sara

Sara likes Bob Dylan. A lot. So do I. Sara's from Oklahoma. I've never been there. She makes it seem really cool though. It must be. She's there. By way of San Francisco or the east coast, I can't remember which.
Bob just announced the US leg of his tour. One stop was Sturgis, ND. Yeah ND, not SD. Either way I might go. He's worth a road trip. Especially if Sara comes along.

but if you try sometime

You can get what you need. Like if you want a pony, maybe settle for a goat.
Bigfoot always wanted solitude, he got infamy. He wanted a splinter-cat, he got bitten and scratched. He wanted a bathtub, he got a pond. He wanted a friend, he got me. He wanted an iPad, he got an iPod Touch.
I asked him. Are you bitter? He said no. I got what I need.

new post

Sometimes when you ain't really got nothin' new to say, you just hit "new post" and wait for the flow. Sometimes it don't show up on time so you freelance. You make it up.
Maybe you ran out of cigarettes and the tank in your truck is gettin' low. Maybe your cat gives you a look, sayin' what's up Pa. Maybe your CD player broke and your girlfiend noticed. Doesn't want to see you no more. You think about takin' up rodeo again, but you're too old for that business. Gave your riggin' away a long time ago when you couldn't get a PRCA invite. Your rope is loose and your saddle's worn. It hurts a bit. The busted neck in Bell Fourche, collarbone in Payson. Losing your best friend in Layton. Missing the cut in Pueblo. Those good rides in McLaughlin, Sundance and Lame Deer come to nothin'. A few eighties don't make a career.
But a cowboy has a job to do when he gets thrown, when his rope slips, his horse stumbles through the gate. He get's up, finds his hat, dusts it off, smiles and keeps on cowboyin'. Guess I'll do the same. Washte kolas.

closing time

When the clock turned, I was suddenly one year older. Like magic. A whole year of work and perilous danger subsumed by a number. In an instant. It doesn't seem right. It took a whole year to get here. Now that year is history.
Funny. I still have the same friends and a few more new friends. Some re-connections with friends thought to be lost but really just out there wondering what the hell I'd been up to.
Yes. I've become lame. I drive carefully, keep the speed down, let others cut in front and refrain from using my cell phone while driving and at the gas station because the sign says I shouldn't. I eat more dark green vegetables. Wash the dishes by hand. Buy recycled paper products even if they cost more and they always do. I sold my guns and quit hunting and shooting animals except with a camera. I provide fresh water and litter for my cat almost daily. He notices and I think he appreciates it but how would I know. I just figure if I was him, I would want someone like me to do the same. His name is Willie. He likes country music just like I do. He's hoboed from Arizona to Minnesota with me.
And I still like punk rock. I'm still a straight-laced prep frat-boy in appearance and action. I voted then, I vote now. I pay taxes. I'm OK with both. I take a vitamin supplement and drink a lot of water. Usually only fruit if I want a sweet snack. But I still love cookies (I'm eating one now), ice cream and cupcakes. Overall, I'm a happy boy. I guess that could be brain damage from my years of excess. They're behind me. I've become more subtle.
I'm old now, but young at heart and in spirit. I wonder if it's because I took the time to make so many friends. Some go back to first grade, some farther. Some are more recent, but bonds build over time. Some quickly, others more slowly, and require careful consideration. Some I've had to let go as our paths diverged. But, that's part of the enjoyable challenge of it all. Like a warm chocolate chip cookie or your Mom's smile when you did the right thing. Or eating spinach. It grows on you and makes you stronger.
Closing time for me is a long way off. I can't get enough of this. Figure I'll stick around for a bit. So, for all of you friends, the bigger and the better and the in-betweens, thank you for carrying me this far. I won't forget you. Ever.

eating soup off the top of your daddy's head

I hadn't heard this phrase before tonight. The explanation was satisfactory but the image remains. Wouldn't the soup simply drain off? If Dad had a bald spot, wouldn't it be worse? A scald. A third degree burn. And a good pot of soup lost.
Like a pick-up game on the playground. You lose so often until you decide to stop losing. You get taller than your Dad. You scrap it out. And when the day comes when you're taller than him, you eat soup off the top of his head. And sink the winning basket.

could you would you

If you could I know it would be so good. The Magnolias have re-united but when will the Johnson brothers bring Run Westy Run back to life. We all wait patiently. Never missed a show. Usually a packed First Ave main room gig. Sometimes in the Entry for old times sake. Hanging from the rafters. Stocking cap studded with burning incense. You would have had to have been there to get the full picture.
Then there was the Iffy experiment. That was a chick magnet. Saw them at the 400. My cell was in my pocket. It redialed my girlfriend Mara at home. She heard us discuss the merits of various hot babes. Back in the car after, phone still broadcasting, she heard me tell my buddies that she was hotter than any chick there that night. Close call. Turned out well though. Still love my cutie from Grand Forks.

