talking about. Better yet, listen to their music. Their record, Reading, Writing and Arithmetic has never strayed far from my player for the last 17 years. It moves me as much today as it ever did. For their complete discography, check out this site. It’s the most complete I have found.
I’ve never been one to be star struck. I’ve been around the world of music and the artists that create it for most of my life. Harriet remains the exception. I fell in love with her completely. Her voice will remain with me forever. Harriet, wherever you are, I hope you are happy and realize the impact you have made. Your voice is never far from my consciousness or my soul. These are the words I woke up with in my head this morning and inspired me with the "desire" to write this blog:
And did you know desire’s a terrible thing
The worst that I could find
And did you know desire’s a terrible thing
But I rely on mine
Did you know desire’s a terrible thing
It makes the world go blind
But if desire, desire’s a terrible thing
You know that I really don’t mind
And it’s my life
And though I can’t be sure what I want any more
It will come to me later
Well it’s my life.... and it’s my life
And though I can’t be sure if I want any more
It will come to me later... ah, yeah
Exerpted from “Can’t be Sure”
The Sundays
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Sichuan Province Here We Come
Just when I thought I couldn't be more psyched for my trip to China in May, we just confirmed a sidetrip to the Province of Sichuan. Because of the geographic distance (20 hrs by train) from Beijing, we had originally ruled it out but now have decided to extend our stay and fly from Beijing to Sichuan. After all, how many chances do we westerners get to see China. The picture says alot about why the Sichuan Province is such a must see.
And then, there's the food. I'm a sucker for hot and spicy food, so where better than Sichuan. While there, we're staying in the city of Chengdu. There's is supposedly the best street food in all of China. Angie and I will be in heaven sampling what they have to offer.
And if the food and scenery aren't enough, they have pandas there. Tourists actually have the opportunity to hold and feed the pandas there. After spending my whole life wanting to hold a real panda, my dream will come true!
Damn!, is it May yet?
Friday, January 18, 2008
Cosmic Charlie in Richmond Tonight!
Gonna be a throwdown tonight at the Canal Club. All that ever tapped a foot, shook their ass, or rode the sweet groove at a Dead show will do well to check out Cosmic Charlie. I first caught them by chance in Savannah and have been a believer ever since. Unlike bands like Dark Star Orchestra that replicate actual Dead shows, these guys channel the spirit of a Dead show while putting their own musical mark into the mix. They are not a just a cover band by any means. Their rythm guitarist John Miley summed it up pretty well one night at Alley Katz when we were discussing their approach to Grateful Dead music and how they differed from DSO. "The biggest difference," he said, "is we have fun with the music." He posed the question: "Have you ever had fun at a DSO show?"
While I personally love DSO and see them frequently, I could easily see his point. While DSO tends to channel the Dead's live experience by recreating shows actually performed by the Dead through the years down to the setlist and instruments, their product is often somber, reverent, and sometimes spooky. They are serious musicians and sometimes that seriousness can spoil the lightness and fun that all of us Deadheads remember and cherish. When it comes right down to it, that's why we continue to go to shows, to have fun and dance our asses off! Cosmic Charlie will deliver on both of those objectives.
Jim Reed, of Connect Savannah writes:
Initially formed in 1999 as a one-off project to laud fallen Grateful Dead guitarist and figurehead Jerry Garcia, this Athens-based tribute act has steadily risen among the ranks of many similarly-themed groups. Today, they are widely becoming known as one of the most faithful practitioners of this most sincere form of musical flattery. However, that doesn’t mean they sound just like the fabled Dead. In fact, one of the things that befuddles some in the crowds —but which has won them the acclaim and friendship of many actual associates of the GD— is their willingness to remain true to the restless spirit of that legendary improvisatory band of psychedelic warhorses.
Using The Dead’s back catalog and voluminous library of officially-sanctioned bootlegs as their guideposts, Cosmic Charlie pull standout tracks and basic arrangements, but pride themselves on applying the same unpredictable nature the original band was known for to their own live shows. And it’s working out very well.
While CC still play regularly at clubs and small venues across the USA, they are increasingly headlining shows in theatres and large, outdoor festivals (including festivals The Dead frequented in their heyday), and it is not uncommon for former GD members or associates to sit in with the group on stage — such as keyboardist Vince Welnick, Ratdog members Mark Karan and Robin Sylvester, and GD archivist and songwriter David Gans.
Says Gans of CC’s devotion to the music he’s devoted a large portion of his life to exploring, “They really are a great band - they do this music the way it should be done: by having the conversation in their own voices.”
This show marks the 12th anniversary of Garcia’s death, and will be their only local appearance this summer. And, yes, unlike The Dead, they do take requests.
So young and old should step out tonight and catch this band. If you like the music of the Dead, you wil not be dissapointed. And don't forget to say hello if you see me. I'll be the one with the good looking wife that dances her ass off!
