poke him, lyle, he smells poorly

Another one crosses the border.
I have had about enough.
I supposedly cannot say certain things about other people because they happen to be black, Mexican or Asian. Because I am white, my "hands are tied". A Spanish speaker calls a Customer Service line and gets pissed if he doesn't have a Spanish language option. I bet if I was in Mexico, I wouldn't be given an English option. Who decided I should spend my money so Paco Cifuentes can order a pizza? My liberal friends in California? The Obama crew?

I recently had some bad luck and had to go into the hospital. Don't worry. I didn't lose my job and I'm on the road to recovery but my heretofore liberal sensibilities have been severely challenged.
In short:
1. Mexicans are louder than black people and at least as annoying. Their TV is the worst shit I have ever seen. I don't think speaking Spanish (or Mexican, as is spoken here), would change my opinion. There were some hot chicks on the toob, but Jesus, I can't live with that long term! Plus, what's with the roosters and the dog fighting? Fuckin' juvenile, macho shit. Go home vato, the economy can't support you right now and your weed is lame. God, even your food sucks. I've tried it. Traditional means what? Chipotle? Sheesh, that's a McDonald's operation that makes a burrito that tastes good and doesn't result in that old Aztec's revenge. Not Filberto's where the refrieds taste like poo and the crickets own the rice barrel.
2. Black people can and should get good jobs in healthcare. They (the one's I met South Mountain) have a way with making you feel better. They don't haggle over the pain meds. They should focus on these jobs before the Mexicans get them all. They should also open more soul food restaurants and pool halls. More ribs and Jambalaya. Sports book. etc. And, more Rastafarians. I and I and the Lion of Judah, and cabbage and fish. I embrace the culture.
3. Asians. Stiff backed little Ninja motherfuckers. Every time I go to Panda I end up on the toilet. Hell, what do we know now about China. They were selling lead based toys to our children. They live in squalor. My friend Barry Severson went there and when he game back, he smelled of coal and rotten fish. He still does. In fact, it's only gotten worse. Plus, one of his ears festered and fell off!

So read the foregoing and decide for yourself. Is this our 2009 Depression Era Reality because if it is, I'm voting for Pat Bowman as first Lady President of the USA. Mainly because she will probably kick some lame-o ass and secretly was my second girl friend after this really hot babe named Bobbie. Neither of them knew at the time so I can't really get into it because of pending motions, restraining orders, etc. Just let me say, that yeller-haired dog is mine!

or maybe

I should tell you about this Arizona mudbug invasion that started last week. There's been a great deal of concern. Typhoid is a distinct possibility. Mumps, measles, shit like that. It's gruesome so don't come here right now.

where the buffalo roam

Here it is. Dang near zero hour. The new year. What's in store?
You tell me.
Or maybe I should tell you about my search for a 'Primary Care Physician'(PCP). At 2:30 PM on Tuesday, Dec 22, I headed over to 303 Baseline Road for an appointment with Dr. Enrique Cifuentas. It was almost 3:00 PM before I met the doctor. My concern was at a low but consistent level. While the building (a medical complex) was impressive in outward appearance it was considerably less impressive inside. It was dirty. Disrepair.
The office staff was clearly challenged by a guy with good insurance.
The doctor, when he finally decided to see me, cocked his head and looked at me sideways like a bird. He seemed perplexed that I had chosen his office as a PCP. I wasn't Mexican or black. I was out of HIS element.
TBC.

turn out the lights

On Tuesday, December 9th, just before noon Mountain Standard Time an old South Dakota friend and rancher's son liberated my sorry old kiester from the Life Care Center at South Mountain in Phoenix. I was there for damn near a month having arrived November 13th after three weeks at St. Joseph's. As you readers now know, I had a bum leg that became infected and quickly developed gangrene. It was a bacterial bastard called necrotizing fasciitis. You've heard it called the "flesh eating" bacteria but that's really just a general term for any infection that spreads very rapidly and does a shitload of damage. This one did a shitload of damage. I had three surgeries and was lucky to keep the leg.
I'm home now and getting around with a cane. The walker was too embarrassing. I leave it at home. I'm visited at home by a nurse three times a week but she just sits there while I change the bandages that still cover the wound site from my ankle to my knee. She brings extra stuff and charges it to insurance which is way cool because that shit is really expensive at the store. I've never even seen the the stuff I use to cover the grafted areas in a store. It's high end wound care stuff, man.
I hope to go back to work on Dec. 22 but I have three appointments between now and Jan. 14. The Doctor's may hesitate on my release.The only silver lining about all this is that I lost a lot of weight. The institutional diet left much to be desired! And, I would take all the weight back to have avoided this. Who wouldn't?

american gizzard shad explosion threatens threadfin shad population (among others)

While I've been lamenting my fate, a much more serious development threatens the local Mormon shad population in Arizona following the Arizona Game and Fish Department's discovery that a relatively new invader, the American gizzard shad, has experienced a population explosion at Arizona’s largest inland lakes.

“This species looks like a Catholic or Mormon shad on steroids,” said Fisheries Chief Kirk "Baitbucket" Terwilliger. “These filthy beasts are shaped like footballs and can readily grow past the size where they are available to most sportsmen as camp forage.” Terwilliger added that it is a wait-and-see proposition to determine if these invasive shad will have positive or negative impacts on popular activities like rock polishing, scrapbooking and scuba diving along the Salt River.

Gizzard shad, which are native to the eastern utah and North Dakota, will likely compete for space, jobs and food with the laconic Lutheran shad, another North Dakotan that has become the primary hazing candidate for sport-fish in the state’s larger impoundments. Immature gizzard shad will also compete for food sources with the larval stages of popular fish like Lance and Bruce of the largely Presbyterian brown trout.

However, at about 1-inch in length gizzard shad become more specialized, lose their teeth, exhibit deeper appreciation for the arts and become filter feeders that consume small invertebrates and phytoplankton (free-floating algae) sushi rolls.

The careful, adult gizzard shad is seldom caught by hook and line and their pungent odor and soft flesh generally render them unsuitable as table fare, but in some parts of the country anglers use them as cut bait for catfish.

Biologists at Lake Powell first noted gizzard shad at a bonfire and keg party in 2000 near the San Juan inflow. This species is most often found in public schools in Mormon dominated communities like Gilbert and Queen Creek. Its common name “skipjack” is derived from the fact that school-age gizzard shad can sometimes be seen leaping out of the water in community wading pools or skipping along the surface of man-made golf course impoundments on their sides.

How to tell gizzard shad from a Mormon shad: Gizzard shad have an upper jaw that projects well beyond the lower jaw. If you run your finger underneath the mouth forward and if the fingernail catches on the upper jaw and opens the mouth, you have just become acquainted with a gizzard shad.

random

I kept some notes. Here's a couple:

11/15/08 6:15 PM
Dinner was horrible. Overcooked, cold fish patty w/ tartar sauce. Cold, undercooked "french fries" (barf). Vinegary cole slaw (barf). Brownie (OK). Cranberry juice, milk, hot tea. Could only eat fish patty.

11/18/08
Roomy's name is Rigoberto. I know because they put his mail on my bed while I was in PT (Physical Therapy) with Nancy and Al. He actually turned off the Spanish Blaster (TV) at 11:15 PM tonight. I got to watch Seinfeld without competition.

11/19/08
One good thing about this place is that, with the exception of IV's (usually), they won't wake you up when you are sleeping.

