"What a Long Strange Trip it's Been" Robert Hunter & Jerry Garcia

Wadd'ya do when everything goes right? I mean, I've had success in my 58 years, some of it incredibly gratifying and meaningful. And I have had abysmal failures both unsolicited and of my own creation. And I certainly understand that success today may pale or shine in relation to what came years before, but that seems to be an incidental viewpoint with no teeth. Did I say no teeth?

Let's just run down a little of the current mode of operation so we can pick it apart, dissect the individual pieces and melt them down to their inevitable greasy little puddles for clean up on aisle 9:

• I now have a full set of teeth, thanks to a Dentist without an agenda or the need to own property in the Bahamas that was paid for exclusively from the work he did for me. This is thanks to a new set of upper and lower partial plates that hook and anchor to the good teeth he left in. I can smile, kiss, eat, sing and play the trumpet. OMG, I cannot stress the power of this upgrade.
• After spending several years not believing I could maintain a proper diet due to my Diabetes that was diagnosed 3 years ago because it was too hard to do on my schedule, and watching my blood sugar remain intolerably high without regard for the two types of insulin and three times a day pills I was taking I have found the secret to the Diabetes Magic Treasure Cave—I am now doing exactly what my doctor told me to do three years ago. I have trained myself to a 1.5 mile brisk walk with my dog, Dizzy (he is now also very happy, and his friggin' sugar is never an issue!) followed by a 2.5 mile bike ride that is pretty much all out the whole way. And, I eat the right stuff, all day every day. And yes, wait for it...I have lost 35 pounds over the last 6 months and my blood sugar is within very manageable levels for the first time since I was diagnosed and going down. Sumbitch, i just didn't believe I could do it. Next stop, 40 more pounds off.
• My band, The Joe Willy Band is having a Renaissance of sorts. After recording our own CD 4 years ago, which was a major task for us, consuming a year and a half and about $5K, our original bass man left us due to his declining health and his train wreck, trailer trash wife. Now, new CD in hand, and no bass player, we were dead in the water. We had struggled for several years with this original bass man as he became unable to play to our level, and stopped playing gigs almost completely while the recording was going on. Now, we could not play at all. What ensued was a miserable two years and a string of no less than 4 bass players (actually more like a dozen, when you count all the auditions) who ran the gamut from falling apart on stage the first time we played a live gig after 3 months of rehearsal to an inability to remember anything like a complete arrangement to a guy who had no drivers license but swore he would get to rehearsals and the gigs, except for the first, second or third one, and finally to a really tragic event when we really thought we had the right guy who fit in, was experienced and played killer bass and then died in his home of a massive coronary two weeks after we hired him. FUCK! What do we have to do. Then we tried a guy who actually turned out to be a better guitar player than bass player, and he switched off with our lead man who also plays the best bass for 100 miles in any direction, and that worked until the new guy just went off the deep end and would tune his guitar in the middle of a song. Enter one Alan Nickerson from Chicago, Illinois. the man can play the bass. He can sing. He has a personality that is so cool to the touch, and fits in with all of us. He is a consummate pro, who has played everything, everywhere. I am in love with Alan. He and I make a rhythm section like a block of granite. We rock. As a result, The Joe Willy Band has gone through a transformation. We can now play nearly any material we want. We have added back our old second guitar player who is a near perfect complement to our primary guitar man, and who can play his balls off. We have freshened our song list with over 20 new songs that have made us far more up temp, contemporary and bitching. No, really , we now have a solid concrete hold on some key classic and southern rock, R&B and Blues hits that have redefined who we are. And we play our own original material with all new fire and life that feeds our need for speed! And of course the result is, we have been playing gigs pretty much non-stop since last summer. We have a completely new PA system. All of us have upgraded our personal equipment inventory. Okay, we would have done that anyway, it is the working musicians mantra—I need more and cooler equipment. So now we are on the verge of our most visible gig yet. We are playing two sets on the main stage of a very large outdoor BBQ event called "Pigfest" (yeah, I know, a lot of pigs, chickens and cows will give their lives for this, but I am not a vegetarian so what am I supposed to do?) this weekend and there will be upwards of 500 to 1000 people milling around and drinking beer when we play. We are STOKED!
• And then there is Debbie. I have reported on this phenomenon in an earlier post so I will not repeat the gush, I will just say no change has been more dramatic or exciting than my redheaded wonder. Everything in my life has been affected, and I am embarking on a whole new outlook and vision of me and the future. Kowabunga.

So as I reflect on all this crazy good news, I know there are still areas of my life that need change or at least some modification. My job is becoming untenable and I will probably be forced into a corner from which I can only emerge by leaving where I work in the next few months, and my roommate just fucked me by moving out with no notice and leaving me a trashed bedroom and bathroom. But I have to report, that due to all of the above, nothing will faze me. I will find a roommate, and I will find the right work to pay the bills and give me some measure of fulfillment. And I will let nothing deter me from my girl, my health and my music. So lift a glass, and toast the days we spend in the sun, and see to it that you are working on your behalf at all times for it is unlikely anyone else will. And for god's sake, heed the words of Hunter S. Thompson when he said, "It still isn't weird enough for me," and Robert Hunter with Jerry Garcia when he said, "What a long strange trip it's been." Ciao, babies, now go make your world a better place, ya' knucklehead!

