country don't give a fuck

I'm floating in a black balloon
I must make it through this afternoon
Shame shifting shadow down drifting
Rim's rolling now with all his might
Rain drops falling through a starry night
Sunrise on a choppy crusade

this is not goodbye

a fond farewell
The litebrite's now black and white
Cause you took apart a picture that wasn't right
Pitch burning on a shining sheet
The only maker that you'd want to meet
The dying man in a living room
Who's shadow paces the floor
Who'll take you out in the open door
This is not my life
It's just a fond farewell to a friend
It's not what I'm like
It's just a fond farewell to a friend
Who couldn't get things right
Fond farewell to a friend
He said really I just wanna dance
Good and evil matched perfect it's a great romance
I can deal with some physic pain
If it'll slow down my higher brain
Veins full of disappearing ink
Vomiting in the kitchen sink
Disconnecting from the missing link
This is not my life
It's just a fond farewell to a friend
It's not what I'm like
It's just a fond farewell to a friend
Who couldn't get things right
Fond farewell to a friend
I see you're leaving me and taking up with the enemy
The cold comfort of the in between
A little less than a human being
A little less than a happy high
A little less than a suicide
The only things that you really tried
This is not my life
It's just a fond farewell to a friend
It's not what I'm like
It's just a fond farewell to a friend
Who couldn't get things right
Fond farewell to a friend
This is not my life
It's just a fond farewell to a friend

hoot predicts - watch the list grow!

With the valuable assistance of Nostradamus himself, Hootenanny makes the following predictions for 2007.

1. The North American Sasquatch will reveal himself.
2. Computers will get faster.
3. TV's will stop growing at 61 inches.
4. The Himalayan Yeti will challenge the authenticity of the North American Sasquatch.
5. A Yeti/Sasquatch bidding war will develop between Old Navy and Abercrombie & Fitch.
6. Computers will get more faster.
7. The Pine Ridge Indian Reservation will secede from the Union.
8. Pigs will remain flightless.
9. Clothes will learn to wash themselves.
10. An additional 16 NCAA football "bowl" games will be created.
11. Bowls will become scarce in America.
12. Computers will get smaller.
13. Girl's basketball will be outlawed.
14. Man will establish a way station on Mars on his way to the sun.
15. The price of ice will climb as global warming continues.
16. Gas will cost more than bottled water.
17. The internet will be invented by a Democrat.
18. A Republican will ruin it.
19. There will be nothing but idiots left in North Carolina (excluding Pete).
20. The glacier covering North Dakota will recede.

here it comes again

Here comes the New Year fast on the heels of the last. Hootenanny has decided to continue posting in 2007. We can't say what you might encounter here, but we wish you would comment every once in a while. Let us know what's up. What? Don't have the time?
We'll keep the time for you.
We'll remember Woodie Guthrie, the train and the Stronghold.
Peace.

Year End 2006

The goose has been cooked. The foosball table sits unassembled in the corner. The guests have fled.
The loveseat has been relieved of it's 350 lb. burden. It (the burden) flew out this morning from Terminal Three at Sky Harbor. The plane at an odd tilt fighting the additional weight. The loveseat will recover, the meat thermometer will not.
Old yellow-dog left the day before, a mumbling mess of trembles sporting new boots and plaid shirt. A 4:49 flight to Houston International to be picked up by warden and returned safely to the detention center.
Yes, Christmas 2006 has come and gone. There are a lot of left over candy and cookies, cards and bird carcasses littering the neighborhood. The feral cats will eat well into the New Year. Hope you will as well.

chihuahua christmas

It's dang near here.