You can see from the foregoing that being in the hospital is a real hoot. The CHW Life Care Center at South Mountain houses mostly old timers doing their last burn and fade. Sort of a "you can check out but you can never leave" scenario. They keep most of them in another "ward" that I call the Land of the Lost or the Sleestack Ward. They are turned loose during the day and crowd the hallways like chickens in the yard.
My roommate Rigoberto is paralyzed and spends his day watching Spanish language TV at extremely high volume. His visitors talk over the TV and the volume is increased accordingly. If I could understand more than a word here and there, I might find their conversation interesting but I doubt it. Anyway, I've gotten used to it. Rigoberto doesn't talk much, he just lays there and watches extremely strange Mexican TV. When I get my fill, I hop in my wheelchair and join the yard birds.
The nurses only come to start and complete the antibiotics if they come at all. They take their time and apparently operate without supervision. They move around the different wings so I rarely see one for more than a day or two at a time except for my favorite, the wound specialist named Sam. She has the touch of an angel and even came in on her days off when I first got here and special attention was needed due to the condition of the lower left leg. Sam's worth a letter to the editor regarding a real health professional.
Physical therapy is handled by the bullies. They all must have failed as PE teachers and now take it out on the weak and infirm. They try to rush things through early in the day because they get to leave when they've seen their patient quota (around noon).
The crap work (sometimes literally) is handled by the CNA's (Certified Nursing Assistants). Some are good (Carlos) and some seem to hate their jobs (Adelina). I hit the call button more often for the latter just to aggravate her. All nations are represented by this crew with Mexico and South America holding a wide margin over Africa and the Philippines.
The doctor is sighted least of all. I see mine about two times a week and she's always in a hurry. I think she has a second job.
Well, I think that's about it for the hospital stories. It hasn't been fun for me to be locked up for what will be five weeks when all's said and done and I'm sure this is a downer for you readers so let's get this Hootenanny back on track. While I get things in gear, check out the new Killers tunes uploaded for your listening pleasure. Hasta!

the wound vac

After surgery, they slapped one of these puppies on me. No problem. At first. The wound vac dressing has to be changed every two days. I'd down two Percoset and two syringes of morphine sulfate through the IV but that did nothing to kill the pain. Old sponge out, new sponge in. A real treat I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy (save one who shall remain nameless). Here's the skinny on this device.

When a patient has a large wound or pressure sore that is proving very difficult to heal, this device may be used to promote and speed up the healing process. The name for the device comes from the acronym Vacuum Assisted Closure. The device is a portable vacuum pump attached to a special dressing which helps provide a reduced pressure environment within a wound.

A range of wound sizes may be treated and the user would initially select the appropriate dressing required. The disposable foam dressing is first cut to the correct size and shape and then packed into the wound. An occlusive clear drape is then applied over the foam. A small hole is made within the drape and the tubing-dressing pad is applied over the hole. The tubing is then connected to the pump and when it is switched on, the wound negative pressure therapy commences.

An easy to use touch screen display allows the user to select the appropriate therapy setting and should there be a large amount of exudate (excess fluid) collected within the canister, an alarm will indicate that it requires emptying. A filter system within the canister helps reduce wound odor.

The Pump can operate on battery for up to four hours and display a message on screen when recharging is necessary. There is also a user’s guide for recommended guidelines for treatment and therapy protocols. If the pump does alarm, it will also advise staff how to proceed.

The VAC Pump is used mainly in the surgical, trauma and orthopedic practice areas where more patients present with open wounds. Reducing the time it takes to heal a wound would hopefully mean a patient spending less time in hospital and more at home.

By creating a negative pressure under the special foam dressing, the VAC Pump helps to draw the wound closed. Also, if there is a great deal of fluid coming out of a wound or accumulating under a skin graft, the pump gently draws it away into a storage canister. This has the effect of improving the blood supply to the wound and promoting healing by removing the pressure that excess fluid (exudate) creates.

The pressure within the wound can be pre-set on the VAC Pump and maintained due to the construction of the tubing used to connect the dressing with the Pump. It has a central core to channel the exudate away but also has a separate sensing path to constantly monitor the pressure within the wound and feed back the information to the Pump. This allows the patient to move about without the fear of disturbing the wound environment. The pressure would be set relative to the patient’s needs, taking into account the size of the wound and how much exudate was being removed.

debridement

The great thing about surgery is the anesthesia. When I regained consciousness about an hour and a half later, I hadn't felt a thing and still didn't register any pain. Of course, I had a full tank of post-op morphine sulfate and a pile of warm blankets. On my right, a nurse (I assume) was typing furiously into a laptop on a small platform, apparently recording the essential data of consciousness regained. She asked a few questions to determine whether I was aware of my circumstances and assured that I was, left to seek the surgeon, an orthopedic specialist, to discuss his findings. He soon arrived bedside, still in full surgical garb and gave me the news.

It was good news. The infection was "superficial". It did not compromise any critical tissue. Both muscle and bone were not infected. My leg would remain intact and recovery would likely be complete. With a couple of divots, as another surgeon later quipped.

Without further delay, I was wheeled by the transport squad to my new digs on the 6th floor. It was at this time that I noticed I was attached to a small machine that made an audible whirring noise. I was informed that it was a "wound vac" and that it would clean and drain the debrided area. I did not yet know the extent to which this torture device would come to dominate my stay at St. Joe's.

part one: i am admitted

St. Joseph's Hospital and Medical Center
I called 911 Wednesday morning October 29. This was shortly after calling the hospital to check on the possibility of coming over in a shuttle. Informed they don't provide that service, I was advised to call 911 and arrange transportation accordingly. City of Phoenix emergency personnel arrived in about 20 minutes and after suggesting I take a cab, finally and reluctantly agreed to transport me via ambulance to Catholic Health West affiliate St. Joseph's Hospital and Medical Center in downtown Phoenix. i was laid out, strapped in and rolled into the ambulance on a stretcher and stared at the ceiling as we headed downtown to St. Joe's. I wasn't in pain though I think I was in shock. You probably would be too if you were in my condition.

Gangrene is a complication of necrosis (i.e., cell death) characterized by the decay of body tissues, which become black and malodorous. It is caused by infection or ischemia, such as from thrombosis (blocked blood vessel). It is usually the result of critically insufficient blood supply (e.g., peripheral vascular disease) and is often associated with diabetes and long-term smoking. This condition is most common in the lower extremities. The best treatment for gangrene is revascularization (i.e., restoration of blood flow) of the affected organ, which can reverse some of the effects of necrosis and allow healing. Other treatments include debridement and surgical amputation. The method of treatment is generally determined depending on location of affected tissue and extent of tissue loss.

In just around 72 hours, I had developed gangrene from what started as mildly painful swelling in the week preceding. Much of the tissue surrounding the calf muscle was now loose, hanging, black tissue and smelled to high heaven. It was "malodorous". Or, to put it bluntly, It stank. It stank bad. Like "empty a roomful of people" stank. Folks noticed but were too polite to mention it. Until I got to the hospital.

We made it in to St. Joe's Emergency Waiting Room and I was hurried right on through to see a doctor. He didn't even have to see the affected area before deciding to admit me. I was admitted due to the odor. I was moved to ER Examination Room Four and visited by a parade of surgeons who, after removing the wrapping and viewing the necrosis, agreed on one point; I would lose the leg from the knee down. In fact, they surmised, had I not come in when I did, I could have lost the entire leg including the knee and even my life as we chased the infection through the bone. I was "lucky" they said. Actually, I think I was in shock as the concept of losing a limb just didn't register. Lose my leg? No way, not me. And if I did, I would never have trouble with infection in the prosthesis.

As the surgical professionals continued to file in, the initial prognosis was slowly placed on the back burner and I was scheduled for surgery to determine the full extent of the damage. The last two surgeons to survey the visible damage declined to predict the outcome until getting a better look. I liked these guys. They would try to save the leg. To them it was not a foregone conclusion.

