02/03/2012

 

Oh my fucking god; I'm going to be working at a normal job in a different unit down the hall at work. One of my many applications panned out. Thanks to the wisdom of the selecting officials at work, which I of course can't write about. I'm being bumped up two pay grades and will be actually working in front of a computer I am told. Does persistance pay off? Is being patient a virtue? One co-worker from another unit shook his head in dismay at the situation in the unit I've worked in for 3 seasons saying "I can't believe you could stand it for so goddamn long". Working there has surely not been my worst work gig at all, but the lunacy and drama can't be matched. I will give my all for my new unit which is in a different division shall we say. It sounds like the work I'll be doing is quite similar to what I did at title insuranced plants years ago. Urrppp. I'll celebrate this weekend.......

 

01/29/2012

 

We just baby-sat the Grandson for 3 nights. Marla did 90% of the work, while I provided comic interludes akin to 3 Stooges routines. The kid just loves a laugh and never doubles over and cackles harder than when he pulls my beard and I yelp in pain. Over the year I hope to maintain my value in his eyes as a source of humor and not be some old sourpuss. I'll be reporting back to work tomorrow in some sort of capacity. I can't write about the job..but I can reveal that I'm still in contention for what has swelled up to 12 jobs. Of course there are thousands of employees there and the hiring process is the sort that I could criticize if I had a mind too, but no. I'm gonna be reporting back to the old job which I vowed a few times I wouldn't do. I was advised to apply apply apply and I have. What the shit, some of my applications date back to September, how can I just blow them off? To maintain my status I need to report back to the job equivalent of Devil's island, which used to bear a sign "abandon all hope ye who enter here. The money is fine and the attire and grooming standards as casual as my living room, so what the hell. I'll tough it out and see what happens. Over the last year I've hung out with my blood Father of course several times. He was down here a week ago again and I told him about the situation. He didn't weigh in and give advice, but I know what he would say. I've advised my Son to hang in there during situations I stormed out of (written up in "Jobjumper" which you may order from numerous sources to read about in depth) over the early portion of my life. I see a course unfolding if I am forced to work at the "leper colony" position another season. Don't worry about me too much. I know I've had a goddamned bellyful of sitting on the couch watching others work on "Axe Men" and "Goldrush" and the new "Bering Sea Gold". I wrote and edited a helluva lot last year. At any moment at the job I could be called away and promoted to several different jobs some of which are day shift, which would suck but what the fuck. Until that happens I'll be back to an early graveyard shift, burning up the road back and forth in my jolly black Dodge Charger which still hasn't accumulated 30,000 miles. I have a lot of rather new CD's to blast. My greatest "fear" is that I'll have to repeat the 2 hour whiteknuckle, black-ice hellride I was forced to endure last season due to imbecilecal weather reporting by the Austin media that our management took faith in. I rarely bother to go to the local taverns anymore during my work furlough. For some reason I feel compelled, shit DRIVEN to suck 'em down on Saturday nights during my work seasons, just like everybody else who answers to a boss. UUrrrppppp.01/23/12

 

I can't write about work; good thing this last 10 days or so. The ranting I would engage in would lead to no good. I have 13 goddamned applications in for better positions, the website says I've made it to the desk of 7 selection officials. I've slept with the phone, showered with the phone and kept it near me like a house arrest bracelet until 9:00 pm every night since early December. I've checked the email every damn half hour and monitored the mailbox ridiculously. When are they gonna get off their asses? My loved ones are sick of hearing about it. At least I've had great reading material.

After a 550 page Lenin book and now 300 pages into a Stalin work by the same author (Robert Service) I'm impressed at the brutality of the revolutionary founding Fathers shall we say of the Soviet union. The author goes out of his way to maintain the unemotional stance of the historian, but there's really no way to soft-soap these gulag-loving, genocidal bastards. I know that many lefties who want to give Marxism a perhaps modified shot here in the U.S.A. will agree that Lenin and Stalin and other bolsheviks that worked their way into power got a bit out of hand, but will assert in their next breath the "fact" that our Presidents from Polk and Jackson to the Bushes were just as bad. They'd likely then equate our terrorist mini-prison on Cuban soil, TSA patdowns and waterboarding with the USSR's huge gulag system.

Some of you might think they'd never be able to fool Americans into believing what our leaders have done is comparable with the slaughter committed by Joe Stalin, but shit..as I have pointed out here, the occupy movement demands were right out of the Marx biography I'm about half through with. It was he and his partner Engels who inspired Lenin and other bolshevik theorists whose work Stalin carried on. If any commies or anarchists out there read this and want to correct me, get in touch. As a competitive chessplayer since I was a child (chess was the national sport in the USSR and many Eastern Europe nations..I have many Soviet era chess heroes) I've been around plenty of extremists and am not frightened by them. I just don't agree with collectivist principles..why?

To start with, I think most people are essentially bad. When they get into groups I get very nervous. I've always identified with the lonewolf geniuses and strong producers in our country whose efforts would eventually tail off if they perceived the fruits of their labors are going to lazy unionized collectivists. The enforced atheism in the USSR does sound a bit tempting to me and on the surface the idea of government subsidized chess sounds nice, but unfortunately many of their best Grandmasters were held back from competing everywhere they wanted to. Once you fell out of favor, you were screwed. Years ago we released a 7" record "Hitler and Stalin the Dreamteam". Trying to be as open-minded as possible, I really can't think of two of our Presidents who could be considered even by the most ardent lefties as even in the same league with those two when it came to many flavors of atrocity. Polk and Jackson are pikers when you calculate the bodycount. We never really slaughtered very many Mexicans. Our most clear acts of genocide have involved our much lied to and abused Indian nations of course, but they were popular crusades as opposed to something a tiny group of leaders dreamt up. Blame the common religious people. Marx and his peers loathed the perpetuation of slavery in our country. They thought it would lead to our downfall. One of Lenin's favorite books was "Uncle Tom's Cabin". Sounds like a noble bunch, until you take into account the gulag system in the 20th century USSR that meted out "rehabilitation" for millions of dissidents, priests and undesirable ethnic types. How does it stack up with Jim Crow America? You decide...my brain is worn out for now.


01/17/2012
I just listed my five favorite films on an old pals facebook page. I'm a sucker for that sort of thing since I have a very limited social life and rarely get asked in person stuff like this anymore. I dive into discussions on FB with good intentions, but I know I'm a goddamned threadkiller. Sometimes it's probably due to the fact that I enter discussions late, but I've seen my top or bottom lists fall flat without comment most of the time. My arguements occasionally lure somebody to fight back, but most of the time what appeared to be a lively exchange of banter into a forgotten, dead issue. My amiable exchanges fare better, but graphic thumbsup and horseshit symbols and smiley doodads are things I endure for "normal" relatives. The folks who converse cyber-wise with me in a relaxed manner know who they are and I appreciate them. Most of them have figured out that even though I've written opinonated columns and stuff for many years, I don't want people to agree with everything I utter in print or on FB and neither do I feel you're a wuss if you don't bust my balls. I suspect most writers and musicians and artists would hang it up if they didn't receive some gushing praise once in awhile. I'm no different. I often change my mind myself about political horseshit and film fave lists and clearly my hatred of certain sub-genres of humanoids shifts often. I don't want to seem paranoid, but I sometimes wonder whether some large number of FB users bear grudges against me for gossipy reasons not based in reality. I often criticize "bands" or followers of some fad or human foible in a general rant, here or there NOT THINKING of their band or Wife or opinion at all. Certainly to some degree people take things personally without reason. It's fucking arrogant, for sure to assume I'm expending brain matter on you. Furthermore, if I rant about Star Wars geeks (which I do every couple years) and I see a picture of your new Barf Vader pajamas on FB and make a remark, don't assume I suddenly hate you or look down on you or for that matter even REMEMBER to associate you with it. I know damn well I'm out numbered when it comes to Star Trek or Metallica or Tebow or treating phones like they're your second cock. I presume many, many of you date the "MBC's" I criticize; so what, that's to be expected. I loathe the worthless Kardashians, 99% of rap and collegiate sports, all of which most of you are into to some extent..right? I'm used to being the lone nut who hates "march madness" and soccer. I can amiably discuss it though, there's no need for me to be a threadkiller, unless it's only a figment of my imagination, which it may all be.

 

 

01/09/2012

 

I'm ready to fucking boil over at the moment from the stupidity of those two overbearing cable network Catholics O'Reilly and Hannity. It's all come to a head over the last few weeks with that attention seeking exhibitionist quarterback dickhead from Denver who insists on hoisting his own religious views over those of anybody else on the field by repeatedly through out the season assuming a prayer position you only see performed by extroverts of the most nauseating stripe.

I've had a bellyful of O'Reilly declaring anybody with any complaint is a pinhead. His post-preppie compatriot Hannity declares over and over that few Americans have any problem with this guys prayer ritual. Yunno, I might have just shrugged it all off as being the same old same old fundamentalist shit although these guys aren't even fundamentalists; they're Catholics ) but I've just finished off a masterful, thoughtful book on the civil war era "America Aflame!" by David Gold field that specially focuses on the responsibility of evangelicals on both sides inflaming matters with their rhetoric to the point that the war could not be avoided. Holy men for both North and South alike were so confident in the fact that god was surely on their side that preachers week after week, month after month declared it from the pulpits.

Meanwhile, there was a side issue up North mostly in the decades preceding the war; many of the same evangelicals became convinced that the Catholics were coming here in too large numbers and that they were a sick, satanic horde equally as dangerous as slavery. Take that O'Reilly and Hannity; it wasn't that long ago you'd both be slapped down for your demonic, pageantry filled take on Christianity. Both sides expected the lord to step in and slam-dunk one for their side; when that didn't happen and casualties mounted reasonable voices from both sides began to distance themselves from the earlier notion of god being involved in human wars. By the time of Lincoln's second inaugural address he had come around to believing that god hadn't helped either side in the war and that the Union should be generous in victory since they too had allowed slavery to become established in our nation. Southern sermons in the final phase of the war were often interpretive of the extent of god's involvement in man's affairs.

Now, I know damn well what goes on before, during and after football games. Players, coaches, owners, gamblers and fans pray their ass off. I have no objection to that! I haven't heard the magpies for manufactured morality O'Reilly and Hannity point out how damn many silent prayer circles, organized and visible social prayer groups and silent individuals plead to their god or gods. In Texas there are still high school teams bullied into coach lead prayer. I don't like it, but I'm confident enough in my antisocial religious views to not even bust a sweat over it all until this SELFISH CLOD acts out, stealing the limelight from his RELIGIOUS TEAM MATES, making them look like schmucks as if it's all a big contest over who can draw the most attention to their slant on god. Haven't you Christians figured it out yet?

This dumbass's actions remind me of the extremists who were so confident that they knew better than everybody else they flew airplanes into skyscrapers on 9/11. The mentality of exhibiting your faith loud and proud has not only been the attitude behind most terrorist acts over the millennia perpetrated by many different religious groups, it was also behind the PERSECUTION of big mouth know-it-alls like O'Reilly and Hannnity who might've been tarred and feathered in the mid 19th century for their wicked Catholic faith by equally confident, smug protestants.

One more thing! I'm hoping and "praying" that next season or maybe at the "big game" the ultimate result of all this "pinhead and patriot" "immoral atheist" horseshit: I want to see a prominent player score a touchdown or make a key tackle and drop to his hands and knees and pray to Allah. O'Reilly, Hannity and Palin will flip and send their producers into spin mode. I'd lob off a finger to see this happen in the "big game". BBrraappp.


01/03/2012

I've been waiting to hear about the results of a dozen applications I've submitted to advance at work, which I can't write about. The jobs are still open until you're notified by computer generated email that you didn't get it. I've slept with my phone for about a month so as to not miss my call about the biggest promotion I've applied for. I've gradually felt more and more stress through all this and have thrown some objects around the house and ranted at the top of my lungs to the cats, my Frau and even just myself. First thing out of bed this afternoon I was sitting preparing to take the first hit of hot coffee of the day when all of a sudden...AAAAAWWWWWWWWWW...WWwwaagghhhhhhhhhhhH; I emitted a combination of a cough and a sneeze through my half filled mouth and nostrils alike spewing coffee in a 2 foot radius, messing the keyboard, monitor, printer, paper stock, etc.

I've never, ever experienced this in the past. It seems now after the annoying cleanup is over and the day has past like it was the additive inverse of a wet, shorts-destroying fart. Such a rump eruption would befit my attitude towards the gotcha atmosphere of the primary election this time around. It's amazing what little dirt needs to be thrown to destroy a campaign. As a history guy I'm well versed in the legacy of adultery amongst our brave leaders from over the years, from the founding Fathers and their supposed purity and piety to the 20th century Presidents of both parties a huge proportion of whom have cheated. Why do they nail Herman Cains ass to the wall with little evidence, when it's no secret what FDR, Ike, LBJ, Clinton, JFK, etc., etc., did in their day?

I personally say that I prefer our chief executive to be satisfied and not walking around with a woodie when that red phone rings. I have a massive tattoo of Ben Franklin on my leg that has been used for a record sleeve, depicting a dagger running through old Ben's noggin. When rubes ask me if I hate Franklin, I always respond by saying I LIKE him, but if he were around today, the prudes and the press would lambast him for his personal life. And Thomas Jefferson? Oh my...just imagine. How about our military heroes? Even old blood and guts, General Patton had a repeated affair with his wife's niece and singer Dinah Shore just to name a couple of dalliances. Personally, I've lead a square life and never cheated, but of course am considered a vile, atheist pig by most holy folks supposed standards.

People keep sending millions to preachers who get busted screwing around; by "people" of course I'm referring to evangelical goody goodies who seem easily upset by past affairs and "sins of the flesh" by prospective candidates. Humping jumping jesus. And media commentators wonder why there aren't more "strong" candidates running. I bet theirs not a person reading this that doesn't have 6-10 square head relatives who bitch and piss and moan about the lack of quality leaders who would get upset if you tried to tell them about the legacy of bedroom go-round activity by our holy iconic founders, Presidents, astronauts, clergymen, etc. Let me qualify that. They'd love to hear about the deeds of creeps from the other side, but they'll simply shake their head and snort if you mention any of them from their own party. So, here we are, Santorum and Romney just won Iowa. One wears "magic underwear" (as Penn Jillette calls it) and the other eats the actual body of christ at communion every Sunday; not a wafer representing our lord, but the ACTUAL body. Our current Presidents long-term house of worship certainly is no more appealing to me. When I look back on my life I have a major regret, that humanoids in the US haven't wised up and gotten past the token religion farce that our political leaders must act out. I expected from the age of 9 at which I shaped my personal philosophy that adults surely would wise up before too long. Now I know it's never gonna happen in my son or grandsons time. forget it. I'm gonna let one rip in my shorts, to signify my disgust...bbbbrrrrAAAAaaapppPPPPPPPP.


12/28/11

Going tomorrow with Elvis to pound balls at the actual driving range. We haven't been since last January. My work season clashed with his schedule, then the Summer started up and we had 160 days or so of 100 degree heat. No way I'm going outdoors for exercise in that sort of discomfort. Hank was born in June and everybody has been rightly focusing on that. Meanwhile, I began swinging a club indoors during my early morning drinking/writing/chess study sessions. I've worked my way up to 250 swings per night, executed between 3 and 6 times per week. As I contemplate the effects of this swinging on my performance tomorrow, I have but one regret; why in the fuck did I use a 6 iron only? Why didn't I exhibit some sense and swing a variety of clubs? Urp. I plan on pounding balls to vent my anger and frustration. I've still been sleeping with the phone waiting for my promotion-call back to work. I can't write about my job, but those of you who know me personally and where I work can imagine which particular people whose faces I'll be projecting onto the balls. I've been unable to write and I even withdrew from a fairly nearby chess tournament that might conflict with job training. I've been able to drink at the usual time and read like crazy. I'm really going at it in my study of the commies. I received a copy of the Robert Service "Stalin" bio that dovetails with the Lenin book I read. I'm also working on a lengthy dual biography of Karl Marx and his Wife with a special romantic/family emphasis. The civil war book "America aflame" I've been enjoying fits well with all these commie books. The book "Uncle Tom's Cabin" was huge in Europe and a favorite of Lenin and other revolutionaries. Theorists like Marx observed our nations inability to deal with the slavery issue and felt it was just another sign our capitalist pig based society must fall. The author of "America Aflame" David Goldfield also discusses the settling in this country of one of Marx's revolutionary contemporaries in Wisconsin. I stumbled upon the film "Gangs of New York" a couple nights ago in the wee hours; it's another vantage point from that period. I didn't plan to immerse myself in the latter half of the 19th century but I'm enjoying it. The Euro/Asian revolutionaries from Marx to Stalin sported great whiskers, sometimes partied like the best of y'all reading this and made daring fashion statements, such as Stalins hatred of suits, shaving and passion for unpolished shoes. I don't have a clue where they latched onto their wacky notions about things I hold dear (such as private property) and I'll never be a collectivist, but it's fun to read about these longshot loons who changed the world.

 

 

12/23/11

 

 

More end of year ranting. To hell with the worthless fucking Kardashians; they've achieved less than that snot paris hilton. Let's have a basic criteria for elevating anybody to hero status. Being born into money is a piss poor reason to be admired. If you don't agree with that, get the fuck out of here...now. There's nothing wrong with money and capitolism; there is something pathetic about the meek rubes who accept inherited money bimbos as their superiors. If that's you, get out. I try to address both eggheads and nosebreathing, suds sucking blue collars here. The smart fucks reading this should spend at least equal time researching arguments against the candidates and/or conspiracy freak purveyors they prefer. If you can argue both sides and still suck up to any of it, you're doing as well as 99%. To the poorly schooled reading this, you're every bit as good as any of us and if we wind up in a survivalist situation you'll outlast us eggs. It's a good period of time to get fucked up regularly and steer clear of emotional politics and rhetoric designed to manipulate y'all. It's a really, really good time to dust off the old collection of wrestling vhs tapes and Dvd's and ignore jackasses trying to con you. Have fun. Drink...urppp...like me....daily. Whittle and screw a lot.

 

12/19/11

 

Intellectually speaking, this has been a really bad year for the under 30 age demographic here in the U.S. This gen got hoodwinked along with plenty of old farts of course in a major way by the carny "hopey" changey" generalizations used by the Obama campaign. This is the generation that never learned how to do math (shit just use a calculator) can't write a decent paper without a spellcheck devise and has built a conspiracy industry that is making big money. I got suckered myself when I was 19 by an encyclopedia cult that had us shaking our heads at concerned relatives like they were dumbshits and we the only ones clued in. Unfortunately, a huge percentage of people my sons age and younger simply don't have a clue how to go about fact checking a political loon, historical "cover up", scientific rumor or politically motivated hoax much less the goddamn headlines on Yahoo news. My theory here can be supported by a recent popular phenomena, the occupy protests. It's clear that besides young people in the occupy trenches there is an older group of veteran anarchists, communists and other revolution friendly leaders. Now I know many leftie boobs tar me with the redneck brush or the idiotic drunk bit, but the fact is I have dealt with these revolutionary buffs for a long time. An anarchist is not a boogeyman to me. That being said, the propaganda I've read for decades supporting various leftist groups is often as moronic as the most offensive blather from the right. I mentioned here a few weeks ago I've been reading a Lenin bio. It was a good read supported with a huge bibliography of scholarly works (no websites) and refreshed me on quite a bit of the language Lenin and his Bolsheviks invented that made its way to pamphlets and has been a staple of freedom of speech protected parks since. Remember when the protesters were asked for an agenda early on and they released 20 insane demands? I believe I commented here that I was disappointed they couldn't ask for something clear, but after reading the Lenin book I realize thats not part of the traditional Marxist strategy. They want revolution and wont be deterred by capitalist swine offering to throw a few crumbs at the group. The "99%" claim? An established tactic since Lenin's day. Revolutionaries always say that. Go look it up. Are all these young people Marxists and anarchists, all these young people being urged to get some cop working overtime to over do it and smack 'em in the noggin' or whip out the pepper spray so the leaders photogs could get a clip for their website..how many of them have even heard of Marx or Lenin or Stalin? Yunno, I had a good time selling encyclopedias and was one of the few making good money even though I was duped. Eventually I came out of the ether, hitchhiked home with a girl who I later married and settled down into some real jobs and real college courses as opposed to the pie in the sky offered by the book crooks. I hope and suspect that a lot of occupiers are gonna eventually come home feeling a little manipulated and silly. Being fooled by older political organizers can make you smarter and tougher if you are willing to learn from your mistake and not duplicate it. Check out the "causes" you support with your $$$ and your time as an activist. If you've got kids and you're worried about them getting suckered by a sales crew or a cult leader or a veteran commie, even though you may not want to "bum out" your kids or ruin their impression of their fellow humans, you've got to make them believe that quite a few of their friends, teachers, bosses, potential sex partners, coworkers, etc. are going to look them in the eye and lie to them over and over and over. If you really want to be a great parent, tell them that they can always come to you if they get fooled and that you'll not nag 'em or give them shit. OK, Madonna next time.....uurrpp12/13/11

 

I may as well take stock of the year now. There's a couple more weeks to go, but I'm afraid nothing significant will change my mind about things either in my life or in the world at large. Personally, I'm stuck on hold this week waiting for a call back to work at hopefully a much better position. Can't write about my job, but can tell anybody that the way it works to get a job you have to pick up the phone or call back in a few minutes as they call the "winners" in order. If you're away for the day your job goes to someone else. I've got a grave phobia about picking up the phone but have had to answer one several times this week in case it's thee call. No library for me, no shopping amongst the fools. Ok, fine. It gives me ample time to reflect. It's been a year of contrasts for me. I've got a new Grandson who laughs at my funny fart sounds and loves to yank my beard. Can't beat that. My blood Father visited us several times here over the year and worked for many months nearby. He's cleared my mind when it comes to many concerns. There are only a couple things thaat seem to really piss him off and he's not judgmental about many things you might expect. It's fun to have a few beers with him and benefit from a strong male role model. The guy likes whiskey and professional sports to a healthy, non-moronic degree. He plays video games by his own choice, loves casinos and likes to have a good time in his 70's. One more thing, he's not ashamed to admit to a mistake now and then. He's right up there with Hank Irwin on the plus side of the ledger. On the negative side, there's Mother, the one who raised me who only months after the publication of a book in which I forgive her publicly for almost everything pulled some of the worst shit she's ever mustered up, forcing me to think thoughts I can't express in writing at this point. Music wise, we've been plagued by delays that are typical for long-term bands. I'm back to guitar, oriented towards new material and have band members dedicated towards spewing out the best we've ever done as opposed to rehash. I have a new this year demonic black metal guitar that would probably kill you if I walloped you with it. I finished two books: "Escape From Cookieland" which is on Kindle for now. We're downplaying it a bit and sending out proposal letters to a dozen publishers I've already selected. The proposal is the most effective we've come up with thanks to some help from a writer pal. My REAL country music album book "Rejected By Nashville.." is available by Kindle, Amazon.com and a small print run. The early returns really seem to indicate that people are not only interested in the country legends I glorify, they've had a gutful of the contemporary psuedo-pop-country I loathe. I still need to get it into the hands of some "Keepers of the Flame" who perform the REAL shit and some like minded souls with radio shows and magazines. Any help from y'all out there is welcome as a streetsweeper in a field full of zombies. I'm way the hell along on my first fiction work. Many writers including even Sam Clemens have fretted when shifting from memoirs and opinionated rants to fiction. I found my "voice" at least for this book fairly quickly. Fiction is so satisfying. It's fun to play god. A decent year in chess. No landmark victories at tournaments around the country I attended, but thanks to the insane number of games I've played on-line I have more confidence and don't need to cram-study for events...I'm always fairly fresh and ready for battle. I've never been an attacking player, until now. Over the year I read a couple topnotch attack manuals with sledgehammers on the covers. It's a bit strange at this point in life to play a different style. In poker terms, it's like betting aggressively balls out and playing a lot of hands. Most significantly I had a strong "World Open" in Philly ending on a roll. OK. enough chess. I'm going to halt here and continue next time with my take on humanoids and the world at large "2011". I plan to point my diarrhea filled ass at a few sacred cows I have been ignoring for too long and let it fly. Want a preview soundbite? A true sign of the worthlessness of our species is the manner in which pop bimbos and bozo's are placed on a holy platform beyond criticism. Dealing with the overblown Michael Jackson hokum was stomach churning, now that disco bitch Madonna has attained an untouchable status?? You've got to be kidding me..is there hope for us? No, not as long as silly song and dance dipshits are deified. It's not a mystery to me that Bukowski and her never hit it off when she was married to his pal Sean Penn. I'm not referring to people who like a few of her songs, that's her job. I've had a bellyful of those who can't even accept somebody like Gene Simmons making critical remarks about her. Are pop fans dumber and more gullible than ever? More next time....

