morongo valley, ca

You can only live in Phoenix for so long until you hear about and are drawn toward Morongo Valley, California.

sugar smacks

When Rodeo Clowns Go Bad
I bought my first box of Sugar Smacks from Dan Standard at the Gilbert Liberty Grocery and Wholesale on South Gilbert Road on Saturday. I was hankerin' for a sugar coated toasted wheat puff cereal to go with some cactus berries I'd culled from the irrigation trough behind the garage I've been living in. Usually the chickens skim these berries before I even see 'em so I was pretty happy to get my hands on a few.
You see, they're psychedelic and a handful in the morning will keep you tripping through the day - for free.
So I got a few and ate 'em. And then, and only then, I realized that clowns were not only running our government but posing for pictures pasted on the front of otherwise conservative oriented cereal boxes. After a little more digging, I learned these were mostly retired Rodeo Clowns. The toughest, meanest poly-drub abusing group of clowns since the donkey-loving, mini-bike, go-cart Shriners.
As I searched through the box of wheat puffs looking for the listening device, I realized that the security system I was installing in my new Nissan Titan wasn't designed to protect me so much as to keep constant track of my whereabouts.
And to think it all started with a box of sugared wheat puff cereal.

the evolution of killing an arab - three cure songs

Jumping Someone Else's Train

Killing An Arab

Play For Today

bats

A bat is beautifully soft and silky; I do not know any creature that is pleasanter to the touch or is more grateful for caressings, if offered in the right spirit. I know all about these coleoptera, because our great cave, three miles below Hannibal, was multitudinously stocked with them, and often I brought them home to amuse my mother with. It was easy to manage if it was a school day, because then I had ostensibly been to school and hadn't any bats. She was not a suspicious person, but full of trust and confidence; and when I said, "There's something in my coat pocket for you," she would put her hand in. But she always took it out again, herself; I didn't have to tell her. It was remarkable, the way she couldn't learn to like private bats. The more experience she had, the more she could not change her views.

I think she was never in the cave in her life; but everybody else wentthere. Many excursion parties came from considerable distances up and down the river to visit the cave. It was miles in extent and was a tangled wilderness of narrow and lofty clefts and passages. It was an easy place to get lost in; anybody could do it--including the bats. I got lost in it myself, along with a lady, and our last candle burned down to almost nothing before we glimpsed the search party's lights winding about in the distance.

"Injun Joe," the half-breed, got lost in there once, and would have starved to death if the bats had run short. But there was no chance of that; there were myriads of them. He told me all his story. In the book called Tom Sawyer I starved him entirely to death in the cave, but that was in the interest of art; it never happened. "General" Gaines, who was our first town drunkard before Jimmy Finn got the place, was lost in there for the space of a week, and finally pushed his handkerchief out of a hole in a hilltop near Saverton, several miles down the river from the cave's mouth, and somebody saw it and dug him out. There is nothing the matter with his statistics except the handkerchief. I knew him for years and he hadn't any. But it could have been his nose. That would attract attention.
- Mark Twain's Autobiography

bicycle repairman

spanish subtitles courtesy of dina's mexican food on east university in phoenix

two gallants

two gallants are from san francisco, ca
the prodigal son



parts of this next video were recorded in the black hills and rapid city, sd
ready rollin'

gilbert grocery

Dan Standard, Proprietor, Gilbert Grocery Store in Gilbert, AZ.
This grocery store is truly keen. Owner Dan Standard wears old 50s grocery gear and holds corn chip promotions once or twice a week. Corn dogs are still six to a dollar and Dan's crack crew in the bakery hand batters them daily.
Alas, there is no fresh ocean fish here as there was no fresh ocean fish in Arizona in the 50s before the advent of refridgerated trucks and fish-hauling airlines. I got over it when I saw the canned, smoked oysters for 17 cents a can. Them buggers and one 39 cent box of Zesta Saltines is a meal for a whole crew of landscapers.

17S

17 Seconds

more on this later ...

take the skinheads bowling

Camper Van Beethoven
saw them open for REM in lincoln, nebraska in late fall of 1987
And in anticipation of National Talk Like A Pirate Day, September 19, 2006, a language lesson.
Read, study, remember!

In which ye'll find words submitted by many pirates o'er the years, an' which comprise a loose piratical dictionary.