I was moved to a room on the 8th floor to wait for surgery. I made a few cell calls, signed a bunch of releases and contemplated my first time under the knife in more than 30 years. The surgery, "debridement", actually entails removal of the necrotic tissue in the hope that surrounding tissue will heal. It is a major component of surgery for burn patients, for example and in my case, just what the doctor ordered. Surgery was scheduled for 8:00 PM. I was present and accounted for.

he has risen

I'm back! The long sabbatical has ended and I have more than a few stories to tell. I've spent a good chunk of the past few weeks fighting an infection in my lower left leg and am, in fact, still hospitalized at the CHW Life Care Center in Phoenix for rehabilitation . In total, I've undergone three surgeries, skin grafts and four weeks of intravenous antibiotic treatment - every four hours, every day, I suck up about a thousand bucks worth of Zosin alone. I take so many pills I can't keep track of what or what for. Pain med time is my favorite time of day even though morphine no longer affects me.
I can't wait to total the bill.
And I can't wait to tell you folks some of my stories based on direct observation and keen insight. My forced incarceration has been both tragic and comedic. I could write a book about the food but it would be a comic book. A tragic comic book. You'll get the idea as you peruse the stories to follow. They aren't necessarily in order or even completely true but they do great justice to the farce that is US health care at Catholic Health West in Phoenix AZ. So sit down, have a piece of stale white bread with margarine and prepare to get your vitals checked. You'll need your strength.

DUE TO RECENT MARKET LOSSES AND THE HIGH COST OF ELECTRICITY, GAS AND OIL, THE LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL HAS BEEN TURNED OFF.

WE APOLOGIZE FOR THE INCONVENIENCE.

the skins game

Virtue the cat hit the road today. Equipped with his hobo bindle and knife he hopped a fast freighter out of Phoenix down near the old stockyards. One bloodied paw and closed eye suggested a bit of trouble went down last Thursday in Scottsdale's east side Julio's Bar. Julio's is frequented by all sorts of cats, mostly bad. Bikers, thugs, meth addicts.
I speak of Virtue because he was Willie's best friend. Willie stays at my place. He considered joining that freight train to Mission Viejo, but stuck in Phoenix because Virtue is clearly on a downward spiral Willie can't slow or arrest. And, these cats don't do interventions.
They play a game called the skins game. Points awarded for biting and scratching. Virtue should have gone pro, but the pig was in the tunnel, as the late, great Hunter S. Thompson once said. The alcohol pipeline was open and flowing and like Charles Bukowski, Virtue wrote, drank and fought. He got ratty, smelled downright fowl and neglected the litter box taking pleasure in staining carpets at friend's houses. His hair was greasy and fell out in patches. His wounds became infected.
I tried to plan an intervention but the cats couldn't groove on that theme. And then, just like that, Virtue became a rolling stone. We don't know where he is now. He can't afford a postcard or a stamp.
I pay more attention to roadkill these days. I look for Virtue's traveling bindle. I wonder where he is right now, how he's making out, whether he's using again. Willie is beside himself and spends his time releasing his tension on my high-backed leather office chair. He's stretched out on the floor next to me right, watching me, wondering why I'm not out looking.
But, I'm not quite sure what I'm looking for ...

family guy

Bob Marley

little bird

last flowers

Friends. I received some horribly tragic news today. My very good and close friends Amy and Brian Duncan lost their 5 month old son yesterday, Jonathan Michael Duncan. I can't even begin to imagine the pain they must feel. I can only post this tribute to Amy, Brian and littleman Jonathan Duncan and keep them in my prayers. Please do the same as you listen to this song, one of Brian's favorite bands Radiohead.

God bless Amy and Brian and Jonathan.

my time

I wish it was still as easy as this. Young, camping in the Black Hills. Drinking beer, smoking pot, dropping acid. Careless and reckless by equal measure. No more. Too old now. Gotta make a living. Would have rather been a rock star. Stupid fantasy.
Quit drugs, limit alcohol, work at least 10 hours a day.
Fun? What the hell is that? So listen:
The Monsters of Rock, Led Zeppelin perform "In My Time of Dyin".
Blues and Metal combined, this is a cover.

can't catch a bug

Willie Nelson, my cat, can't catch a bug. He springs, he leaps and he pounces but he usually misses the bug. Mostly crickets and the unknowable winged freaks that populate this desert; he misses them all. But apparently, only when I'm watching because I see bug parts littering the granite entry every day. Unless these bugs are killing each other, Willie's success exceeds my observation. I think it's the latter.

rolling in ...

YEEHA! This is excellent,

i hate north carolina

I'm bothered by dysfunctional processes. Usually it's a mechanical issue but sometime it's people. Sometime it's an entire geographically recognizable area . Like a state or interconnected mountainous region. Like North Carolina.
Tobacco. Whiskey. BBQ. I've enjoyed all three, but then I quit tobacco, switched to single malt scotch instead of bourbon (carburetor cleaner no matter how or how long you age it) and moved away from pulled pork in favor of a well done chicken breast and fresh garden veggies. Last time I was in NC a meal was a Chik-O-Stik and an RC Cola. The rest of the night was spent in 4WD Polaris UTV hunting feral hogs and drinking peach flavored homemade white lightening.
It was fun, but we didn't get a pig and when the dude rolled the UTV, I dislocated my shoulder and lost a tooth. Par for the course in North Carolina.

neverland

the best pop rock band ever
The dBs (stands for decibels).

under construction

a song that reminds me of julianna kay

stereophonic
nothing compares 2 u



.

hillcrest redux

Saw these guys on 60 Minutes. Dudes that dress like cowboys and pretend to be automatons. Sort of an old-times, new-cyberspace band that plays behind glass and chicken wire. Herky jerky like. Scary at first take.
But once, when they were taking requests, they played Johnny Horton's Honkey Tonk Man for me (I think)and segued into Horton's North To Alaska. I toasted them with a 3.2 Schmidt Beer in a waxed cup (you can't carry the frosted mud outside the"restaurant") while I gnawed on an overcooked Charburger with Cheese. Badlands nirvana descended on me and after it was over, I drove out to Little Badlands, contemplated eternity and returned the bad cheesburger to the Mother Earth, only partially digested.
It was a Ying-Yang evening and I couldn't summon my Chi.
I woke up next morning in my room at the Hillcrest Motel on the Dump Grounds Road, packed my gear and bolted.
I haven't been back since.

hai carrumba!

Click photo to enlarge. No pun intended.
Sarah (Babe) Palin looking hot. Jeez. It's not fair. I was thinking she wasn't so attractive, huge, square-jawed face and all, until I got the real, only slightly Photoshopped picture at left. Come to Butthead, I thought. But, not much chance of that. So I dug deeper and came up with this Palin in a bikini sportin' a gun. I began to toss large objects around the room as I reverted to primordial gorilla lust. I ran outside and tore down trees to create a leaf bed for me and my new lady. But here in Arizona, everything has thorns and just wouldn't do. In any event, I've got a whole new impression of the Republican Party and it's called Playboy! Hell, if they're going to continue overextending our military and putting our boys at unnecessary risk while they ruin the economy we might as well have a hot chick with low morals as second in command. Everyone in Washington is going to want to join this Party!

todd palin speaks

jesus is my friend

the band

mpls rage

Rage Against the Machine didn't just play Minneapolis for the RNC but also breezed through Denver for the DNC. Tear gas and riot police provided government support on each occasion. Rage's view; simply that politics aren't much more than alternative marketing strategies. Our military won't come home, energy policies won't change and healthcare will continue to be limited to the employed and the rich. It's often perplexes me that anyone thinks otherwise. The major political parties are not acting in your interest. They are essentially large corporations that act in their own interests. They are nothing more than Rage suggests, "Bulls On Parade".

