I put these posts up
because I like to hear the sound of my own voice. I enjoy the music. I am
interested in things that mean jack shit to others. The feeling is mutual.
Between doctors and my chemo treatments and
chores and range time, I do not look at other blogs. They never change
their tune: like a short talk topic on a long tape loop, it comes and goes like
a hula hoop. I am not in a constantly agitated state, suggested by the various
blogs, and I do not spend time pecking out significant messages warning
the world of its decay and impending doom. No outrage or indignation here, just resignation and cynicism; I have seen much and I say little about what I have seen.
Don't spend any time looking for messages in the music. Just figure, you came
for a visit and that's what I had on the box.
Be patient and polite. read through this most excellent post. The dog story has been verified by a panel of international experts.
I value my time so I don't cruise the blogs. I can do without all the clever people offering suggestions on how I should think. I also don't agonize on putting up posts; the one or two readers I have already know what the weather is and the folks that stumble on the site 'cause they can't type, or want soup recipes, they can always go to the archives and read all about it. Or they can go away. Mind over matter: I don't mind, and it don't matter.
Here's something I have learned about blogging:
The most important tasks of the aspiring blogger are: (1) blog daily; (2) link headlines; (3) excrete outrage - vainly, and repetitiously; (4) throw on some boobs; (5) don't drink, and don't die; (6) use post titles that contain buzz words to attract strangers;
Learned what not to do, is what I learned. Me, I just putter along, posting stuff that I get a kick out of. I'd rather be putting my M1 together or going to the range with some heavy metal. Which is what I'm gonna do as soon as the ink dries on this post.
A guy is driving around the back woods of Montana and he sees a sign in front of a broken down shanty-style house: Talking Dog For Sale
He rings the bell and the owner appears and tells him the dog is in the backyard.
The guy goes into the backyard and sees a nice looking Labrador Retriever sitting there.
"You talk?" he asks.
"Yep," the Lab replies.
After the guy recovers from the shock of hearing a dog talk, he says "So, what's your story?"
The Lab looks up and says, "Well, I discovered that I could talk when I was pretty young. I wanted to help the government, so I told the CIA. In no time at all they had me jetting from country to country, sitting in rooms with spies and world leaders, because no one figured a dog would be eavesdropping.
"I was one of their most valuable spies for eight years running. But the jetting around really tired me out, and I knew I wasn't getting any younger so I decided to settle down. I signed up for a job at the airport to do some undercover security, wandering near suspicious characters and listening in. I uncovered some incredible dealings and was awarded a batch of medals.
"I got married, had a mess of puppies, and now I'm just retired."
The guy is amazed. He goes back in and asks the owner what he wants for the dog.
"Ten dollars," the guy says.
"Ten dollars? This dog is amazing! Why on earth are you selling him so cheap?"
"Because he's a liar. He never did any of that shit."
The Brocker's old high school boyfriend races cars for fun.
Every time I hear this tune I think of him, haw haw:
Back in the day they knew how to style a ride. All the cars in the 50s had sweet lines. No angles, no aerodynamic horseshit, just heavy metal and horsepower. You hit a deer with one a them and the deer died and you could pound out the minor dents at home.
Flathead V8s. Ah, no other sound like one winding out at 6 grand.
I omitted Beach Boys, Deuce Coupe, Jan & Dean, bubble gum music.
I am not sweet on Fords, but this is a nice song. And Henry Ford is a Brother. So was Ransom Olds for that matter.
Detroit made, when that meant something. Gordy Howe and the Redwings, the Motown Sound, all the cars that mattered.
Blues for Friday. Figured you got through the week OK without my help.
Thinking about the life I have lived so far, I carry few regrets and those are more about people I have hurt rather than bad decisions I have made. There's a whole lot in life I don't care much about, but I am pretty
well centered in my own spirituality and the older I get I allow that there's
probably about 23 different ways to get into Heaven. "Everybody's got their own
way to butter their bread" as my father would say; "Don't trust the priests,
son, all they got a key to is the shithouse". And besides, as I
get older I am paying more attention to the evidence and less to the
arguments.
When I see some of
these punks running their game I want to say “Kid, I ran with bikers, shot junk,
robbed banks. My hands have taken lives and saved lives. I worked with the Billy
Graham Crusade, I got a million miles of highway under my ass. I slept with dogs
and danced with angels. I got screwdrivers older than you, what are ya gonna
show me, uh?”
I have had a lot of joys too, and if I could get in the time machine, go back, I would not change anything. Except for the part about hurting people.
There are a lot of places I have no desire to revisit. I do "remember when" and once was enough.
Yeah, we all used to be bullet-proof. Time has a way of wearing things down, of dulling the blade, so to speak.
Had some loves, and lost some loves. Never got to the point, I wanted to top myself.
My father told me "Son, never lay down with a woman that has more troubles than you." There's a couple times, I shoulda listened.
Oh my God it's Monday doesn't mean anything to me. I worked shiftwork, 12 hours day or night and staggered days so if it was Monday or Thursday or a holiday, it was all the same to me. The only day I cared about was Pay Day.