long trail ahead

Hootenanny checks in with Santa.
The Hootenanny editorial staff enjoys a long, cordial history with Santa and recently touched base with The Yuletide Dude as he scouted western routes for Christmas 2006. After running 87 Southbound out of San Antone, TX and El Paso de Robles, NM, Santa veered north to Riverton, WY before dropping south to chase the North Platte route through Nebraska. Chances are this year he'll blow up through Valentine, Pine Ridge and Hot Springs before spider-webbing Kadoka, Phillip and Wall. He is one clever logistical SOB!
The Reindeer powertrain is the same. Aging like Santa himself but still quite capable of transporting booty near and far. Rudolph is still the Ops Manager, flies the craft and navigates Santa's chosen path. It's all as it always was and always will be.
Just a couple of changes. Rather than cookies and milk, leave a vegetable tray with lowfat dip and maybe some yogurt or granola for the ride. Like you and me, Santa is watching his cholesterol. And maybe just a small glass of red wine for the heart and the cold. It's brutal at 35,000 feet.

let 'er rip

This is Gilbert Steve the Copper Penny Kid. Gilbert Steve runs Main Street Gilbert with a fast gun and a bad temperament. He bags groceries at the Liberty Market, schools at Gila River East Navaho Day School and does IT for my company on weekends. He's touchy and troublesome, like a black rattler or a white scorpion, but he keeps things in order. He's Microsoft asp.net certified, writes C ++ Javascript applications in his sleep and set up my wall-mounted HDTV system for $75 on a weekend with six illegals and a gallon of Sunny-D.
Gilbert Steve is a Renaissance Man. He listens to Enrico Caruso on an old 78 rpm single tube player/amp. He can find the best prosciutto in the Valley and cooks his brown eggs with pancetta, not bacon. His cinnamon ricotta custard will blow your mind.
Yet, Gilbert Steve lacks a BB gun. That's right, a proper BB gun. Gilbert Steve can't down a quail, dove or duck with his pathetic little cap gun. Rabbits infest his pepper patch.
Hootenanny would like to enlist your assistance on behalf of Gilbert Steve. Send your prayers to the Church of the Sacred Heart of Jesus in Mesa or just send one dollar to Gilbert Steve c/o Hootenanny in Gilbert, AZ. You will be glad you did because we're telling Gilbert Steve if you didn't.

hank williams III

pip

I wrote late into the evening over a lead bottle of India blue ink. Considering the speed of the publisher and his late, intestate equipment, was there any choice? My days as a bottle-black were numbered.
Someone called me Pip. Out across the tide flats of the lower Thames and up just a bit from the tide-pool where the garbage collects itself. Someone called me Pip.
As Pip, I stood among the reeds of the Thames floodplain, wondering.
So much for the Broken Social Scene.

hiatus

Hootenanny Hiatus.
Hootenanny posting may be few and far between over the Holidays although we'll make an effort to get some stuff up from time to time. Please bear with us and join us in 2007 for another year of toil and trouble, hijinks and happenstance.

nature girl

Nature Girl is the story of Honey Santana, a mildly deranged single mom who is so infuriated at being insulted by a telemarketer that she lures him from Texas to Florida with the intention of giving him a stern dressing down. But her quest is complicated by her decent but crooked ex-husband, a dope-runner; the telemarketer's girlfriend, a bombshell whose five minutes of fame were in writing a fake tell-all sex memoir called Storm Ghoul; a half-blood Seminole who goes on the lam after a tourist drops dead on his fanboat tour; a lecherous fishmarket owner whose amputated thumb and forefinger have been swapped by an incompetent surgeon; and the telemarketer's wife and the private eye she sends to spy on her wayward husband.

This is vintage Hiaasen -- filled with convulsively funny comic situations, grave ruminations on the state of the Florida Everglades, lovable and detestable characters, and keen suspense. A great holiday read.

Link to BoingBoing.

christmas music

you may see several posts in the upcoming days celebrating christmas
my wreath is on the door
my lights are up
my welcome mat is out

electric football

rock sock

pat

Hootnenanny Editor in Chief Douglas Teever (HEC) has many friends but few are so delightful as Pat. Pat worked at Wall Drug same time as HEC. She'd come by, flash a big smile full of perfect teeth and curly hair and make me feel special. Not special like a retard, but special like a friend.
In a short time, Pat and I connected in a way that few people do these days - like a couple of dingleberrys attached to the same damn dingleberry tree. I was funny, she was funnier. I was serious, she was still funnier. If I got angry, Pat walloped me upside of my over-sized head.
I hope Pat reads this and I hope she knows that if she ever makes it down to Gilbert Arizona I will make a space for her in the garage. She can stay as long as she likes. Even if I have to move the recycle bin.