drill baby drill

Did anyone miss the irony? The Palin family seems to epitomize the concept. Drill for what I might ask. Why do we continue to expand our oil capacity when it's refinery capacity and use patterns that are at fault. Not to mention commodities speculation, a bubble that has burst based on consumer patterns (conservation - or, if you like, price reluctance) and the strength of the US dollar. It was not and never has been an issue of supply.
China. India. Usurpers of oil and gasoline? They have been thoroughly castigated as economies based on subsidies. How about US? What don't we subsidize? What really surprises me is the hypocrisy. To that end, I think it's only fair that skilled commodities brokers make out like bandits as they bilk the mass of idiots that populate any given societal collective (read: nation state) on a worldwide level.
So once again the concept of renewable energy resources comes to the forefront. I love the concepts of solar, wind and geothermal energy, They minimize environmental impact. They work and other than the cost of infrastructure, are free. Ethanol? Dead on arrival. If you don't understand that, join the Republican party and sell your soul to another government subsidy. Ethanol production is not profitable in any other guise.
The question boils down to "what would McCain/Palin do? I think I got the message.
Drill Baby Drill.

psycho killer

David Byrne plays a building as an instrument.

ain't talkin bout love

Your love is rotten to the core ...


Click to enlarge graphic.

And apropos of the Republican National Convention, the Dead Kennedys. Turn up the volume! Jello, Jello...we need you.



Reminds me of a time when I would slog my books down to the university library with my fellow frat members. Not so much to study but to scope hot chicks that were there to scope us back, but like baseball, we struck out more often than we got a hit. A young gal walked past one night, wearing a torn and safety-pinned plain white t-shirt with the song's title scrawled on the front. We snickered audibly before laughing out loud. It was a mean thing to do and I now regret it, but though I sat among the rich boys from Sioux City and Sioux Falls and pretended to be like them, I never changed my party affiliation and never will.

Elect Obama. Our only hope.

meat puppets and lounge lizards

Tempe Arizona's Meat Puppets "Lake Of Fire". The guy on the far left went crackhead for awhile. The drummer lives in Mesa and is a friend. I love this old hardcore. It got me through several summers working at Wall Drug Store in South Dakota. I was a hater then. Now I'm just a plotter. Plotting stuff. Meeting in dark rooms with questionable characters regarding security issues, technology and cell phones. Anyway, listen up.



Austin Texas' Austin Lounge Lizards' Dana Lyons' "Cows With Guns". Humerous cartoon animation, but check out their other stuff. It's much more serious. Ha!

denver demo convention orientation video

For those of you attending the Coronation of King Obama, the Great Black Hope, here is a useful Denver orientation video.

georgia sasquatch update

Alas. The Georgia Bigfoot has proven to be a fake. The refrigerator corpse was simply a rubber Halloween costume containing no organic matter whatsoever and rubber feet for the hard Halloween pavement. It's no longer 15 minutes of fame, it's a split second for all the wrong reasons. I'm very close to losing my respect for all inhabitants of the US southeast. It's a wonder they can open a package of beef jerkey. Or find their way to a Sonic.

Nonetheless, Hootenanny decides to believe in sasquatch (not this one, dimwit). Belief in something that's not real, but wished for. We recognize our friend in our mission statement and Hootenanny supports the ongoing search for this particular crypto-zoological hairy beast as well all efforts to ensure the viability of their habitats. Can you imagine the difficulty these brothers of man must face? They live in the woods, mountains, plains and swamps. Yet, they never complain. They seemingly prosper as more are sighted by us every year. Over 890 last year alone including almost every state.

It has been posited that they are merely Barack Obama supporters coming out of some sort of hippie exile camp. But how does that explain the estimated height averaging over 7 feet 2 inches or the total body carpet (fur)? Really big hippie's? Unlikely. Bears? Maybe. Bigfoots with voting rights.

Ideal.

billy batest redux

Can you pick the real Billy? I can, he's to the left of the gay dude on the right. But think about it, if you were at bus stop or subway, which one would you ask for directions? I'd ask the mean looking guy, the other is more likely to pull a successful con 'cause he looks so honest.

gravity biscuits

"Yes, sir" the boy was heard to say, "I'll take a gravity defying biscuit! Just let me remove my plexiglass space helmet."
Now that we've determined the Georgia Sasquatch was only a rubber Halloween costume, can we really trust anything/anybody? Biscuits from space. Cars that run on water. People from High Point, North Carolina where they put too much sugar in their iced tea and too much vinegar in their BBQ. Speaking of which, who ever heard of putting cole slaw on a vinegary pulled pork sandwich? It doesn't make sense.
Falling commodities prices, a rising dollar; both recent improbabilities. I think I'll move to Mexico and sell pot on a secluded beach. Pot sells low, but it always sells for a small profit. I'll grill fresh fish and big, fat shrimp on an open wood fire and maybe become a painter. Or some other type of dirt-poor artisan. Burn my credit cards for fuel. Just Marlon Brando, Pocohantas and me.
So please send money to help this boy realize his dream. And buy a plexiglass space helmet and some gravity defying biscuits. Arriba!

blue

The best band out of Minneapolis since the Replacements. Sadly, the Jayhawks are no more. But what is these days?

bigfoot press release

Click on graphic to enlarge image.

virtue the cat explains her departure

again, the weakerthans from winnipeg manitoba canada.
the song is called 'virtue the cat explains her departure' (sung from a cat perspective).
it's interestingly eclectic

young jethro sandwich

When I was job-hunting in Minneapolis in the early 80's, I would sack at various locations. I eventually gravitated to my friend's house. He just happened to have a band in motion, Young Jethro Sandwich (YJS) they actually had a Hootenanny endorsed single, Freudian Farmer.
Sadly, YJS split up.
But anyway, I digress.

Let's switch gears. Here's LA beauty Susanna Hoffs playing Alex Chilton (Big Star). The tune, written in the 70's holds up well.

September Girls



and the Dude himself ...

mrs robinson

John Edward's girlfriend. Wow. His wife is at least as good looking as this Lounge Lizard with a truly freaky shovel-chin.
Guess what, the number of white-guy politicians cheating on their wives actually exceeds the number black athlete's attempts to get through an airport with a Pissinator or an unregistered handgun.
In any event, Hootenanny has crossed this idiot (John Edwards) off our list forever. He has acted poorly and he is from North Carolina. It's quite possible he suffers from some organic brain function fuck-up. Another possibilty is that he is a full-on moron - I believe that on the Psych scale a moron is dumber than an idiot. Both are endemic in NC. Some have spread into Arizona. I fight them off with a rake and a shovel. I haven't shot one yet, but I'm considering it.

So anyway, listen to and watch Simon and Garfunkel's Mrs. Robinson.

people who died

at least 9 suspected immigrants dead in crash

Aug. 7, 2008
Arizona Republic staff and wire reports.