Peace
While I personally love DSO and see them frequently, I could easily see his point. While DSO tends to channel the Dead's live experience by recreating shows actually performed by the Dead through the years down to the setlist and instruments, their product is often somber, reverent, and sometimes spooky. They are serious musicians and sometimes that seriousness can spoil the lightness and fun that all of us Deadheads remember and cherish. When it comes right down to it, that's why we continue to go to shows, to have fun and dance our asses off! Cosmic Charlie will deliver on both of those objectives.
Jim Reed, of Connect Savannah writes:
Initially formed in 1999 as a one-off project to laud fallen Grateful Dead guitarist and figurehead Jerry Garcia, this Athens-based tribute act has steadily risen among the ranks of many similarly-themed groups. Today, they are widely becoming known as one of the most faithful practitioners of this most sincere form of musical flattery. However, that doesn’t mean they sound just like the fabled Dead. In fact, one of the things that befuddles some in the crowds —but which has won them the acclaim and friendship of many actual associates of the GD— is their willingness to remain true to the restless spirit of that legendary improvisatory band of psychedelic warhorses.
Using The Dead’s back catalog and voluminous library of officially-sanctioned bootlegs as their guideposts, Cosmic Charlie pull standout tracks and basic arrangements, but pride themselves on applying the same unpredictable nature the original band was known for to their own live shows. And it’s working out very well.
While CC still play regularly at clubs and small venues across the USA, they are increasingly headlining shows in theatres and large, outdoor festivals (including festivals The Dead frequented in their heyday), and it is not uncommon for former GD members or associates to sit in with the group on stage — such as keyboardist Vince Welnick, Ratdog members Mark Karan and Robin Sylvester, and GD archivist and songwriter David Gans.
Says Gans of CC’s devotion to the music he’s devoted a large portion of his life to exploring, “They really are a great band - they do this music the way it should be done: by having the conversation in their own voices.”
This show marks the 12th anniversary of Garcia’s death, and will be their only local appearance this summer. And, yes, unlike The Dead, they do take requests.
So young and old should step out tonight and catch this band. If you like the music of the Dead, you wil not be dissapointed. And don't forget to say hello if you see me. I'll be the one with the good looking wife that dances her ass off!
Peace
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Leavin' on a Midnight Train to Georgia
My apologies to Gladys and the Pips and to all those that are weary of hearing about the R-Braves imminent departure but I couldn't resist. Also thanks to Tony who came in my office today singing this song.
VA proved to much for the boys
(Too much for a team, they couldn’t take it)
They couldn’t make it, so their leavin a life they’ve come to know
(They say they goin’)
They say they goin’ back to find
(going back to find)
What’s left of their world
The world they left behind 40 years ago.
Yes they’re leavin’
(leaving)
On that midnight train to Georgia
(leavin on a midnight train)
Said their goin’ back
(goin’ back to find)
To find a simpler place and time
(when they take that ride, guess whos’ gonna be left high ‘n dry)
We’ll be without em
(yes we will)
On that empty track in Richmond
(they’re on a midnight train to Georgia, woo woo)
We’d rather live in Doug’s world,
(live in his world)
Can’t live without him, oh my
(world, world is his and his alone)
They kept dreamin’
(dreamin’)
That some day they’d be the stars
(a super star, but they aint got far)
But they sure found out the hard way, That dreams don’t always come true
(dreams don’t always come true, uh huh, no, uh huh)
So they pawned all their hopes
(ooh, ooh, oh ooh)
And even sold their pine tar
(woo, woo, woo)
For a one-way ticket to the life they once knew
Oh yes they did, they said they would.
Yes they’re leavin’
(leaving)
On that midnight train to Georgia
(leavin on a midnight train)
Said their goin’ back
(goin’ back to find)
To find a simpler place and time
(when they take that ride, guess whos’ gonna left high ‘n dry)
We’ll be without em
(yes we will)
On that empty track in Richmond
(they’re on a midnight train to Georgia, woo woo)
We’d rather live in Doug’s world,
(live in his world)
Can’t live without him, oh my
(world, world is his and his alone)
Bravos, gonna board that midnight train to Georgia
(x3)
Doug’s world, his world, his and his alone
(x2)
He’s got to go (x5)
Our town, his world, our team, his rules
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Sticks and Stones May Break Your Bones but Words Can Freakin' Kill Ya
In a previous post, I brought up the term “green” and the potential for it to become a meaningless buzz word to be bandied about without making an impact in our overall effort to change our consumption habits in this country. Well, along comes another word with the potential to hang up our efforts. Have you noticed that the term “sustainability” is creeping into our vocabulary at an increasing rate? Don’t get me wrong. I have studied this term, know of its origin and don’t discount the value of it in the academic and environmental arenas. However, as with the term “green”, the danger lies in the everyday use and marketing of the concepts that these two words tend to front.