wounded knee

We have all seen this picture before.
I just finished watching Episode Six of "Into The West". They did a good job of chronicling Big Foot's run from the Grand River to Wounded Knee after the murder of Sitting Bull. We all know what happened when they got there. Pretense led to combat. Carefully positioned Hotchkiss fifty cals raked the encampment. More than three hundred were murdered. All to avenge Custer's mistake on the Greasy Grass?
Arizona Senator John McCain has suggested we posthumously award Congressional Medals of Honor for the US soldiers that carried out this dirty business. While I respect Senator McCain, I can no longer support his agenda. This is a pivotal issue. And he is dead-ass wrong.
So, like you, I'm left wondering.
In all this time, has our government gotten any smarter?
I really don't think so ...
Actions are louder than words.

for bobbie for christmas - like a card or something

marty robbins
story of my life
makes me think of bobbie h
bobbie est la plus belle femme de toute le monde

Just in time for Christmas!

One of the coolest toys ever!

for alec

my nephew alec passed away on thanksgiving day
in texas small plane crash
he was way cool
this one of his favorite artists - elliot smith
he turned me on to him at thanksgiving in wall, SD in 2005
i'll miss alec

pass the dutchie

an old clip from the 80s
musical youth

johnny horton

battle of new orleans

sleepy

Sunday in Gilbert is all about borrowing a ladder from my neighbor Peter and his wife Bobbie so I can put up some Christmas lights. It was nice here today - cool but about 70. It feels even warmer in the sun. I particularly like driving down the wide streets of suburban Phoenix with the windows down in the truck - palms line the road, mountains in the background.
But heck, it's Sunday and I'm sleepy. I'm gonna grill a rib eye, watch some football (go Broncos) and tuck it in.
See you tomorrow.

cranberries

i just ran across one of the best blogs i've ever read
i'm hooked
cut and paste this url
http://cranberrytarts.blogspot.com/

i'm still your fag

broken social scene
toronto, ontario
canada
it's a good idea to keep track of the Canadians
don't be shocked by the man-love connotations of the following video
this isn't brokeback mountain
not that there's anything wrong with that
stay above the fray
appreciate artistic license
drama is for free in the new world
please

wake up

montreal's arcade fire

wake up with bowie

a different take with david bowie on the bridge
just proving this song rocks

dang

war footage
apache helicopter in iraq

orphans

Hootenanny recommends Tom Waits new three disk set "Orphans - Brawlers, Bawlers & Bastards".

PS: Marty - you should have it in your hands on Tuesday.

thanksgiving

Hootenanny returned today from Morongo Valley, California where the Hoot visited and observed a tribe of Morongo Valley hominids during their traditional Thanksgiving Holiday festivus. Tapping the knowledge of the famous Phd., Edgar Hollingbass of Southwest Missouri State College, an expert on Morongo Valley hominids and catfish, the Hoot blended right in though ultimately failing to remain unnoticed. A refusal to sample the oyster based dish drew a sharp rebuke and consternation from the assembled elders, including the patriarch of the clan, Marty, a single malt and cigar type with a learned fondness for raw and otherwise inedible seafood. The resulting unease gave way, thankfully, to an exotic feast of turkey with Italian sausage stuffing, skin-on mashed potatoes, assorted related gustatory accessories and a mack-daddy pecan pie.
Following this feast there was a great calamity of washing, watching of football and a lot of witty banter before a simple, comfortable stupor seemed to envelope the group, including the attending Hootenanny staffer. The stupor took hold of the male hominids mostly, and a few began to smoke tobacco and regale the others with tales of daring braveness and amazing accomplishment. Much of it was apparently questionable in fact, but altogether likely the perceived course of events in the mind of the story-teller. If the question was of any event, a wager was inevitably placed. But, more often than not, due to the dubious nature of the propositions, no real evidence could be adduced in favor or against. Eventually, the majority of the wagers were suspended.
As darkness fell, an unease permeated the tribe as both individuals and small groups, family and otherwise, began their gradual preparations for departure. Most notable, kindness and good cheer defined this point in the activities of the day. There was a profound sense of well-being and accomplishment as the tribe set the emotional stage for the year to come. The extended family had extended itself again. The bonds tested by the forgoing year had been amply renewed.