* Ahoy: Hey!
* Avast: Stop!
* Aye: Yes
* Black spot: to be 'placin' the black spot' be markin' someone for death.
* Booty: treasure
* Buccanneer: a pirate who be answerin' to no man or blasted government.
* By the Powers!: an exclamation, uttered by Long John Silver in Treasure Island!
* Cat o' nine tails: whip for floggin' mutineers
* Corsair: a pirate who be makin' his berth in the Med-...Medi-...that sea 'tween Spain and Africa, aye!
* Davy Jones' Locker: the bottom o' the sea, where the souls of dead men lie
* Doubloons: pieces of gold...
* Fiddlers Green: the private heaven where pirates be goin' when they die.
* Furner: a ship which be yer own, not one ye steal an' plunder.
* Gentlemen o' fortune: a slightly more positive term fer pirates!
* Go on the account: to embark on a piratical cruise
* Grog: A pirate's favorite drink.
* Jack: a flag or a sailor
* Jolly Roger: the skull and crossbones, the pirate flag!
* Keelhaul: a truly vicious punishment where a scurvy dog be tied to a rope and dragged along the barnacle-encrusted bottom of a ship. They not be survivin' this.
* Landlubber: "Land-lover," someone not used to life onboard a ship.
* Lass: A woman.
* Lily-livered: faint o' heart
* Loaded to the Gunwales (pron. gunnels): drunk
* Matey: A shipmate or a friend.
* Me hearty: a friend or shipmate.
* Me: My.
* Pieces o' eight: pieces o' silver which can be cut into eights to be givin' small change.
* Privateer: a pirate officially sanctioned by a national power
* Scallywag: A bad person. A scoundrel.
* Scurvy dog!: a fine insult!
* Shiver me timbers!: an exclamation of surprise, to be shouted most loud.
* Son of a Biscuit Eater: a derogatory term indicating a bastard son of a sailor
* Sprogs: raw, untrained recruits
* Squadron: a group of ten or less warships
* Squiffy: a buffoon
* Swaggy: a scurvy cur's ship what ye be intendin' to loot!
* Swashbucklin': fightin' and carousin' on the high seas!
* Sweet trade: the career of piracy
* Thar: The opposite of "here."
* Walk the plank: this one be bloody obvious.
* Wench: a lady, although ye gents not be wantin' to use this around a lady who be stronger than ye.
* Wi' a wannion: wi' a curse, or wi' a vengeance. Boldly, loudly!
* Yo-ho-ho: Pirate laughter

squirrel lamp

This reminds me of a time back in the old Hillcrest neighborhood when the Klingbile Gang was making real-toad ashtrays. These were not your run-of-the-mill toads either, but the kind that would emerge from the Badlands clay after a heavy downpour; groggy, grayish-green and putrid. Inedible. Unlike field toads which we spit-roasted unwashed and ungutted every time we got the chance.* As for the ashtray toads, we generally avoided them until we learned they made excellent "life-like" ashtrays that could be sold to a taxidermist in Omaha, NE for top dollar.

Fair warning: I may not post for the next few days as squirrels are few and far between here in Arizona and I need to get some more pellets for the air rifle. The hunt will be long and arduous, but when I get my squirrel, he'll make a fine lamp, I'm sure.

*Just kidding about the field toads, though. We didn't spit-roast field toads. No one in their right mind would. We boiled 'em just like normal folk.

tv party

Who remembers the old days of SoCal hardcore punk?
Here's Black Flag's TV Party, made famous in the flic Repo Man. I first heard it when Gary Hanson was a DJ at SDSM&T.
Be sure to notice the early incarnation of Henry Rollins before he went straightedge.

bobby bare, jr

let's rock and roll

i'm hungry now

bobby bare senior performing jambalaya in some foreign outpost - actually detroit but this is pulled from a norwegian broadcast

critters

I was appointed head critter boss this evening. It was only a temporary battlefield promotion. Three young men needed watching, chickens needed the lock up and I had nothing else to do. So I managed the evening setback process for Lars, Brock and Swen and watched a bit of the Cartoon Network. Like a good Uncle, I added a half hour to their appointed bed times, regaled them with stories of my days as a pirate during the Spanish Civil War and made them a huge chocolate chip cookie.
It was all good.

these guys are good

nashville's be your own pet

bastards of young

see below

the replacements
paul westerberg - vocal, rythym guitar
bob stinson - lead guitar
tommy stinson - bass
chris mars - drums

free ice water

The owner and principal partner of The Hustead Law Firm is a big fan of reggae, Elvis and Led Zeppelin. Much like the firm's creative capacity to handle just about any legal claim imaginable and profit from it, THLF convinced an un-named senior associate (aka Tortelvis) to produce this interesting take on Led Zeppelin's "Black Dog"
Enjoy and call The Hustead Law Firm if you're in Colorado and need to know how to avoid the toll roads and other legal liabilities or if you've just got the bucks and want to "stick it to the man". On or off reservation. Just remember, this video does not constitute an offer of services but you may send a donation anyway and we'll put it towards guitar lessons for the principal partner. He tries, but he's just never gonna be Bob Stinson good.
Video courtesy of The Hustead Law Firm
Denver, Colorado

tgif

and to get things off on a high note a little late seventies tune from athens, ga's the b-52s
as done by the family guy