Nine people died and another 10 were take to hospitals around the Valley and in Tucson after a single-car rollover wreck Thursday morning outside of Florence.
The GMC Suburban was traveling northbound on State Route 79 when it careened off the two-lane highway and flew over a nearby wash before coming to rest in the desert about 7:45 a.m. Thursday.
Images from a television helicopter show a crumpled white SUV alongside the road and what appears to be a row of bodies covered with tarps.
Two women were among the dead, and no children were in the vehicle, said Lt. Mike Corbin, a Department of Public Safety spokesman. One of the occupants was carrying a Guatemalan ID, he said.
The number of passengers squeezed into the SUV, and the route it was travelling, left authorities with the suspicion that the truck was smuggling illegal immigrants into the country.
“With that many people crammed into a vehicle, it's probably a human-smuggling organization,” Corbin said.
The highway that runs through Pinal County has become a popular trail for smugglers following stepped-up enforcement efforts on Interstate 10, Corbin said.
The wreck left both lanes of the rural highway closed for more than three hours as DPS officers and Border Patrol agents investigated the scene.
Border Patrol agents were called to the area, just north of the Tom Mix Memorial, at the request of DPS officials.
No police or border patrol vehicles were chasing the truck at the time of the wreck, but Corbin estimated the SUV was going at least 85 mph and said speed could be a factor in the fatal accident.
The truck was tagged with Sonora license plates and the Mexican Consulate in Arizona came to the scene to assist victims.
Helicopters flew the injured to trauma centers in Tucson and the Valley, though hospital representatives could not update the condition of the victims early Thursday afternoon.
Craig Fischer, a spokesman for Banner Good Samaritan Medical Center in Phoenix, said the hospital received four survivors and will possibly receive additional patients later.
Judy Keane, a spokeswoman for Maricopa Medical Center in Phoenix, confirmed two survivors were treated there.
The highway re-opened shortly after noon Thursday.

what's he building in there?

Willie, my cat, is building something in there. Having burrowed into the box spring on the king sized Hemingway Sleigh Bed and following much clamor and banging I began to notice receipts carefully stacked next to the headboard. Lowes, Home Depot, Bed Bath and Beyond. Then it was thick carpenters pencils and cans of paint.
I began to wonder: what's he building in there?
Last night I saw flashes of light and a smell of sulfur that suggested welding. I looked for but did not find welding gear. Willie had a tell-tale fur burn on his right rear paw. And there was another on the carpet - not a cigarette burn, I quit last November.
Today, when I arrived home from work, an attractive young tabby slipped through the garage door before it shut. I opened the door to the laundry room and the tabby shot past me and straight up to the loft. I heard a crinkle and a pop and upon investigation found evidence of crackers and white sparkling wine. That's when I noticed Willie had apparently hung a tiny, neon "No Vacancy" sign. Around 7:00 PM the tabby began mewing at the front door and I let her out. I heard the upstairs shower fire up and Willie came down shortly after in what appeared to be a silk kimono. He smelled strongly of my missing bottle of Calvin Klein.
I went upstairs with a flashlight but the evidence was gone. The No Vacancy sign had been switched to Vacancy. A small group of immigrant landscapers were carefully tending to the carpet and the false potted plant out front. I sat on the edge of the bed and wondered aloud, "What's he building in there?"

the weakerthans

The Weakerthans are an award-winning four-piece (and sometimes six-piece) Canadian indie rock band that blends punk-inflected folk rock with literate, introspective lyrics.
History
The band was formed in 1997 in Winnipeg, Manitoba by John K. Samson, after he left the punk band Propagandhi to start a publishing company. Samson joined forces with bassist John P. Sutton and drummer Jason Tait, and created The Weakerthans as a vehicle for a more melodic and introspective brand of songwriting than that of Propagandhi. One origin story for the band's name, as quoted in the liner notes of Fallow, is a line from the 1992 film The Lover: "Go ahead, I'm weaker than you can possibly imagine." The band's name may also refer to a Ralph Chaplin quote from "Solidarity Forever": "What force on Earth can be weaker than the feeble strength of one?" The band alludes to this line in the song "Pamphleteer" from the album Left and Leaving.
The band's debut album, Fallow, was released in 1997 on G7 Welcoming Committee Records, and garnered positive reviews from Canadian music critics. Guitarist Stephen Carroll, formerly of Painted Thin, subsequently joined the band, and Left and Leaving was released in 2000.
In 2003, the band moved to Epitaph Records and released Reconstruction Site. The album was met with rave reviews[6] from Canadian and international critics for its ambitious combination of punk, rock, folk, country and sonnets. It also became the band's best-selling record to date, as well as its airplay breakthrough on Canadian radio. It was the second Weakerthans album to be produced by Ian Blurton.
Sutton, who played on all three of the band's first albums, left in August 2004 and was replaced by Greg Smith.
In 2005, Left and Leaving was named one of the ten best Canadian albums of all time in Chart magazine's reader poll. In the same poll, Samson wrote the capsule review for another top ten finisher, The Lowest of the Low's Shakespeare My Butt, which he cited as a major influence on his own music.
Reunion Tour was released on September 25, 2007 in North America by Epitaph and ANTI-. The band released a video for "Civil Twilight", which consisted of a single, unbroken camera shot of the band on a Winnipeg Transit city bus.

random sturgis ...

Hey, where are the donuts? I can't wait to see the Rushmore Plaza Civic Center. Is that Rapid Creek? I heard they just got a Sonic, gonna hit that up for sure. Anyone notice it's drier here? I don't sweat near as much. How much for that t-shirt. Do you have XXXXL? I'm a big guy. Where's the best breakfast? Was that Keanu Reeves? Where's dinosaur park? Storybook Island? Man. the buffet at Shakey's Pizza rules. Man, that Rushmore Meats bologna sandwich tasted even better under the concrete teepee at the rest area. I ain't never going home!

i like ike

Dwight D. Eisenhower was the first presidential candidate to use television commercials. Below is one of his commercials, made by Disney, from 1952. Eisenhower was skeptical about using television and his opponent, Stevenson, wouldn’t appear on television because he thought it demeaning to a man ascending to the presidency. Eisenhower won.

california cool

California is decreasing the wage of state workers due to a critical budget crisis. The state minimum wage was $8.00 per hour (a virtual fortune apparently) yesterday, today it is $6.55, the Federal minimum. Good for the state's budgett. Bad for the folks that have to drive to work or buy food. Or pay rent or support children or an elderly parent or relative.

What the fuck is wrong with us?

Not every person that grows up poor takes undue advantage. I grew up poor. Got Social Security benefits because of my deceased father (and an Air Force pension of $43.00/mo.). Used those benefits and graduated with a law degree. And now, I think I've probably paid it all back in taxes.

The CA rollback is inexplicable. When the going gets tough, the tough take from the weakest? This is not The Way.

To paraphrase Blackfoot;

The Nations have scattered
The Sacred Hoop is broken

girl, you really got me now

By golly, I got a bit of a shock when I learned that Samantha (Sam), a bartender at the Spurr Lounge in Laveen, AZ wanted to go to the stock car races with me. She's tall, a curly haired blonde and very pretty; always smiling and laughing. We waited in line in the 105 degree heat for tickets. Sam was as good as naked in a bikini top and short jean shorts and flip/flops. I could hardly believe my luck. I assumed I was dreaming. I thought it might be related to the good karma generated by my consistent charity to the Off Ramp Card Board Sign Man at 51st and I-10.
We waited in line again for a hot dog and then a beer and then upstairs for the heat races. The sun was just going down and it began to cool off. Sam's clothing decisions began to pay dividends. I went back to the truck and grabbed the NorthFace fleece jacket I always carry. Sam looked like a Goddess. Maybe it's in the eyes.
I missed most of the races, paying attention only to Sam. Anyway, here's the info, Manzanita Speedway is just north of Baseline on 35th. It's a mile and a quarter dirt track. Open wheel stock, sprints and NASCAR full modified. Its been in operation since 1958 and the hot dogs are proof in hand. But, the beer is cold and when you're with a gal like Sam, all is well in the world.
Hell, I might even take her to Applebees.

they say

scars on broadway
i'm sitting at the bar in the spurr lounge in laveen talking to a young ex-marine who had attended Ufest earlier in the day (slipknot, disturbed, black tie boys, etc.) when i mentioned scars on broadway whose debut album we still await. i mentioned the singing on this song reminded me of jello biafra of the eighties hardcore california punk band the dead kennedys. if you remember the jello and the dead, judge for yourself. if not. simply enjoy or get lost.
Scars on Broadway- They Say

shall i hike?