For years, those that would discount the environmentalists as a bunch of left wing wackos have used tools of logic to their advantage in arguing against change and reform in the areas of conservation, energy, and global warming. Their tactics have been very simple. Divide and conquer the environmentalists by pointing out discrepancies in their research and then scoff at their claims as non-quantifiable. And, it has worked. Now, think about the term “green”. How is “green” measured and what does it really represent. Originally, the term green, referred to conventional environmental conservation efforts involving our land and trees. Now we have everything from green cars to green MP3 players. Not only is “green” becoming watered down as a buzz word, how does one measure green? If a light bulb is designed to use 1/8 less energy than a conventional one and another bulb uses half as much, is one considered light green and the other dark? These types of fuzzy distinctions will thrill the pants off anyone that wants to discount our efforts. The same is true to a larger extent when we start throwing around the term sustainability. We can argue till doomsday over that one. What is to be “sustained”, how sustainable is it, and to what degree of sustainability applies? Put that term in the wrong person’s hand and a naysayer is going to have a fun time making that person look like a fool. In the meantime, nothing gets accomplished and everyone loses except Rush Limbaugh and the rest of his sanctimonious clones that make millions of dollars from industries that stand to lose everything if our habits as consumers change.
Before we, as advocates of social change, open our mouths we need to be sure of what we are proposing and what the outcome of our efforts will be. This effort can begin by speaking in terms more measurable than “green” and “sustainable”. In other words, what do we want to sustain… humanity, the environment, the fish, the economy? And, how sustainable is it? Is it worthy of our effort to sustain it? I fear that we are all doomed to failure if we don’t take a step back and pick our battles wisely. Our world and its complexities can be used as a strong weapon of argument by government and the economic giants that control it. If we as change agents continue to think of the environment as this warm and fuzzy “thing” that needs to be “fixed”, we will be ill equipped to fight those whose very life depends on the status quo. I’m afraid just having a cause that is right and noble won’t cut it. Sadly enough, for those that are firmly satisfied by their beliefs and define themselves by conviction, not everyone thinks that way. Most of us humans would rather not think about our imminent demise. Now, give us a specific problem and solution, and an exact way to get there and, by god, we will crawl over ourselves to accomplish what is necessary. Hanging our hats on the “green movement” or the “sustainability” bandwagon is not going to get us where we need to go. We will just feel good about our efforts to coin meaningless terms to put in the new dictionary of Newspeak.
Those that are in the position to make decisions and make things happen in our world usually have a common way of operating. These folks usually measure things in economic terms like cost effectiveness, cost efficiency, and bottom line. These types of measurement usually trump the arguments of the world’s greatest scholars and experts when it comes to action. This is why we must risk the luxury of being unified as a “movement” and begin to fragment our efforts toward each specific battle that needs to be fought, armed with specifics rather than rhetoric. This is why unifying terms like “green” and “sustainability” should be used as internal jargon within the world of those that are of a like mind; but, protected from those that would use those terms against us to make us look like “tree hugging buffoons”.
OK, I’ll stop ranting now. As usual, I feel better. Time for a beer to sustain me.
Peace
For years, those that would discount the environmentalists as a bunch of left wing wackos have used tools of logic to their advantage in arguing against change and reform in the areas of conservation, energy, and global warming. Their tactics have been very simple. Divide and conquer the environmentalists by pointing out discrepancies in their research and then scoff at their claims as non-quantifiable. And, it has worked. Now, think about the term “green”. How is “green” measured and what does it really represent. Originally, the term green, referred to conventional environmental conservation efforts involving our land and trees. Now we have everything from green cars to green MP3 players. Not only is “green” becoming watered down as a buzz word, how does one measure green? If a light bulb is designed to use 1/8 less energy than a conventional one and another bulb uses half as much, is one considered light green and the other dark? These types of fuzzy distinctions will thrill the pants off anyone that wants to discount our efforts. The same is true to a larger extent when we start throwing around the term sustainability. We can argue till doomsday over that one. What is to be “sustained”, how sustainable is it, and to what degree of sustainability applies? Put that term in the wrong person’s hand and a naysayer is going to have a fun time making that person look like a fool. In the meantime, nothing gets accomplished and everyone loses except Rush Limbaugh and the rest of his sanctimonious clones that make millions of dollars from industries that stand to lose everything if our habits as consumers change.
Before we, as advocates of social change, open our mouths we need to be sure of what we are proposing and what the outcome of our efforts will be. This effort can begin by speaking in terms more measurable than “green” and “sustainable”. In other words, what do we want to sustain… humanity, the environment, the fish, the economy? And, how sustainable is it? Is it worthy of our effort to sustain it? I fear that we are all doomed to failure if we don’t take a step back and pick our battles wisely. Our world and its complexities can be used as a strong weapon of argument by government and the economic giants that control it. If we as change agents continue to think of the environment as this warm and fuzzy “thing” that needs to be “fixed”, we will be ill equipped to fight those whose very life depends on the status quo. I’m afraid just having a cause that is right and noble won’t cut it. Sadly enough, for those that are firmly satisfied by their beliefs and define themselves by conviction, not everyone thinks that way. Most of us humans would rather not think about our imminent demise. Now, give us a specific problem and solution, and an exact way to get there and, by god, we will crawl over ourselves to accomplish what is necessary. Hanging our hats on the “green movement” or the “sustainability” bandwagon is not going to get us where we need to go. We will just feel good about our efforts to coin meaningless terms to put in the new dictionary of Newspeak.