emergency drinking water

Still two days out from the Holiday and I'm setting in supplies for my trip to Morongo Valley, California. Most important, I was told, was a supply of "emergency drinking water". Pictured here is Bob Keen of Gilbert, Arizona. Keen distills his own "emergency drinking water" and I plan on taking a flask or two with me in case I'm cornered by Federales for trying to smuggle psychotropic green produce across the Colorado River. It's both a pharmacological safety net and a topical analgesic.

thanksgiving monday

say hello to my little friend

castro

we hope this pisses you off

bird sitter

I was heading up to Prescott to check out the old west bars with an old friend and I didn't know what to do with my parrot - a Guatemalan Green. A touchy bit of feathers and beak.
After an intensive Google search, I found this parrot sitter right here in Gilbert. She's a bird nanny. Highly specialized.
When I first met her, she was tending a red throated sap sucker, a white beaked hummingbird and an Anderson Scott blue-necked buzzard. She had an old Golden Eagle. And, most amazingly, a Sawtooth dream catcher from Omaha, Nebraska. What are the odds?

Mildred Stinnett

When you find yourself with little or nothing to do on a sunny November Saturday in Gilbert, AZ, hop on down to the Gilbert Street Liberty Museum and check out Mildred Stinnett's antique toothpick holder collection. It's a stunning collection and there's a tale to tell about each piece, says Mildred, a retired Marine aviator.
"I got this piece in 'Nam back in '69. Just after the Tet Offensive. We was lootin' in Old Saigon.", a mildly distracted Mildred mentioned offhandedly to several passersby as she fumbled with a fired glass toothpick holder from the early Ming Dynasty.
Another piece is hand carved North Sea pyrite. Mildred picked up several on her frequent trips to the Danish pyrite fields where she also raised caribou and gill netted Patagonian Toothfish with the natives under the endless summer sun before retiring to Gilbert in 1986.
Mildred enjoys a more relaxed pace these days. She's at the museum on Tuesdays and Thursdays, Joe's Real BBQ on Wednesday and the Gilbert Whist Club on Friday. Some days she plays shuffleboard or ping pong and practices her ballroom dancing with her imaginary partner, Dave Stinnett.
"And, I just like to kick back and chill with a couple of virgin margaritas and some good reefer. Life is simple here in Gilbert."

please stay

Sorry. Posts have been somewhat scarce while I moved into my new Navaho Hogan in north Gilbert, AZ. Hauled in my new sleepin' mat from over in Tempe. That took my Titan and Barry's Superduty to get the job done. Then down to Chandler for the desk for the den.
Still need to haul my electronics and a queen bed for guests. My readers are all welcome to test it if they make it out this way.
Up to Glendale on Saturday for the kitchen table and then I think I'm done. Well, excepting the foosball table I'm buying myself for Christmas.
Come on down and get yer butt kicked!

steven hairgrove

Like a crockpot dialed up way too High, Steven Hairgrove, son of the Methodist preacher in Wall, SD was a leaker, aka a bed-wetter. He wasn't shy and he was not deterred by public appprobation, and so, he continued wetting the bed well into Jr. High.
Two days ago, Steven called. He was at a Cingular Wireless franchise in Romeoeville, IL picking out a new phone. "Something waterproof" he stated. I could only guess why.

hold on

go ahed and call the cops

kiss me

let's get back to rock and roll
on the bus

new order

Pelosi, Bush and Cheney at the White House after the election.

The political paradigm has shifted. Whether you want to believe it or not, the American public wants to get out of Iraq.