12/11/11

The dumbass students living across the street had a longer than usual party last night. I don't care if they go at it all fucking week without stopping; just don't block our driveway or mailbox, if you play horrible rap horseshit (a certainty) at high decibels, keep the door closed and keep your women from screeching in the middle of the street to show they're happy. Take the bitch to a bedroom and get her mind on something else, whap it out..now's your chance..or either hold a pillow over her head to muffle it or tape it shut. That's all I axe. To be honest, last night it was the guys who made the most noise. I'm sure as hell not against people getting fucked up. If they instead showed visible signs of religiosity and made attempts to talk to me and make not so subtle evangelical oriented comments I'd be really irked. I'm reminded of the time we had holy rollers in the other portion of our north Hollywood duplex and I had to shout them down and tell them to shut the fuck up when they started caterwauling in tongues one Sunday evening in their backyard.

I had my first solo baby-sitting experience with young Hank a couple days ago. Over the last year I've picked the brains of several good Fathers and Grandfathers who take an active role in raising babies. I've commented before how the average person on the street probably couldn't pick these guys out of a lineup stocked with ordinary squares and rubes and cowards who ignore kids for various reasons. Quite a few church going men in my folks circle when I was growing up talked big and liked to spiel bible verses supporting corporal punishment but never changed a diaper or learned how to interpret what tiny infants who don't talk yet are trying to tell you when they cry or make certain gestures. My circle of Daddies and Grandpas know down to the strength of the kids farts or how their facial features are arranged what they need for the most part. Many of these guys are considered weirdoes by society...shit, quite a few of them are for a fact. Beards, tattoo's, part-time employment, appreciation for sick stuff and banned books. All of these guys would lay down their life in a heartbeat for their kids, just like I would for Hank. The excuse lots of naughty, neglectful dads make is that they'll catch up with the kids when they're older, they're too busy..besides it's "women's work". Incidentally, these guys aren't to be confused with the poor sons of bitches who can't see their kids due to separation factors' feel for these guys. Also, some Fathers by nature work on the road. I cut them some slack on a case by case basis. The guys who simply wimp out or take some high moral position defending their noninvolvement in raising their kids are in many, many cases never going to relate to them. The time to get into their heads, understand their wants and talents and weaknesses is not when they're old enough to go to school and beaten harder. You've missed the goddamn boat by that time, unless you really get involved fast. How many Fathers (and of course Mothers too in some cases) have a casual relationship with their kids until they get in big trouble or until it's time to choose a career; suddenly they want to have influence with them. Hey pal, the kid doesn't want to be a frigging business student at your alma mater or be a clone of you in any way shape or form.

When you ignore kids and they get into shit you don't dig, FUCK YOU. The time to "get involved" and get on the same wavelength with them is as early as possible. Of course, plenty of parents let their dicks and pussies think for them, or worse fall for conventional wisdom that asserts that kids will get taught at school, so why read with them? Kids get into scuffles, so who cares which kid wrong or right...wallop 'em a few times for good measure and don't stress about it. My personal faves are the parents who 99% of the time never get their hands dirty or get personal with their kids as infants, never bother to read to them or take them to the library or help work out problems and fears. But, if they hear the little brats cussing they back hand 'em,...."DON'T you fuckin' swear!!..." We all know a helluva lotta people who seem to only get upset or involved in any way with their kids when they hear them swearing. It's time to go pound some shots; I don't feel that great about preaching sermons even when they're totally correct and called for...uurrppp........until next time, Don't you swear ya motherfucking prickwad cunt ....UURRRRPPPPpppp

12/07/11

 

I enjoyed being on WCSB radio as a call-in guest last night. It's a lot of goddamn work to do these things to promote books and other projects. I wound up being held over to answer calls several times and in all the time I was on was well over 3 hours. The callers were mostly fun; a few serious types, a wide age variety so far as I could tell, some boozehounds and maybe a loon or two. I surprised myself how many answers I was able to fairly smoothly provide. I got stumped on a question about what the "high lonesome sound" specifically refers to. Clearly, people are still interested in REAL country music and vinyl as a format. The host (of the Dricore show) was impressed by the number of calls in. I did quite a few readings for "Jobjumper" and that was fine and all, but this is something really different. Shit, how can you go wrong with all those mighty country legends up on Mt. Olympus gazing down on you, grinning that somebody's speaking up for them.
I guess I should get off my ass and try to arrange some more of these things. If anybody wants to help set up a call-in radio appearance for me in reference to "Rejected by Nashville" and has some radio connections, get in touch. While I'm at it I'd like to know about some annual bookshows in some cities around our fair land. Maybe I can combine a few with some chess tournaments.
The booze "dilemma" last night was fairly familiar. I had never heard the Dricore show and knew not what to expect. It's fun to be blitzed and you get a more enthusiastic show from me when I turn on the booze switch to "GO". On the other hand, I didn't write the book bombed, I listened to a high percentage of the albums whilst drinking, but do most things sober these days. I don't need to use booze as a crutch as I used to. I pondered on what to drink while on the air. Beer and call-in radio shows don't mix unless you are handy with a piss jar. Shots of whiskey could have left me jabbering in mid program. To maintain an edge over the drunk guests and still be able to be relaxed I made a huge drink in a ballpark oversized cup with Canadian Mist and Sundrop. That worked out well. Urp.

12/06/11
I'll be a phone-in guest to the Dricore show, Cleveland State WSBC tonight in wee hours. Show starts at 1:00 eastern time, I'll be on circa 1:30 am (12:30 am Texas time). I'll probably miss out on the orgy part, dang. I love radio and want y'all to call in. Anybody from Ohio out there? Cleveland State Radio State. You don't have to live in Cleveland to listen, is available online: www.wsbc.org.

 

12/02/11

 

I got wiped last night drinking with Mark. Mid-way through his visit there was a power outage. Strangely enough, Marla..who drank with us for a couple hours..had a 3 wick candle burning right between the 3 of us. She fired up a few more and we drank and bullshitted that way. When the lights came up I was tanked and needed to hit the sack or the floor or something. I had a hangover, which is rare compared to the "old days" when I drank with titans of the bottle frequently.
A strange thing happened at one of my net chess websites. It had nothing to do with chess, so those of you who are chess-phobic don't need to bail out. I signed up for a tournament sponsored by the site for players in my skill bracket. The site's computer automatically pairs you with the designated number of opponents to face and a board pops up for a game with each color against these foes with their handle and avatar. Folks from every tiny corner of the word compete. The tourney began and I went to make the first move against my 5 opponents. I always check to see what nation they're from by allowing the curser to hover over a little flag by their handle. I usually greet 'em with the simple phrase "Greetings from Texas" accompanied by a "!" if I'm really froggy. Why do I do this? If an opponent is pissed at you it could distract them or cause them needless stress and hey..let's face it, if you think folks around the world are apt to dislike we in the U.S., it is especially so in the chess world which has always been especially popular in commie countries. The head of the world chess federation is a real life dictator of a small territory that used to be part of the soviet union. He's been mired in controversy since day one, but never unseated. Anyway, hordes of chessplayers from overseas hate our frigging guts or at the very least think we're cocky, spoiled airheads who should own up to sharing the wealth with the rest of the world U.N. style.
Now, I want to point out that even though this sounds extreme to some of you, bear in mind that when I'm faced with a couple games with some dude from Bulgaria or Cuba or Pakistan as the games wear on the mood often thaws and by the end of the battles the clouds have passed and their is a warm chess Brotherhood or Brother-Sisterly kinship between us. This happens often over the board at live tournaments. A sense of respect just magically emerges that's similar to my experiences working with folks of other races at some goddamn job.
This doesn't always happen. Maybe 10-15% of opponents don't respond to my greetings either because they hate Americans or maybe because they don't savvy English; fine and dandy. I don't waste time speculating. Now, when I greet somebody with "Greetings from Texas!" I often am answered with "Greetings from Australia!" or "Greetings from Minnesota!" or simply "hello..greeet...hi" from a non-English competitor. Of course, I'm aware of the fact that the "Texas" reference blows some minds not only from people in California or Jersey but of course even more so in places where they burn our Presidents in effigy. All so many of them can think of when they are confronted with Texas is the Bush family, corrupt oil tycoons and extroverted jackasses likely sporting cowboy boots and hats. Of course the reality is that if you wanted to establish a median stereotype of the typical Texas chessplayer, it would be Asian, male and about 13 years old. The white males dominated when I came up, but they represent about 15% or so these days with the exception of places like Oklahoma. I have a picture posted at my chess sites, it's actually myself drinking and waving my hand and I don't look the least bit Asian and I guess I've realized in the dark of night that players from around the world assume I'm some sort of dumb cliché' cracker redneck as opposed to being a sensitive aesthetic, hybrid model intellectual some-of-the-time neck. Anyway, so there I was making the first move against a dude from...Syria. OK, that's a lively spot. I tapped in "Greetings from Texas!" and went on to the next opponent who was from....Palestine. Yep, their flag was waving right next to the handle of my opponent (who answered me with gusto and kindness...don't assume stereotypes). On to the next contestant who turned out to be from...and I'm not kidding Israel. I've played many Israeli's and a guy from Iran recently but never a Palestinian. I envisioned the other 3 competitors greeting and facing one another and rubbed my mitts together with glee. I've never been paired in a sit-com worthy grouping like this. To round things out were a person from the U.S. and an Italian. We'll see what happens. Outside of the chess, I've come to enjoy being closely exposed on a daily basis to people from all over the world. How many of y'all have ever competed against people from Iceland or Myanmar? There are millions of players on one of my sites. There are over a thousand organizations, clubs devoted to folks sharing the same religion and often the same ethnic heritage. That's the way hundreds of thousands prefer it; I'm amongst the other percentage who dig competing with people from places whose flags we can't always recognize. I'm not a globalist or a fan of the U.N. or even our world chess federation, just a half-rube cracker / half brainiac who believes the chess world at least should be "borderless". I enjoy it when somebody from a place where alcohol is forbidden (officially) notices my Whiskeyrebel handle and inquires what my favorite whiskey is. Urp. With alcohol there is hope we can all get along some day.

11/26/11

 

I just finished off a mid-sized book on Henry VIII. My Daughter in law is into the Tudors and part of the influence for my Grandson's name is due to that, along with all the country Hank's and Hank Aaron, etc. It was written by a historian and footnoted and bibliographied and all, but I have no quarrel with popular accounts or romance base accounts for that matter. The author refers to VIII as the "playboy king" which seems fitting.
At the same time I've been reading a General Patton bio that is twice as big and has left my hands cramping from suspending it in the air due to its weight. It's a very serious work as of course Patton is even more controversial than Henry VIII. There's simply a helluva lot of incidents to investigate along with the military history and biographical data. Patton was very serious about his belief that he had spent past lives as a soldier. I really recommend that those of you who read dig this one up. The author is Stanley Hirshson. For those of you who don't read thick history books, I hope you dig up the old film made around 1970 starring George C. Scott. It doesn't explore anywhere near the shitstorms Patton caused with his flamboyant speeches and two fisted attitudes but is jolly fun none the less. Patton wouldn't last long serving under today's uber p.c. leaders, that's for sure. The Nazi's feared him, really..even Uncle Addie.
At the bookstore a couple days ago I decided to maintain this phase of reading about tyrants by picking up my first ever book on super commie Lenin. A couple chapters along I'm really glad I did. The author Robert Service has written a slew of books relating to Russian and soviet history including bio's of Stalin and Trotsky that I can't wait to get to. Did you know that ol' Stalin wrote sensitive poetry? You might ask why I didn't just start with Joe Stalin's book but I want to savor the series in chronological order. The Soviet archives were only opened up for researchers in 1991, hence books from before that time are likely to either defend this power trio in a party-line manner or be ridiculous in portraying them as demons.
If you've grown bored with serial killer books, a bit jaded perhaps, you might really enjoy reading about some worldclass heels that make guys like Bundy and Gacy look like pikers. UUrrppp.

11/23/11

 

What a fucking double barrel load of bullshit is being delivered to us this fine holiday weekend. It's not enough that advertising for black Friday, pre-black Friday, pre-pre-early bird black Friday and post-double-black Friday have saturated every media form including print, mail, radio, TV, internet, telephone, etc. etc.; the occupy geniuses are trying to get a bump from all the hoopla and in doing so, they've surely pissed me off good and proper now and forever.
Go back and read earlier entries..for the sake of old lefty radical acquaintances and a realization that some dissent, even poorly thought out keeps my head perhaps from the chopping block..I've cut them some goddamn slack; NO MORE!
The old "box mega-retail outlet" vs. Mom and Pop non-corporate store argument is one of the weakest in the lib playbook. I've written columns over the years for at least 3 bloody magazines pointing out the facts that: 1) Mom and Pop would be corporate if they could 2) Mom and Pop can't keep stuff in stock and most importantly for me 3) With Mom and Pop you have NO fucking recourse if you get bad service or products; you're at their mercy.
One of my old columns compared a small indy record that existed around the corner from a corporate store I was employed happily at. The jerks that ran the place openly made fun of customers, ripped people off daily and without vaseline paying them penny's on the dollar for collectables they'd cheat them out of; after the poor dumb bastard who had been lured by their yellow pages "highest $$$ paid for your vinyl" add left the store, they'd chortle and highfive each other about how they had conned the stupid rube. And their return policy? What fucking return policy? Get lost!!
At the evil corporate outlet, you could return anything for any reason with a receipt, sometimes without a receipt. If any employee were heard laughing at a customers choice of music or clothing or whatever, they'd be warned and eventually shitcanned if necessary. Happily they weren't engaged in the used vinyl rip-off congame.
Years ago I inventoried both Mom and Pop and chain stores for 10 consecutive years. Price wise of course there is no comparison; the box stores win. The number of products kept stocked at indy stores is also much, much smaller. At one Mom and Pop store there was an owner who wore a bird on his shoulder that accounted for piles of shit everywhere. Lots of vaunted "family owned" stores have bad rodent problems, jackass managers who refuse exchanges or refunds for often silly reasons. Most of them have relatives on their staff who do nothing and have a "fuck youse!" attitude.
Chain stores get around to booting out shitheads much quicker. It's no wonder that they've thrived.
In our humble area, holier than thou, all-knowing occupy forces are supposed to be considering trying to prevent Thanksgiving day shoppers and early black Friday morons from shopping at some of the big stores.
It's rare that I find myself in a position to side with the sort of boobs who wait in line in the cold to go shopping at 4:00 am, but holy fuck in this case I hope a few snotty occupy assholes with their arrogant stance get their asses kicked. Christ, what kind of a moron would tamper with shoppers in this economic climate? This proves once more that it's just a game, they choose their hallowed positions in a whimsical manner. If they want to make some sort of timely protest, pertinent to our nations problems, fine; if it's just evolved to the same tired, knee-jerk and poorly thought out stances we've heard for decades, just go home. Quit clogging up the parks and let the homeless and the preachers and the drug dealers and rapists and predators and flashers back in to enjoy some peace again and reinstate some integrity. Urp.

11/19/11

 

My Grandson might play sports, might be an intellectual type, might get into drama or basket weaving. It's his choice. We don't know what he'll do, but we do know he's already got a fine sense of humor. His last visit over I entertained him steadily with fart sounds. He laughed at the first one and at some of the last a couple hours later. Quite a few babies are boring lumps or screechers; our guy who will carry on my last name into the future after I'm gone loves to have a good time. If he craps himself or needs to eat he cries just enough to get somebody off his or her ass to take care of his needs, then it's back to having fun.
I hope if I live to some crazy advanced age I can work whomever is responsible for me like that, with grace and mirth. I haven't done any solo baby-sitting yet, but it's in the works for not too far off. Those of you who might see kids as a pain in the ass (like the folks who raised me ) probably won't ever learn how to simply make kids part of your regular routine, contributors to your ordinary life as opposed to burdens.
Enough kid crap. Did you see Tiger this weekend? I wore my eyeballs out, literally watching 4 days of the Presidents cup. My eyestrain was the worst I can remember. At least the result was worthy. I've referred to him as the Babe Ruth of our time and will point out the fact that the bambino had a bad year after eating way too goddamned many hot-dogs in the dugout or some shit like that. Golf is entering a great period right now in which many young players who were raised on Mr. Woods are transforming the last vestiges of the snotty, old school bigot country club mindset into something fun and accessible. Golf was the last sport to theoretically at least integrate. The crusty old peckerwoods who kept minorities and women off of the same golf courses they play tour events at today were a scurvy, arrogant bunch. The history of golf is very interesting actually. Are you aware that the same notions about "amateur" athletics that tainted the olympics for many years was prevalent in golf up to the 1960's? The so called logic was that only crass, crude scalawags played professional golf. "Gentlemen" played for honor...at the country club of course. They should've shipped those elite tycoons back to Nazi Germany where they would fit in with the arrogant bastards there and get to sport helmets with pointy peaks. I'm not much of a fan of upper crust sports...polo can fucking kiss my ass...UURRPPPPP!!!

11/14/11
I had to get up at the crack of dawn 9:30 am...to make it to a 1:00 p.m. processing session at my place of employment (which I can't write about of course). I've been applying on-line for better jobs and am very close to nailing one a few pay grades higher. Oddly enough, you'd think that it'd be easier getting a lower paying job in the same service agency. Uh uh. According to a guy I've yakked with on breaks over the seasons who works in the category of work I'm applying for says they can't ever find enough qualified people, whereas where I've been working they're swamped with possible people to hire.
I wanted to be promoted from within in the same part of the building up a paygrade or so; forget that. Forces I can't identify conspired to make it a breech of policy for me to even aspire for that. I was told by a sympathetic super to apply early and often, how my degree would open doors for me. Sure enough, I've been notified that I'm highly qualified for the job I attended a session in the interest of obtaining today. Urp.
If I get it, I'll vault paywise over the hundreds of folks who used to look down on me working in such a notorious corner of the agency (I can't write about why it is). Go look at old entries and you'll get the idea. So, to sum up, it's hard as hell to advance at the lower paying jobs, much easier in the quieter part of the building with the cozy cubicles. Yes, I did need that degree after all. Let that be a lesson children. Any degree..that you see through and complete. It's not the knowledge per se that you obtain, it's the fact that you had the moxy to eat your peas and pass classes that sucked (for me Communications) and classes you didn't mind that you thought you'd never get through (Physics...German).
I'm not much of a role model for the young, requiring 33 years to complete a 4 year degree. I think the fairly large university I attended is wasted for the most part on halfassed children of well off families who are expected by the U to wash out in large numbers. I'm not sure why society has become so attached to the process of snotty, cocky, rum rookie 19 year olds going off to school. If they were forced to wait a few years and learn how to deal with childish substance abuse issues, everybody would be better off. Shit, I hardly stopped drinking a few years ago during my final college days, but I knew how to get my work done and then get loaded. Also, I'm long past chasing pussy. Costs would go way the hell down if the universities like the ones in this State dropped the dormitories and the notion of wet-nursing 19-21 year olds. They all get so goddamned loaded anyway. Universities that claim their campuses are drug and alcohol free are just fucking lying.
Anyway, liberal arts degrees like mine don't seem to be worth a crap leading to non-teaching jobs in ones field, but there still are jobs out there, plenty of them that are ready to hire you for work in various capacities if you have that sheepskin...(no, I don't mean a friggin' rubber.) The one hitch in my situation currently is due to the huge number of military folks returning to the workforce. They get first crack at all jobs and we were told plainly that this is the only thing holding us back at this point. I'm not counting on anything until they're snapping my muggshot for a new badge.