Those that are in the position to make decisions and make things happen in our world usually have a common way of operating. These folks usually measure things in economic terms like cost effectiveness, cost efficiency, and bottom line. These types of measurement usually trump the arguments of the world’s greatest scholars and experts when it comes to action. This is why we must risk the luxury of being unified as a “movement” and begin to fragment our efforts toward each specific battle that needs to be fought, armed with specifics rather than rhetoric. This is why unifying terms like “green” and “sustainability” should be used as internal jargon within the world of those that are of a like mind; but, protected from those that would use those terms against us to make us look like “tree hugging buffoons”.
OK, I’ll stop ranting now. As usual, I feel better. Time for a beer to sustain me.
Peace
Monday, January 14, 2008
More Yak Facts
In my never ending quest to promote yak awareness nation-wide and around the globe, here is yet another reason to order your yak today! Yes my friends, these gentle and accommodating creatures can prove trail worthy. Our comrades at Yampa Valley Yaks are offering fully trained pack yaks! Imagine, no more ultralight backpacking on the trail. Tired of having no beer on your long hikes because of the weight and volume. Get a pack yak and you can take along a whole friggin keg! They're great for the golf course as well. You thought the golf course in Pinehurst, NC was cool when they offered llamas as caddies? Screw that. Just think of the fun you and your pack yak will have knockin around the old links together. These dudes can carry more club weight and they don't make that disgusting noise that llamas do (not to mention the spitting, yuck).
Contact Yampa Valley Yaks today for more information.
And now for more yak facts:
*Yaks are compatible with most agricultural operations
*Yaks require no special fencing and existing cattle facilities are okay
*Yaks are livestock and qualify for certain tax advantages
* No permits are needed to own yaks
*Yaks are income producing
*Yaks are disease-resistant and cold-climate hardy
*Yaks are "easy keepers" and do not require special diets
*Yaks can be readily cross-bred with cattle
*Yaks can be docile and are easily tamed when handled regularly
*Yaks have an Old World pleasing look
*Yaks provide useful products such as meat, fiber, milk and hide
*Yak meat has a superb, delicate, beef-like flavor
*Female yaks usually breed at 18-24 months, have a gestation period of 8 1/2 months, and normally produce a single offspring
*Yaks calve easily
*Yak cows can weigh 500-800 pounds and bulls 1200-1500 pounds
*Yaks generally live 20-25 years
*Yaks are fun!!
Yes, yaks are fun! Invite one to your next party and see for yourself. Don't let them drink too much though. Makes 'em ornery.
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Say Hello in There
Chances are, if you live or work in a city, your daily routine will include some type of contact with persons known as the "chronically homeless". By chronic, I am referring to those that tend to be the most visible, but not the most representative, of a large group of people in this country that live in extreme poverty with no permanent residence to call home. These street denizens that inhabit corners, parks, bus stops, alleys, and store fronts are often the target of disdain and ridicule from us "proper" folk; but, except for a sidelong glance and quickened step as we pass them by, they are largely ignored. Many of these people are prone to psychotic and bizarre behavior from time to time, making it even more difficult for the average person to view them as rank and file members of society. This is a shame. Just as within every social grouping of people there are the good, the bad, and somewhere in the middle. Their educational, social, and economic backgrounds mirror those of any other part of our everyday society. As does their inherent need to be respected and valued in some small way as a human being. I think we tend to forget that conveniently as a way to feel better about their plight as people living on the street. If we can somehow dehumanize, or demonize these street characters, we can rationalize our lack of sympathy or assistance and sleep better at night knowing it's their fault, not ours. Maybe it is their fault. People make mistakes. Maybe it's not their fault. People get ill. If we knew them as people, knew them by name, we would feel a larger degree of obligation to help. Human nature is funny that way. Identity is something we humans rely on to get through every day of our lives yet we, unwittingly, deny many of our homeless brothers and sisters the right to have one. These street people are thought of and referred to as a collective of nameless, faceless units. The "homeless", one size fits all.
The issue of identity, or the lack thereof, was beautifully addressed in an article by Summer Teal Simpson entitled "Hello My Name Is" in the recent edition of "The South", a magazine covering Savannah and the Georgia Coast. In addition to an excellent reporting of Savannah's efforts to reduce the homeless population, she, through a series of interviews and photographs introduces the readers to some of Savannah's more colorful and interesting citizens. Though there backgrounds are diverse, they all have the label of "chronically homeless" in common. While there faces may be known to many in downtown Savannah, their names, or true identities are not. Ms. Simpson has corrected that in a powerful way through this article. Left out of the on-line addition of "The South" are the pictures and brief biographies of the individuals that were showcased in the actual magazine piece. These are reproduced below:
HELLO, my name is: MR SAMPSON
"A fixture of Calhoun Square, Mr. Sampson's mind seems jumbled with thoughts, though he is great with numbers and recites old addresses [and phone numbers] with methodical ease. Mr. Sampson was once a clergyman. It's easy to imagine his thick leathery hands christening a child or thumping a bible. He says he once sang in the choir, and lifts his drooping neck to tell us of his affection for Motown. Though he seems to get confused easily, he has kind eyes and a soft demeanor. He raises his head toward the steeples of Wesley Monumental United Methodist Church, and immediately knows it's time to move on. It occurs to me that this is how he tells time."