Ain't Life Grand?

After 15 years of singleness, I am suddenly fraught with date. As you might imagine, I am a little apprehensive, though I am also excited and overjoyed. As a single man, I have developed a lifestyle based around my work as an Internet car salesman for a large Ford and Lincoln dealership and a musician working in a classic rock/blues band for over 20 years, along with side gigs in acoustic settings. I do pretty much what I want, when I want, within the confines of available time and funding.

My typical day is up at 6:30am, shower and walk the dog and slide into work at 8:15am only fifteen minutes late. Car salesman have leeway as we are essentially subcontractors. Work my leads and greet customers until lunch, hit the local pubs with my bud Dr. Love for lunch, and back on the sales lot until either 5pm or 7:30pm. Of course for that moronic asshole who can't find our dealership, and who leaves an hour for what is at least a two hour drive to get here, I am often here as late as 9 or 10pm closing a deal and delivering the moron-obile.

Once home, the dog gets walked 1.5 miles which is the absolute bomb to him. He lives to take his walk. On those days when he gets two of these, I am certain he would make me dinner, clean the house and wash my car, if he only had hands and more brains than it takes to chase a cat. He loves him some walking.

Following that, I get a 2.5 mile bike ride on my Trek at high speed. These two exercise habits are changing my life. I have lost 15-20 pounds, my joints work better, and my sugar levels are more controllable. I am working on increasing these habits in frequency and distance.

Following all of that whirlwind of activity, I generally have an hour or two to relax, faceplant on the computer, write song lyrics, practice guitar or trumpet, watch TV or do chores. It is up to you to discover which of these I do happily and which I do monthly.

Throw into this exciting mix a band rehearsal on Tuesday evenings for about 3-3.5 hours. Highlight of the week. Bond with the boys, drink a little beer, make cool loud noises and yak about all things rock and roll, blues and bad, all the while examining each others newest musical toys and plotting to get more. All musicians are ate up with more and better and older and cooler and expensive musical equipment. The purchase of a new Sennheiser microphone can elicit an hour or more discussion of the relative coolness and sound quality or a deep discussion of what favorite baddass famous guy uses one just like it.

And then, there are the gigs. At 58, a drummer needs approximately a day and a half to load his equipment in his truck, drive to the gig and set it up. Alright, I exaggerate a little. But seriously, if we have a gig at 8pm, I will often leave the house at 4pm to get there and take 1.5 to 2 hours to get set up, mics set and my drum mixer and monitor system ready so I can help our sound man set the main system up and have maybe 15-20 minutes before we play to relax and go over the set lists.

When we are done, It is at least an hour for me to pack and roll out. So for that 8-12 gig, I will spend as much as 9-10 hours start to finish. Daunting and daring, though I love it and have worked since I was 14 to be able to do exactly what I do, and I am pretty damned good at it.

Throughout the week, I also do all of our promotion work for the band, calling club owners for gigs, writing set lists, designing facebook and web site notices of our dates and downloading music and lyrics for new material. It is a lot of work to be a shiftless musician. But I love it.

So, what does all this have to do with dating? I think we both know the answer...I have built an elaborate hamster maze to keep me busy and avoid the broken hearts, the costly dinner bills, the dress up clothes and the time spent wooing any particular woman. I have turned chicken since my divorce. Well, technically since my divorce and ensuing engagement after divorce that blew up in my face and bitch slapped me into the realm of the woman less. I just didn't want to go there.

Couple all that with some health issues that made me feel less than available, and you have the basic idea. Over the last 10 years my teeth deteriorated significantly, some were broken, and many were just gone. It was a mess. Okay, now you have a good picture of my status in life: sleep, shower, eat, sell, play, practice, play, drink and start over. My blog pretty much reflects this if you walk through it over the last couple of years.

Now we move to this past Spring, when an exceptionally pretty woman who was my high school sweetheart and steady shows up on Facebook. After connecting there this past year, and playing the "hey, what up girl, I am absolutely NOT trying to snoop your Facebook pages after all these years and find out if you are still that fabulous girl with the red hair I couldn't take my eyes off in school and what are you doing now and are you still married and OMG let me tell you all the cool stuff I have been doing for the 35 years since we dated and hey, do you....blah, blah, blah," game. Yeah, right. I just played it low key because, well, I was a bachelor, right?

Now from this past spring, we move to this past fall, and the Prezident Contest gets underway with a partisan war that makes the Blitzkrieg seem like a Sunday picnic, and I am all in! I am ate up with the body politic, and as it turns out, so is my long lost steady. So now, we are passing facenotes back and forth on the Prez Contest just like in 11th grade English class because she is every bit the radical, blood spurting, tree hugging, right brain social conscious liberal that I am and we have a common cause! Right on, baby, Black Power, plug in, drop out and get high! And still, it is not about...the date.