11/08/11

 

I've been busting ass full speed ahead since getting back from the West on finishing my first non-memoir fiction book, which I started earlier this year and took a several month break on. It's been great seeing two books finished so far tis year, why not three? I'm not crowing about that, I've talked to disciplined authors who churn out genre fiction at a much faster pace year after year. My book is as I've described to some folks at the library where I often work "a story about a horrid family for people who hate families". That's my catch phrase.
I heard a commentator on TV refer to the ongoing occupy protest people as being like the last drunk at the end of a party who won't go home. My own analogy isn't much better. Back in my early college days at P.S.U. there was a stump preacher who was fun to argue with for about 6 weeks. At that point, we knew what biblical contradictions he couldn't answer, what you could yell at him that would make him turn read, the embarrassing dirt on him (he was divorced..eeek!) and one of his acolytes had taken a swing in anger at one of my ex-friends who promptly laid him out with a karate snap-kick. The occupy mobs contain of course many different elements with many diverse interests. Some of them are just there for thrills and sex and free stuff. A few of them are these hardcore lefties much like the batch of uber lefties I've been friendly with for years. These days mean a lot to them. Shit, it's lonely in this country at times for folks with outspoken commie-socialist-anarhist views. I've forged mutual respect bonds of course over the years with some. I also know and like a number of people who dove hunt and swap the recipes like it's prime rib or lobster. I also have known over the years more than my share of gays/transsexuals, Iranians, Satanists and people whose hobby is collecting stuff glorifying serial killers.
Just like General Patton was deeply worried in the 20's and early 30's that he might not get into another war, the politics as a hobby leftists I know must be out of their heads with worry that this scattershot movement might end. Damn, what if the next generation now in high school is socially and politically apathetic, patriotic or self sufficient? This might be their last demonstration that draws attention? Bearing up to that has to be like facing your last dove hunt, last time to visit your favorite special thinking spot, last night at the bar before reporting to prison or a monastery. This is likely the last waltz around the dance floor for aged 60's demonstrators. It's no wonder they don't want to let it go.
On the other hand, part of me is reminded of some of my hopelessly defeated chess victims without the grace or sense to resign and get on to other things, other games that might turn out better. It's a wise person who knows accurately when they're whipped and knows it's time to stack arms and head back home.

11/03/12

 

In "Field of dreams" the dude who owns the baseball field gets to have a catch with Shoeless Joe. If you're a reporter you might get a chance to golf with a former President in pursuit of a story. If you pony up the $$$ and are in the right place at the right time you can have a whack at a poker legend. Duffers at most sports don't ever have the opportunity to actually have a go at a legend. In the world of chess, we do however. It's called a "simultaneous exhibition". The great legendary master plays anywhere from a few to a couple score normal players at the same time, with boards on tables woven into a massive rectangular or circle. Players at my specific amateur "class A" level can play grade schools full of beginner and low level players with ease beating most effortlessly. Grandmasters and International Masters can whip the likes of my skill and a playing level higher than me ("experts") almost as easily.
At the chess tournament in Reno I'm just now back from I faced a former world top 10 player I've been familiar with since the Fischer generation (indeed, he was one of Fischer's "seconds" in the match) Lubomir Kavakek. He currently writes the chess column for the Huffington Post which you can probably access on-line.
My game was fairly interesting and was one of the last finished. I wasn't the goat of the simul, losing first as I was against Grandmaster Shabalov a few years ago, neither did I manage to pull off a draw like I was able to against GM Susan Polgar. When I resigned GM Kavalek shook my hand, signed my scoresheet and whispered a few words of how I might have hung on longer. We even exchanged words in the hotel elevator over the weekend at his instigation. I'll keep those precious words private however.
We've scheduled a similar vacation to the westcoast the last few years based around the chess tournament. I've had mixed or horrid results trying to concentrate on a serious game of chess after meeting new relatives and hearing about my origins and taking heat from my frigging adoptive Mother who can't be satisfied. This time around I flew out, got the chess over with productively and then departed with Marla for the relative visitation sector of the tour, moat of which of course I enjoy a helluva lot. Thanks to my raft of ongoing on-line games I felt fresh and ready to play. I beat my first opponent in a nice crush. I lost a game to a kid who was the highest rated in our section after having him on the ropes. I chalked up 3 hard fought draws including one with a guy who tied for first. After a couple years of partially completed tournaments for valid reasons I had a decent year combining this with the World open back in July.
Later came the video poker and slots. I spent hours and hours doubled over and propped in front of the damn things often next to my spouse. The first few days at the Silver Legacy in Reno were brutal for me. Ordinarily I break even or so at video poker. Not at the SL. It felt like a horror movie the nickels and quarters were drained from my pockets so fast. Now, remember we're small time players like the grannies we battle alongside. We're not in danger of having to pawn stuff or sell plasma or roll old farts at cash machines for planefair. Marla mysteriously did fairly well during that phase of our stay. On the Saturday before Halloween we wandered into the Circus Circus, a place she ordinarily wouldn't set foot in, having had a bad time at the brat-stuffed one in Vegas. In an insane and near unbelievable hour we managed to rake in several 4 of a kinds each..she even racked up an extremely rare straight flush. We retreated to a couple machines facing but not abutting the jolly band hired for the occasion. Here I was treated to one of my top 3 "asshole of the trip" moments (the champeen is described in a below entry). A white guy in his late 50's who looked like he'd be packing a knife and an asspocket of whiskey sidled up to me and calmly warbeled into my ear "man, there's more gooks in here than back in 'Nam". What would you have done? I chose the defense mechanism in which I sound extremely boring and maybe a bit of a dolt: "uhh..I just got a 4 of a kind!". He chuckled and bade me luck. Some of you might have wound up buying crank from him. The 2nd most obnoxious asshole of the trip was an attractive white, spoiled looking broad, maybe 20 who was walking with a couple of friends past the restaurant we were dining in beyond a barricade of foliage positioned to prevent folks from dining and dashing. She actually leaned over the plants separating us: "Hey! Hey! Can you just answer a question "yes" or "no"? ( I was a bit stunned at her rudeness..I wasn't sure how to blow her off out of there but I instinctively knew not to answer "yes" or "no" or I'd be aiding and abetting her little stunt. "Do YOU LIKE TO PARTY?? Just answer yes or no!" she repeated flashing me a grin that according to MTV shows I research was supposed to be "hot". I gazed at my Frau across the table. We assumed the same strategy without discussion by not answering at all. She stood there turning a shade red until one of her friends called her to catch up with them a couple dozen steps away "C'mon!". She turned away quickly and caught up with them. What did it all mean? At first I thought it was part of a TV show being filmed...nope. Did she want to "party" with us....have a 3-some in our room and buy some crank from the Circus Circus dude? Or go to a trendy, brightly lit bar and watch her and her friends screech after a couple Jager-shots?? Why do I get these fucking kooks pestering me?? You'd probably like it, wouldn't ya...answer "yes" or "no!!


10/31/12

 

The guy looked really seedy and sported a mustache. He blocked our entrance to the Reno El Dorado casino buffet a couple nights. Marla and I just voted him jackass of our trip. The cashier had just discreetly advised him he didn't have any meal comps on his players card. He fired back "I've got plenty of comps hon, I just checked..you're wrong..look it up!"
She didn't bother to. I figured if he was telling the truth he could pay and take the receipt to the rewards center. He delayed my meal and for that deserves my scorn. I haven't eaten like a pig the whole vacation. One meal a day for two weeks for the most part. The bbq pork ribs at the El D. were mouth watering as was the fried chicken. This very night we hit the Asian buffet at the Sands Regency which is a tiny flyspeck compared to the massive El Dorado but a real treat in itself. Last year we discovered the Sands buffet after blowing it off as a likely subrate tourist chowhall. The chef is first rate. He appears to not have much of a budget to work with and the ribs weren't worth discussing here, but the Mongolian beef was amongst the best I've ever had. I ate a savory green bean dish and some fried dumplings with a spinach and cream cheese stuffing. Very delicate and memorable. There wasn't much point to eating fish here in Reno as we squeezed in a couple days at Depoe Bay which of course served the freshest goddamned seafood you're gonna find. We had a couple great meals at the glorified "coffee shop" here in the Silver Legacy. I enjoyed a hamsteak that was seared on a grill and outstanding and a simple order of late night drunk chicken tenders that had pounded flat and beautifully deepfried as opposed to the greasy hunks you often get. We had an Asian meal there too that was brilliant. A plate of starters, Viet Namese Chicken Pho spicy soup and again Mongolian beef also top drawer.
All of these meals were fairly inexpensive compared to the gourmet establishments we've walked past with their varieties of wine and prime rib and lobster and steak. Hey, we're not that well off. More of you need to buy books and CD's and old vinyl and the new DVD's, then we can eat with the foodie assholes and captains of industry. I've been drinking until I'm near cross-eyed and have worked my booze stash down to just a couple Bud's that will be left behind for the maids. This extra effort was due to some taunting by my Frau who claims (she's full of poo this time) I left 9 or 10 beers behind last time. Hog wash.


10/29/11

Well, I didn't strangle Mother. More in a future entry about that probably.
We're in a huge hotel in Reno enjoying Halloween weekend. Yeah, we're having a good time, but most of you reading this being younger would likely have a slightly better experience. It's sort of fun to see thousands of people 20-35 stalking around from casino to casino in costumes they've spent a long time working up. It was a kids holiday when I was young and now it's a young adult holiday that I'm well up there in middleage.
We'd look stupid trying to hang in there wearing costumes. Dudes are wearing everything from suits and zombie gear to loinclothes. Females are wearing zombie shit too and there are many pirate couples. We followed a young lass on an escalator who wore a skimpy wench outfit that both cheeks of her ass hung 3/4 out of. I asked Marla what would happen if she sat on a dirty spot or a nail or bolt on a chair; her buns were snow white and extremely vulnerable. What would Mother think?

The side that bugs me of the whole celebration is the high percentage of screechy broads in groups with all their gratutitous "AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH" howling to show they are having fun. I've written about this before...can anybody explain specifically what TV show this practice has evolved from? I even saw some older ladies aping it. We've been going to casino's for over 30 years and this is the first time we've been exposed to this juvenile female group shrieking. It never would have caught on in the days of men with the balls to tell them to shut the fuck up, but most men are wussies these days.

10/26/12

Maybe your personal Senior has mellowed with age; no such luck for me. Marla and my Sister and I have been having a good time here on the boregon coast in a suite eighty yards from the ocean in spite of the fact that Mother will not shut up. 89 years old and still preaching abstinence. She doesn't like a damn thing about me and of course hasn't ever really. Most of her sermons are aimed at me even though the gals are boozing probably harder than me. I held my temper, although I'm not sure why. In case you think I'm being tough on her, here's some fresh meat. My Sister told me last night about a time when we were kids I'd forgotten about when we broke something and Mother went into a rage yelling "I don't know WHY we went to the trouble of adopting you two!"
Still, I know she's June Cleaver compared to many witch Mothers out there. I realize that, but get little satisfaction from the thought. It's a bad species plain and simple including Mothers.
On the positive side, Marla and I spent some hours with an Aunt of mine by blood who treated us with respect, fed us, laughed at my sick jokes and was totally accepting. It's people like her who keep me from really flipping out. Also people like my Grandson who is now 4 months old and looking like a real stud. Elvis and his Frau posted some fresh FB pic's of him that helped put things in perspective. It's much better being a Grandpa than the Son of this self centered neat freak religious kook who turned her back when I needed help as a kid.
I rewrote that last sentence several times. Now, I've been staring at the blank part of the page wondering where to go with this. I somehow feel intimidated from writing here what I really feel...if I focus on it I may snap and do something I regret.
Insert 10 minutes of me draining a beer and a whiskey drink and thinking..trying to think of a profound way out of this writers snair. Gotta back out..for reasons I'm not ready to share. I feel like a wimp..disgusted with myself. Any enemies out there monitoring this, now's your chance to laugh at my lameness.

10/24/12

We're on the road. Just got done with a chess tournament in Reno and we're en route to an Oregon coast visit with dear Mother and one of my many sisters, the one I grew up with.

To be exact we're at the Seven Feathers Casino. An hour ago I was with my spouse in the restaurant getting a good up front and in person dose of Oregon mugs and mannerisms. I'm really nauseated by 'em, the mass of Oregon rubes with their blind belief that they're the center of the universe and a coveted destination for all who tread within their borders. Frankly, if a martian flew down to our fair land and visited the States to figure out their differences, they'd first get pissed that they can't pump their own bloody gas in Oregon. Further study would reveal that although the local denizens claim to be authorities on the other parts of the U.S. (which they for the most part consider uninhabitable) most of them have never traveled past the rockies if that far. The much ballyhooed Oregon "pioneer" spirit seems to have vanished in our age; you can't get native Boregonians to leave their precious, rainy, depressing backwoods for even a week or two.

Plus, as my Frau just pointed out, let's face it...they're plain ugly here in the Beaver State. The clods in the casino feeding room seem like dolts after being away from these parts. When you live here, you get used to it. Leave and come back and you'll think folks from Jersey and Iowa are hunks and babes.

Oregonian natives under the age of 40 are (for the most part..my blood relatives are of course suave and sleek exceptions) a piss poor hybrid species parented by a blend of cliché 60's burnout hippies mating with crank loving, laid off years ago millworker white trash.
It got so bad in the restaurant, I told my honey I was ready to break my new glasses so I wouldn't have to look at their gaping, cash-register-jawed maws.


10/16/11

We just had to order a copy of a Greenday book. Why would we do that? Well, Marla accidentally discovered 4 references to RV in the table of contents posted on Amazon.com of a GD band bio. One was a reference in passing by the widow of an infamous deceased rock star you are familiar with. Couldn't find the other 3 indexed references so we decided to order a frigging $3 copy of the damn book to satisfy my curiosity. At least the thing is written by a guy who wrote a masterpiece about Bowie. I've learned to follow my instincts on this sort of stuff. My mind has been blown by internet hits in the past. In fact, you probably wouldn't believe some of the stuff I've found, so some other time.
I wisely decided to check out "The Walking Dead" TV season two 1st episode. Zombie films are almost all warm and cuddly, why not a show for television? Horror is not my first choice genre but I do have my favorites and "Dawn of the Dead" is right up there with the original "The Hills Have Eyes" & "The Thing" (gotta see the new prequel).
Not everybody feels inner warmth and mirth watching dudes blow holes through "walkers" and them gutting them. My theory is it's those of us who have had to deal with the public at retail jobs who savor that sort of action. I can't tell you how many customers I've wanted to eviscerate. The number would be staggering. I texted the Texas Stud during a commercial and revealed that I was smiling like a "cub scout". An odd analogy, but evocative of my joyful state. By the way, I ate dinner through the episode and suffered no indigestion or discomfort.


10/12/11

 

I watched a few minutes here and there of TNA wrestling last night, going back and forth between a bad cooking channel show. If I hadn't been eating, I would've headed for my nap. True, if you remove Chump Hogan and Stink and Jarrett and that stale roid freak poppa dump, it'd be mostly ok. Unfortunately, that's almost all I saw.
Honestly, if everybody in both promotions put bags or mask covering their muggs, it'd not really be that much worse to me than WWE. Thing is, TNA is loaded with garbage I never got into in the first place but have been overexposed to. Hogan? Poppa dump? Give me a fucking break. Never liked Stink since he split with the other Steiner in the mid 80's or so. Never...EVER. They've got all these pet peeve wrestlers. If forced to drink urine, I'll go for it fresh that day as opposed to some that's been sitting in somebody's basement.
I'm rarely embarrassed about shows I watch. I'll watch a few minutes of some tween-appeal Disney crap or an arrogant rich girl film loaded with clichés that'd make most adults hurl. I've even stomached a few minutes here or there of the mastodon, Rosie (she's got a new show coming up..yeah!). When I had the channel on TNA I found myself gazing out to the driveway to see if Marla had pulled up...catching me in the act! It took awhile for me to explain to her why I watched most of a Hogan knows best marathon "for research purposes only".
Eventually I felt so shamed, I changed the channel to the golf network which is always a safe haven with the sound down. I simply didn't want to get caught in the act of watching a Hogan / Stink staredown for "the ages". Yeah, right...about as much fun as watching the mastodon Rosie wrassle Oprah in a mud pit. Tired old crap that always made me wretch being repackaged for somebody's enjoyment...somebody I don't wanna hang out with.


10/09/11
I've thought quite a bit about sports fanaticism this year. During my work season I was sickened a bit by coworkers who walked about giving each other the "hook 'em horns" hand sign, wearing University sports T's to work every day months after the football season was over. I wasn't impressed. These people seemed to have no other lives..no other passions or interests. Approval denied.
My Son Elvis is a huge Phillies fan married into a devout Spur's family. They all are really obsessed. I'm not sickened by them though. Why? I've figured out the difference which wasn't totally clear to me before.
The coworkers who really bugged me are the ones with nothing else going for them. It seems to me that being the worlds greatest Cowboy's or Patriot's or Sooners or Bear's or Longhorns or Laker's or Ducks or Knick's or Aggies or Cub's fan is not enough, unless 1) you have some sort of bad brain you were born with or 2) you have something else occupying your mind, something that makes your wiener flutter or gets you passionate.
Nascar, basket weaving, porn, gourmet cooking, collecting crap from your childhood, video games, jogging, square dancing, poetry reading, more porn, recreational drugs, macramé, martial arts ppv's, bird watching, mountain climbing, kinky sex, etc.
Do something else besides obsess over a frigging sports team..even if its something considered slovenly or pointless by those around you.
Speaking of sports fanaticism, it was a bad weekend to be Irwin. The Phillies not only broke our goddamn hearts, Ryan Howard's achilles tendon was struck with a thunderbolt from Zeus on the games final play to punish them. Next, Al Davis kicks the bucket. Shit..Marla and I were both Raider fans in Seahawk country in the late 70's when we were first hitched. Thanks for being a worldclass rulebreaker Al.
As the weekend wore on an incident took place that put the sports woes in perspective. Remember, I am a diehard Tiger Woods fan who will never give up on him. I have an action figure of his on our mantel next to the Elvis "Jim Beam" decanter commemorating our Kings death.
So, Tiger was contemplating a birdie putt today and some nutjob broke through the fan barrier, reached the green and threw a goddamn hot-dog at him! They dragged the guy off. Tiger just laughed at the whole episode evidently. That sort of puts things in perspective as far as I'm concerned. Don't spend too much time sulking over a bad break for your team and please, please, please remember that the team you're booing the golfer you're getting arrested over heaving something at could be your fave if you were born in another city or State.
The no life beyond the Longhorn's fans at my job would be Cornhusker fans if they were raised in Kansas, or acolytes of whatever the hell Michigan's school mascots are up there (I've forgotten..college team names are rather insignificant). By the way, just what the fuck is a "crimson tide"?? And did you know that for decades when I heard a national sports score reporter mention "UConn" I felt sure they were referring to a team in the Yukon way up North and marveled at the success of such a remote school. True story.


10/05/11
I was sifting through an internet listing of small publishers tonight and was blown away at how many of them only publish poetry; we're talking about 2/3rd's of the couple hundred I gazed at. Who buys all the goddamn poetry books? Not me..with the exception of Bukowski and a few others.
I can't think offhand of many friends who read poetry. Maybe they're doing it on the sly. To me, poetry is like homemade wine..if you nail it, fine. If you slip just a bit, you make us all shit ourselves.
As far as this Wall St. demonstration goes, I'm not shitting myself over it, nor am I impressed by it. You've got to remember, I'm leery of crowds of any kind. I'd never go to another football game unless I could sit in the press nook or a luxury box. I'd never consider being part of a mob chanting and waving signs.
I can hear a couple newbie readers out there saying "why Whiskey Rebel?"
BECAUSE I'M ALIENATED from 99% of you humanoids. Crews of protesters are unpredictable, even though many or most of them are either paid and bussed around or told what to do by leaders behind the scenes (many of whom have the usual hidden agendas of course) you don't know who is gonna start hucking bricks, who is a plant, who is gonna do something stupid and attract billycub swinging cops, who is gonna put their own slant on "demands".
Protesters are sheep, let's face it. I don't identify with sheep, I don't hang with sheep. I'll yakk with the shepherds.
Too many protests turn into riots in which sheep wind up pissing in their own bathwater. I've complained before over the years about protests representing "the people" (supposedly) that block THE PEOPLE FOR REAL from getting to work or daycare centers. I read an excuse from an on-line defender of this particular event saying that the "greater good" was served by screwing up the lives of even folks they claim to speak for.
I'm not against other people protesting. My idea of a successful protest is something to the point with specific demands. Like the guy who got screwed by an auto dealership waving signs in front of the lot on Saturdays until the dealership owner relented. Fine and dandy. Larger protests involving some more people seem prudent and admirable.
Unfortunately, murky, vague, idealistic, generic sign waving by a dumb horde can't often lead to much good me thinks. The Wall street demonstration got big emough to list some "demands". I shook my head in disgust when I read that they chose to not issue serious demands. They may as well have asked for free weed and government provided sex for those without.
They didn't want to issue serious demands clearly because they want to just protest long enough to bolster the membership of some radical groups.
I'll say this though, protests and demonstrations and even riots are necessary in the long run to keep the bosses from jacking the work week back to 72 hours or to preserve my right to be an atheist/agnostic weirdo.
It'd be nice if the generation running this had more constructive proposals for keeping the "fatcats" in line as opposed to their ludicrous, naive "demands". The best way is probably to educate yourself, get into a position of power and work from there.
If you enjoy masses of asses, more power to you. I'm a lone wolf goddamnit.

10/03/11
Damn, it's been awhile, but what the fuck. I've been really distracted by more job stuff I can't write about.
I thought about going into detail about my thoughts inspired by seeing a little kid walk through the library gazing at his first library card like it was his first porn mag. I try to alternate product plug heavy entries and I wrote last time about a book, so I've got to skip the beautiful, 8 years in the making book that you can order conveniently now at the click of a button.
There's always something to write about though. I joined a new chess website "chess.com" and really enjoy it. The lectures are the best I've seen on the net, the membership population level is astonishing providing more bucks to provide useful stuff.
There are thousands of clubs and associations within the site featuring national affiliations, religious teams that play matches against other groups, lifestyle horseshit groups, music lover groups, cause oriented groups, dozens of occult oriented groups of many persuasions and gatherings of players who love certain openings.
A couple groups tried to recruit me that I passed on. Finally, a pirate group reached me and extended an invite to climb aboard, pour down some grog and paw some wenches.
Hell yeah. I also have joined a punk rock past and present group that has me playing in a team match already. The head guy was in a band we played with at a Black Flag gig in the early 80's (if memory serves me..could be a bit mixed up about the headliner).
You wouldn't believe how many quality chessplayers listen to crazyass music. I'm not sure why I rarely meet them. It gets a bit lonely at some tournaments where everybody playing is either a squarehead or a kid. Of course that isn't the case at the large national events I play in. Remember, it took like a couple minutes at the World open in Philly for a guy to recognize my RV band T-shirt and approach me.
Anyway, if I join any other outfits it'll probably be either agnostic/atheists or maybe if I get an invite a group of blackhearted Uncle Anton loving Satan worshippers.
UUrp. The silliest seeming group I've seen yet hinges upon a bizarre pact to complete each game without resignation or draw regardless of how behind they are.
There have always been a small contingent of players who do this; now they have banded together. I'm very cynical of this line of thought as most players in the intermediate/advanced classes. If you screw up a game, analyze it and get on to the next. Learn from your mistakes. If you play on 40 moves way the hell down in material and happen to luck out because your opponent makes a fluke blunder, what did you gain? You played a bad game..horrible. So what if the other clown threw it away. If you suck too, you'd better work on your game and the way to do so isn't hoping for a miracle. Create your own miracle...study master games, watch videos they make designed for you to improve. Take lessons. Most of all, whether you play in a band, golf, bowl or weave bougars into doilies, learn from your mistakes.
How humanoid-like it is for bad players to think a no quit pact is an attribute. At live events I make a point to give advice and go over a game I won with a lower rated opponent, UNLESS they play it out to mate with no pieces, a lone King running around the board. All that usually sucks up an hour or so of time. If you waste my time you'll get no help from me. Shove your no-quit shit.