I have a friend that suggests we're there to build and maintain airstrips to maintain control over the reserves - and that the boys who signed up should have known what they would inevitably encounter. I guess he's right, but I think he's wrong.

We're not in Iraq to build Democracy. We're there to support global capitalism - that's the long way to say OIL.

In the meantime, a whole bunch of goof folk are being treated worse than Indians. And young men are provided with the guns to they need to kill them.

I was nine when the American Indian Movement occupied Wounded Knee.

the chickens come home to roost

All this to secure a Rumsfeld resignation?

What a bash the Dems had last night beating up the Republicans. It was a well deserved and long in coming beating. The arrogance of those numb-headed-horse-eaters had become intolerable. The Dems had nothing to do but sit by and watch them disassemble 12 years of shame and excess in a spectacular display of self-destruction.
But now, the legislative branch must resume function. Democrats must put aside their bongs and beer and get at the task. Which is governing and protecting and serving and road building. Right here, right now.
There will be no more stiff collar quail hunts, no more drinking sessions with the Chief Justice, no more unmanned flights over the desert to catch the mobile applicants for janitorial and landscaping positions in the backyards of the better off.
The chickens have come home to roost. They'd better provide a few eggs for their feed and water cost, scratch about and kill the meaner bugs and act happy to see us whenever we approach. They only have two years to prove themselves. The revolution starts now.

election day coverage

be sure to vote for the nation
or a rock and roll damnation

populism and peace

George McGovern, South Dakota populist Democrat.

When he was ten, Hootenanny's Doug Teever met George McGovern. It was after the failed Presidential election, but George was still out stumping for the right and the good. It wouldn't be long before we discovered that the Republicans had stolen (almost literally) the election through a process of intimidation and crime, including burglary of the Democratic HQ at the Watergate in DC. Much of that activity, including infiltration of peaceful student organizations, is back in fashion among the religious right dominated Republicans of today.

We're not saying Republicans aren't good folk. They are. Nearly all of them. But too many are misguided and mislead. It's like watching a car wreck, we want to look away but we can't. We don't want to see the damage and the carnage but then again we do.

We have to ask the question - what do they have against peace? And, when they throw our boys in harm's way, why the lack of real support? Like equipment and machinery and troop levels, not platitudes about staying the course, or that we're actually "winning" when a situation goes from critical to chaos. Take a look at the linked editorial to your right. It's to be published in The Army, Air Force and Marine Times. It regards Donald Rumsfeld, your Secretary of Defense. A good, thought provoking read. Or maybe just a reiteration of the obvious.

VOTE!

Hootenanny welcomes your comments. If you don't like what we're saying, let us know. We will publish your comments.

And, almost forgot. Get out and vote on Tuesday and think about it, if you had a choice similar to '72s Nixon vs. McGovern, how would you vote today?

should i stay or should i go now

Remember to vote Tuesday. Their lives depend on it.

rock and roll

montreal and texas

the arcade fire from montreal
the singer is from austin tx
U2 opened with this song last time i saw them in minneapolis
(they didn't perform it they just played it as they took the stage)

yeah

it's friday - let's party

yeah yeah yeahs

the yeah yeah yeahs

kafka, the tsa and the republican war on americans

here's a link to a great story about airline security from a fellow blogger
You can't wear sunglasses at LAX
great story
made me think of franz kafka's 'the trial'
how does a government protect me by reducing me to an endless waiting room and stripping me of my dignity on false premises of safety and security
with a group of low wage misfortunates that could care less
i am not afraid of terrorists
i will take my chances
i can protect myself
like dude in the article linked above says - how will checking my boarding pass three times
protect me or anyone else when one can easily generate a boarding pass with readily
available computer software
and i don't suspect it's all that hard to forge a drivers license
THE 9/11 BOMBERS HAD LEGITIMATE BOARDING PASSES AND REAL STATE ID
why are we looking for forgeries - they've already established they're smarter than that
next time i'm in LAX i'm keeping the sunglasses on
so as to not draw the attention of the neo-republican templars
the same old idiots responsible for fast food, jack-ass religion and the abuse of the elderly and feeble
if it's profitable