In the Rapid City Journal today 7/13/08 (Rapid City, SD):
Wind Cave offers ferret night hikes
Ferrets hiking at night. Where? Do they hike like we do and if so do they bring wine, bread and cheese? And, why do they hike at night?

downer applicant

I'm hiring a Lead/Supervisor and have an ad on CareerBuilder.com. The job requires IT and telecom abilities as well as personnel management strengths. Yet, I continue to get resumes like the following (a summary of the applicant's work history, I have not edited a single word);

I've Been doing this sence I was 16. I enjoy doing it and I'm a hard worker my job contains, Me to gurad People an keep the event safe. I also am a great cook. I've cooked for Red Robin for 3 years, and I also worked in sales for att wirerless for 3 years.

Ouch! I would say stick with Security or Red Robin and thank God you even have a job.

the feelies

From New Jersey's north shore, The Feelies helped define a strange era in the New York Art/Punk scene and were, to some extent, forefathers of modern college rock. Whatever that means.
What I do know is that they'll be opening for Sonic Youth on Friday in Battery Park, NYC. I believe it's a free concert. I know the views are very cool. And you might even bump into Tom Verlaine or Lou Reed. The Feelies opened for both back in the day.
Go see The Feelies (and Sonic Youth). Time is running out.

here come the guns

Currently, I only own three, but I would like more. Guns are what we give up fireworks for. We trade in our BB guns for .22 caliber rifles, and bigger and better as it goes. We carry the .22 caliber pistol out of the dudes dad's nightstand and shoot at Killdeer at the Lagoon. Dude loads his Dad's gun and puts it back.

Today, the US Supreme Court reversed its path and enumerated rights never before enumerated. Yes, George Bush and succeeding administrations can conduct legal warrant-less eavesdropping of your PC and telecom communications but YOU, YOU CAN KEEP A GUN IN YOUR HOME!

I was going to, anyway.

Denon AKDL1 Dedicated Link Cable

I have it on good authority that these are some of the best audio "dedicated link" cables available. (I know this is more interesting to a majority of males and less so to our better half, but maybe just stay with me. It gets better.) Though this appears to be an ordinary data cable, like the one that runs from the cable company modem to your PC, it is thicker than your average data cable and has an artful exterior patterned in shades of dark and pale blue. And, it's only $499.99? (That's a full $1.00 off the MFRP, bucko.)
This product offering is such a joke in terms of price/value that it soon lead to internet ridicule. Some of the best you'll ever read is at amazon.com.

Here's what Denon, makers of the Denon AKDL1 Dedicated Link Cable said:

Get the purest digital audio you've ever experienced from multi-channel DVD and CD playback through your Denon home theater receiver with the AK-DL1 dedicated cable. Made of high-purity copper wire, it's designed to thoroughly eliminate adverse effects from vibration and helps stabilize the digital transmission from occurrences of jitter and ripple. A tin-bearing copper alloy is used for the cable's shield while the insulation is made of a fluoropolymer material with superior heat resistance, weather resistance, and anti-aging properties. The connector features a rounded plug lever to prevent bending or breaking and direction marks to indicate correct direction for connecting cable.

Then check out a sample of reviews (want to read them all?):)

A caution to people buying these: if you do not follow the "directional markings" on the cables, your music will play backwards. Please check that before mentioning it in your reviews.

I recently bought a few of these cables and began using them. The first thing I noticed was how much fluffier and better the cable was than normal cables. Upon breaking a piece off and loading it into my pipe, the cable had a strong skunky smell. When I finally lit the cable, It hit me with an intense wave, which immediately affected my auditory senses... Everything sounded much fuller and much more interesting. I would recommend this cable for smokers everywhere....

My wife and I have been trying to conceive for almost a decade. We've tried every form of therapy, artificial insemination, and some other, more questionable methods. Then I saw this product. The Denon AKDL1 Dedicated Link Cable. I just KNEW that it was the answer to our prayers. When they arrived my wife gave me the look of a defeated woman with nothing but a feigned hope. But I had faith!
That night we wrapped ourselves in the Denon AKDL1 Dedicated Link Cable and tried one last time for a child. Nine months later our daughter was born. Thank you SO MUCH Denon AKDL1 Dedicated Link Cable.

Read More

janeane, janeane

Just take in how comedienne Jane Ann (Janeane) Garofalo looks at me, Douglas Teever in this artist's rendition of our metro-buco lifestyle ("metropolitan bucolic"). It's a look of rapture. She is literally ensconced in the transformative moment; like a cucumber in a vinegar and garlic bath, soon to emerge a pickle. Whoops, that thought makes me want a Weinerschnitzel Chicago style hot dog and a Keystone Light. I can farm tomorrow.

fast eddie

God, Republicans are saps. They think that they’re running against some academic liberal who wouldn’t wear flag pins on his lapel, whose wife isn’t proud of America and who went to some liberationist church where the pastor damned his own country. They think they’re running against some naïve university-town dreamer, the second coming of Adlai Stevenson.


But as recent weeks have made clear, Barack Obama is the most split-personality politician in the country today. On the one hand, there is Dr. Barack, the high-minded, Niebuhr-quoting speechifier who spent this past winter thrilling the Scarlett Johansson set and feeling the fierce urgency of now. But then on the other side, there’s Fast Eddie Obama, the promise-breaking, tough-minded Chicago pol who’d throw you under the truck for votes.

This guy is the whole Chicago package: an idealistic, lakefront liberal fronting a sharp-elbowed machine operator. He’s the only politician of our lifetime who is underestimated because he’s too intelligent. He speaks so calmly and polysyllabically that people fail to appreciate the Machiavellian ambition inside.

But he’s been giving us an education, for anybody who cares to pay attention. Just try to imagine Mister Rogers playing the agent Ari in “Entourage” and it all falls into place.

Back when he was in the Illinois State Senate, Dr. Barack could have taken positions on politically uncomfortable issues. But Fast Eddie Obama voted “present” nearly 130 times. From time to time, he threw his voting power under the truck.

Dr. Barack said he could no more disown the Rev. Jeremiah Wright than disown his own grandmother. Then the political costs of Rev. Wright escalated and Fast Eddie Obama threw Wright under the truck.

Dr. Barack could have been a workhorse senator. But primary candidates don’t do tough votes, so Fast Eddie Obama threw the workhorse duties under the truck.

Dr. Barack could have changed the way presidential campaigning works. John McCain offered to have a series of extended town-hall meetings around the country. But favored candidates don’t go in for unscripted free-range conversations. Fast Eddie Obama threw the new-politics mantra under the truck.

And then on Thursday, Fast Eddie Obama had his finest hour. Barack Obama has worked on political reform more than any other issue. He aspires to be to political reform what Bono is to fighting disease in Africa. He’s spent much of his career talking about how much he believes in public financing. In January 2007, he told Larry King that the public-financing system works. In February 2007, he challenged Republicans to limit their spending and vowed to do so along with them if he were the nominee. In February 2008, he said he would aggressively pursue spending limits. He answered a Midwest Democracy Network questionnaire by reminding everyone that he has been a longtime advocate of the public-financing system.

But Thursday, at the first breath of political inconvenience, Fast Eddie Obama threw public financing under the truck. In so doing, he probably dealt a death-blow to the cause of campaign-finance reform. And the only thing that changed between Thursday and when he lauded the system is that Obama’s got more money now.