09/25/11
Damn, a mess of copies of my new country album book are due to arrive on Thursday. 8 years in the making, baby. There are 270 reviews included printed on about 270 pages. The toughest part about writing this particular book was coordinating the listening with the detail part of the writing. I listened to at least part of 600-700 or so albums to come up with the 270. It would have been nice to simply lean back in a comfy chair and enjoy the records, but when you're listening to several on any given night, it's easy to confuse what yanked yer crank about a certain song or two or three or ten without keeping good notes. That's something I'm not used to. I'd rather have my mitts wrapped around bottles and glasses than a pen and a legal pad.

I've never written anything near this long concerning music. To be honest, you run out of superlatives after awhile. You start with "this album rips" and "this one's loaded" and work your way to "this albums like the music version of the best ass you ever saw.." blah blah blah blah. After you spot the same 20 descriptive words cropping up in your reread editing session and realize where the book is headed if you don't figure out how to quit repeating yourself, you either give up or buy a couple good thesauruses and start listening even closer to the albums for inspiration.

Yes, music criticism is all a matter of opinion. but if you really work at it there are individual aspects to many, many albums, including what might appear to be on the surface the umpteenth repackaging of a stars hits. I'd like to point out to all of you download freaks who don't concern yourselves with the art associated with CD's and LP's, in scores of instances a picture on either side of the album or a liner note that you might consider pointless or inessential often opened things up for me. Knowing who wrote the damn songs is often essential, or who played an instrument on the session...or maybe who didn't. One of the least important factors to me was the chart success of a disc, but even info about that was sometimes crucial in developing a unique impression about a recording.

Only a real freak will agree with all of my selections. Having said that, there's very little disingenuous writing in the book. I wanted the book for better or worse to be like a night spent in my basement or living room getting sauced perhaps, listening to country records as I blather out the sort of comments I would to a house guest. Even if you hate some of my stances, give me credit for nobody buying or influencing their way into this book.

I'm sure to be lambasted for some of my opinionated jabs, but I sleep quite well these days knowing that I've stood up for the purveyors of REAL country music.


09/21/11

Mark leant me his copy of "Fugitives and Refugees", Chuck Palahniuk's take on his longtime hometown of Portland. It's part of a series of books written about U.S. cities apparently from several years ago. The date given in the book is 2003.

Most of you know by now I have little use for my old hometown. Do you remember exactly why? Possibly not. I'll get to that.
First off, I have a positive impression of Palahniuk's work aside from this. I enjoyed "Choke" in particular. I give this book a thumbs up; I should have thrown any Portland book against the wall a few times at least, but alas. Mark won't be getting his book back damaged or mutilated. His task was to put lipstick on a pig and he managed to swab enough on to impress me.

When Mark explained the book to me I remarked that I've been to literally every fucking street in Snoreland, peddling newspaper subscriptions with boycrews. I predicted there would be some mind-blowing coincidences.

There were. Chuck moved there in 1980 into an apartment complex next to a Fred Meyer store I have inventoried a half dozen times at least. I remember dropping off crew members in his apartment complex and them bringing back orders. Chuck could have been living there at the time. Maybe one of them signed him up?

One of my favorite beer stores in town was across a busy intersection and just down the road. We used to buy imports there, cause they had a massive selection and that used to matter to me.

I'm sure he bought beers there too if he got sick of Fred Meyer's selection.

Chuck describes attending a laser-Floyd show at the old Omsi planetarium and gobbling down hits of acid with stoner buddies. Now I never cared for Pink Floyd's post Syd stuff not even back then when I myself had stoner pals. I did go to the same planetarium with a bandmember in the same year and consume mushroom tea in the parking lot and attend the normal show. It scared the piss out of us and we ran out of the place mid-show upsetting the staff greatly.

Goddamn I hate mushrooms. It takes forever for them to wear off. I haven't touched them again since the mid 80's
.
Portland's not a big place. I've been to literally everywhere he marked on an inner cover map and 98% of the places mentioned outside of the central city district. The man has a keen eye when it comes to figuring out what's going on at a sex club or holy spot whether it be religious oriented or a haven for kooks.

I have a few criticisms that hopefully should sharpen my point of view for you folks out there, particularly the Boregonians who read this.
I've got to point out that Chuck explains how he moved to Portland and wasn't brought up there. My experiences predate his by a good decade. The basis of my beef with the place is what it's become. I wandered the city as a kid 10 years before he got there. I remember what it was like in the 70's clearly. I loved that Portland. He points out enough traditional stuff that it seems like if he knew what the dumbass trendies paved over he might not have such a positive take on much of it. He uses pretentious names given to city districts "Rose quarter" "pearl district" that were NEVER used when I was a kid. I've always considered that "quarter" jive a yuppie real estate sales tool. Shit, it's not New Orleans. If the place terms were used in the 19th century, they had completely disappeared by the time I came along. There's nothing worse than a city that has ignored a historic site or individual who once lived there and suddenly wants you to think they've always embraced it.

Jimi Hendrix was ignored by Seattle for decades, then suddenly he's a tourist attraction. Pearl district my ass. Its just the mindless Portland city council trying to do what it can to make it a real city.

He writes about the Heathman hotel on Broadway. Fine and dandy, Charles Barkley stays there? Lots of writers? Cool.

The Heathman in the early 70's was owned by the same people who owned the Park Haviland hotel, major whore hangouot, easiest place in Oregon to get arrested and sight of a couple dozen chess tournaments I played in.

Alternative hipster boobs didn't create the swinging side of Portland. It was plain as day when I was 13 staying the night at the hotel often during an event. Many of the wrestlers who worked for Don Owens stayed at both hotels; I met beautiful Beauregarde there and rode in elevators with guys like Shag Thomas. One time Mr. Heathman himself went out of his way to talk to me, as a promising junior player from the area.

You see, when they tore up the streets and made most of the city center a stupid ass looking mall with one way streets and began to tear out all of the neon theater signs and the 24 hour coffee shops were closing down due to hippie street assholes swinging their souls all hours in them..well, what they replaced it with seemed childish and trendy.

Portlanders have always had an inferiority complex. They sanction off the wall antics and groups Chuck writes well about designed to draw attention like little children yelling "look at me! LOOK AT ME!" as they run through the sprinkler on a hot day or do something naughty at a playground.

One more thing. "Fugitives and Refugees" my ass. Portlanders who have moved there in the last 20+ years have mostly come from California, hence the strip malls that began to dominate at that juncture in time. They've come in huge numbers and turned the place into a transplanted Berkeley with rule after rule after rule about things like what color you can paint your house or where you can hang a goddamn door.
Leave it to aged 60's hippie politicians to come up with a jillion fucking rules and tax upon tax upon tax upon user fee.

Portland outlawed "happy hour" about a year before we moved away. Chuck, where were you? On a book tour? That was about the same time the wrestling promotion was brought down by a city council jackass..and all that coincided with the venerable old bars (they still exist in lots of cities) being destroyed and madeover like brightly lit brewpubs favored by deadheads.

Bottom line though, I got through the book and who knows..maybe someday I'll get to meet Chuck some day and yakk with him about the old days.

 

09/16/11
So, we have another chef Ramsey ripoff show "bar rescues" or whatever the fuck it's called. I'm not convinced I like the restaurant makeovers but I sure as hell wouldn't want to drink in the bars this expert ruins.

In the last episode I watched him rip out some great wrap around barstools and replace them with uncomfortable looking rum rookie stools too small for a drunks ass. Next he taught the bartenders how to engage in all the amateur appeal drink shaker horseshit I hate. Finally, he changed the bar image to appeal to m.b.c.'s (mouth bar cunts). Sure go ahead and pack the bitches in. I want no part of that.

Give me darkness, comfy, broken down decor and a room full of sullen, quiet drunks, not soul swinging cunts feeling liberated doing the old girlfren' softcore makeout shit.

What a prepostorous, trendmongering, pretentious, foodie appeal show. Take me home satan.

 

09/14/2011

I lost a 1st Cousin today and really feel shitty. She's one of the blood relatives I haven't met in person, though we did swap a few lengthy emails and got along well.
For those of you who know about my childhood, I was raised in Beaverton Oregon in a subdivision (Kindle book plug "Escape from Cookieland") about a 1/2 mile from my blood Mother and 4 siblings (halfies). For a spell their family (which included a Father who wasn't my own) stayed with an Aunt and Uncle of mine I've met in person once, who had 2 Sons and a Daughter.
It was that Daughter who died in a car accident yesterday. When I found out about all of them 10 years or so ago, it was mindblowing to say the least to think that all along so many of them were in a subdivision on the other side of the nearest busy road.
We grew up seperately, but in the same place. I was looking forward to meeting her in person to figure out some mutual acquantances.
It's not to be.
I feel like I have a unique perspective on losing relatives; I'm here to tell you today in my pain that it hurts in a specific bad way to lose somebody you never got the chance to know you're related to. Yeah, it sucks to lose many of the ones you spent time with, often devastating. The ones I've never met really eat at me.
Damn, I could really have used a Cousin like her back then when I had no friends growing up. I could have used her now for that matter.
Gotta down a few drinks and clear my head.

09/11/11 Wow, it's been 10 years. On that day, I wouldn't have bet much on the possibility of us not being hit by many more such attacks. I think this is a good day to be appreciative for the protection we get from our government. Over these years, I've heard one whiney jackass after another harp about how our liberties have eroded. To that I say hogwash. These folks often have political agendas to promote they don't bring up during their spiel on waterboarding or all the ways how the government can track us now. I've communicated with my share of commies, anarchists and flag waving socialists.

They're a breath of fresh air compared to the current trendy wave of paranoid conspiracy freaks. A sad lament from a wacko on some media source ( I thought they were controlled and censored?) about waterboarding complete with faint tears and the inevitable line about we're supposed to be "better than them" (who is them exactly?) never discusses how few people we've waterboarded. Of course, it's pointless trying to talk numbers or facts, if you do they just start going off on secret prisons, conspiracy after conspiracy, vague references to the double secret ruling class imprisoning our planet and exterminating people wholesale around the globe. Why would the government want to waterboard 99.9% of them? Why would the government or "the boys" ( who are never named) want to know where 99.9% of them are at any time in their lives?

Whine and whine and whine and kvetch my little friends, you've never been important enough for the authorities to be concerned with. If you are a U.S. citizen, the government ops and intelligence units protect you, even though you really may not appreciate it. If you feel inconvenienced at airports (and I fly alot and get checked out thoroughly) tough shit. Even though I don't dig some of the methods used, you gotta admit...we've had 10 years of relative little trouble. I not only was stranded on 9/11 2000 miles from home, I also chose to fly on the day of the underpants bombers exploits.

Even though I fancy my tools and wouldn't trade them away, I'm smart enough to realize that no matter how gifted you are body wise, some TSA groper scans enough bodies everyday that it's just a blur 99.9% of the time.
There are other government officials (start with your elected leaders from your local ward to the white house) who lie with such amazing frequency, they at times give the conspiracy kooks a run for their money. Why not wake up and smell the coffee? How about just for today? If you're so in touch and informed and hip, how much do you really know about the conspiracy as a career film producers and radio show hosts? HHMMM?

09/05/11
Not much of a weekend around here. We had RV practice and a lot of booze went down the hatch of course. I guess I got drunk, but it didn't seem to be much of a big deal. Business as usual. The next day I picked my jeans off the floor where I tossed them and saw a large portion of one leg had dirt and dust accumulations. Hunh.

I located Marla. "Honey..how did my trousers get so muddy"?

Again, business as usual for we veteran drinkers.

"Don't you remember? you fell down" she reminded me.

I thought about that for awhile. I wasn't THAT drunk, I think. Was I?

I approached the oracle of Marla again. "Shit, I wasn't THAT drunk, was I?"

"Well, you were drunk"

"Yeah...but not THAT drunk...was I?"

"Well, you fell down at one point."

The trousers proved that, maybe..

"I didn't fall down THAT hard did I?"

"Well, if your pants are covered with dust and dirt you fell down. You don't remember that?"

"Hell no. Wait...............................now I remember it. I did fall down".

Mystery solved. Sort of. I didn't file the memory away in my active memory bank, because falling down when you drink like us is no big deal, especially on our back patio. One night several drunk guests found the abandoned kiddy tree house in the back yard which adjoins the cemetery. 3 of them fell out of it, ass over teakettle. There's a 2 foot unfenced drop-off from our patio and I can recall 2 guys falling head first and making a good smacking sound as their noggins struck the cement down there. We've never had to call an ambulance. Luckily they're a couple blocks away.

I cleared the pockets of the jeans and tossed them into the washing machine to participate in the next load feeling like I had solved a mystery, not like swinger private eye's Michael Shayne or Shell Scott or Philip Marlowe, but rather like the drunker guys who only get a book or two and sometimes get shot dead for their efforts.

09/02/11

The country book has covers, an ISBN#, bar code and we're waiting for a final proof to show up. The damn thing is off my shoulders and I've turned my thoughts to what book to begin to fill the void. My fiction work in progress is 50-60 pages along. They counseled us back at the U to work on more than one book at once, so you don't feel pressured if you get stuck. I've lived that out for a long time, so it's only natural to do so for me.

No more memoirs just now, until some key people in my past are dead. Since I just laid to rest the country book, maybe it's time to dive into another music related theme I've felt strongly about for a few years. This one would probably be researched historian-like and even footnoted to some extent, but opinionated as hell like the country work. HHmmm. I'm reading a Clarence Darrow bio that is really bringing home to me how fucked up things were in our fair land 100-120 years ago. You probably remember him from the film "Inherit the Wind" which was inspired by the Scopes monkey trial. Yunno, William Jennings Bryan (a major stick in the ass populist) defend the bible literally against the examination of Darrow in a small town court.

Darrow spent much of his life defending the devils own, union thugs, black men accused of crimes who were being railroaded, an insane murderer, anarchists, socialists, etc.

I'm simpatico clearly with his views on religion, but his attitude towards union folk had me scratching my head a bit; finally I realized I was making that common mistake of judging him and union and management types from our time instead of the time they walked the earth.
I have little use for unions today, they seem to be the ones wielding the stick recklessly. 100 years ago, the boot was on the other foot and up the other sides ass. The bosses back then were absolute fucking cut throats, they keep wages down so that folks would have to take their kids to work at sweat shops conveniently located near the mine or factory they slaved at. The whole family or much of it would toil for wages under $1 a day 10-12 hours per day, six days per week.

Vacation time? Pension? get outta here...day care? Yeah a foreman locking your kids into the mill room and slapping them around if they slow down their production, sick bleeding or injured.

The train, mine and factory bosses had a cliche that is still used to this day by shitheel bosses who know they don't give a fuck but want to pose as pillars of the community..."well, there's no law FORCING anybody to work here.."

Fine and dandy, until you read a researched book like this that cites numerous examples of bosses banding together to try to cut wages at times their employees are near starvation and their profits are good.

This era, the "gilded age" was a period in which bosses were pulling all the shit that today's unions would like you to think they're still pulling. Last I heard longshoremen in the bay area were pulling down $120,000 per year plus bene's. I've seen the union guys at work in Philly on work projects. I've had a close family member experience a career slapdown by a union shop steward.

I wish we could bring back the elite bosses from 100 years ago, Rockefeller, Gould, Pullman, etc. etc. and let them see what their refusal to keep their greed in check has wrought upon us.

I hear libertarians and Republicans arguing against minimum wages, but hey..we've already gone through centuries in this country's short history hoping the bosses would behave and treat their employees with minimal dignity; the honor system is not going to work with those kinda fucks and the arguments about the "free market" eventually punishing tightwads is not very convincing considering what our ancestors had to put up with.

The icing on the shitcake they fed workers for so long is the fact that without exception the most tightfisted, cold hearted, plotting, scheming, prevaricating motherfucker captains of industry without exception claimed to be CHRISTIANS, ROLE MODELS. These assholes brought organized labor alive in this nation with their own skinflint ways.

What's that? Is my lefty side showing a bit tonight? Well, I've always considered bosses to be scum, nothing new there.I'm not surprised the labor folk had to start chucking bombs and getting sneaky. I condone whatever they had to do; having said that, I think active, pushy, greedy unions are about as necessary and inspiring these days as butter churns or TV antennas or hoop skirts. They began to go downhill when the wise guys infiltrated their numbers and began to call the tune.

If I was a Presidential candidate, I'd refuse the endorsement of many unions unless their leadership came clean about their past and then stepped down. I still hate bosses more though...No wonder neither party will have me. Isn't it funny how many Americans grow up being taught to only believe that their parents side of the labor-management argument is to be consumed and never questioned.? The only reason this country survives and thrives at all is due to the fact that the other nations are populated by humanoids no wiser.

08/30/11

I was watching another goddamned 9/11 special on the National Geographic channel a couple early mornings ago. Of course, from early on any program with camera footage is going to have some brutal sights and sounds ranging from people leaping off the 102nd floor to folks with mouths full of toxic mega-soot to gut wrenching run-for-your-fucking-life screaming.

At one point a screeching that sounded like a bird or rodent going through a meat grinder started up really loud. It kept on and kept on and began to overshadow the narration. I glanced over at Nutty the cat, the young crazy one with Sylvester tuxedo fur. He was freaking out, dancing around and looking at the ceiling. Shitfuck, I thought. I remembered Bukowski's point about how the time to start getting really concerned about impending danger is when the cats start looking like they're really concerned.

The high pitched yowl was getting even more over the top. Fuck; after growing up where and how I did, it takes a lot for a film or TV show to freak me out, but Nutty always keeps his cool. Suddenly, he pulled one of his craziest regular stunts. He propped his paws in front of the coat hanger pegs in our entry way and leapt up on top of a couple pegs clawing his way up using our coats. Next, he shinnied over a few feet to a book case and commanded the highest perch in the room. He wasn't up there to spy on us or play, his paws began clawing at a spot in the ceiling up there where there is a movable entrance to an attic crawl space.

I got suspicious and reached for the remote to silence the soundtrack. The show was muted, but the screeching kept up louder than ever..
SCREE SCREE SCREE SCREE. Time to give the kitty treats. Nutty had found the source of trouble and chaos. What I had considered spooky 9-11 documentary sounds was a real fucking rat evidently in our roof-attic area. Our pest service guy ran off every fucking bug and lizard in the place. We thought any holes up their had been plugged, but a persistent rat must have chewed his way in, wandered in there and suckered for one of the traps the dude left.

Did I mention it was a half hour or so before dawn? The fucker screeched for an hour. I was a bit jarred at first, but noticing how much nutty was getting off on it, I accentuated the positive as the old song goes and began enjoying the death of a rodent. I drew an abstract comparison between the rat and those motherfucker terrorists and began grinning and putting away the beers with relish. I filled a Texas doubleshot glass with Beam, carried it carefully over to the floor spot just under where it lay sightless by us through the ceiling, likely heaving its guts out from snare poison in a spew of half digested tummy foam and blood.

There aint no Allah and 32 virgins waiting for that rat bastard, nor is there for the deluded, naive terrorist scum.
Savoring the moment, I eventually knocked the booze back and washed it down with a half can of corporate beer.
It's been a couple days now and I haven't smelled the damn thing. Maybe it crawled off and died?

08/27/11
With the anniversary of 9/11 approaching my cable company provided us with several on demand, free shows concerning the attack. One of them was a 90 minute discussion of the conspiracy theories including a batch of scientific experiments.

I debated whether or not to watch it. In the end I figured it would be a good starter for a diary entry that needs to be written. I don't want folks to think that since I identified myself for a year or so as having Libertarian beliefs that I buy into the insanity of what Neal Boortz refers to as the "Paul-bots", most of whom seem to buy into conspiracy horseshit and be friendly with the familiar radio show loons.

If I had mentioned my considering watching this show to my Wife beforehand, I probably would have spent the time doing something more fresh and productive. Her take on the whole thing is that talking to "truthers" is like talking to religious fanatics; in the end, no matter what you show or tell them, they curl up in a ball and fall back on faith..they just NEED to believe in their hoo doo.
Religious faith is fine if it leads to happiness.

Conspiracy faith can be fine too I suppose if it creates happiness and a better life. Over doing religion and winding up in some tightknit nutjob group is dangerous. I was raised up going to a church that went far enough to destroy much of my childhood. This self proclaimed "one true church" of course is now defunct).

Nonsense conspiracy theories are excess intellectual baggage. If you admit behind the scenes that you espouse 'em to piss people off and don't really believe, fine and dandy. Have at it. After a year or two they get boring though and are on a yawn degree par with sending people pizza's as a prank.

Don't believe me? Well, go to your computer and look up the website of the flat earth society. There's a clear example of conspiracy buffs dragging it out way too long. Ten years down the road you truthers should quit patting each other on the back, smug about being a minority of true open-minded individuals in the know.

The National Geographic show pretty much concluded that was the case and pointed out (as if they were discussing a breed of monkey) the humanoid trait of truthers feeling the need to believe in their pet theory in the face of so much evidence. I clearly equate people who drop anchor with one baseless conspiracy in their lifetime with the wackos I was forced to grow up around. Those who make a career out of it, receiving film grants or manage to buff up their syndicated radio audiences by supporting the whole buffet of conspiracies must be considered somewhere in the genius-wacky range between P.T. Barnum (a brilliant man) and Jim Jones.

I think the 9/11 truthers depicted in the documentary I saw were fairly lame. They relied too heavily on the old debate technique of answering a question with a statement quoting a scientific "fact" using jargon nobody understands or quoting some "study" to throw off the other side. These lines of bull are the sorts of tactics I'd use to sell a water heater at Sears years ago. I've been there, pal and seen some pro's at work.
The saddest part perhaps about truthers and flat earthers is the fact that they throw attention away from actual lies we are told by our politicians and media creeps. It's damn disappointing to see people just sucking up anything spewed by bosses, TV news pundits, aldermen and captains of industry.