stuart

"He was exactly five feet six inches in height, and six feet five inches in circumference. His head was a
perfect sphere, and of such stupendous dimensions, that dame Nature, with all her sex's ingenuity, would have been puzzled to construct a neck capable of supporting it; wherefore she wisely declined the attempt, and settled it firmly on the top of his back bone, just between the shoulders. His body was oblong, and particularly capacious at bottom; which was wisely ordered by Providence, seeing that he was a man of sedentary habits, and very averse to the idle labor of walking. His legs were very short, but sturdy in proportion to the weight they had to sustain: so that, when erect, he had not a little the appearance of a beer barrel on skids. His face, that infallible index of the mind, presented a vast expanse, unfurrowed by any of those lines and angles which disfigure the human countenance with what is termed expression. Two small gray eyes twinkled feebly in the midst, like two stars of lesser magnitude in a hazy firmament; and his full-fed cheeks, which seemed to have taken toll of everything that went into his mouth, were curiously mottled and streaked with dusky red, like a Spitzenberg apple. His habits were as regular as his person. He daily took his four stated meals, appropriating exactly an hour to each; he smoked and doubted eight hours, and he slept the remaining twelve of the four-and-twenty."

biscuits

Making biscuits three times a day.

Biscuits.
Remember fresh melted butter on a hot "Bisquick" biscuit.
I do.

We're coming up on two years now since Mom passed. She didn't make biscuits three times a day, but she made them often enough on cold fall nights. Sometimes with a beef short-rib stew over rice that I'd cut off my leg if I could get some today.

She was a real mom as most mom's are. Standing in the kitchen when she wasn't washing clothes or going off to work to get money to feed me, my brothers and sister.
Biscuits and cornbread and johnnycake. Chili, gumbo and Spanish rice. Pollywaddles, holup sea and great northerns with smoked hamhocks. Chef Boy-Ar-Dee pizza with added hamburger and pepperoni.
Sunday was best. On Saturday, Mom would set her self to baking. She was a baker at the top of the baker food chain. No one in the five state area could even qualify as a competitor. Across the street lived a Renner clan. Luckily some of the cleaner ones. Mother Renner tried to cook, and she tried very hard, but she still ate stewed cow brains for lunch and still couldn't microwave a potato. It never came out right. She preferred margarine to butter and Miracle Whip to mayonnaise. She won a valuable award when she successfully chilled an entire stalk of celery on ice in a cooler at Canyon Lake Park. Ouch.

But, Mom had to move on. She'd done all she could. Taught those that took to teaching. Gave books to the book-less and took care of six feral root-hogs in the meanwhile. And, every minute of every day, no matter how things were going, she always looked on the bright side of life. And now, I do too.

daylight savings time

what a drag ...

b's place

B's Place. Kandahar, Afghanistan.

Hootenanny is working on a big deal with a former SD boy to open a string of fast food joints in Afghanistan before the Taliban resume control in about a year or so. In the photo here, you see our man on the ground in Kandahar readying our initial marketing push. We'll be posting a menu in the near future, but since you can't get B's Place food in America (though we do have plans to move into northern Pakistan in late 2007 and Kashmir in 2008 if India lays off the nuclear threats), you probably don't care unless you like goat and mutton, rancid butter and Pepsi.
We are hiring! Your own vehicle and stinger missile ensemble preferred. Prospective applicants who bring a ball of black hash to the interview will receive fast track consideration.

arizona amp and alternator

Here we go again, shilling for true artists. If you've heard of Howe Gelb, you might have heard of his new side project Arizona Amp And Alternator. A must have item. I met Howe in Minneapolis and he was very cordial. He had but two questions for me. "Where's that Thai restaurant that used to be on Nicollet? And "Where's the nearest liquor store?" Well, the King and I Thai had moved to Grant and LaSalle and the liquor store was right around the corner on 7th, a few blocks from where we stood.
As he ambled off into the cold, damp night, me and my buddies headed downstairs to the 7th Street Entry to see an old reunion show with Cop Shoot Cop and the Brian Jonestown Massacre. Cool, huh?