I do like the harmonica (which I consider to be the poor man's accordion) and I like the blues, so I figured why not post something which contains both? No heavy lifting here folks, merely connect the dots.
Uh? You don't see any dots? Funny, I see 'em all over the place: conspiracy theorists and survivalist commandos and IRS and NSA notwithstanding. The screensaver in my brain is set to shuffle.
Here's some a my homeboys:
I had an interesting experience with Charlie's piano player one time back in the bad old days; statute of limitations has run out but it's still none a yer business. I'm just sayin' is all.
Sittin' on top of the world. Yeah, that's me, that's the way I roll.
I'm not here to teach or preach, deny, defy, or simplify. I am not dispensing words of wisdom. Sometimes I say something wise or clever but usually by accident. If you came here to find out how to live your life you are looking in the wrong place. A person can compile a list of rules and regulations for living, hyper-vigilant and in excruciating detail. Politically correct personality modifications, behavioral patterns that are appropriate for social situations. Veneer. Personality rather than character. Character is a set of values, morals, passions and desires. Building blocks for the rest of life.
How To Live Life is an Inside Job. Get a guidebook (I use the Bible) and get up off the couch, get out there and live. Won't get any hay in the barn by standing around talking, and you won't learn much about Life reading blogs. You got to live your way into better thinking.
There are a lot of blog sites and most of them fall into categories based on their style:
West Coast: Out there they have mastered the shot across the bow with a smile. East of the Cascades/Sierra Nevada ranges people get offended by the way West Coasters say things like:
“Hey, nice shoes -- NOT -- hahahahahaha”
(That means, “I like you…your shoes are goofy, but I like you.”)
(Silence means “what an effing freak, I hope he never calls again”.)
That’s West Coast communication. At first thought to be only in Cali, turns out it runs the length of the Western seaboard — mostly for urban types, I might add.
East Coast: They say stuff like:
“Oh look, those shoes again”.
(Means: “never wear those shoes again if you want to keep your job”.)
This lifted off the pages of The Washington Rebel some months ago, before it imploded. The sophistry and polemical discussion on that blog site reached critical mass:
I doubt the efficacy of teaching, though it's noble indeed to attempt it. Witness the enormous learning, wit, and insight of so many wonderful bloggers whose voices can now be heard. Still, as entertaining as their efforts are, it seems to me that the effect of their work in defeating the liberal, grifter enemy is marginal. Colonel B. Bunny
That happens on a lot of sites, especially the ones that Take Themselves Oh So Seriously.
When you get so many bloggers saying the same thing back and forth to each other you get a feedback loop. Like looking at the girl on the Morton Salt container, she's carrying a Morton Salt container with a picture of a girl carrying a Morton Salt container, with a picture of ...
I would add,
Indeed, there is no result for the efforts at all, merely academic exercise, pedantic pontificating and preaching to the choir: "See how clever I am?"
The commenters think the sun shines out their ass; they can do better than the guy that created the blog and they gonna show us, by God.
The shoe fits me too so I gotta wear it. But I don't have to take it too damn seriously. Besides, if you can't laugh at other people, who can you laugh at, eh?
I first posted this back in August 2011. That's the way I saw it then. Shifting the paradigm. I see what's going on now, more of the same old malarkey. I wonder what these two woulda done. And they are, ahem, easy on the eyes.
OK, so I am not a political genius. Actually, I have eschewed the farce that donkeys and elephants are acting out. I would not know GNP if it hit me in the ass. But ... however ...on the other hand (I love these qualifiers) I will toss out my 2¢ worth on the upcoming elections.
For POTUS we have had a redneck governor who can't keep his lumber in his pants, we have suffered a two-bit community organizer whose only claim to fame seems to be his race, in the past we have endured a peanut farmer softer than a sneaker full of shit, so forth, so on. The last good one was the one not afraid to drop some bombs. It is time to bump it up a notch, to get way outside the envelope. What do we have to lose?
Ahem, I suggest we embrace a prez/VP team of the following:
Yeah, she runs hot.
Bachmann
With the Good Old Boys and some fat money backing them up we might be able, pull out of the hole we are in. They would be up front, enacting the draconian financial policies needed to get the economy under control. They can take the hits.
Need oil? Drill. Too much staff, too many committees? Yer outta here. Fly a couple hundred to Europe for wine and cheese? Nope, it'll be Milwaukee for beer and brats. Problems with Putin or any other posturing leaders? Um, you boys sit here, let me talk to your wife.
Yeah, yeah, gimme some flak. I'm nuts. Uh, yeah. How many a you guys are married, or chased after dames, or remember your mommas?
Let me draw your attention to this picture, titled Wisdom and Strength. Note the guy, sleeping. What's she got in her right hand, uh?
What is important is to realize that whatever we have been doing is not working.
Desperate times require drastic measures. Sounds melodramatic, uh?
Military coup, third party takeover, states seceding from the ailing Union? Foreign invasion? Nuclear meltdown, EMPs, Aliens fro outer space?
Folks, something drastic must happen or we will continue sliding down the slippery slope to mediocrity and third-world ruin.