And Fast Eddie Obama didn’t just sell out the primary cause of his life. He did it with style. He did it with a video so risibly insincere that somewhere down in the shadow world, Lee Atwater is gaping and applauding. Obama blamed the (so far marginal) Republican 527s. He claimed that private donations are really public financing. He made a cut-throat political calculation seem like Mother Teresa’s final steps to sainthood.

The media and the activists won’t care (they were only interested in campaign-finance reform only when the Republicans had more money). Meanwhile, Obama’s money is forever. He’s got an army of small donors and a phalanx of big money bundlers, including, according to The Washington Post, Kenneth Griffin of the Citadel Investment Group; Kirk Wager, a Florida trial lawyer; James Crown, a director of General Dynamics; and Neil Bluhm, a hotel, office and casino developer.

I have to admit, I’m ambivalent watching all this. On the one hand, Obama did sell out the primary cause of his professional life, all for a tiny political advantage. If he’ll sell that out, what won’t he sell out? On the other hand, global affairs ain’t beanbag. If we’re going to have a president who is going to go toe to toe with the likes of Vladimir Putin, maybe it is better that he should have a ruthlessly opportunist Fast Eddie Obama lurking inside.

All I know for sure is that this guy is no liberal goo-goo. Republicans keep calling him naïve. But naïve is the last word I’d use to describe Barack Obama. He’s the most effectively political creature we’ve seen in decades. Even Bill Clinton wasn’t smart enough to succeed in politics by pretending to renounce politics.

jeez ... who farted?

Was it you? John McCain, Barack Obama. Me?
I think it was McCain. And I think it was a sub-specie of a Navy specialty, the plaintive 'songbird'. Among the ranks of the most silent but deadliest SBD's. Or it could have been a "Carrier" where an intense burst is necessary to get the thing aloft. Or maybe even, in honor of his forefathers, an "Admiral". Like a canon and capable of great destruction to life and property.
Of course, it could have been Obama. Producing perhaps a succession of soft peddle SBD's that work best in a comfortably sturdy leather chair or airline cabin seat. The persuasive, yet alluring, "is there a female in the room" squeaker burst. Or, considering he is a smoker and correspondingly a cougher, the wild and uncontrollable "cigarette fart", sometimes masked by the din of the cough.

Maybe it was just the dog (and I don't mean Hillary).

Who fed it those damn Doritos anyway?

any other illness

The Vodka Chronicles
By MAUREEN DOWD
John McCain’s saucy mother says her boy was always a scamp and a hell-raiser. And one of the senator’s great charms is that he wore those appellations proudly.
So it was quite disheartening to see a McCain spokeswoman telling The Associated Press, in a story about how Cindy McCain helped her husband’s political career bloom with her multimillion-dollar fortune from the family beer business, that the senator is a virtual teetotaler.
“Senator McCain rarely, if ever, drinks alcohol,” Jill Hazelbaker averred.
McCain’s pals know him as a man who enjoys libations of vodka with little green cocktail olives. Over the years, at dinners with reporters, [...] he had the habit of ordering one double vodka and sipping it slowly. And there was that famous Hillary-McCain Estonian drink-off in 2004, when Hillary instigated a vodka shot contest and McCain agreed with alacrity (even though he later offered a sketchy denial).
Maybe now that he’s the presumptive Republican nominee, his campaign wants to put his vices in a vise and sanitize the wild side of the man whose nicknames in high school were “Punk,” “Nasty” and “McNasty.”
Next they’ll deny he likes to gamble in Vegas (“I’ll put $50,000 on Bomb Iran, with 3-to-1 odds”), socialize with liberals and lash out at people who annoy him. (As a toddler, he had “tiny” rages. “I would go off in a mad frenzy and then, suddenly, crash to the floor unconscious,” he wrote. His parents would drop him into a bathtub of icy water.)
If his campaign is bowdlerizing, let’s hope it stops before he’s a bland McNice.
Americans, after all, don’t trust candidates without any vices. They got turned off by the picture-perfect Mitt Romney, whose khakis were never wrinkled and whose hair stayed eerily in place even while he was jogging in a campaign commercial.
Do we really need McCain obfuscating on drinking, and Obama putting up a smoke screen on smoking? Ever since Chicago reporters followed the up-and-coming Obama and saw him flicking his ashes and butts out the windows of moving vehicles, the senator has had a testy relationship with the press about his addictions to cigarettes and littering. (Obama, wrote one reporter on his blog, was “one of those reprehensible nicotine addicts who seems to believe that the world is his ashtray.”)
When Chris Matthews tried to pin down Obama on when he’d had his last cigarette, he radiated guilt, even though he dryly noted that “having your wife say on ‘60 Minutes’ that if you see Barack with a cigarette, let me know’ was a heck of a deterrent.
“I fell off the wagon a couple times during the course of it and then was able to get back on,” the candidate admitted. “But it is a struggle like everything else.”
In his book and last week’s bio-tour, McCain painted himself as a cool bad boy. He was a girl-loving, authority-defying, plane-crashing Top Gun.
In his memoir, Obama played up his vices to depict himself as a cool bad boy, too, recalling that he had smoked pot and done “a little blow.”

But now the two men are sticking to the straight and narrow. Everyone may imagine that Obama and his press corps spend all their time quaffing Champagne and celebrating the astonishment of his very being. But the candidate is boringly abstemious — and reporters traveling with him find him aloof. On a 2005 trip to Russia, he priggishly requested that his vodka shot glass be filled with water.

So our choice is between a boozer or a pothead. Not really a difficult decision. As Hootenanny Editor in Chief, I'll take one of each.

gonzo

she's lost control

I haven't had a cigarette since November 2007 or a bong hit since January 2008 but I'm about to score some Mexican so I have something to do on evenings and weekends now that gasoline has hit $4.00 a gallon.
This shit-storm is out of hand. Does it really matter who the next President is? Can't see it. Pull the troops out of Iraq and leave Iran alone. No effect.
We're screwed. Get used to it. She's lost control. Go to the links on your right, check out Joy Division. Think I'll go get some Panda Express. It's within walking distance. Which is now about 5 miles ...

Rosebud

As the price of gasoline and diesel continue their stratospheric rise rural Rosebudians revolt and attack US Government Predator Drone overflights. Subsisting on wild potatoes and cattail roots, skin colored with chokecherries and river mud, overflight pictures capture an attack in progress by three Rosebud natives in South Dakota on Thursday, May 29. Long deprived of their traditional libations of Budweiser and Thunderbird Fortified White Port, Rosebud natives are brewing a powerful concoction based on prairie cactus and alkali. The resulting substance is a psychotropic stimulant with hallucinogenic properties. The body paint seems to be a bizarre response to subtle aftereffects of the "drug".
Gasoline and diesel prices are the primary catalyst, reports Gibson Parker, US Department of Agriculture spokesman.

"Before, when gas was reasonably priced, many of these folk traveled by auto to nearby markets in Martin and Kadoka. Now, with prices nearing all time highs, many can't afford either groceries or liquor, including discount beers like Keystone and Busch. Many have reverted to pre-alcohol and high fat, high carb diets to uncultivated dirt crops like wild potatoes, turnips and bush berries. This diet seems to have led to a 'Lord of the Flies' approach to community interaction."