borat

Hootenanny opposes the MPA and RIAA, thus we are making this movie available in four minutes snippets to avoid their cyberbots which search the internet and seek to destroy freedom of expression and, more importantly, piracy. Hell, we like pirates. Why would we want to put them out of business?

feelings

new jersey's the feelies
what a great band

promotional address - badlands bar, wall, sd

darfur

WHATEVER YOU DID UNTO ONE OF THE LEAST,
YOU DID UNTO ME
kill the least
the poor
nobody is looking
nobody cares

Seems like a lot of people are dying in the deserts of Africa and the middle east. Hootenanny tries to stay out of it - the dialogue is shitty. Folks have strong points of view. But if you look at the picture you might realize that many are more likely to die or get killed than others.

So, to be blunt, from here on out, Hootnenanny is anti-war. Absolutely, all the time.

salt river

Love the sun. Love the heat.
The Salt River used to run free across the valley. It doesn't anymore. It sinks into the ground before it gets to Phoenix. What was once a river bed is now just a wash. A trash filled, pollution capture basin on the way to Sky Harbor. On in to Tempe and Tempe Town Lake. The ugliest fucking lake I have ever seen. It's a frickin' washbasin carved out under a series of high traffic and highway overpassses. Sweet.
But don't rely on me. Go check it out yourself.
My friends in Tempe will be mad. Don't mention that you know me.

strange and beautiful

This is a video from Connor Oberst of Bright Eyes a band from Omaha, NE. I thought it was gay at first (not that that would matter!), but towards the end I don't know. Much more importantly, it's a great video. Actual artisitic quality. Fuck!

tribute to scott p

shooter and carter

The sons of Waylon Jennings team up to good effect.

a tune for you

this is for my "niece"
a fellow blogger and all around cool chick
who appreciates cheese like this

jeepster jim (voted for g. bush)

i talked to jim the other day. morning actually. he was heading into town to buy a jeep which i believe is a foreign vehicle now. he was buying an older jeep. american made for about 400 bucks. shit, you can't get a good bag of weed for 400 bucks these days. just old penn county schwag.
jim will have his jeep. and t-rex will play jim's new theme song - just click on the right-pointing arrow but remember to vote democrat ... because that will piss jim (bush lover) off

jim i heard you dissed me to a close friend. are you running with stuart now? may i introduce you to charles daley the 12th. bugger off, fisheater.

join the rebels

i hate this part of texas
furniture

MAYBE

maybe i shouldn't be so sarcastic
maybe i should just post a video
so here's toronto's broken social scene
i'll be there in january, montreal in march

hunting with todd

We wanted to go hunting. We agreed on a time and day. I was awake and ready, Art and Casey showed up on time and Barry had a pot of coffee brewed up. As our appointed time of departure neared, we discussed birds, buzzworms and bag limits. Todd was running late. So while we waited we threw some beers in a cooler and debated leaving without him. But the delay resulting during the cooler stocking gave Todd just enough time to pull into Barry's driveway in Gilbert.
Todd was 15 minutes late. We mentioned that to him, subtly and with concern. See, we needed his Yukon to get to Queen Valley.
In five minutes we'd transferred all our gear into the Todd's Yukon. It took us a while to get out of town. New roads confuse Todd and Barry was worse than hired help when it came to directions. Art finally got us on track to Queen Valley and the state trust lands teeming with rocks, sand, eye-level cactus, mid-section cactus, thigh and lower leg cactus and of course, foot cactus. And damn few birds!
But since Todd is willing to risk his vehicle, we're willing to ride along.
We almost overdrive the QV exit. Then drive right into town. We go too far, then turn around to search the fenceline Todd and Barry remember from last year. Todd seems to have a clue, Barry is lost. We pull in anyway.
It's barren. It's rugged. We all jump out and start gearing up. Plans are discussed. This draw, that flat or down that dry creek bed. Water here, food there and cover in between. Is that gun plugged? No. It's not. What's the liabilty?
That day the birds flew well fast, fiesty and dodgy. They avoided lead like they figured they'd need to do to stay alive and escaped us the greater part of the time.
Todd did get a bird but I think he may have coaxed it's death rather than killed it outright. That or it was Casey's bird and Todd bogarted it. Two hours in and we had two. Two birds. Art got the other. As we circled back around to the truck for the second time, Barry remembered the beer and the hunting came to an abrupt end. It was, after all, nearly 10:30 AM at that point. Well into daylight and the hotter sun. Time when the snakes get hinky and move about with madness on their mind. Time to go.
Todd drove us all home after that. Taking the long way home, so to say. And even though he gave me the brochure, I don't think I'll buy the insurance. I'm pretty sure it's not bonded.