HELLO, my name is: TOM
"Tom is a wild-eyed man from the West Coast who likes hard rock, namely Steppenwolf. One of downtown's most familiar faces, Tom fluctuates between normalcy and delusion as he speaks on the corner of a lane off Broughton Street.
"Wow...you have great teeth," he says, eyes darting and his frame shifting as he struggles to make sense of my questions. He tells me he was once a Premadaneous dinosaur; I'm not sure what that is, but it sounds pretty cool.
As he turns to leave, he nervously thanks us for the coffee and cigarettes we bought him. He pauses to rummage through a trash can, then calls back: "Take care of those teeth."
And then he continues on his way.
HELLO, my name is BOB
"Most people know him as "Guitar Bob". He sports a handlebar mustache, shaggy hair and a cowboy hat. He can be relied upon to serenade passersby with his guitar and repertoire of bluegrass standards from a bench in Wright Square nearly every morning. "There's three things that the world needs more of," he says. "Love, laughter and music." He is currently learning to play the fiddle.
Bob has a son in the Marines and a daughter in Kentucky--both of whom he raised while caring for his ill mother until her death. It was not long after that he fell on hard times. "I used up all my resources taking care of my mother and getting my kids grown," he explains. Originally from Tifton, Bob has been "houseless," as he calls it, for five years. "At first I was scared to be that guy living under the bridge," he says. "Then I accepted it and knew that the good Lord was trying to teach me something and whenever he's done I'll move on."
He has wide, smiling eyes and is wonderful company. "Bob is a great character and a great man," says a regular at the Rail Pub, where Bob sometimes visits."
HELLO, my name is: BENNIE
"You gonna owe me for this, dude," Bennie says as he poses for his photo. A small, vocal man with rough, raw hands and an affinity for anything SCAD (Savannah College of Art and Design), Bennie grew up in Savannah and spent some time in the Bronx before moving back South. Acting as a self-appointed protector of all students who roam the streets of downtown, Bennie says SCAD reminds him of his own "good ol' days," but warns kids today to take better care of themselves. "You've got to look out for yourself," he advises. "Be sure to walk two at a time. Don't go by yourself. That is uncool." Once, he alerted police to a bad situation and was able to save a young woman from rape and robbery. "I'm hero turned zero'" he says, his bloodshot and silvery-blue eyes beaming.
He also adores the Sentient Bean, saying it's the best place in town for coffee. "People can come there and be theirself," Bennie says. His presence at Forsyth Park coffee shop has impacted employees as well. "Bennie always offers words of encouragement to those around him, even though some passers by just dismiss him," says Travis, a Bean Barista,"
HELLO, my name is: RUSSELL
"Russell has a thick, tobacco-stained beard and intense eyes. Originally from Pittsfield, MA, he grew up in Jacksonville and was orphaned at age six. At seventeen, he robbed a convenience store with two friends; two hours after the robbery, the store clerk died of a heart attack. Russell and his friends were tried as adults and sentenced to ten years in prison for third degree murder. A he describes it, he was a racial minority in the prison where he was incarcerated and a constant target of violence.
After he was released from prison, Russell began a new life. A long-time resident of Jacksonville, he went to work for his father, a dentist, and enrolled in college, After nine years of schooling, only one year away from his dental license, Russell became addicted to cocaine. "It's not about being smart," he explains, "It's about being addicted." He is still affected by these weaknesses. He now lives in and out of hotels, frequents the library and reads a couple of books a week. "I try to have dignity and manners," Russell says, "I appreciate the finer things in life.""
Neither these stories nor these individuals are unique. Having worked as a mental health and substance abuse counselor, and social worker in various locations around the country, I know this to be true. What is unique is their opportunity, through Ms. Simpson's piece, to be graced with an identity in the eyes of the public. For this, I'm sure they derive a degree of satisfaction that surpasses any amount of social service or welfare programs that may give them a hot meal and a blanket. Hopefully, someone will now see them on the street and address them by name, give then a nod, or simply a smile. As Michael Stewart, an outreach minister in Savannah states, "People can go just about anywhere and get food and clothes, [but] the best thing you can do for them is spend time with them."
I've been out of the world of social work for a long time now. Long enough to forget the simple lessons that Ms. Simpson's article teaches. I'm thinking of ways to volunteer my time to those that need a little dignity and respect in their lives. Maybe everyday people's time and humanity is worth far more than the dollars they may donate to homeless causes. Even if the time involves nothing more than looking a homeless person in the eye and saying hello in there.