If you're a parent you might want to start early wising your kids up to the motives of people they see on the net and on TV and wacko's in the park. You know damn well I wised Elvis up and will talk sense to Hank too in a few years. My style is to make it a pleasant experience as often as possible rather than when I've just blown a gasket, but sometimes that needs to be a part of the lesson plan.

08/24/11

I have no idea why, but it pisses me off a bit that Chef Ramseys "Hells Kitchen" and "Master Chef" run the same time of year as the imitative, wimpy "Food Network Star" show. Love or hate Ramsey (even my son steers clear of his shows) you've got to admit he's been at it for a damn long time. He started his "Kitchen Nightmares" series in his homeland in 2003. "Restaurant Impossible" with the muscular limey with glasses hosting is the most recent food channel rip-off of Chef Ramsey's battery of shows. The entire concept is stolen.
I'd really like to know the story behind the scenes. I'd like to see Ramsey bust onto the set of a food channel show and kick the crap out of Bobby Flay. Yeah, fuck savory and sweet recipes, plated pretentiously and serve him a knuckle sandwich, hold the mustard.
Did the food network think nobody would notice or hold them in contempt for ripping his shows off? The other rip-off they pulled that really pissed me off came about after they railroaded Ming Tsai (who used to have a show on another network called "East meets West") off their "next iron chef america" show (which could be titled "next trendy, boring foodie asshole ready to kiss Bobby's ass). About a month after he got the boot they came out with a "new" show titled "East Meets West" starring a Paki lady wearing out the same old fusion themes.
Another thing that pisses me off about Food channel is there samey, samey, same old, stale camera angles. You know my hatred for the phony bologna "pissed off chef's ready to kick ass" bit they beat to death in commercials for their shows..where the chefs all have their arms crossed like toughies. One night my lovely wife and I were watching their trend channel; a shot showed four chefs from an upcoming show all posing with the old barndoor shoulder crossed arms bit....and I'll be damned if it didn't segue at the end of the add into the first seconds of a completely different show's add, showing different chef's in the same pose!!!
Another thing Food Shitwerk is really overusing lately, are the hard luck stories told by competitors in shows like "Chopped" (to name just one) where the chef spiels over and over again about some relative..usually deceased..they are trying to win for. Hey, I'm not against people toasting their kinfolk who are no longer around, but if you keep dragging them into it over and over in front of a national audience at a producers urging (DON'T tell me they aren't behind it!) as if Grandma can taste the food along with the judges, you're sliding into my fuck you zone.
Now, I'm well aware that reality shows are better off rigged to an extent. There's a sliding scale with Gene Simmons show the most contrived..say 98% and probably Alton Brown's (I'm still a big fan of him) "Feasting on Asphalt" which seems candid enough its really a documentary with real humanoids being honest. In the middle you have all the shows wearing out tired gimmicks, sort of pretending to be real, but failing.
I wanna heave when I see the stale old "contestants running through a grocery store for ingredients" horseshit. I'm sick of watching smiling, staged running through kitchen areas. For fucks sake, on "Chopped" a lady ran for real, slipped and was chastised by the judges and soon after chopped. If you get a stick and scrape the bottom of the barrel, you'll find my pet peeve camera gimmick wherein contestants in a minvan are all holding their arms up as if on a roller coaster. Humping Jumping Jesus!
With all the hub bub over arrogant foodie judges you'd think they'd bring somebody like me into providing an honest analysis of their stale routines.
Yep, the worst of Food network isn't served on plates. They're a load of thieves, snobs and morons hired to shill for Bobby. The place needs a housecleaning, or to paraphrase Gordon, it stinks like they went and got his Grandpa's old knickers and served them up.

08/17/11

MY STRUGGLE.
On this day, everything became clearer. All the stabs at creativity ranging from books and columns I've written, music I've played with others, I've always had a tough time explaining what the hell it's all about to friends, relatives and humanoids I don't know who might stumble across something they read or hear and get pissed off, bored or pleased.
I woke up with these thoughts after a fitful sleep I fell into after reading a really dire book on the first World War. The author had just spent a chapter discussing all the various perceptions of what dying for ones country signified to some of the 5 million or so soldiers who did so. His research turned up letters that showed it wasn't simply patriotic urges motivating the troops suffering in the trenches. It depended not only on what country you were born into, but also your race, social and economic class. Peer pressure was used to embarrass a huge percentage of men into enlisting. Of course every nation felt that god was on its specific side. How smart are leaders who realize how silly that was back then, but spout the same sort of "logic" today?
The irony is, only a hundred years later, even history buffs have a difficult time saying exactly what was worth dying for in that supposed war to end all wars (as the cliché went). The average American dumbass, who is intellectually on a par with the similar nostril miners who dominate in every land couldn't name one General, one battle, or one great thing that came out of that war. I include folks with ancestors who died in that war and politicians in favor of any of today's scraps.
I got to thinking or dreaming if you'd rather think of my state as one of slumber, about the circumstances under which I would be ok with dying for my country. I'd be happy to die under certain circumstances even tonight when I'm done typing this, but pissed off to be marched to a firing squad or imprisoned as a non-willing draftee for other stated reasons.
I don't take these words lightly.
I think of all the dead soldiers from branches of my family, the shitload of veterans who served and of those serving right this minute; I'd look 'em all in the eye and tell them that whereas 1) wars are inevitable 2) yes, the stronger you are militarily speaking, the least likely other groups of people will want to fight you 3) many wars are foisted upon us by incompetent or deluded politicians. Quite a few wars look pretty pointless in retrospect. If you choose to fight your sacrifice should be better appreciated by our society. You've got a pair of balls and should come home to better benefits and maybe 20 votes instead of one from that day forth.
I was never eligible for the draft, they even canceled registration for my age group. I couldn't have gone to fight in Vietnam even if I wanted to.The fact is though, I had an ax to grind even then with our country based on my upbringing. The nature of my being pissed off is neatly summed up by the title of my new book "Escape From Cookieland".
I was marched off to a wacko house of worship that they called the "only true church" for so many Sundays, it guaranteed I'll never be part of any religious group ever. If this sounds like a silly grudge, I'd like you to consider the fact that the "only true" church doesn't exist anymore and that very few of the thoroughly convinced, self righteous relatives I grew up around who contributed in their small and large ways to screwing up my childhood even go to church at all.
In junior high school I was an object of ridicule. Groups of my peers gave me so much shit, I had no friends at all until the middle of 8th grade when I finally found one. it was never physical beatings, which would have been easier to deal with. It was a broad assortment of my "peers" including quite a few jocks and the girls that hung around them.
It's all discussed in the book in detail by the way.
My parents weren't the worst, they were sadly just average. When I came home and told them about my situation at school, they alternately laughed or told me it was my fault. Hell, they were used to being written off as wacko religious folk. They didn't associate much with people outside of their church. What did they care if I couldn't get along?
All of this contributed to my becoming a total individual. I've never looked at people the same way since I was a tormented kid being raised by people considered even then to be way out there in the fringe.
I learned to think things out for myself , stick to my beliefs and be wary in case people turn on me again (which indeed happened at a place of employment; you can read about that in my book "Jobjumper").
Even though I have no political party, no church and no beacon of truth telling me how I should live, I've stayed true to certain beliefs my entire life.
I've written about looney "cause" oriented people (prohibition freaks, no nukes kooks, rights for rats, etc.) and sneered for many years. I stand by every word, but now recognize that I have remained faithful to my own cause for as long as I can remember.
My cause has never been one I had in sharp focus until tonight. I've acted instinctively in not joining political party's or buying into religious groups or getting involved in a union or anything like that.
All of those groups would require that I let them stuff me into some little prefabricated mold. That's it; the MOLD is what I fear the most. I don't want to be told how to think, how to dress, what manners to use, who to hate for being deviant. The notion of me following a party line is laughable; most of them are fools, the best effective liars.
I've never gotten a dime from a government institution and busting heads or chanting immature slogans at some corrupt union leaders beck and call is never gonna happen.
I'm a frigging INDIVIDUAL. Hooray, I guess. I don't belong to any writers circle jerks or support groups. I've always played nonconformist chess openings. I've almost always rooted for underdogs in sports contests. Even the music we play has always defied description for the most part.
I'm not different just for the sake of being different; I see people posing as individuals to achieve some sort of temporary thrill; yunno, hey! Let's be into some joke politician with no chance to win who calls down-up; or maybe argue in favor of a conspiracy to piss people off up until that day that they buckle down and get back to conforming. Hey! lets be vegans for a few weeks..until we miss food we like. Hey! Wanna get laid? There's a group hiring protesters for the campaign season. You get to ride around on a bus and get paid a per diem. Bring Mom's American Express card in case we get bored. Yeah, we'll be selling insurance in a couple years and no we'll deny to our kids we ever dressed silly or dyed our hair purple or wolfed down every drug in sight.
I'm an individual for life. I can't live any other way. Don't try to cram me into some mold or I'm gonna get pissed. If you leave me alone, I'll probably become more like a normal person thank you might imagine.
Don't rattle my cage though..
I've figured out quite a few things over the years, but still am scratching my head over 1) Why do you all still trust politicians and 2) Why you can't learn from your own savage upbringing. Most of you who hated parochial school and nuns beating on you send your kids to the same schools..HUH? How can so many of you laugh at fashions from years gone by, but not see how stupid you look right now?
If I'm going to participate in a war, I need to be one of the leaders. Back ih high school, even though joining the military was a moot point, the guidance counselor said I was geared towards officer school according to tests I took. Shit, U.S. Grant probably would've washed out as a foot soldier. Ditto for plenty other famous officers with strong wills who entered the service as commissioned officers. This applies to armies back in ancient times. How many of the big ass Roman emperors would have tolerated being robbed of their individuality? A German friend told me how in W.W.II their army molded the regular cannon fodder troops but carefully allowed SS soldiers allowing them to maintain possession of their minds and indivuality.
I could serve under those conditions as an officer or an SS goose stepper.
DISMISSED!
08/13/11
Just past the midnight deadline for final, final, final changes to my country album book. Reviews are done, intro proof-read, epilogue written from scratch and a new term I must patent referring to horrid mush from the 80's developed.
I sat down to randomly watch a movie for fun last night and was rewarded for my efforts to glorify real country music by stumbling upon a classic Johnny Cash film as one of 20 "gangster" movies in a $9.98 DVD pack.
Why hasn't anybody ever copied this for me?
The title was "5 Minutes to Live". It was dated 1961 and featured Johnny sporting some nice suits, holing up in a cool cheap motel with a ditsy broad with a "Guys and Dolls" accent and toting a guitar around.
Without giving away the plot, I can tell you that he kills more than once in the film and comes close to pulling off the rape of a square housewife. There's a few great Kennedy era cars included and a cast including Ronnie Howard, Vic Tayback and the immortal Merle Travis as a local bumpkin who owns a bowling alley.
The best part about the production is Maybelle Carter's future Son-in-law playing a nervous, half crazy hood. He was great playing a heel. Some may disagree, but an undisputable fact is "5 Minutes to Kill" smokes that film made about his life. I don't hate that one, but this find is 100 times cooler.
Urp.

08/07/11
Anniversary weekend. We volunteered a couple weeks back to baby-sit our Grandson Hank rather than hit bars or passing out early or anything fancy. We both wanted to hang out with him, so there. No further excuses are necessary.
The country book is edited by me for the final go around. I rewrote the intro and bought a few recent releases by Hank III and Dale Watson to bring the masterpiece up to date.
Our CD player began skipping in the middle of one of them. I bellowed to Marla how she was going to clean it weeks ago. We began to discuss how old it is and had to laugh. We really are eccentric; it's still the first one we ever bought. It was there when I came home to Portland after a trip to the Carolina's around 1990. Shit, do you think we need a new one?
Friday night I hit the play Elvis was performing in. I sat with his wedding "best man" who played the part years ago in high school. It's the heel villain from "Arsenic and old Lace". Boris Karloff and the great Fred Gwynne have played the character.
I was impressed with his creepy entrance along the side of the hall in near darkness. He walked in looking like the Undertaker in a dark suit and pimp hat with his quack doctor sidekick trailing behind. He dyed his hair black and they applied some scars with makeup to his face.
His English accent impressed me. It's chills play for college educated actors though. The female lead had a swell Aunt Bea accent. He managed to terrify a couple girls in the audience about 8-10. I believe he said later he was laying on the Joker schtick intentionally. I bet he could have sold a few glossies in character to some of the young girls.
He gets clocked in the last scene with a stage billyclub and had to fall on his face. Down he went. I hope his Mother didn't scream on the night she caught the production.
The community theater group charged $12 per ticket and did well over 4 nights.
The next night we had Hank.
Marla did most of the work, but I fed and held him a good deal. At 2 months he still can't do too much math or even talk yet but we'll keep him (just kidding!).
To my delight he finally reacted regularly to my funny sounds I make for baby's. We maintain plenty of eye contact and he pulls my beard often. I think we've established a good bond that we can keep improving until he's at that snotty adolescent stage. We've a ways to go for that.
Thanks to the current Fathers who have reminded me how much fun it is to take care of the varmints. The fun needn't stop. At 4:00 am Marla was asleep in our room, Hank in his crib behind my video game chair. I was drinking as usual. The cats don't mind him too much...

08/03/11
I was loading some supplies into my cool Charger in the Walmart parking lot. Damn, it was hot enough to light your deodorant on fire. Has been for months.
My keys were giving me a bit of a problem. They were stick on a thread in my vest pocket. A rum go for sure. As I was fumbling and preparing to rip through the thread, I heard a voice..a female voice using the words of the Hillbilly Shakespeare himself..
"Hey good looking!"
I kept focusing on the keys hung up in my pocket. Whomever it was talking couldn't concern me.
Then again.."Hey good lookin'"!
The keys came loose in my hand. I turned out of curiosity. What gumshoes used to call a bottle blonde had pulled her car up behind mine. She was grinning.
I bent over and gazed into her car. All the windows were down. She was pale skinned, scantily clad and apparently hitting on me.
I said "uuhhhhhh..."
She said "Yeah you! I want you!"
My first and second reactions were to look around the parking lot. This had to be somebody I went to class with years ago or the friend of somebody after me with a camera to make a fool of me.
I didn't want to be a total asshole. Occasionally, there are women who do this sort of thing. Ever since the heat wave began I haven't shaved around my goatee. I think it makes me look like Robert E. Lee and don't care for it, but the women seem to really be amazed by it, especially back up in Oklahoma. I've lost 30 pounds or so swinging golf clubs at night..that always helps I guess.
I tried to escape by saying "have a good day" or something equally Hank Hill like; I turned and hustled my groceries into the trunk and slammed it shut. Looking back up I noticed she had parked and was making another play for me. She gave her head a little nod beckoning me.
She cracked a smile that exposed her teeth. They seemed to either be very bad or be suffering from that meth damage that is so common around here.
She was wearing a bra-less wifebeater that left little to the imagination, skimpy shorts and cowgirl boots. The one tattoo I could see was sort of ugly and a bad color for her.
I've been married so long I don't often have to think about shit like this. I'm pretty sure Marla will outlive me, but if for some reason she doesn't (knock on wood) I'll probably suffer for a couple years like my blood Father did and then get back into the social whirl if possible. When gals start hovering around me all froggy, I usually think to myself, where in the hell were all of you when I was single? If the gods ever leave me alone and miserable, I bet none of y'all will be around then either.
In a tiny rinkydink town you don't want to piss off some honey who could slit your tires or do something stupid in a bar somewhere down the line. I gave her an out.
I tapped my wedding ring and sadly gave a little shrug.
"Oh..she is SSooo lucky"! the gal moaned.
I gave another cool shrug and a nod.
A climbed in the car, cranked the engine and got the hell out of there as she slowly walked to the entrance.
Of course, you have to wonder..did she have a seedy pimp or accomplice waiting with a piece in a motel room I was going to be lured too? Maybe. But why wouldn't she pick some little wimp if that was the case? I drive a cool car, but don't look like a banker.
Like a trained dog that has received the business end of a rolled up newspaper plenty of times, I called Marla the instant I got home and told her about it. She knows I'm not a trifling man. For the fun of it, I pretended to suggest that we could use a second woman in the stable to sell meth and provide money so we don't have to work ever again.
That's the sort of stuff we love to kid about.
This Saturday is our umpteenth anniversary. Happy anniversary darling. Maybe I'll shave back into a goatee to cool the women down..
07/30/11
I've been editing the last few days until I've had the spins, leg cramps and foot problems. Luckily, I now have my trusty 6 iron to swing between bursts of work. I'm not whining about the work or the pain. It's not different from writing important college papers, except for the fact you are torturing yourself when it is done of your own free will.
For leisure I've been working slowly on a book recommended by a long term friend I've met via this diary "Empire of the Summer Moon" by S.C. Gwynne. It discusses the Comanche nation in general for a few chapters so as to set up a more focused narrative on a captive white girl Cynthia Ann Parker who gave birth in the Quahadi band to Quanah Parker, a warrior/chief of significance for leading some of the final Comanche battles against the U.S. army.
After leading his defeated people (their horses were finally destroyed) to Fort Sill to surrender, he resolved to make the most of a wretched situation and continued to work to help his people while figuring out how to climb out of poverty. He built a beautiful house on the reservation in Oklahoma called Star house where he fed all who came; one of his guests was Theodore Roosevelt. He began life as a warrior who was never clearly defeated in battle and lived until 1911 even owning a car at one point.
I thought the book was fairly even handed; Gwynne roasts the early Texas rangers and the air headedness of anglos who would build on land in dangerous territory. He points out barbaric acts of both the horse and hostage stealing Indian bands and settlers who would eventually annihilate camps filled with mostly Indian women and children.
I had a hunch that if I checked Amazon.com reviews I could find many opposing viewpoints. I wasn't disappointed. There wasn't just a trickle of people disagreeing with the author, but a good shower of abuse. Many were appalled by his grandiose language which to me read like the narration you hear on TV history "light" shows. He obviously tried to make the book readable for average people, not Historians, but many readers felt he was just being typically too Euro-centric and insensitive when using words like "primitive" and "savage".
I'm only paraphrasing these negative reviews. I'm more interested in the argument that eventually ensued over whether we are able as humanoids to really look at a situation from an unbiased perspective. If an anglo U.S. citizen with ancestors going back a few generations wants to accept Euro-centric sources as opposed to Spanish voices from Mexico or those of American Indian scholarly sources, should we boil them in slime..or huck rolls of toilet paper in the trees in their yard? If a surviving Comanche or Kiowa is sick of the bias in Euro-centric text and history books that have traditionally ignored the barbaric acts, the broken treaties, the lying behavior of anglos who lived in Parker's time, should we be surprised or call them p.c. and sneer at them?
What of those who appear to be making a p.c. kneejerk judgment of their own race? Worse yet, there is no end of crappy "history" books in which there is clearly an agenda behind the interpretations; yunno...think of the people whose big issue driving them to write any reviews or books themselves is smearing all traditional U.S. anglo heroes without exception.
Another reviewer pointed out my belief that it's best to read a lot of books and learn to make decisions for yourself. I've read Russell Means with pleasure (he's full of shit sometimes too of course). I've been exposed to ridiculous interpretations of American Indians in the classroom and on TV and in movies for many years. On the other hand, I've had enough of apologetic fellow anglos trying to inform me how idiotic I am for not being sensitive in some way.
I enjoyed the Gwynne book in spite of those who rake him over the coals. Shit, I thought he was rather left of center. How far left do you have to go to not risk being outflanked?
There's nothing wrong in my world about popular history books that aren't as heavily footnoted that use entertaining language as opposed to the snotty, snooty, academic style they taught us to stick to when we write "serious" papers.
This all reminds me of the current brouhaha over the debt ceiling. If you can't dissect the spiels of each side and point of view without believing totally in one, you're too wrapped up in your side. It's ok to prefer a stance or side, but realize it when they talk to the press as if they are pure and without ulterior motive.

07/25/11


Marla wonders, why doesn't somebody invent some caramel or chocolate gum? HHMM?
I threw myself today into the final edit of the country music book. There's not much to change; it's got to be done at the library though. I'm a veteran of the quiet study area behind a few soundproofed windows that keep the running children and scumbags hanging out enjoying the air conditioning out.
I've gotten on nodding terms there with a couple authors. Occasionally I'll see a very serious looking student who shoots a glance at me when I make a momentary sound activating my computer.
Today it was a guy who looked really young, way the fuck too young to be shushing scholars at the egghead refuge in the library. I noticed his calculated stubble and faux hawk and pondered how anybody who looks so juvenile and typical and hoaky could possess much of a mind.
That reminded me of a talk I had with Son Elvis yesterday. I asked him if he had ever been watching TV, scratching his balls, relaxing..and a commercial comes on showing what appears to be obvious swishy homosexuals dancing at some stupid gathering, a perfect showcase for some sort of light beer...
They include a buzzword joke and maybe a grossout stunt..and wrap it up..
OK..but then, you get to thinking about it and realize that your gay friends wouldn't have anything to do with the childish psuedo-fratboy, psuedo-geeks portrayed.
So, you take a big hit from your beer, usually drain it and fumble to open another as it hits home that maybe that was an appeal to straight, scholarly young males with purchasing power in central time zone markets. Maybe you're just completely out of touch...?
Elvis agreed heartily. He's only 27 but can't always tell the gay appeal or big city
"progressive" market advertisements from the trendy horseshit designed for early 20's people in general.
I asked him if he had noticed a wave of anti-white male underpants (like I wear) schtick. He acknowledged that it's been going on for a good while. He believes it compares with the also rather cliché jokes about mullets that have been driven into the ground for way too many years to the point that local rubes grow 'em for the reaction they get. When trendy jokes and fashions hit this burg, shit! You know it's been stale in even 2nd tier cities for 5 years.
When you get right down to it, I don't want to be really up to date on fads, but I still watch humiliating TV shows for 14 year old girls and try to watch 10 minutes here and there of horrible dreck to keep on top of things.
I knew some individuals back when I worked at Tower in Philly who could distinguish between all the competing dance sub-genres. They considered themselves very cool, clearly and wore clothing that seemed to me in the know for about 5 minutes. Just 15 years later its all nostalgia on a level with Bill O'Reilly's culture quiz. Who cares about any of that shit now? I imagine that most of those stylish dance fans are denying it all as they sell insurance in a Jersey suburb. Urp.