hello columbus

10/9/06 christopher columbus day

see how many native americans you can talk to today
and extend a hand in thanks for the welcome you've received in their land
notwithstanding columbus and the others who came later
who were as much if not more destructive

look at a map today and read the names of states, counties and cities
ohio, indiana, michigan, kansas, oklahoma, iowa, wyoming, montana and the dakotas ...
mankato, owatonna, oacoma, tulsa ...
home to all of us

people have the right to fly
let's move it along

and forget columbus

it's not his day
it's ours

in the flat field

the original goths - bauhaus
peter murphy and daniel ash

look listen

wounded knee

GALL

A lot of historians overlook this dude. He directed the battle - the Lakota and affiliates including the Southern Cheyenne that held Reno's first charge and pushed his men back up into the trees.
Where they stayed.
Until long after Custer made his fatal mistake. Looping in from the east. Thought he would head them off just like he used to do when he was killing reservation Indians in Kansas and Oklahoma.
As history tells us, he hit the middle of a camp full of human beings. Custer figured they'd run. HA
They didn't.

man afraid of his horses

Gen. Crook, who lost the skirmish on the Rosebud, got a new commission after the Little Bighorn fight and chased American Horse and Man Afraid back towards the Red Cloud agency. There was a skirmish on the east side of Slim Buttes between Crook's troops and the people. I don't think things came out well for the people.

the world is neither fair nor unfair

But the Mandan Villages up river were tough.

columbus day - part one

About 100 years ago, Chief Joseph of the Nez Perce foresaw the result of the same brand of fundamentalist ass-holeism that is prevalent today and decided to cash out. It's a heartbreaker. We could learn something. This is the start of Hootenanny's coverage of Columbus Day 2006. We're going to continue to call it that because it brings the issue up front. Columbus didn't discover America, Big Bat Pourier did.
Anyway, here's one of the best oratories from a powerful person, Old Chief Joe as Marty and I used to refer to him ...


"Tell General Howard I know his heart. What he told me before, I have it in my heart. I am tired of fighting. Our chiefs are killed; Looking Glass is dead, Too-hul-hul-sote is dead. The old men are all dead. It is the young men who say yes or no. He who led on the young men is dead. It is cold, and we have no blankets; the little children are freezing to death. My people, some of them, have run away to the hills, and have no blankets, no food. No one knows where they are?perhaps freezing to death. I want to have time to look for my children, and see how many of them I can find. Maybe I shall find them among the dead. Hear me, my chiefs! I am tired; my heart is sick and sad. From where the sun now stands, I will fight no more forever."

what are the odds that Fox "News" would lie?

In case you didn't know, Fox News referred to Congressman Mark Foley (R-FL a/k/a the page-molester) as a Democrat more than once recently when in fact he's never been anything other than a Republican page-molester. But hey, his party affiliation and weakness for pages is neither here nor there. For his problem, he needs help outside of politics.
But, jeez. What a screw up. The six-term Republican congressman has never been a Democrat. Wonder why they'd make that mistake.
That Fox News would "inadvertently" change his party affiliation during airings of the O'Reilly Factor is another thing altogether. Probably just a glitch. Ooops. They are, after all, the retarded right. Word is, many, many more are morally dyslexic. God's cruel answer to the Loopey Left.

dick fucking cheney

brambles

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.