Peace
The issue of identity, or the lack thereof, was beautifully addressed in an article by Summer Teal Simpson entitled "Hello My Name Is" in the recent edition of "The South", a magazine covering Savannah and the Georgia Coast. In addition to an excellent reporting of Savannah's efforts to reduce the homeless population, she, through a series of interviews and photographs introduces the readers to some of Savannah's more colorful and interesting citizens. Though there backgrounds are diverse, they all have the label of "chronically homeless" in common. While there faces may be known to many in downtown Savannah, their names, or true identities are not. Ms. Simpson has corrected that in a powerful way through this article. Left out of the on-line addition of "The South" are the pictures and brief biographies of the individuals that were showcased in the actual magazine piece. These are reproduced below:
HELLO, my name is: MR SAMPSON
"A fixture of Calhoun Square, Mr. Sampson's mind seems jumbled with thoughts, though he is great with numbers and recites old addresses [and phone numbers] with methodical ease. Mr. Sampson was once a clergyman. It's easy to imagine his thick leathery hands christening a child or thumping a bible. He says he once sang in the choir, and lifts his drooping neck to tell us of his affection for Motown. Though he seems to get confused easily, he has kind eyes and a soft demeanor. He raises his head toward the steeples of Wesley Monumental United Methodist Church, and immediately knows it's time to move on. It occurs to me that this is how he tells time."
HELLO, my name is: TOM
"Tom is a wild-eyed man from the West Coast who likes hard rock, namely Steppenwolf. One of downtown's most familiar faces, Tom fluctuates between normalcy and delusion as he speaks on the corner of a lane off Broughton Street.
"Wow...you have great teeth," he says, eyes darting and his frame shifting as he struggles to make sense of my questions. He tells me he was once a Premadaneous dinosaur; I'm not sure what that is, but it sounds pretty cool.
As he turns to leave, he nervously thanks us for the coffee and cigarettes we bought him. He pauses to rummage through a trash can, then calls back: "Take care of those teeth."
And then he continues on his way.
HELLO, my name is BOB
"Most people know him as "Guitar Bob". He sports a handlebar mustache, shaggy hair and a cowboy hat. He can be relied upon to serenade passersby with his guitar and repertoire of bluegrass standards from a bench in Wright Square nearly every morning. "There's three things that the world needs more of," he says. "Love, laughter and music." He is currently learning to play the fiddle.
Bob has a son in the Marines and a daughter in Kentucky--both of whom he raised while caring for his ill mother until her death. It was not long after that he fell on hard times. "I used up all my resources taking care of my mother and getting my kids grown," he explains. Originally from Tifton, Bob has been "houseless," as he calls it, for five years. "At first I was scared to be that guy living under the bridge," he says. "Then I accepted it and knew that the good Lord was trying to teach me something and whenever he's done I'll move on."
He has wide, smiling eyes and is wonderful company. "Bob is a great character and a great man," says a regular at the Rail Pub, where Bob sometimes visits."
HELLO, my name is: BENNIE
"You gonna owe me for this, dude," Bennie says as he poses for his photo. A small, vocal man with rough, raw hands and an affinity for anything SCAD (Savannah College of Art and Design), Bennie grew up in Savannah and spent some time in the Bronx before moving back South. Acting as a self-appointed protector of all students who roam the streets of downtown, Bennie says SCAD reminds him of his own "good ol' days," but warns kids today to take better care of themselves. "You've got to look out for yourself," he advises. "Be sure to walk two at a time. Don't go by yourself. That is uncool." Once, he alerted police to a bad situation and was able to save a young woman from rape and robbery. "I'm hero turned zero'" he says, his bloodshot and silvery-blue eyes beaming.
He also adores the Sentient Bean, saying it's the best place in town for coffee. "People can come there and be theirself," Bennie says. His presence at Forsyth Park coffee shop has impacted employees as well. "Bennie always offers words of encouragement to those around him, even though some passers by just dismiss him," says Travis, a Bean Barista,"
HELLO, my name is: RUSSELL
"Russell has a thick, tobacco-stained beard and intense eyes. Originally from Pittsfield, MA, he grew up in Jacksonville and was orphaned at age six. At seventeen, he robbed a convenience store with two friends; two hours after the robbery, the store clerk died of a heart attack. Russell and his friends were tried as adults and sentenced to ten years in prison for third degree murder. A he describes it, he was a racial minority in the prison where he was incarcerated and a constant target of violence.
After he was released from prison, Russell began a new life. A long-time resident of Jacksonville, he went to work for his father, a dentist, and enrolled in college, After nine years of schooling, only one year away from his dental license, Russell became addicted to cocaine. "It's not about being smart," he explains, "It's about being addicted." He is still affected by these weaknesses. He now lives in and out of hotels, frequents the library and reads a couple of books a week. "I try to have dignity and manners," Russell says, "I appreciate the finer things in life.""