mesa dmv

Maybe I should have just kept my old driver's license.
The Arizona State Department of Motor Vehicles in Mesa was a scary, desolate, flood damaged building planted firmly in the way of all progress. I got there early and the place was deserted except for the stray tweakers watching the trash and contemplating identity theft. Of course, it wasn't long before one of these English-mouthed, black-toothed freaks made a move on me. All frantic and herky-jerky like.
Luckily, I brought an epi-stick with me and if you've ever seen a tweaker on a full shot of epinephrine and residual methamphetamine, you'll fully understand the saying "chicken with his head cut off." Squawking. Fluttering. Deranged. It was a laugh riot. For about five minutes.
I'd pulled a number from the red number machine and though the LED on the wall was off by a power of ten, apparently I was up.
Her name was Wanda. She was of the golden accented beehive clan. I would bet she couldn't enter a parking ramp with that hairdo. She had surprisingly well developed jaw muscles which I attributed to the wad of gum she was masticating. Shamelessly. Loudly. Pop. Pop. She clutched a pen like a weapon and used it to point out my deficiencies, both administrative and real.
I left emotionally scarred and without the coveted 35 year AZ driver's license, but like General Douglas MacArthur said regarding the Phillipines in WW2, I too remarked, "I shall return".
And I will.

i'll take two

tea tortoise

In the back yard at Richardson's in Scottsdale, they keep a tea tortoise as a working pet. I'd heard about it since hitting town but didn't really believe it would add up to the bugger it was in reality. Originally crafted by the British in Colonial India, these wack beasts generate sufficient body heat to brew tea in a bio-engineered shell and tea caddy carried, as per the photo, on their back. If one could or even should complain about any aspect of this contraption it would be related to the slowness with which this tortoise actually brews and serves. And, why didn't they think of adding a crumpet broiler or even just a simple tray to carry scones, jam and butter?

Anyhow, my first two weeks in the Desert have been interesting to say the least. Cruel heat and vicious critters abound. The heat of the day keeps the critters from view for a few hours but they emerge each evening to feed and frolic. Large, hairy bats with four foot wingspans and nasty, pointy teeth. Roving herds of rabid garbage skunks. Recently, the discovery of thick clusters of Sonoran pit vipers in the trash receptacles at Fyre's Food Market. Ruby-red-dino-birds with jet black eyes and flaky scales instead of feathers. Large, bulbous, festering canal toads oozing malathion absorbed from the cotton field pesticide treatments. A complete absence of small pets and squirrels.

It's no wonder that Valley residents live in fear. Snipers hunt joggers in the early evening for sport. Mel Gibson's Road Warriors rule the freeways and charge exorbitant prices for 12 ounces of gasoline - the largest amount you can acquire in a single purchase (so you make several over the course of the day).
There is no food here except what you can procure from the Mormons who smuggle beef and sugar cane in across the northern border. Some Mexican food filters north out of Old Mexico, but even still, a microwaveable burrito costs me eight dollars and a pair of flip-flops at the Navaho burrito stand on 32nd over by the university of Phoenix on Tuesday. Phoenicians survive largely on a diet of rock badger livers and cactus pulp. At this point, I'd trade my neighbor's first born for a potato or a turnip.

All in all though, it's alright. I'm sure some folks have it worse. At least we've escaped the rodeo-clown press gangs and that range down out of Las Vegas, home of the PCRA National Finals. What kind of a life is that, the life of the rodeo-clown? Running ass and elbows in order to survive. With face paint.

Other than that, the place is pretty cool (figuratively speaking).

lemon frog

Home. Gilbert, AZ.
One block south of Ray Road four miles south of the I-60.
Peaches. Oranges, Grapefruit and lemons.
Lemon frogs. Here's one we caught crawling in our lemon basket last Tuesday.

flagstaff frank

Flagstaff Frank stands on the corner of 7th Ave and Pine Road with a cardboard sign he flashes at passing motorists. Jesus Saves! And I guess he probably does, but what he's saving Frank for I haven't the slightest idea.
I don't stop in Flagstaff. Rather, I take a left off I-40 west onto I-17 south which will take me straight into Phoenix in just about three more hours. I am dropping into the Valley of the Sun in a high speed cargo van full of what I thought was important enough to keep. In the right lane, trucks and elderly blue hairs fight the steep grade and smoke their brakes, but I let the van fall and gather speed until I hit the first sharp turn and I learn that here, unlike everywhere else I've ever been, a posted 55 mph turn IS a 55 mph turn. I get the truck under control just in time to avoid hitting a lizard as big as a healthy chihuahua, flexible looking and obviously psychotically vicious. But I've got a road that needs focusing on and the lizard can't and doesn't penetrate the truck's metal exoskeleton.
This evil road includes 6% grades that go for miles. There are runaway trucks ramps all over hell (which I suspect it would be like to actually use one). You don't hit the desert floor until just outside of Phoenix. As I do, traffic begins to build and out come the meth-smoking freeway cowboys who all have to be somewhere else RIGHT NOW. Flabbergastingly high four wheel drive monster trucks with spiked metal rims and copper plated spit cups. The dryest pork rind of a woman looked out and grinned at me as she and her pie-eyed duster sped past. Of the four teeth I could make out, two were black, one green and the last spiky like a vampire tooth. I was reminded of the chihuahua lizard.