The apparent outbreak of ineffective violence has lead Democratic Candidate Barack Obama to cancel a Sunday campaign event in Martin. The Clinton campaign insists a reservation visit will go forward and former President Bill Clinton has pledged his intention to don full body paint and loincloth and to entertain the advances of any tribal leader offering relations with female tribal members, painted black or red. Candidate Hilary Clinton will remain in Rapid City during the ordeal.
Federal officials, it has been noted, will continue overflights. Lieutenant General Ron Facemeyer, USAF, has pledged to avoid unnecessary bombing or firing on painted natives until after the South Dakota primary. "Then, all bets are off." Facemeyer stated.

laveen

I rolled into Laveen Thursday night with Noel, Raoul and a nameless Nicarauguan chick who smiled a lot and got my toilets so clean your could have made Gazpacho in them and eaten it straight off the floor. But they had already packed the spoons. And I was low on peppers.
Today, I made a quick check of the Gila River Indian Reservation. Clearly, they ain't gettin' no casino money and trash pickup seems to have been left to the wind and elements. The roads are littered with couches and old washing machines but once you get down to the Gila River and PIR (Phoenix International Raceway) things pick up quite nicely with some incredible adobe houses tucked back into the foothills.
Little later tonight I think I'll head up 51 and grab me a Mexican watermelon and some home-made tamales. Then head down to the Spur Lounge on Baseline to check on the local fillies. It just got hot today, so I expect I'll see a tank-top or two. Maybe bring one of them pork rinds home with me and cavort a bit.

for mom on mother's day

Why Mother's Day?
By Garrison Keillor
The last time I witnessed a woman becoming a mother, it wasn't anything like the frilly sentiments of Mother's Day. She lay on her back, perspiring heavily and yelling, "Oh my God, why did you do this to me? I'll never forgive you in a hundred years. I hope you hurt like this someday. Give me another epidural, you sadists. And get this thing out of me!" and looking up at me as if she were burning at the stake and I had lit the fire. And when the Infant appeared and was placed on the Madonna's chest, she said, "What in the world am I supposed to do with that?"
It begins in innocence. Music is playing, the night smells of lilacs, she asks if he would like to come in for a minute, and he does, and little does she know what cataclysm awaits her inside: the loss of individuality as she joins the Holy Order of Maternity.
Mothers were, at one time, young women with Possibilities who might have taken a different route and become glamorous and powerful figures in Size 2 dresses and instead found themselves cleaning up excrement and jiggling colicky babies to get them to stop screaming. They hardly ever get to London anymore or have time to read James Joyce. They sit down to dinner with adults and feel brain-dead. A bouquet of flowers hardly seems compensation enough. How about a million dollars and a house in the south of France?
My mother appears in a photograph of five young women in white summer dresses walking hand-in-hand, grinning, on a country lane near Cottage Grove, Minn., in 1932 when she was 17, not long before she met my father, and they all look so fresh and happy, as if in a careless paradise all their own. She is willowy, shy and beautiful and she might've modeled evening gowns at Dayton's Sky Room and maybe been spotted by a Hollywood scout and wound up in pictures, playing the village girl who charms the world-weary tycoon stranded in Littleville by the blizzard. Instead, she became a suburban pioneer, making a home in a muddy cornfield, putting up the stewed tomatoes and canned beans every fall, raising six children, slogging through bouts of mumps and flu, whomping up big Christmases, fishing the laundry out of the washing machine and putting it through the wringer and hanging it on the line. Is that what the smiling girl of 1932 had in mind?
The cruel injustice of motherhood is that, out of devotion to her brood, she sacrifices so much of her own life that her children grow up to find her a little boring in comparison to the maiden aunt who is a little rebellious and more fun to be around, whereas Mom is just the lady who runs the vacuum. As Erma Bombeck said, the kids walk in and ask her, "Is anybody home?"
But she loves you. You could come home with snakes tattooed on your face and she still would see the good in you. Most great men were mama's boys. She encouraged them long before anybody else could see any talent there.
Your mother is on top of the situation. Your father has a hard time remembering your birthday or even your Christian name, but your mother knows you by scent, thanks to years of doing your laundry. She knows when you're in trouble. And you will get into deep trouble someday. Count on it. Someone will file a lawsuit against you and subpoena your e-mail and it will all come flooding out, your dark secrets, your nefarious dealings, and your friends will cross the street to avoid you and your brothers and sisters will fade into the woodwork, but your mother will still love you. Like an old lioness, she'll come running even if you're 2,000 miles away.
That is why you pay homage to the old lady on Mother's Day. You entered this cold world causing her more pain than she thought possible and now she won't ever give up on you. Those old ladies you see being wheeled onto airliners are the mothers of children facing imminent indictment for terrible things. Mama will be in the courtroom for you, baby. She will look the jury in the eye and her look may get you acquitted.
Buy her something nice, like a set of gold ingots. Or a black car with a chauffeur. She's your mama. At least you could write her a note.

© 2008 by Garrison Keillor. All rights reserved. Distributed by Tribune Media Services, INC.

radiohead

last flowers until the hospital

run with kittens

blue flame

the kooks

raccoon dogs

The Raccoon Dog is a member of the canid group (which is Latin for Doggus Fakeus or “fake dog” or "fuckin' dog" family in the US which includes dogs, some wolves, metro-coyotes, rabies-free foxes and edible tree squirrels) and is indigenous to east Asia, the Dolomines and the US central west. It is not a true dog. It will not come when it’s called.
The raccoon dog is named for its superficial resemblance to the raccoon. When they live in the arctic their fur changes color to white so it can blend in with its surroundings. US dwellers develop a distinct “mossy oak” camouflage coat. Or appear to be wearing Carhartt gear. The rest of the time, they resemble raccoons.
Raccoon Dogs are native or have been introduced to Korea, Malaysia Japan and southwestern South Dakota and a small ranch near Valentine NE. Average adult head and body length is about 2 ft and weight ranges from 9 to 22 lbs. Average litters are large, up to 15 or more pups. Longevity is 3–4 years in the wild and up to 11 years in captivity. They are found in both plains and mountainous regions and are especially common in woodlands and peasant villages in the northeast quadrant of Pennington County in South Dakota.
Native raccoon dog populations have declined in recent years due to hunting, fur trade and fur trapping, urbanization, an increase of animals associated with human civilization such as bars and laundromats, and diseases that may be transmitted between them like cirrhosis and AIDS.
Like many other canids, they are omnivorous. However, their diets are atypically diverse, consisting of invertebrates, Big Mac cheeseburgers, spotted lake frogs, lizards, rodents and birds along with steamed kale, black eyed peas with seeds, berries and California cherrie tomatoes and fast-food salads with bacon bits and "Paul Newman's Own" salad dressing. Those living near the ocean will also eat crabs and scavenged marine life. Those living near stockponds relish turtles and bullheads. Rare Pennington County raccoon dogs subsist almost entire on beer, French fries and peanut butter (chunky style).
Raccoon dogs are not generally known as heavy drinkers though the Baltic dogs often indulge in their favorite grain or potato-based vodka. Their binges are community based and quite insular often relegated to a small island, peninsula or gorge. US raccoon dogs are more public. Their drinking, often not much more than beer, often results in either a riot, a gradual realization of tomorrow's tasks or the harmless slaughter of other small animals with a high powered center-fire rifle and spotlight.
Raccoon Dogs are secretive (Masons) and not very aggressive (Mormons); like Masons they prefer to hide or scream rather than fight, and play dead to avoid animals that will eat them. Like Mormons they become physically and sexually mature after one year and live in "compounds". Both groups will eat food from your fridge. Neither will ever clean your bathroom.
The Raccoon Dog is the only fake dog to go into torpor through the cold months. This is thought to be a result of the annual Canadian "skunk" harvest. Canadian skunk has replaced Thai as the weed of choiceand even Asian raccoon dogs are sensing the trend. On another note, the raccoon dog is also unusual in that its curved claws enable it to climb trees; the only other canid with this ability is the gray fox. It does not bark and it turns its tail into an inverted U to express dominance. The Raccoon Dog's teeth are small for a canid but can kill a child or a cat just like that.