Neither these stories nor these individuals are unique. Having worked as a mental health and substance abuse counselor, and social worker in various locations around the country, I know this to be true. What is unique is their opportunity, through Ms. Simpson's piece, to be graced with an identity in the eyes of the public. For this, I'm sure they derive a degree of satisfaction that surpasses any amount of social service or welfare programs that may give them a hot meal and a blanket. Hopefully, someone will now see them on the street and address them by name, give then a nod, or simply a smile. As Michael Stewart, an outreach minister in Savannah states, "People can go just about anywhere and get food and clothes, [but] the best thing you can do for them is spend time with them."
I've been out of the world of social work for a long time now. Long enough to forget the simple lessons that Ms. Simpson's article teaches. I'm thinking of ways to volunteer my time to those that need a little dignity and respect in their lives. Maybe everyday people's time and humanity is worth far more than the dollars they may donate to homeless causes. Even if the time involves nothing more than looking a homeless person in the eye and saying hello in there.
Peace
Friday, January 11, 2008
Uh, Say What?
With the prevalence of enhanced technologies like U-Tube and instant tabloid news twenty four hours a day, if someone screws up, they become the object of worldwide scrutiny and ridicule. Take, for instance, that poor little girl from South Carolina competing in the Miss Teen USA competition. Thanks to the world wide web and television, she became infamous overnight for being the stereotypical dumb beauty pageant contestant. One would have thought, from all the attention, that she was the first person ever to make a dumb statement in one of those shows. Think again. In honor of Miss Teen What's-Her-Name (15 minutes are up), we have dredged up a gem from the past (before we measured stupidity as a sport).
(On September 17, 1994, Alabama's Heather Whitestone was selected as
Miss America 1995.)
Question: If you could live forever, would you and why?
Answer: 'I would not live forever, because we should not
live forever, because if we were supposed to live forever,
then we would live forever, but we cannot live forever,
which is why I would not live forever,'
-- Miss Alabama in the 1994 Miss USA contest .
Bet she's glad U-Tube wasn't around in 94.
(On September 17, 1994, Alabama's Heather Whitestone was selected as
Miss America 1995.)
Question: If you could live forever, would you and why?
Answer: 'I would not live forever, because we should not
live forever, because if we were supposed to live forever,
then we would live forever, but we cannot live forever,
which is why I would not live forever,'
-- Miss Alabama in the 1994 Miss USA contest .
Bet she's glad U-Tube wasn't around in 94.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Nationwide Chain Bans Album
Wal Mart Stores announced today that they would not be selling the new album by the Geeky Boys because of cover art that may be offensive to some of its customers.
Store spokesman, Rufus Bossmaster states, “while we do recognize that our profits may be affected by this move, our employees and customers don’t need to be subjected to pictures such as the one on the cover of those boys’ new record”
Mr Bossmaster goes on to say that, although some record companies and their affiliates may not have a problem distributing the record, “Wal Mart stores have an image to uphold when it comes to this kind of thing”.
The album, “Disco Goes Geeky” is set for release April 1 by Beano Records. It is the second release following the Boys’ platinum debut, “Salsa at the Synagogue” that was widely distributed and sold at all Wal Mart locations nationwide.
Beano Records’ chairman, Al Knight, called Wal Mart’s action “despicable de-facto censorship in its truest form”.
The cover of the record at issue (and shown here), depicts the boys doing the YMCA cheer at an art museum. “Hey, we only have 3 guys in the band. We needed a fourth and who better than the big guy to help us out? Guys just want to have a little fun you know” says the groups leader Cash Money.
Beano Records projects multi-platinum sales for the new release with or without Wal Mart partnership and refuses to consider a brown paper wrapper for the album’s controversial cover.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Pain in my A##
I was reading Jon Baliles' Byrd Theater posting on RCR this morning and am very glad that someone else feels strongly about the seats in that place. I love the Byrd Theater and make it a point to attend the VCU French Film Festival there each year. I must say however, after three marathon days of film viewing, my ass feels like its been cross country on a tricycle.
I went to see Bruce Hornsby there and, between the large lady breathing popcorn breath on me and the seat sloping downward at a 45 degree angle, I couldn't even enjoy the show. I sat there that night doing some mental calculation on the actual cost of seat replacement for the theater and decided that, at 2 bucks a pop for second run movies, the seats may not get replaced this millennium.
I've since reconsidered my pessimistic prediction and decided that there's got to be a way to help the old Byrd out on this. Hell, there are benefits thrown for much less than this noble cause and I'm sure there are enough sore asses out there that would be more than willing to throw in just to avoid one more event sitting on those portable ATMs (ass torture machines).
Thanks to the world wide web, I've priced theater seats and it looks to me they can be had for about $150 each. For a 1400 seat theater like the Byrd, that comes to approximately $200,000. Now there are all kinds of ways to raise money. There's benefit shows, fund drives, corporate sponsorship, etc. Hell, they might even be able to get a grant from the National Hemorrhoid Prevention Society. All that is needed is for us to get behind (sorry) this thing. I'm willing to give my share to whomever can spearhead this effort. I give dollars to feed and care for both animals and humans but, by god, it's time to devote some resources to my ass!