almost

Almost old. Almost. I'm fighting it. But if by chance I do get older, I'll remember all the special people in my life. There are so many.
I spend my days playing a game I call jump, jump, jump climb. I get tied up in it.  Then I hear from a dear friend I haven't heard from in years. Her smile is beautiful and it makes me happy. And the years fall away. Tomorrow, I think I'll play in a sandbox. Ride a swing. Take the neighbor kids for ice-cream. There's more than one way to jump, jump, jump, climb.

garrett bryan holly bryan

Garret Bryan Holly Bryan was poorly named. As a result, he suffered horribly at the hands of the grade school bullies and the assembled crowd. Chased, caught, wrestled to the ground for an Indian haircut, the turkey-peck or the dreaded "snake-bite", he'd take his punishment and shuffle off. Just a little tore up.
But then Garret Bryan Holly Bryan met Marli Feller Feller Marli. The prettiest girl in third grade. He carried her books home after school. He held her hand.
The bullies wouldn't stand for this behavior and so upped the ante on Garret Bryan Holly Bryan. But he remained true to Marli Feller Feller Marli. Sixteen years later, he married her. She kept her maiden name, so now she's Mrs. Garret Bryan Holly Bryan Marli Feller Feller Marli. Can't wait til they have kids!

the brown acid

When I was little, I spent some time on my Uncle's dairy farm in western South Dakota. My brother was working as a farmhand for him that summer and my Uncle and Aunt were such nice people that it was a very popular place to be. Cousins and neighbor kids scrambled over fences and chased the chickens, avoiding the evil flock of geese. My Uncle grew apples, cherries and plums. My Aunt tended a massive garden of tomatoes, cucumbers and corn.
While visiting, I used the second bed in my brother's room. He had a record player and he would play records at night. A favorite was an LP of the Woodstock Festival. I remember the guy over the PA saying, "Do not eat the brown acid." Apparently it was bad acid. It was years before I even knew what he meant or what "acid" was for that matter. I thought, who would eat acid anyway? Wouldn't it hurt or at least burn a little?
Well, yesterday, I think I ate some brown acid. I left some delivery pizza out overnight then put it in the fridge in the morning. When I got home from work, pooped after a long day, I microwaved a slice and headed for bed. Six hours later, it was a jailbreak. The pizza wanted out and it got it's way. More than once. Several times in fact. It fought the Pepto Bismal, and won. It even refused water. Eventually, it escaped entirely. I emerged from a virtual fugue state about 4:00 PM. A day lost to the brown acid. Don't eat it.

skin of my teeth

When you get down to the skin of your teeth you look carefully for the next crack in the sidewalk. You pretend you can see it coming. You don't turn the lights on even when you're in the dark. So you trip, you fall, again.
Get back up. Hope. Cause hope won't weigh you down. Be a dreamer. Dream and sleep. You might fall, but you will wake.

buttehead

Dude. I hope you don't mind but I'm posting this because you write so damn well and I am Impressed. Plus, in reviewing your profile I saw influences ranging from the Tao Te Ching to Thunderheart and Pow Wow Highway. And darn it if you don't hunt and fish too. Bet you're not unfamiliar with an occasional beer on Sunday during football. Party on Buttehead, you rock.

So folks, get your butt over to Buttehead.

http://buttehead.blogspot.com/

The last Buttehead post follows. Awesome.

 

 

That Midlife Thing

I guess this is that time in life. Back when Dad was acting pretty strange after their divorce, I remember asking Grandpa if he went through some sort of midlife crisis, he just said, "Hell, I never had the time!"

I'm thinking it has to do with changing your mindset. When I was younger, it was always a matter of what I was going to do some day, what my potential was, what paths I would take? Now I begin to realize that some potential doors are closing, that I do not and will not possess certain traits I admire, and there is only a finite amount of time to accomplish a seemingly infinite amount of dreams and goals.

I also think that men tend to pine for what they perceive they have missed out on. I think this is why many family men buy the Corvette or run off with the secretary, looking for that adventure they didn't have living the culdesac lifestyle. I think it's why guys like me who have climbed the mountains, jumped out of the planes, ran the wild rivers, begin to miss the family that never materialized. What would it have been like to marry that sweet girl years ago, wake up next to her now, and be sending the kids off to college?