07/20/11

I have just a few comments to contribute to wrap up my discussion of our recent travels. Whereas I'm not fond of the sterile aesthetics of the typical "indoor hallway walkway to your room" motels (that also feature off-white paint everywhere) I certainly don't dig the nosey creeps who hang out around in front of their room door at outdoor room door places.
After several hours in a car I'm in a bit of a weakened state mentally and not prepared to size up these loons quickly, specifically as to whether they are weirdoes with an agenda or simple polite folk who don't realize talking to strangers is often a prelude to some meth-head kicking your door in while you're stuffing your maw at some greasy fast-food mecca.
To get along, Marla and I have a system of making each other happy/guilty long enough to get our own way once in awhile. She prefers eating in restaurants like most of you; I prefer takeout and delivery. I bet you longtime readers can guess why. After a day of having to pass and be passed on the interstate by hundreds of vehicles inhabited by humanoids I'm ready for a break from them. If we get a waitress or waiter who feels the need to ask a lot of questions I can get rude really fast. I don't need service staff knowing my business. I sure as hell don't need to know their names.
One of the reasons I enjoy lodging at casinos is due to the fact that my night owl nature is suited. Have I ever been up early enough for the breakfasts they supposedly give away? Hah. Marla is certain they plan free cereal and cheap round waffle feeds to end at 9:00 am so as to encourage people to get up, stuff their bloody maws and consequently checkout early.
By the way..how can these yopes stuff their maws at 8:00 am or so and then be ready to do so again at noon and then 6:00 pm??
I'm not exactly a three meal per day guy and I know I'm strange, but shit. When you're just floating along in some vehicle listing to your kids scream or your partner jabber into a cell, how can you be working up an appetite? I've got a fat gut and I couldn't cram that many meals into a day on the road unless you paid me good.
How do children and seniors manage to pack it in?
If there was ever a time to plan meals by some means other than a clock, vacation or travel days would seem to be a good time for a change from your routine.
I made sure to be aware of the "green" forces at work in my across country lodgings; yunno, all the signs encouraging me to re-use towels and bedding. Before leaving a room for the last time I made sure to not only wipe my nose or bung with each towel, I showed my respect for water conservation further by flushing every toilet I engaged several times. At certain travel "welcome" centers with multiple toilets if the shit house was empty I'd walk back and forth activating the auto-flushes over and over and over.
I just like to do my part.
07/18/11 These days, 99 out of 100 times if given the choice between drinking my own beer and whiskey and going to a bar, of course I choose to hole up alone and get the job done.
At other times during my life I've chosen the bars much more often.
It just so happened that a week or so ago up in Oklahoma city I had a hair up my ass that drove me to the motel bar. I had studied enough chess and wanted to focus my mind on other things. That's all there is to it. I hadn't any fucking clue what the bar was going to be like.
The room wasn't very crowded. I stood at the entrance and gazed about looking for obvious chess players there for the weekends tournament. Nobody appeared to fit the pattern. I think I overdid the scanning of the bar room. Most of the folks there looked back at me as I took a seat at the bar.
The bar maid was dressed for Hooters. She got me a Bud cheerfully enough. I tipped her a buck and sat in my stool trying to size up the people drinking there.
To my left was a couple, a stocky guy wearing a rural truck company sort of cap. The lady was sporting modified Richard Deacon frame glasses. To my right was a guy about 70, looking pretty sauced. Against the wall of the medium sized room was a pool table that a couple of younger people than the rest of us were slowly tapping balls around and apparently flirting. At the far end of the bar away from me was a jukebox. A late 30's guy wearing neat casual clothing was stuffing it full of song requests. A Johnny Cash song was playing, by the way his head bobbed it was his selection. If any of them was a chess player, it would be him. He didn't look quite right though; he was having too good a time. Probably looking to get layed.
The room wasn't fancy, but it was cleaner than most bars. Service was prompt and the stool I sat on supported my fat ass comfortably. A few people came and went I never really paid attention to.
I spoke first to the stocky fellow after I heard him say goodbye to his lady friend and saw her leave. He asked me the eternal question I always hear: "where's your Harley?"
I almost always answer emphatically that I've never touched a bike. People seem to disbelieve this half of the time. To this fellow, I added that I was playing in a chess tournament upstairs over the weekend. He was blown away that somebody that looks like me would be a chess player. Turned out he owned the bar. We chatted for several minutes about matters ranging from beer percentage issues concerning Ok bars to various games.
At one point a guy sat down next to him and pulled an order of hot wings from a bag and consumed them. The owner told the guy I was a chess player...!! They had a light laugh over that. No offense offered or taken.
The owner had Ms. Hooter order him a pizza over the phone. I had her fetch me another beer, but refrained from whiskey for the time being. I tipped another buck.
The old guy caught my attention and talked at me for a minute or so, I couldn't understand one bloody word of what he said. A slutty looking gal with a slight, but unhealthy looking potgut entered the room. He approached her and the two took over the now free pool table.
I thought at that point that my night out at the bar was a success. Chess had been cleared from my mind. I picked up my drinking pace, drained my second and ordered a third.
I tipped a buck. Ms. Hooters was very friendly in a professional manor. If I was considered unwelcome for any reason she'd be the one to clue me to it, but everything was going just swell.
The neatly dressed casual dude stuffed more money in the jukebox. His choices were pretty good. I waited until he was done and slid off my stool to make a few selections myself. I played a few Cash and Hag tunes and also "Purple Haze" and a couple ACDC numbers.
Mr. casual said as I crossed his path "I bet you're playing Led Zeppelin?"
"Not quite".. I chuckled. I gave him a preview that I played more Cash. He nooded his head and slid off his stool and took the one next to me.
For the next half hour we yakked about music, our kids and the fact that I don't look like a chess player. I drank my third, polished off the fourth and ordered a fifth. Each time Ms. Hooters fetched me another she was given a $1 tip. She began using a catch phrase that she shared with anybody within earshot:"this place is just like Cheers!" a reference to a horrid TV show I loath about an overly bright lit watering hole featuring characters I hate. I thought to myself a few times, if it WAS like "Cheers" I'd head back to my motel room in a heartbeat. Fuck Ted Danson.
The old guy walked over from the pool table where the slut was standing appearing to be engrossed in the game. Her eyes were like you see on the dead and she seemed like trouble on two feet.
Mr. casual and him talked for about 10 minutes. Meanwhile, I wondered when I should bail. I decided the guy was ok to talk to, though he seemed to be getting a bit sauced. I wondered about whether he was telling me the truth about his kids. Everybody seemed to know him and respect him.
When Mr. casual turned back to me, he seemed to be now on the way to really getting lit. He chuckled about how the old guy had been up so far for 48 hours on crank, but was still trying to score with the slut.
He ordered another and slipped Hooters 50 cents.
The talk turned very dark and personal. He began to tell me about how he once had tons of money, a "10" for a Wife, a couple "11" girlfriends, a couple car washes, a car dealership, a mansion, lots of money and drugs up the ass. Sadly, several of his buddies and partners got hooked on Oxycotten and died over the last few years. His Wife split and took the kids. She became a tramp of sorts and fucked one of his neighbors. She left all the jewelry from the marriage in the glove compartment of her car that had a sunroof. A local goofball ripped it off..he knew it...and considered whacking him He held back though.
He explained he had been in a gang in another State growing up and yanked up his sleeve to show me a tattoo that I have checked out is indeed the name of an infamous game from that locale.
I ordered another round, declaring it cheerfully a "nightcap".
Was this guy full of it or what? He seemed a bit tipsy, but not that much. Still, as he had revealed he doesn't have a license to drive and lives at the motel, somehow commuting to a sales job.
The chatter heated up. He talked about his son almost killing a friend of his with his bare hands for disrespecting him. He confessed that the boy has a drug habit, but it was cool, really..he works 2 jobs to sustain it.
As I worked on my last beer, I mulled over whether this guy was the latest in the series of pathological liars to cross my path during this lifetime. I'm pretty good at playing dumb and letting them go way overboard with their bullshit. This guy seemed genuine..although I knew I couldn't assume that. Never, ever, ever.
I pondered whether he was in a witness protection program; shitfuck, they just don't let you stroll away from a goddamned infamous gang with a history of drug dealing, danger and a Smorgasbord of felony acts committed over a period of decades.
Just when I was getting ready to rise to my feet, yawn and give Mr. Casual a goodbye wave, he leered at me that he was gonna score with this girl even though she was maybe half his age, a "5" and he was a "9" and had a record of being with only "10's" and "11's". "Even though" he said.. Huh. I took the opportunity to slip out. Don't know who ended up fucking her. Maybe I could've had a turn if I wanted to, along with the rest of the guys in the bar on the greasy pool table after closing. Last exit to OK City, baby. UUrrp.
I never went back there over the next couple days I lodged at the motel. If the guy was wasting my time with lies, there was no sense in wasting more. If he was telling the truth, he may regret shooting his fucking mouth off or start trouble in some way. Clearly, he was either a liar or a loose cannon. Fuck it.

07/11/11

Shit, I've been unable to bitch for the last few days of my trip. I'm safely at the luxurious Winstar casino hotel after some insanity. Tomorrow I get home.
Marla and I drove to Bristol Va. when we left Philly. I felt pretty good. The World open was a fine event for me in the long run after a slow start. I didn't finish all that far from some money mathematically.
Hostile city seemed overall less hostile to both of us. Of course we're basing this on spending time in center city and South Philly. Quite a few neighborhood "Yo!" types are gone and have been replaced by yuppies or psuedo-yuppies or adult Gen-X types who consider themselves progressive and drink micro-spew instead of Piels and Ballantines ale.
The old school yo-yo-yo's no longer dominate the city. We agreed that they seem charming as an endangered species. The Oregon Diner deep in the Wiseguy wannabe belt was still filled with 'em, but they were more rare to see in center city than 10 years ago by a long shot.
Even so, I chuckled a few times observing West coastand central time zone chess players being shocked by the locals. Personally, I got off on the bragging and ballbusting.
I met at least 3 Philly/Jersey players who are aware of my bands and the wrestling heritage and local indy squared circle promotions. In comparison Texas players are pussies and squares.
Our motel room in Bristol was a massive suite for a normal price. The next day I dropped off Marla at the Nashville airport and proceeded on my own towards Oklahoma city. It was nerve-wracking driving through thunder storms in Tennessee past Memphis to Tunica. My room was so fucking cool, don't tell Marla. Tunica is one of the nations best kept secrets. It doesn't merely ape Vegas, it improves on it in some ways. There aren't all the scumbags living on the streets, shit the casino's are surrounded by marshes. I stayed this time at the Horseshoe which is owned by a remaining Binion family heir who used to run the family joint on Fremont street in LV. The room furnishings were unique and snazzy compared to the ritzy but beaten to death decor you see in Sheratons and Hiltons. The showerhead was so high up I was instantly thrilled. I had a desk with swivel chair, a couple other padded seats with ottomans and best of all a TV screen appropriate for a bar, way bigger than standard units. The bed was perfect, they didn't bother with a bedspread I'd just toss behind a chair. Just soft stuff to soothe my ass.
I gambled in my Grandma-like way hitting a sweet $40 payoff on my favorite Kittie themed penny slot. Yes, I was aware of the tourists occasionally yukking it up around me at the sight of a grown man like me feeding the furry felines.
The next day I drove along a route I've never journeyed in our fair land through Northern Arkansas to the Cherokee casino on the OK border. My good luck and fascination with Arkansas rest stop toilets ended. They were metallic pigsty's like I used to see in rural outdoorsy areas in the Northwest.
I heartily recommend the Cherokee casino. It was in great repair and had a nice feel to it. All that and $2 fringing corporate beers. I had heard rumors that there was no hard liquor to be had there, but that was bullshit. You really can't accept as truth the reviews of Oklahoma and Mississippi casinos you see on the internet. If I were employed in Nevada by a casino or even a restaurant or hotel I'd post bogus reviews to try to keep the business traveling out West. Seriously, there's some sort of organized smear campaigns going on. The horse-poo I read that had me worried was all lies. Winstar Casino and the Cherokee nation joint in Roland and a handful of the Tunica places have all been great. I always make a habit of checking out the poker and sportsbook areas closely.
By the way; even experienced gamblers I know have made the common mistake of telling people a casino sucks because they lost their ass. I assume you readers are savvy enough to fathom the flawed reasoning often inspired by losing.There is cheating in some casino's but there's a helluva lot more of simple bad play by emotional gamblers who think they have some sort of insight.
For those of you fed up with such a positive series of entry's fear not. The bad shit is about to start happening. I barely managed to pull into the parking lot of the Days Inn in Oklahoma city the next tournament was to be held in. It was perched upon an access road so confusing I knew I'd never find it again if I left to get food. I hoped there was some chow nearby. The lady behind the desk was working a long line in front of me. She confessed to somebody she had been there only a week.
Uh oh. If I knew what was in store I would've tried to break my reservation and head to a casino.
My room looked ok if I removed my glasses. A close inspection revealed no clock, a lack of functioning plug ins and lamps, bugs (waterbugs and flies) a phone with a severed chord on the hand piece, a bedspread that looked like a few gangbangs had been held upon it and other flaws. I tried for hours with Marla on my cell trying to get the wifi up to no avail. The naive new clerk kept insisting you just fire up your computer and away ya go!
That's how easy it was here at the Winstar, but not the wretched Days Inn.
We debated whether I should put the laptop in the car trunk or leave it in the room when my games were being played in the "convention" rooms.
I drank that night for a few hours and wound up talking to some locals.
This will have to be covered in another entry due to the interesting nature of one gentleman of Italian extraction I knocked 'em back with who had a gang tattoo but was 1,200 miles from his gang and place of birth.
More later. This is too good a story to rush.
The tournament room had suckass air conditioning of course and there was a deadly heatwave going on. The official temp was 94 degrees in there...FUCK! I won a game and lost one to a higher rated player. After consulting with Marla and Elvis I withdrew before the second day. Shit, was I being a pussy? This was the only event I can remember where the hotel didn't provide icewater. You had to walk down a set of stairs on your precious clock time and drink it luke warm since the fucking goddamn mothersmacking ICE MACHINES WERE BROKEN. People staying at the jam packed motel began panicking and acting wacko. There were puddles of vomit to be seen on the main walkways, which of course never got mopped up and festered in the heat.
Good thing I pulled out of the tournament; my Sunday morning wakeup call never came through. I would've overslept since there was no clock radio and my emergency spare didn't work worth a shit. Yep, the room keys kept deactivating too causing me several marches to the office where I had to wait in line for the harried new lady to solve the problems of others.
The vomit and the lack of ice and the bugs and the filth and I forgot to add,,,a fucking reading lamp snapped off the wall and landed on my noggin when I tried to turn it on...will Days Inn react to my eventual letter and at least partially refund me? If they try to give me a free night in that dump, forget it!
Hells bells, I grew up playing chess in dangerous whore infested hotels with a pissy smell, but even those places had functioning air conditioning and ice water.

07/06/11

I wound up beating two higher rated opponents in the last two rounds. My final score 5 1/2 -3 1/2, I consider great. On my way home I'll be stopping at a couple of casinos, on the way to another chess tournament in Oklahoma City.

07/04/11
After 7 Rounds of hard fought chess I've finally climbed up over the .500 mark. My record is 4-3. I beat a higher rated guy last night who tried to play a quick attack that I lost to once a few years ago. I'm a firm believer that in sports, chess, poker, music etc. you need to focus on your losses rather than chortle about your wins. I re-schooled myself on this cheapo onslaught a few days before leaving home. When I played the right move that slapped him back he looked shocked. I've pulled even with the other Texan's in my section. The 8th round I'm taking my second 1/2 point bye, so entering the last round I'll be 4-1/2 3/12.

I dreamt last night that my Grandson was about 2 years old, sitting upright and tossing a pacifier out of his mouth at people with a serious look on his face. The pacifier represented Zeus lighting bolts and perhaps my genetic contribution sine I'm Zeus, I have a tattoo of him. When the pacifier would hit somebody his neutral look would turn into a smile.

Did I forget to mention? In an earlier round I whipped the champ of Elvis's middle school which has a topnotch chess program. El played one game for them and got into some sort of beef with the coach and dropped out. Clearly the coach had little value for my experience as a retired player or he would have groomed my lad to be one of his chosen. Any doubts of my might were settled when I turned loose my white piece steamroller on his star.

Irwins: 1 former school 0

Elvis was pleased to hear that.

We've been eating really well, all of our local faves such as stromboli and capicoli hoagies. It's amusing to note that there's a sector of the allegedly intellectual chess public that only eats fast-food burgers; always was a group with a penchant for that and there still is now. Gut-bomb burgers are fine and dandy, I enjoy 'em too, but they're the last thing that leads to decent chess. Your stinking blood is in your stomach digesting instead of in your brain.

Then again, the chess community in the Philly/Jersey area is clearly blue collar. The prisspants and the eggheads and the swarms of kids in other parts of the country are outnumbered or at least balanced by guys who clearly drink beer, eat meat and aren't afraid of physically or verbally mixing it up. Wrestling and band T-shirts are worn much more frequently than in Chicago, California, Texas or the northwest.

I probably would've fit in well if I had played chess when we lived here.

The city overall doesn't seem as hostile, but I haven't had a chance to take a real close look. Our handful of friends we've visited guarantee me that it is. Also, this is the annual vacation week for a helluva lot of natives who go "down the shore" to places like Wildwood.

In my final game I'm going to use a delaying tactic strategy to piss off my opponent who will in all likelihood be facing a drive or flight home. We're here again tonight and the Yuengling lager will still be flowing post round.

07/01/11

Philly's been great so far, the high point for me so far has been whipping an eight year old genius, lots of of people took photos of the fat weird guy locked in battle with the kid. The low point for Marla at least, was getting stuck in the worst Philly traffic jam, she ever seen, caused by the O'bama stopping for a water ice in South Philly. I'm not going to vote for him anyway, so he didn't lose my vote. Couldn't the presidential chef whip up a water ice?

I was retired from chess when we lived in Philly, I was recognized about sixty seconds after entering the chess area for my musical pursuits. Lots of players out here love to boast and brag, which is a healthy attribute, I don't see much in other parts of the country. There's a good percentage of players, who seem to constantly be whining and kvetching about everything from the AC to the table cloths, and to "the lack of organization." This is the biggest tournemant in the world. I cut 'em some slack.

I'm looking forward to ruining some more kids tournemant tomorrow. uuurrppp.

06/29/11
After a rather uneventful night in Knoxville, we got back on the road and headed for our current byway, Hagerstown Md.
We were booked in a nice "Country Inn Suites". Supposed to have a suite with a sofa-bed and pool. It's been a tedious 3 days and we were ready for some relaxin'.

A hundred yards away from the box like structure it looked a bit strange..something was not right. There were no cars around..a fact that ordinarily would be a blessing considering how the humanoids are really getting ugly as we get farther from Texas.

Shit! The place was closed. There were a couple signs on the door advising us the dump had been closed due to water damge.
Marla commented "That's a new one!"..my thoughts exactly.

Luckily somebody had taped a couple cheap, small signs to the door telling us the Ramada Plaza Inn would honor our reservation, which was a prepaid Orbitz affair.

As Marla located a phone number for the Ramada I gazed at the mall parking lot the troubled Country Inn sat in. Something didn't look right. Where were the customers? It was only 6:30 pm?? Where were the employees? There were few to see.

We finally found the Ramada Plaza hotel. It was on only a mile away. Marla went inside to negotiate our getting a room. Here's Marla to provide a few words on that experience:

"I explained to the desk clerk about our situation. She said they will match the price of the other place, only problem was, I didn't have the page of the reservation print out with the room rate (which was a about $30 less than what they were quoting). I asked her if there was a computer I could use, so I could reprint the page I was missing. She took me to the business center, and inside of a minute I had the needed info. The desk clerk, realized that I would be double charged unless my Orbitz reservation was canceled. Luckily I had written down their Customer Service number. She calls them, goes through umpteen prompts and finally gets a hold of a human. She explained that the hotel we had booked was closed and she was seeking a refund on my behalf. She had to explain this three times-- with her hand muting the mouthpiece of the phone, she tells me in a frustrating tone, that the person on the other end doesn't speak English very well. Great, turns out Orbitz has their Customer Service call center in India. To wrap up, I was handed the phone, at which time I was happily advised our credit card would be credited the amount from the flooded place within five days."
"What could have been a disaster, actually turned out pretty good. The indoor pool was huge, actually had a deep end (8 feet!) and the water temp was perfect. Of course what made the swim even better, was that we had the pool to ourselves for the entire time! Back to Phil as he has some comments on public pools and pool etiquette."

I wondered as I floated in the peaceful, empty waters, why do humanoids splash one another in pools? I've never had the impulse, even as a child to spend my precious time in a pool splashing others. Why is it that they can always be counted on to do this? What is fun about it?

We ate at a decent Bob Evans, also strangely and blissfully empty. A decent night of measured hotel drinking ensued after. On to the superbowl of American Chess, the World Open. We arrive today a couple days early. It's back to Philly for the first time since we left it. Not a lot of time to visit more than a few people there, I'm playing chess. Still the song runs through my head this Maryland morn:
"Hostile city USA..they call it Philadelphia Pa...bikers, crackheads thieves and scum..inhabit the worlds most dangerous slums"...ooh!

06/26/11
Marla and I are on our way to the 2011 World Open chess tournamet. I'm not saying I'm gonna win money, but this is the event to bring home the bacon at. The first prize in my rating section is frigging $18,000. The next 9 players get prizes in four figures too.

Right now we're at a La Quinta inn South of Little Rock's city center..presuming there is one. Impressions of Arkansas are in order. DAMN. I had forgotten how handsome and foxy Texan's are. I've been almost thankful for the minor stye in my eye preventing me from looking around too much. The motel is full of ugly and mis-shapen travelers. We observed an odd looking Granny Clampett type lady squatting on her hunches huffing down a smoke on the curb near our door. She was wearing a "Grapes of wrath" style housecoat; we couldn't tell whether she was 30 or 60.

The elevator bell is a flea market contraption that sounds like a petrified wad of chew hitting the bottom of a brass spittoon.
We saw one fellow motel guest who looks pale and marshmello like. His body bulged out in strange wads of fat. His clothing seemed like it was garnered at a prison yard sale. On his feet were strange plastic clogs that must've come from a backwoods flea market. They looked like they were melted on his feet like horse hooves.

The pool looked clean, but a swim seemed out of the question. The folks there looked mighty talkative and I was intimidated. What would I say to them?

We ate at a family owned place named Grandpa's Catfish. It was great.

Arkansas wants your tourist business. The rest areas and welcome centers have the cleanest shithouses on a regular basis I've seen nationwide. They're trying really hard, but shit. Even Oklahoman's and Minnesota stump jumpers seem chic in comparison.

On my way home later I'll be seeing the North part of the State for the first time.