This is a call to all that are willing to share ideas and devote time to this issue. An ass is a terrible thing to waste!
I went to see Bruce Hornsby there and, between the large lady breathing popcorn breath on me and the seat sloping downward at a 45 degree angle, I couldn't even enjoy the show. I sat there that night doing some mental calculation on the actual cost of seat replacement for the theater and decided that, at 2 bucks a pop for second run movies, the seats may not get replaced this millennium.
I've since reconsidered my pessimistic prediction and decided that there's got to be a way to help the old Byrd out on this. Hell, there are benefits thrown for much less than this noble cause and I'm sure there are enough sore asses out there that would be more than willing to throw in just to avoid one more event sitting on those portable ATMs (ass torture machines).
Thanks to the world wide web, I've priced theater seats and it looks to me they can be had for about $150 each. For a 1400 seat theater like the Byrd, that comes to approximately $200,000. Now there are all kinds of ways to raise money. There's benefit shows, fund drives, corporate sponsorship, etc. Hell, they might even be able to get a grant from the National Hemorrhoid Prevention Society. All that is needed is for us to get behind (sorry) this thing. I'm willing to give my share to whomever can spearhead this effort. I give dollars to feed and care for both animals and humans but, by god, it's time to devote some resources to my ass!
This is a call to all that are willing to share ideas and devote time to this issue. An ass is a terrible thing to waste!
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
Yak Yak Yak
I have a new found fascination with the yak. Some people like frogs, elephants, trolls, and the like. Me, I like yaks. Maybe it's because they are rare here in America. Or maybe because they are much healthier to eat than cows. Hell, it may be that I like to say yak. Yak's a good word. It's more fun to say than cow, or buffalo for that matter. I really can't wait to actually see my first yak. Hopefully I'll get that chance when I visit China in May.
My interest in all things yak has led me to a whole new world of fun facts. Thanks to my curiosity and the world wide web, I have discovered that yak farming is a fledgling enterprise here in the U.S. and, if one aspires to start a herd, their dreams are only a click away. I highly recommend yak-man.com . The Yak Man owns the largest spread of yak in Eastern North America so he knows his stuff. He also sells yak meat from his website. Angie bought me a whole big box of yak jerky for Christmas and it made my holiday complete. Yampa Valley Yaks is another good source for yak info. Did you know that there was even a yak rescued from Mississippi following Hurricaine Katrina? A yak farmer in Nebraska went down and saved what was probably the only yak in Mississippi, took him back home and now keeps him as a pet that follows him around the farm like a dog. How many stinkin' cows will do that?
I can't wait to order some yak steaks. Imagine the look on your guests faces when you hoist a lip smackin hunk a yak off the grill. Now there's a cure for the common barbecue! Check out the following recipes:
Chipotle Yak Chili
2 T. olive oil
6 cloves garlic
2 lb. ground yak
1 large onion
2 chipotle chilies in adobo sauce, chopped
1/2 t. black pepper
1 can black beans (optional)
1 t. salt, or to taste
1 28 oz can diced tomatoes
1 bay leaf
1 t. ground cumin
2 t. dried oregano
3 T. chopped fresh cilantro
Brown the garlic, onion, and ground yak in the olive oil. Add the rest of the ingredients except the cilantro. Simmer partially covered for about 45 minutes, stirring occasionally. Stir in the cilantro and simmer uncovered for 5 minutes. Add more salt and pepper to taste if necessary.
Yakburger Cashew
1 onion, chopped
2 T. butter
1 lb. ground yak
8 oz. egg noodles, cooked
4 oz. can mushrooms
1/2 c. stuffed green olives, sliced
1/2 lb cheddar cheese, sliced
1 can cream of mushroom soup
1/2 c. milk
1/2 t. salt
1/2 t. pepper
1/2 c. cashews
1/2 c. chow mein noodles
In an ovenproof skillet, brown onion in butter, then add yak meat and brown. Add cheese and let it barely melt. Mix rest of ingredients except cashews and chow mein noodles, and pour over meat and cheese. Bake uncovered at 375 degrees for 35 minutes. Top with cashews and chow mein noodles, and bake 15 minutes more.
I don't think I'll rest until the whole fruited plain is covered in yak. This country needs a change. Screw a bunch of boring cows. Just think. If we would have started this movement 200 years ago, there may have been no cowboys! They'd be Yakboys! We might be watching the Dallas Yakboys play every sunday. Catchy huh?
So please, go to the website link and buy some yak. You will be amazed how good it is. Hell, if your backyard is big enough, buy a whole yak. Give Fido someone to play with. And when you do, tell the Yak Man, Mephisto Phil referred you to him. It won't get you any discounts yet but who knows. I'm in this for the long haul.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