Not that there are serious regrets. I've been a lucky bastard. I've had a chance to realize many a goal, been blessed with a great extended family, a few solid friendships, and have worked at a career that has allowed me to be a positive force in many lives. I wondered what it was going to be like to get to this stage in life. In many ways it probably hasn't completely sunk in, and in many ways I'm just damned fortunate to have made it this far.

bdl

I was in Wisconsin today and learned to my surprise that there is such a thing as a BDL. A Bovine Drivers License. Bovines can legally drive in Wisconsin.
I knew that cats were legally licensed in New York. Hence, Toonces, The Driving Cat popularized on SNL. I did not know about bovines in Wisconsin until one backed into me in the parking lot of the Superamerica and dinged my bumper. She mooed loudly and called in a flock of crows (oops, I meant cops). I still have Arizona plates and an Arizona DL so they brought in the drug dog. Two and one half hours later, I am free to go. Apparently it is legal to have chewing gum in your vehicle in Wisconsin because that's all the dog found of interest.
The bovine, on the other hand, will be buying me a new bumper. It's a small ding and I would have let it go, except for the mooing, which annoyed me as much as the crows. Cows and crows in Wisconsin. A wonderful afternoon.

it all comes together

If you make it a priority, work at it, persist at it; it all comes together. You learn to approach with consideration. You learn to give without expectation. And it all comes together. Suddenly, you become rich in spirit and your soul learns to fly.
This is what it's about. This is why we're here. Simple, isn't it?

pancake rabbit hat

I bought a bunny today. It came with a pancake for a hat. I consider that a bargain. I can have the hat for breakfast and the bunny for lunch. Genius! Thinking of buying a franchise. This is big in Japan.

amboy crater

Cognitive dissonance. Amboy Crater has it. Heck, she's full of it. Up to the gills and down to the fat around her ankles.
Amboy rides in the back of Will Crater's Nissan, even when it's cold, with her Pitbull Terrier, Arlys.
She listens to Maya Arulpragasam, M.I.A., and pines for the forests of northern Sri Lanka. She wants to be a Tamil Tiger. Live off curried shrimp and rice with coconut juice. An occasional mango. Maybe some pine nuts. She doesn't know about the recent genocide. That's what Maya called it.
Amboy wants to get a tiger tattoo. Will won't let her. He got one in Sturgis in 1985 and nearly died from the resulting staph infection. He contracted Hep C at the same time and is slowly dying of cirrhosis. Liver failure. It's a sad, unfortunate situation. Amboy's afraid she'll catch the Hep C. That's why she rides in the back. With Arlys. No tattoo.

happy boy

I was walkin' down the street on a sunny day
hubba hubba hubba hubba hubba
Feelin' in my bones that I'll have my way
hubba hubba hubba hubba hubba

Chorus:
Well, I'm a happy boy (happy boy)
Well, I'm a happy boy (happy boy)
Oh, ain't it good when things are goin' your way? Hey hey

My little dog, Spot got hit by a car
hubba hubba hubba hubba hubba
Put his guts in a box and put him in a drawer
hubba hubba hubba hubba hubba

(chorus)

I forgot all about it for a month and a half
hubba hubba hubba hubba hubba
I looked in the drawer and started to laugh
hubba hubba hubba hubba hubba

beat farmers

laser cat

Laser cat lives in the crotch of a tree in my backyard. He is useful. The power of his lasers illuminate the patio after dark. He can kill an ant from a great distance. It has been rumored that he can even fly. Like a squirrel.
Last night, I caught laser cat rifling through the papers in my briefcase. I know he uses my laptop when I'm not home. I had to get new credit cards. But what he was doing reading the company's collective bargaining agreement with the union of service workers, I cannot determine. Maybe he is a spy. On a double-super-secret mission.

beads from arletta

Arletta Wounded Arrow lives in Wanblee on the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation in South Dakota. She is the prettiest girl in town and an accomplished dancer. She made a pair of beaded mocasins and gave them to me. The beadwork was on the soles. When I asked her why, she said, "These are for your journey. When your feet no longer touch the ground."
I hope I don't need them soon, but when I do, that's what you'll see as I fly away. Beads from Arlettta.

you

You used to have all the answers. You still do. You just know. You just do. We watch things on VCR's. With you the paving stones on the streets in Rome are on fire. Sharing a bottle of wine on the Spanish Steps we threw two coins into the fountain. One to say we were here, another to say we'll be back.

so we shot ourselves into outerspace

Hitting 94 East towards St. Paul. Gotta visit St. Joe's. Need more skin grafts.
Get in the door. See the surgeon. He suggests a pre-surgery debridement. I think, cool. Cause that means morphine sulfate and percoset. It's how I originally met Bigfoot. After a CAT scan  in Phoenix, I used my hospital-drug-induced imagination to shape-shift. Into a splinter-cat. Right outside of Vancouver, BC. I guess it's raining in Vancouver, but I don't give a fuck. I'm coming home tonight.

In Vancouver,  my favorite writer, already dead, introduced me to Washington Weelford. A Canadian Bigfoot. He gave me a screech owl and a pine cone. We consumed edible roots and fermented chokecherries.

Then me and Washington shot ourselves into outerspace. I'm not sure whether I ever came back.

PS: The writer's name is David Foster Wallace. RIP David.