Tomorrow, a town long considered by many people I know as one of the worst in the U.S.: Knoxville Tn.

If you have something to pray to, please say one for us.

06/24/11

Hooray. Your prayers have been answered. My new book "Escape From Cookieland" is now available as of today on Kindle.
It's time for you to quit being a cheap ass and buy a Kindle. People are talking about you behind your back. What's that? Think I'm kidding? You should hear what I'm saying.

Even if you're too goddamned spineless to buy one just now, you should borrow one from whomever you know that has one and select "Escape From Cookieland" by Phil Irwin.
The cost on Kindle is just $9.99 (you don't HAVE to own a Kindle, there are other devices that you can download to, see the Kindle website for list. ed.).

Here's some info about it by request.

Unlike "Jobjumper" and "Hostile City or bust" Cookieland has been revised over and over again. The punctuation habits I displayed in the past (such as using a jillion ..........'s per page) have been discarded. Why? Blame it on discussions on creative rulebending during my creative writing college courses.

Is it a better book because I stuck to the rules of grammar better?

You tell me.

The book covers the period from my birth up to my high school graduation with a bit of setup before and after. Whereas quite a damn few memoirs I read are about people starting out as troublemakers winding up with nice houses, new young spouses and a second crack at being a parent after conquering their substance demons.

My story is of course different. I started out as a nerd, a wuss. My clean freak mama and yard martyr old man dragged me to an incredibly righteous evangelical church which the members considered the only true church..period! (Shit! There I go with the .....'s again! Oh well, this is only a diary entry).

In 7th grade the torment and taunting in school really kicked into high gear. The problem with me was that not only was I an egghead, I was a real textbook case nerd until I met a friend (my only one at school for a long time) who wised me up.

I wanted to die for a couple years. Once I laid down in the middle of the road even next to a sharp bend. My pal talked me out of it. I began having revenge dreams involving me going to school with a big damn gun.

Problem was, where could I get one? My mother expected my room to be neat as an army boot camp barrack, underpants folded neatly in just the right drawer. Where could I find a gun?

My folks laughed at me when I went crying to them with my tale of woe. They insisted that I had brought all the trouble onto myself.
Ironically, at the exact time I was a social leper at my junior high school, I was widely respected as a promising young whiz in the chess world. Quite a few adults thought I was a cool guy.

The reader will get to find out how I managed to survive in detail. Part of the story involves a deep discussion of my learning to drink daily in Europe during a 5 week school band tour. I haven't stopped since that trip. Well, I've taken a few days off here or there.

Essentially, as you can imagine, I morphed from a nerd and a high-water pant wearing, church attending geek into the sort of negative, cynical guy who goes around picking on others by pulling off vicious pranks. The last couple chapters of the book show me in full bloom as an ugly duckling who has grown into a vandalizing, boozing, recreational drugging cretin.

Fight anecdotes, beatings, high speed car chases, hanging out with stereo typical 70's stoners. The purity of the early chapters dealing with church camp and my early weakness are balanced out by the barbarity of my last couple years in school.

The toughest parts to write concern my chess activities. My tournaments and friendships I had in the chess world were all I had going for me for a couple years or so. Hell, my first beer ever was passed to me by a chess mentor.

In the end I passed on a music career and scholarship and even gave up chess to become the new, wicked me.

This book does not repeat what you've read in "Jobjumper" that occurred during the same years. They dovetail quite nicely. It was one of my goals from the start.

Incidentally, I don't feel that I had the worst parents or even particularly bad ones. There is a discussion on this important point that will show you exactly my attitude today about them. You might be surprised. Then again, you won't be if you don't breakdown and buy a goddamn Kindle and order "Escape From Cookieland".


06/20/11
The political forces are heating up the same stale piss stew, a bland inoffensive gruel meant to appeal to a broad base of diners, seasoned with deliberate lies when they think they can get away with it.

The sickest bastards out there are the ones who really get off on the political process, love the back and forth maneuvering and seem to treat it like a hobby rather than a necessary rolling in the mud with stinky pigs, groveling for a foothold, a greasy morsel of power.

The stereotypical characterizations of the Republicans and Democrats are well known and embarrassingly accurate. I've discussed my preferences here over the years; it's almost always a choice between sucking fecal matter down cold or warm.

As small parties accurately point out, the big two will NEVER solve key problems (such as funding entitlements) since they will have to take a hit at the polls. The general public seems to almost fathom this, but they buy into the argument that if you support an independent candidate, you're wasting your vote. Who can blame them? Short term you usually are wasting your vote backing a "3rd" party candidate.

In a perfect world (hah!) the two permitted parties would select a small committee of longterm declared nonpartisans with absolute power to carve out a fair solution to the untouchable issues. The solutions found would be binding for a pre-considered period of time.

Imagine them picking little old me? You may have to resort to mind altering substances to picture that one, but please try or at least bear with me here.

If selected to arbitrate I would demand independent committee members to join me from both the loco left and the waco right to assist me in carving up the mainstream political feast for the first and probably only time for any of us. There would be no running to other states to avoid decisions, no filibuster tricks. We wouldn't meet sporting shirts and ties in some public venue. I think getting together in an isolated place with a well stocked bar for those who want it would be preferable.

I would hire a small team of independent referees to monitor and research claims of any of the judges referring to "the people" "change" "hope" "decency" "morality", etc. Attempts to sway the committee members with commie-jargon or union balogna or religious babble or greedy, arrogant blather would not be permitted. Just like baseball, 3 strikes and you're off the committee.

The people assisting me would know, that without exception we had a time limit to our power. If even we couldn't get anything decided, we'd be out the door. No extensions of power, not for 5 minutes.

I think it would be fairly easy to hash out a solution to our entitlement problems, since none of us would have interest in future power or the opinions of those we piss off.

My first foreign policy plank would be a motion to announce a 5 year moratorium on foreign aide and a withdrawal of troops from the spreading number of wars we're involved in. Rather than apologize for not continuing our generosity, we would announce that after a 5 year period of taking care of our own affairs, bringing our financial house into A-1 order, those peoples around the world who prove their love for us and their willingness to be true friends and allies will perhaps be receiving aide when we deem our own accounts to be straightened out. In the meantime, got a tsunami drowning your poor, or a tyrant messing with ya? Call somebody else...for 5 years..maybe longer. We'll see. The main point to get across is the fact that we won't be buying other nations love henceforth.

We will be cleaning our slate of dated grievances that have been lingering too long. It's time to get back to square one and take a fresh appraisal of things.

We will no longer be the globes policeman; likewise, we won't be bankrolling recovery of other nations economies. Our military competence should be improved over the 5 year period. We won't be stripped bare of might or missiles. Our culture and pukey pop music and secular trends that prudish nations find so alarming are of course here to stay. The era of American apology is over. Take the U.N. and it's kangaroo court hokum off of our property.

A primary goal for our 5 year return to self interest as a nation will be returning manufacturers and manufacturing jobs back to our workforce.
It's my dream to see an absolute end to any laws or regulations effecting my toilet and bathroom in general. A measure will be passed declaring that shitting in peace is a basic human right determined by an individuals preferences. Commemorative coins will be issued to celebrate this fundamental right.


06/14/11

In between finishing off 2 original books at the same time and chess study for the World open coming up, I've been working my way through a fairly simple toilet reading accounting book and also a tax preparation text that is too heavy and bulky to study anywhere at home.

The accounting author tries to make jokes but isn't funny at all. He uses the usual businessperson lingo that I loathe. I'm learning what I need to though. The tax text is a different species. It's pretty deep, as complicated as an intermediate chess book. The author of this one doesn't try to be funny, yet includes enough odd tax case studies that render it exciting reading much of the time. It's a frigging long book and I can only absorb about 25 pages at a time. It's a more difficult task than I expected, but that's ok because I'm learning more than I planned on too.

My drinking has been pushed back to a 4:30 or 5:00am start time due to the fact that I've been visiting Elvis from midnight to 4:00 keeping him company on his nightowl babysitting stint. His wife sleeps until 8:00 am or so and tags in for her turn.

My Grandson has a nice disposition already. The humanoid pattern of sleep, eat, drink and shit has been easy for him to master. He doesn't seem to mind noise and music and video game sounds at all. Shit, he seems to be a budding little night person. He also shows no preference as of yet that El and I can detect of preferring one hand to the other. My blood Father (who of course will get to see him soon since he's working in San Antonio) myself and Elvis are all ambidextrous to a great extent. It's a bit too early to be toasting and smashing the table with beercans over something like that, but what the hell.

I don't want to risk driving home from Elvis's pad at 4:15 am with alcohol in my system. No problem, I've learned to get drunk in an hour or so pleasantly while doing my 250 golf swings. Yeah, I'm still drinking Ol' Grandad instead of Beam. I'm not quite ready to wear those corny Grandpa T-shirts you get at tourist traps, but if I can salute the little bugger with whiskey without drawing attention to myself, why not? Urp.
I'm aware of the fact that I'm leading a pretty mind-blowing life with all the discovered blood relatives, scores of 'em and now a Grandson to carry on the name of my adoptive Father, Bob Irwin from St. Joseph Missouri.
What'll happen next?? Urp?


06/09/11
Running against the pattern of my bad days usually getting worse, Monday 6/6/2011 started out damn horrid and got better. Yeah, my first Grandchild was born: Henry Aron Irwin..aka "Hank". This only happened after a period of time I spent early in the day in living hell thanks to a hick town jury duty summons.

I couldn't cancel out of it, since you can only reschedule it once and I had originally been called in during the height of my gov work season. The biggest headache is due to the fact that I needed to be at the jury joint at the excruciating hour of 8:45 am.

How barbaric. Morning shifts are ok if you're used to it and if that's what floats yer weiner. I hate doing anything at that hour, since I know I'm going to be dead tired. How can I simply tumble into the sack 8 hours before I'm used to sleeping? I can't stand tossing and turning, don't like to take pills, have outgrown drinking myself to sleep (the stiff drinks only make me want to stay up).

I managed to get a bit of shuteye, but I felt like shit, sober but half dead.

Why don't they have night juries for night owl criminals?

I was assured that the county building parking lot was huge; it was jammed...HAH! I had to park in a 2 hour zone several blocks ahead. What a humiliation having to worry about parking in a hick town like this.

I was told I'd be waved in through the door no matter what was in my pockets, no heavy security. HAH! It was as bad as at the airport.

When I finally got in I was directed to a hallway with some cheesey chairs which served as overflow to a main room. Soon people began standing in a line beginning right after me. How rude. It's not enough that we give of our time, they can't have chairs.

Worse, there was no fucking clue what was going it, what was expected of us. After sitting for about 15 minutes crammed like a sardine into a sweaty hallway with too many bodies, I spoke up first of anybody there.

"What's going on? Did I miss some sort of orientation? Aren't they going to tell us what they want from us? Will I be allowed to move my car?"
I stopped a woman with a nametag who assured me we would be oriented in 10-15 minutes. A half hour later they began reading names. Local rubes began filing into a courtroom. In a bit, I was left alone out of a hundred or so people called. I approached a baliff and asked why my name wasn't called. I was assured if I stood outside of the courtroom she'd get right back to me. 10 minutes later, I asked a Deputy if I had been
forgotten. He entered the courtroom and asked another deputy lady what was up. She came out into the lobby long enough to chirp "you're free to go!"

"Uh...will I get in any trouble for nonappearance?"

"Nope! Free to go!"

I turned and walked a few steps slowly then started booking down the hallway before they changed their frigging minds.
HHmm...why was I excused? It wasn't my apparel, I was wearing my new jeans and belt. There was a droopy drawer idiot there who was called.
Perhaps it's due to my employer?!? I'm just a clerk, but those 3 letters are ominous looking to many people. I noted that the summons card indicated that certain government people were exempted from duty.

I got home, ate an omelet cooked by my vacationing Wife and was told that my Daughter-in-law had broken water and a birth that day was imminent, though several hours off.

I napped and we eventually went to the hospital at 7:30 pm where we were ushered into a modern waiting room where the in-laws were eating pizza and yakking pleasantly.

Elvis was described in wondrous terms as a virtual rock in the delivery room.

We were complimented for raising him right, but shit, I was at a band practice when he was born. I didn't want to be in the room during a Caesarian carve-up and back then I wasn't expected to.

Anyway, he never lost it. That afternoon, I predicted a birth time of 9:00 and modified it to 8:50. The actual time was 8:54..I nailed it.
He's a fine kid. I've been down there a couple times over the intervening 48 or so hours and have held him a couple times. Hank begins to cry softly when he wants something, but appears to be very contented for the most part. In contrast, you could hear the next room kid squawk all night.

I woke up from a nap with a dream inspired resolve to quickly issue my long delayed and near abandoned country album book on Kindle.
The kid may grow up wondering who all the damn Hanks are everybody keeps bringing up and since about half of them are covered in my book it seems like the right thing to do suddenly.

I wanna thank those of you who keep asking about that specific book. It must see the light of day in spite of the fact that it was rejected by Nashville. I insulted too many hippie psuedo-countryrock icons I guess. Those passages will remain in the final edit we're working up, of course.
Oh yeah, "Hostile City or bust" is now loaded onto Kindle. Marla is well along on making the final corrections to "Escape from Cookieland" which only needs a couple final pages to be complete. It's my bad childhood memoir, from the blank generation 60's-70's era that has been on the shelf for a couple years also. I gave a few sections a real working over in January and am ready for it to see the light of day on Kindle while we send some packets out to print publishers. Urp.


06/06/11

Even a really bad day can turn around with a nice long nap.

The day I got to Stillwater my eyes were burning read from fatigue and my nervous system was shot to hell. After a meal, the stress of making a huge mental error and rushed trip pretty much vanished. The pioneer folk I hail from had to be able to bounce back from one misery to another, over and over and fucking over merely to survive. Here I am a miserable man who experiences happiness rarely, but still keeps bouncing back.
I actually managed to finally use the swimming pool I've gaped at so many times. Godamn, it was EMPTY, making it perfect!

I didn't see any other chessplayers about the grounds. I had a second meal for the last time in days, scoring a 1/3rd pound bacon cheeseburger at Braums. I knew the next day started early, damn early so I began imbibing early. The frig worked so good it seemed my chief worry would be rather my beers and waters and diet Sundrops and little apple juices might freeze. The shower was good and the toilet functioned well, the seat was well attached and an extra roll of suitable ass gaskets was handy.

Let the games begin.

The next morning I padded down through the lobby to the tournament room in my slippers with eyes crusted over from lack of caffeine. I shelled out my entry fee and Oklahoma chess association membership dues. I pointed out that my allegiance was clear; my Texas association membership has expired. I was treated fairly well at my last Texas event, but know I've been laughed at behind my back at others. Yes, I chose not to play in an event in Dallas the same days a city hundreds of miles closer to home. Such is the hospitality and superior tournament organization by the Berry Brothers of Stillwater.

I hobbled over to the breakfast buffet area which was closed, but still dispensing coffee from airports for the needy. I grabbed 2 cups and took them back to the room to suck down during my final opening theory prep.

In the end, my first round pairing made the last minute fine tuning obsolete. I wasn't being paired down to play a bottom feeder, but rather one of two Grandmasters entered: GM Atalik who began life in Turkey and has faced world champions.

We faced each other on board 1 upon which was a beautiful wooden set provided by the organizers. The board was separated from the rest of the tables. I shook the GM's hand, he was as cordial as I could hope for, not gushing, but polite. He created an interesting game with some slightly exotic opening moves. I blew a pawn around move 18 or so, but managed to set up a fort in the endgame in which my pieces attempted to serve as a fence to keep his out and prevent him from winning. It took him many moves to crack through, but he did. I felt pretty good since I hadn't collapsed after losing a pawn but instead creating some sort of opposition.

My next game was with the lowest rated player entered. He was hardly the worst. After winning an interesting game in which I pulled off a successful attack, we talked for a bit. The fellow claims to play world class competitive foosball, which is a game I gave up long ago but once enjoyed.

The beer tasted fine back in the room that night. My "board vision" (as they refer to your general temporary ability to read the action naturally) was fine. I managed to play well enough the next day. In my first game I played a guy rated a bit higher than me. I got off to a great start and had a much better position. Unfortunately, I blundered a rook for a bishop which can be fatal. In some cases, like this one the bishop works its ass off and keeps up with the opposing rook. The board was covered with tangled pawns and the game just died out eventually with no opportunity for him to crack through and use his superior material. I felt like a shithead for the blunder, but like a player in good form for holding the draw. Later that night I beat a player rated lower than me, but still a veteran and dangerous, in a good game played all over the board, lots of complications which I handled.

So far so good.

On Sunday I dodged a real bullet by defeating in fine fasion a 10 year old who is rapidly improving, well on his way to being a master. My good form continued, I clobberedhim. Later that night I was paired with a strong expert, a guy in his early 20's I presume from Missouri. Halfway through a tense, exciting game I realized we had played and drawn in Chicago a few years ago. We both played second rate openings, with his inaccuracy being a bit less than mine. I opted for a sacrificial attack which was fun to play, but didn't get me the point in the end. Oh well, its fun to have the initiative.

I had a sandwich stashed in the frig for after the game, since I knew there was no way out of having to get up at 7:30 am for a brutal mandatory early round. So far it was a fine tournament. If it had ended then, I would have brought home money. I ate and drank, tossed and turned a bit, but managed to show up for the next to last round on time.

My opponent looked like hell. He outrated me just a bit and was about 10 years older. My opening preparation overwhelmed him. He was clearly destroyed after about 20 moves. his army being crammed into a tiny amount of space.

I won a couple pawns and appeared to be coasting to victory.

He made some last ditch desperate tactical shots and I'll be goddamned if my overconfident, non-vigilant mood didn't let him not only back into the game, but into a position to crush my balls, which he did. The guy whooped it up a bit after winning which was tacky, but he was clearly as tired as most of the other players and myself..I think he just slipped and forgot his manners. It was a traumatic, devastating loss.

The problem was, there was still one more game to be played, but I withdrew from the event on the spot. If I had some sort of support team, like many if not most of the players they could have rallied my spirit, but I'm a lone wolf.

I reckoned that a strong tournament on my part brought to a crashing halt by fleeting overconfidence was a fine note to prepare me for the World Open a few weeks off in the distance. Losses are what we learn from, not victory's. If I blow a money game at the World Open, it won't be because of letting up in a "won" position. I listened to a lecture at "chesslectures.com" in which the strong master delivering it described several situations he had been in almost identical to my debacle.

I calmed my nerves with some post event beers and huge bourbon and waters washing some more fine Braums chow down.

The next morning the hotel was empty of chessplayers after 4 days of constant battles over the board and sometimes between the players and their spouses who were tired of swimming with the kids and ready to go.

For me, it was time to pack and head to a rest day, well deserved in Thackerville Oklahomas "Winstar" casino.

Little did I know I'd be fighting off the desperate amorous attempts of a female casino employee, obviously turned on by my rustic charms. More about that next time. Urp.



06/03/11


When I left off last time, I was in a Days Inn located in Gainesville Texas (look it up if you don't know where that is) being forced top hit the road at 11:00 am, having been denied the customary extension to my checkout.

Now there are extensions and there are extensions. A tax extension will cost you $$$ (interest).

Though undoubtedly appealing to pee wee's like you, A penis extension offer is likely a scam. An extension to ones checkout time is the fundamental indication of whether or not the staff really gives a shit about whether you patronize their establishment again.

My score at requesting extensions is something like 150 yes and a mere 3 no. That's right. Almost no hotel or motel outfit says no if you hit them up at the right time with the right tone of voice and haven't made too big a monkey out of yourself during your visit.

Professional establishments not only expect it, they work with your future request when setting policy. The Stratosphere Hotel in Vegas will allow folks with afternoon flights to pay a partial days stay fee to keep their room until 5:00 pm. They'd rather have you sitting at their tables than on some uncomfortable bench at the airport.

When I asked the desk manager at the Winstar Casino a few days ago for an extension (of course I NEVER do this in person...think about my appearance) she hesitated just a second or two as if flipping through a card file of bookings before giving a sunny, warm "yes Mr. Irwin!". They probably at one point rolled back the noon checkout time to 11:00 am so they could grant people like me an extension with a smile as if they really care.

A few places in sought after resort areas will print "checkout time 11:00 am..no exceptions!" on their guest services bulletin, but usually they will give it to you anyway. Of course if you're the sort who complains about smelly carpets in a haughty, overloud manor or if you travel with a crew of beer monsters, bellowing at in-jokes and slapping each others backs alot and hugging frequently while bombed, tossing cans around the grounds and belching like a pig or if you pay in cash and have lots of prison tattoo work, you probably wont have the luck I have had over the years getting extensions.

Anyway, the bitch at the Days Inn wouldn't grant me a holy fucking extension. Screw 'em. I got up, drank a couple cups of their shit room coffee that squirts out of one of those by the cup brew makers and tried to shit out the chinese food from the night before. After showering I gazed in the mirror and could tell from several feet away that my eyes were bloodshot. Screw 'em.

I put that place behind me and made it about 50 miles before stopping at a Love's travel plaza for some real coffee in decent quantity. If you want to be efficient about utilizing the caffeine in your coffee, drink it as you drive rather than an hour before when you're still at the motel.
I gassed up a bit south of Oklahoma city. It was a nice clear day with temperature in the 80's. When I climbed back in the Charger I looked at my eyes again in the rearview mirror. Yep..still red. I needed some real goddamned sleep.

Luckily the cutoff to Stillwater takes you around the city center. It was a fairly pleasant drive gazing at the low rolling yellow-green hills. I listened to Limbaugh rip into Obama. No music. I began to mentally

06/01/11

So there I was, trudging along with the rest of the rush hour I-35 South traffic just a half hour from home after my chess week away in Oklahoma. After having my nerve checked over the board by a 10 year old genius, a Grandmaster from Turkey, a flirty waitress at a casino and an epic, over the top memory malfunction that almost jeopardized the whole trip, some jackass in a grey Ford truck ( brand new as if he was a student and Daddy bought it for him) was so close on my bumper we might have swapped paint.

It being that particular time of day that traffic is heaviest, there was no way I could pull over into the next lane to let him by, thereby emasculating myself in front of the world even if I wanted to. I gave my brake pedal a quick tap to try to signal the guy that he was right up my fucking ass and that I wasn't going to pull over, in fact we might all be called upon to slow down or stop...and he should be prepared.

9 out of 10 drivers will back off or pull around you blaring on the horn giving you the finger. This green horn was the 1 out of 10 who take the ol' brake-tap as an insult, a sign of my disrespecting him. Fueled perhaps by a youth spent listening to too many wigger horseshit rap cd's or perhaps due to him simply always getting his way, he stomped on his accelerator on got right...on...my..fucking...Chargers...black ass. I'll give him this, I've never...ever had another driver that close to my tail. This went on long enough so that most of the cars around us slowed down, changed lanes and purely got the fuck out of the way of the likely collision.

So, what do you think I did? Pull over for him? speed up? Tap on the brakes again? Gradually slow down?

What would you have done? I know this...if my Wife was in the vehicle she would've been screeching so loud at me I probably would have spun out of control.

For me, it was just a continuation of the weeks man to man competition, the war of ego's, strategy, brute force and swagger, old salts versus young snots. More on this "duel" later.

I know many of you may get sick of reading about my pomp and egghead ways. Nothing I can do about that. I do try to leaven the bragging with some occasional examples of outrageous absent-minded-professor like imbecility. With gusto I shall reveal here that even though as a chessplayer I planned everything I'd take on the trip down to the last opening manual with psychotic relish. Provisions were acquired considering the slightest nuances of the tournament schedule. I was proud of myself, covering each prospective hole in my opening repertoire.

Everything was going great until I was leaving the Asian buffet with my darling wife on Wednesday night about 7:00 pm. What brought my munitions officer strut to a screeching stumble on my ass was the sudden realization of the fact that...it WAS 7:00 PM on WEDNESDAY night!! I was supposed to be in Gainesville Tx checking into a Days inn, not making my final checklist checkoff for the next day.

Man, I flipped for awhile. We drove home and Marla called the motel to make sure they had a 24 hour desk and that they wouldn't sell my room out from under me. With affirmative replies on both counts, we calculated that I could be up there by 2:00 or 3:00 am. Marla pointed out that I'd get to miss out on Ft. Worth traffic. I was a bit worried in a vague way and seriously regretted eating a big meal before taking the wheel, but what the hell are you gonna do? I was so sheepish for about an hour there you enemies reading this to keep tabs on me would have really gotten off. Yunno; the big chessplayer, the IQ 142, the cum laude graduate, covering a zillion details ahead of time and missing what day of the week it was.
I can laugh at myself looking back. Ha ha hee hee.

Thanks to the fact that I had already done everything for my trip except put the rags in my bags, I was under way by 7:45 believe it or not. I had gotten cash, beer, whiskey, chess books, toiletries, a gigantic can of nuts, case of water, etc taken care of a day ahead of time.

My paranoid ways of being a day ahead served a purpose.

Another concern was the weather. Tornado's had just passed through the area I'd be staying in that night near the OK-TX border. The tournament organizers in Stillwater weren't concerned. Indeed, when I was in town I never heard a mention of this particular storm, the locals are just frigging used to it.

There's a time for handclapping and jaw-jacking and playing tourist and wearing funny hats and making fart jokes and all...and then there are times when it's just get in the goddamn car and drive, no fooling around or horseshit or even happy music. I drove listening to talk radio with a sober look on my face. Traffic was light. The disaster weather had perhaps cleared the roads of tourist traffic. Making good time I stopped once in Hillsboro Tx for coffee and not again until Denton Tx., about 30 miles out of Gainesville. At A Phillips 66 truckstop I alighted a rather clean stool and blew a few farts that had built up on the stoic drive. I arrived at a jam-packed motel at 2:15 am precisely.

The cow behind the front desk didn't exactly display Texas hospitality when she refused my request for an extended checkout. It rarely happens. Cumb dunt. I needed some alcohol and relaxation in the worst way. Or was it the best? I already had realized that in the future I might choose to make that drive at night just like I did.Only a handful of hardcore travelers mopping the sweat off in truckstop mensroom whore baths.

I needed to get up at 9:30, didn't need a hangover, so I drank exactly 5 beers and had 2 bourbon and waters and got to sleep at 5:00 am after watching ESPN and some late night poker. The plan worked. I had survived for that day.

05/24/11

I watched all the tornado coverage on the weather channel last night with special interest. Shit, I'm heading up to Stillwater Ok. to play in a big chess tournament this weekend. I hope I don't pull up to the hotel it's being held in and see a pile of rubble. I wonder if Quality inn would refund me if that's the case? If I find out in time i'll stop half way and play at an event being held in Dallas. I just emailed the event director and told him to keep me posted if the have to move the shindig to a red cross ward.

I'm much more paranoid about snow and ice and shitty, crowded concert venue conditions than tornadoes. I rolled over and went back to sleep during an L.A. earthquake. I handled the Mt. Saint Helens eruption in stride. Watching the destruction in Joplin made me a bit nervous though.
You may ask...why am I driving past an event in Dallas to go to one in Ok?

The extra gas cost is made up for by a lower hotel and food factor. The thing that pisses me off about the Dallas tourney is the fact that their event requires me to play in a pissant "reserve" section wherein the best people are at my level. In Ok at the North American Fide open (Fide is the world chess federation) I'm choosing to play in it's an all play all event..one big section..which is what I grew up on. I'll probably play a couple experts and a master like last year and mow down a few lower rated rubes too.

I need to add, the Ok players made me feel really at home last year. The kid factor is there, but not dominant. I'll play maybe one or two whereas it could be like a junior scholastic event in Dallas with me taking on all the little jerkoff talents with their coaches and support systems.

This event is my main practice for the World Open coming up later this summer. In that extravaganza I could win up to $18,000 playing exclusively against people in my rating class. Shit, for that kind of money I'll forego playing good players for that tournament.

I've been studying chess to a frigging fault the last month or so. I've never been better prepared. I bought a copy of the library chess calculation book that sent me into an over-the-board meltdown in a San Antonio event a few years ago. Yep, I've finally conquered it. I've been playing 40-50 games at all times on Gameknot letting my opening repertoire really sink in.

My 100 pussyass golfswing's per night has been buffed up to 250. Urp. I'm serious about having the tournament of my life at the World open and am ready for the dress rehearsal in Stillwater. Look out all you pencilneck geek farmhand chess hayseeds. I've got blood in my eye and a burr in my fanny.

05/21/11

Oh shit, it must be the rapture. Our refrigerator stopped working Thursday evening and I almost had to drink warm beer later that night. Wait, if it were the rapture, it would have stopped today the 21st I think; but fuck, why in the hell would it be a sign of the end of days and the emptying of the graveyards as the living faithful and the souls of the dead are blasted upwards (??...is heaven upwards?) to paradise and an afterlife of their souls (they won't have their earthly bodies) singing praise to gods greatness forever and ever, whilst the rest of us on earth are left to deal with 666 and his cronies (666 can't be Bin Laden after all, how's about the IMF pervert, or the Pres. who sold out Israel exactly one..or was it two days before the rapture..if that's what it is??).

On Thursday night we wound up having a perhaps final carnal feast as we had to cook up frozen goods that wouldn't wedge into our meager coolers. Gazing outside now in the very wee hours, I don't perceive anything as being different. I didn't hear Gideon's trumpet..just some deafening bass thump from some morons truck. I almost can't wait to hear the sappy, insulting excuses the devotees who vouched for this prophecy day's legitimacy. Imagine how many people spent money, sending it to nutjob cult churches who were eager to put folks funds to use.

Fact is, the real snaperoo hoax is only on the horizon; even more kooks and followers of holy, double secret prophecies of ancient, dead civilizations (why are they considered worthy authorities if they couldn't even survive?) are already prepared to accept your credit card to get you up to speed on the 2012 end of time.

Fuck, we already blew our money on a burned out fridge part.

We live next to a graveyard of course, so I'd better put some shoes on and investigate to see if anything holy has occurred. UUrrpp...imagine a Three Stooges short featuring the boys digging graves in a cemetery on rapture day and getting the be-jesus scared out of them by corpses floating up out of the ground to the sky?? "Hey Moe... Hey Larry!! Whoop whoop whoop whoop..."

05/17/11
As a form of exercise and golf technique practice, I've decided to take 100 golf swings at least per day. Intimidated by the bugs and the heat, I've declared to my better half that I intend to roll the furniture back and take my swings in the living room. Hey, I told her, the only thing I could hit is the overhead ceiling fan; shit, I'm not gonna follow through to the point of smacking it. She gave her reluctant consent, like a TV sitcom spouse who knows better and wants me to experience the pain of being wrong. What do you think? Am I gonna bust anything? Huh?
Nutty the cat ate so much catnip tonight he knocked over some plants in a window trying to get to some bugs through the glass. He really wasn't freaking out much differently than quite a few loaded drunks and druggies who walk upright I've known. Urp. He did feel ashamed after I had to shoo him away and inadvertently laughed at him. I made it up to him whereas I'd just laugh at some stoner walking into a clear patio door.
A baseball hero of mine from childhood died today: Harmon Killebrew. He was an incredible slugger. During the 10 years or so Elvis and I played video baseball we had him on a couple of our teams. As I reminded El today, we had a "kill-a-brew" rule that when Harmon cracked a homer you had to empty your glass. Shit, a few times he sent so many over the fence that we got too groggled and later admitted to each other were secretly hoping for a flyout or a timid single. Believe it or not, he was an Oregonian. He overcame that handicap (hell, he was from Eastern Oregon..not Snoreland) in grand style. RIP man.
Now come the Texas sized shots!!

05/14/11
It was a fairly decent week. No sandbags piled up by the local river, no tornado's around here. The library has been bulging with new books I want to read. That's a nice change of pace. I'm almost done with the Frank Brady Bobby Fischer "Endgame" bio. I recommend it to my chess cronies but even more so to interested non-chessplayers. There's no chess content, you needn't know anything about the game. The author needed to walk a fine line between praising Fischer the young genius when necessary and Fischer the elder, a bullheaded Jewish-anti-semitic kook, who cackled on live radio on 9/11 and called for more buildings to fall. He lead a fascinating life ranging from 5 star hotels and telegrams from a President to living in the same bum haven L.A. skidrow digs Bukowski was so familiar with.

I beat a very, very good chess player online in a slow correspondence game in 8 moves this week. It's an old trap I won a sweet final round tournament game with when I was 12 years old. The guy back then was a real smartass. He came unglued when he lost. My opponent this week handled it with dignity...well, as much as you can huck out there losing in 8 moves. I only recently re-added this opening to my repertoire for my big summer tournaments. So far I love it.

Another good practice tonight. I've written a total of 5 brand new songs music wise in a couple months. The last couple seem particularly full of zip. My new metal guitar not only looks great, I don't need a distortion unit to get a ballsy sound. I was enjoying the practice so much I spontaneously ripped my ear protection headphones off to hear my lovely compositions bareback. I try to do that on stage for dramatic purposes. No drama at play in our living room practice; just some great fresh songs to shutup anybody who might think we're gonna coast on our laurels like many other veteran combos. Oh yeah, a bad book warning. I got a chapter or so into a book that was so poorly written I had to get off of my reading perch and fire up the computer to see what Amazon readers thought about the piece of shit. About 40% of folks hated it. One reviewer nailed it: great subject, horrible writer. I have to wonder who penned the opposing 40% rave reviews...relatives of the writer? The publishers promo crew? The book is "The Mad Ones" by Tom Folsom. Man, I really wanted to read this book about gangster Crazy Joey Gallo. I guarantee you it's poorly organized, clearly not proofread and not worth $1 to me. Good thing it's a library book. I suggest budding writers get a copy from their library and see how not to write a book. I feel a bit bad for the writer, but shit, he's working with a huge publisher. I bet he's living a swinging life in NYC as a hip writer. Fuck 'em.

05/09/11
I'm at the city library in the quiet room. I'm supposed to be studying an accounting book or working on my fiction book, but I'm still a bit rattled from the drive over here. I got trapped behind a do-gooder driver who both drove 15 mph under the limit and compounding his idiocy by slowing down to wave people in front of us, making me suffer through some long red lights.

Gazing at that grinning imbecile in his frigging SUV sideview mirror put me in the worst frame of mind, that mood in which I realize that for awhile the humanoid faces I see are going to disgust me big time.

I don't like their features, their hairdo's and particularly I am suspicious of the big plans they have that they're racing somewhere to fulfill. There is rarely anything in this burg that is more important happening than my simple existence and daily creations, ranging from this diary entry to my brackish bowel movements. What's happening tonight?? Me..or maybe me and you if you're visiting. Don't count on you being part of the equation unless you come prepared to hoist your end.

I enjoy my tinted car windows and only wish they were mandatory for others; really heavy, dark tints so I can traverse about the town without having to be horrified by the mugs of John Q. Dumbass and his ilk.

I'm starting to feel a bit better. I removed my glasses and can't even focus on the features of the handful of broads in here studying with their energy drinks and their uniform hair and flip-flops and all.

Hey, drink idea. At a Mexican restaurant working on my 2nd margarita yesterday I realized how the mix was a lot like the applesauce I ate a couple weeks ago. What's to stop us from mixing tequila with our applesauce..?? HHmm? Ever try it?

Food with booze in the same vessel. How about peanuts in beer glasses? Whiskey and corn flakes? Does that really work? Booze coleslaw dressing? Any ideas?
Let us vow to eat our booze and thereby usher in the final apocalypse. .


05/05/11

I rested my mind for a couple days only after a rather early annual furlough from work a week ago. Mental idleness can turn your...er, MY brain to mush if its not preceded by some stimulation. I immediately dove into chess study, having 3 big tournaments this summer including the frigging "World open". I located and began wading through a dull (aren't they all by nature?) accounting book as a review of ancient college study. I'll be taking a serious tax prep course in order to qualify for a quantum leap at work. With my well over 10 years of data entry experience and a degree and accounting and tax prep I'll be working much more of the year and earning a fuckload more. Lucky thing I'll still be able to wear sweat pants to work and look like the bearded phoney homeless beggars.

On the book front, I still have a finished book that we need to make last second corrections to and my first fictional work which is well along.
Whats that? Oh, we've been practicing 4 brand new R.V. songs for a new full length cd. Tonight I woke from my nap after the driving range and trotted over to my faithful recorder, guitar/pedal arrangement and nailed a 5th. Late summer we are planning to debut the 6 person power lineup.

Today's sermonette is inspired by the frequent nasty comments I read and hear about aging white rock stars. Now of course, they never state out loud WHITE rock stars, but they never criticize blacks no matter how old they are for continuing to play. If I'm missing out, please rub my nose in it.

What the shit do you expect guys who've done nothing else all their lives to do? Even if they make our ears and abdomens hurt often, they consider themselves "artists"; if you take an artists art away, what do they have left? It's like the theme from the great movie "The Wrestler".
I'm damn sure of one thing; even at the age of 75 most white aging rockers are cooler than the dipshits from the media who lipoff about them, no matter their age. They're just frustrated hacks who NEVER had it for five minutes.

I've never been a fan of over hyped "hot" bands; the concept of "buzz" nauseates me. Go ahead and lap it up. Give me some established longterm, proven talent, some dude pushing 60 or 70 working his ass off to make the same handful of ancient hits sound fresh, white or black or what have you. Coe. Blowfly. Tom Jones. The Dolls. The Stones. ACDC. Urp.

05/02/11
A Texas triple shot to the death of that fucking scumbag Bin Laden. Bottoms up. Urrppp.

The coverage of the event has been pretty silly at times and I'm just the guy to make a few points that can't be made by major media sources, no matter how much their employees might like to.

The most obvious contradiction has been commented on; that would be Sec. of State Clinton trying to sell the public on a claim that the Pakistani's helped us with this mission. Yeah, sure.....what a load of camel manure.
A total naive moron might believe that, whereas a scheming hater of the U.S. would pretend to be shocked at our not tipping off the Paki's ahead of time.

The story wasn't 20 minutes old last night when for research purposes I hit the internet..one of my chess discussion sites with a huge international audience. I claimed out loud to Marla that already I'd be able to spot claims that our actions were "illegal" and that there was actually a conspiracy at hand, that we had faked the story somehow.

As far as the international haters go, you can quickly sniff them out even though they may use very smooth, Euro style rhetoric. The key phrase to look for is "international laaw". Almost without exception, internet geniuses citing international law are what Ayn Rand referred to simply as "collectivists". I've made minimal attempts to exchange thoughts with several of 'em over the years. They actually believe we should all clearly be consulting U.N. guidelines exclusively in matters of foreign policy. Of course, these are the same folks who won't be happy until we dismantel our country and our evil wealth and share it with the rest of the world. Don't believe me?? Are you at the right site?? It didn't start with U.N. baloney about global warming. We are clearly at odds with the U.N. collectivists and have been for a long time.

I checked for quotations from Republican leaders to see who was willing to giving due credit to Pres. Obama for pulling off this mission and for 1) not warning the Paki's and for 2) not trying very hard to capture the son of a bitch.

I saw some conservative partisan Repub's bitching that Obama didn't credit Bush in his initial spiel. Fact is, lots of the Repub's and Tea party leaders didn't credit Obama..at least in the statements I read.

Hey, for a few days I'm for once applauding my President and who knows..I might even knock back a blast in his honor. If he cuts off our aid to Pakistan in the near future, shit..I'll guzzle a double shot to him.

Now the conspiracy dumbasses. Goddamn, I know good and well many of you are in this category, since it's a topical, modern way of looking at things, as prevalent as reality TV shows to wallow in the conspiracy game. Hell's bells, many of you were raised on fantasy horseshit games and Sims scenarios (yeah, I'm a big Sims fan too) and all the TV double secret government agency shows that are almost as popular as reality shows.
The conundrum is, I don't advocate taking stuff at face value you are confronted with from the media. I'm fucking AGAINST that, but so many of you don't seem to know how to formulate questions and some sort of rational for separating the horseshit from the sweet potato's. I'm not the only voice railing against the insanity of assuming everythings a conspiracy. The Southpark guys understanding. Penn & Teller do their bit to try to educate you with their "Bullshit" show.

At work last week I got to talking to a guy who graduated from the super conservative Texas A&M. He's a church goer and a military vet. I had assumed he was the last guy who was going to get sucked into Alex Jones type bullshit. But, nope. He's just the right age...late 20's. He's into fantasy games and conspiracy theories in equal doses.

I didn't want to make a big argument at work. I simply told him, hey...can you at least pledge not to have any children until you learn how to tell the difference...using concepts worked up in your brain about when to suspect our politicians and media of conspiracy and when to keep your yap shut..??? Huh?? Please??
How about the rest of you??



04/25/11

I would rather spend a day at the mall with Mother..
I would rather attend an evening of whiteboy rap..
I would rather go through 10 job interviews sporting a suit and tie..
I would rather attend a hippie culture-fest..or a Michael Moore film festival
I would rather sit in a corner bound and gagged, blindfolded with ants crawling on me..
I would rather be beaten, bound and gagged, injected with cold or influenza germs and left facedown in a dogrun..
I'd rather eat sprouts, tofu and drink micro-spew wheat beer for a week..
I would rather deliver a lecture on the shame and evil of drinking to a roomful of evangelical church women who have recently separated from abusive drunk husbands..with electrodes stinging my body each time their suspicions began to raise I wasn't being sincere
I would rather be bound, mocked and kicked by a group of ex coworkers specially chosen for their hatred for me..with my pants yanked down around my ankles and hair and beard on fire...
...than watch that stinking snob parade this Friday.
I never gave a rats ass about Diana or Jacki-O for that matter for five minutes..dead or alive. I do understand why some natives from the U.K. will be glued to their TV's, er..females that is..or even a guy being pressured by his woman who watches it with a sense of humor....ok. Hey, if you're a pussywhipped dude and you begin weeping from the pain of watching with your main squeeze and run out of the room screaming or curl up into a fetal position, I'll consider you've learned your lesson and deserve no further punishment. I prescribe 10 "Married with Children" episodes of your choice for remedial therapy however.
If you watch the event with your friends with the express purpose of shouting obscenities at the screen, drunk, loaded or simply pissed off...good for you.
I don't suggest you watch it alone even for research purposes unless you're a confirmed cynic of many years. If you enter your local bar and see the regular crowd gazing respectfully at the screen in the corner this Friday during the telecast, either jump on the bar and protest immediately, or flee and never darken that inn's doorway again.
If you create a piece of home made apparel protesting the wedding's stupidity and wear it to work Friday..you are blessed. I will sing your praises from barstools forever...

04/18/11
With company in attendance last night, I drank so damn much beer and whiskey I could still hear it sloshing around at noon today. Seriously. Tonight we ate at an Asian buffet with Mr. and Mrs. Elvis. Since she has to watch her nutritional intake closely (being with child) we go there due to their apparent commitment to not using MSG. There's even a big sign and plaque stating this by the cash register. I wanted to load up food wise for the likely overtime coming up this week. Yeah, I could live off of fat for probably a month, but I still fool myself into thinking I need to eat.

I just finished off a fine book that seems quite relevant to our times. It's a bio of President Polk, a fellow who achieved during his administration all 4 of the stated goals he campaigned on. Not only that, he stuck to his pledge of being a one term President.

The author Robert W. Merry points out that Polk worked all but 5 days during the first couple years of his single term. The last couple years he only moved farther than a mile from the white house once. Rather than whine about it, he noted in his diary that future Presidents should be expected to work a similar schedule or in his view they would be letting the country down.

Many revisionists like to smear Polk as being a slimeball who fomented a war with a weak, defenseless, blameless nation (Mexico ) to fulfill his evil goals of conquest. Even Sam Clemens and U.S. Grant, two hero's of mine held that opinion. The author holds that while he was indeed eager to add California, Texas, Oregon and New Mexico to the union, there isn't any evidence to show that he actually did anything but respond to Mexico, which was an extremely dysfunctional nation at the time. It's like that old bit about if a puny little drunk takes a swing at you down at the bar, if you knock him on his ass, are you being a bully?? Quite a few pacifists would want you to turn the other cheek. I say balls to that.
Expanding our nation was extremely popular with the public at the time.

The author gives an example from an Al Gore speech in which Polk is smeared to demonstrate how it is open season on him right now, but frankly, when the likes of Gore is attacking a figure from history or our time I tend to assume the frickin' blowhard is just spewing nonsense again. Al Gores enemy is quite often my friend.

I'm more of a Lincoln and Washington guy, but Polk deserves respect for living up to his word to the voters 100% Even if you disagree with the man, you should respect that and his work ethic was something to behold. Urp. Yeah, I'd prefer a 2 day week for myself, but if you're gonna lead our country you need to buckle your seatbelt and work your ass off. No lollygagging should be tolerated.
Unlike the un-elected, but bigmouthed first lady we now are being treated to, Mrs. Polk supported her man behind the scenes and kept her damn yap shut. I think we'd be best off going back to that sort of set up again. First ladies or first men should be out of the picture in the same way you don't bring your fart wrangling old man or your cow-ass fishwife to your job. Am I right?


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