Next up, I get a note that she will be in town to see her mom, and is my band playing anywhere, and hell yeah, Goddamn right we are! So now, there looms a face to face meeting. And one that she initaited. What does this purport? Is it just to show me her cool young lover and flash those blue/green eyes at me and run? And I now have to face the bachelor reality of the situation, and what am I hoping will happen. I decide it is best just to hope it will be swell to see this woman who I cared for greatly at the tender age of 16.

The gig comes, and she does not disappoint. She is absolutely lovely. She shows up during our second set, alone, and we spend every break together and time after the gig is over to laugh and catch up and wonder at the ridiculous possibility (unspoken, of course) that there is still something to fish out of the box of forgotten memories and dust off. I very hesitantly kiss her good night with broken teeth and watch her drive off into the night.

Now my life schedule and all the things I take for granted as a bachelor come into question. Aren't I free of living someone else's schedule? Don't I appreciate never having to check with anyone about what I might do with my free time? Do I clean the kitchen today or next week? But even I am beginning to sense a dramatic shift in my onliness. I just don't have a clue where this is going but I cannot stop thinking about her, and as Gamble Rogers used to say, "I am ate up with the dumbass," because I remain clueless to my true desires.

But here is where the momentum builds. A local dentist had worked up a plan to fix my teeth, and though it is expensive, I have the money available in my 401K, but I cannot get to it unless the work is already done, and the dentist wants to be paid, of course, before he does the work. So for months, I had just tabled the whole thing. But now, in the short span of 3 sets of The Joe Willy Band, and the vision of pretty eyes that haven't changed a bit in all these years, I am NOT letting this tank. I contact a family member the very day after we saw each other at our gig, and threaten them with terrible acts of sorricide (yeah, I got you, go look it up) and demand they provide the upfront money to fix my upfront teeth. And they say....wait for it....YES! now I am cooking.

Weeks later, I am sporting a new upper and lower partial that fixes my mouth and my smile. I am now fraught with kiss desire, and I have a clear idea of who I want to start with. You see, since the face to face, I have been unable to get this woman out of my mind. A simple evening of reliving some old times and a small kiss, and the damn wagon is now gaining speed and rolling down the mountainside without any help from me. I am quickly coming to the conclusion that it isn't just about having been celibate and possibly idiotic for all these years, I am finding feelings for her I did not anticipate feeling. Is that possible? Is it recommended? Is it juvenile...wait, I am a man, so it is by definition juvenile, but is it real?

So I clearly don't know what to do, and I do very little as a result. I send a few faint messages and facenotes, and get very little response. I can only imagine I was dreaming or delusional, or there was LSD in my morning coffee and I am in fact an idiot. But friends, my saga does not end here. There is more to this story.

Weeks after our encounter and my mewling inaction, with new teeth in mouth and balls in hand, I send a note. A real note. A note a man would send, if he had someone with a gun to his head: "Can't imagine anyone as attractive as you doesn't have anyone in your life, but if you do not, I want to take you to dinner. Of course if there is someone, I will understand and only be pissed, or heartbroken, or pissed and heartbroken. Just kidding. Yours truly, me." Now I have done it. I have actually asked her out for a, no...no...I can't say it.....A DATE! WTF do I do now?

I get one line back..."No need to be pissed, I would love to go." And with this, I have learned what every man should be taught from an early age and have written on his bathroom mirror so he can see it each morning when he shaves — "just ask her, stupid."

The details of the date are mine and mine alone, along with my date, but I will tell you this; that movie every Christmas, "it's a Wonderful Life" has nothing on me. Jam up and jelly tight, she is a fabulous woman, gorgeous in every way and we are going out again. And if that pretty girl reads this, she must know that regardless of what happens, she has changed my life for the better. Forever. Ain't life grand?

Hearts and Minds

They say that the friends you make in High School are some of the strongest bonds you will ever make. I don't know who "they" are, but I believe this, and it makes sense. And besides, I have never been one to dwell on "them" and become overly concerned with exactitude. Life is a great big gray area with large oceans of uncertainty.

The people you went to High School with are the people you learn to drink with, kiss with (okay, so maybe I kissed a few girls in grade school, but I wasn't any good at it, and usually got slapped), learn with and begin all the really important adult activities to come later like group dynamics, management, competition, sex and sucking up. These are your peeps.

The interesting thing about it is that there are plenty of people who go off after High School and do things or become something that you could never have predicted in school. But for the most part, those you were really close to will still be there for you when you meet up years later, and the initial bond will carry you through to a re-birth of that heady, fun and exciting time when you skipped class together and chased pretty girls with the dawning recognition of what you wanted to do to them, without the courage or knowledge of how to make that happen.

But the special thing that can really stun you, is when you find someone who you dated, went steady with, or just knew you were deeply in love with at the time, and circumstances allow you to re-open that door. Bada-Bing! The sheer newness/oldness of it can really slap you and leave you staring into the headlights like a deer in the road. But then the car swerves and misses, and you are left standing in the clear light with the realization that those feelings have returned, all the power of that young love gets lit up, and is fueled by all the things you have learned as an adult. All of the pain of your adult relationships gone bad, along with all the exquisite sweetness of those that brought you joy give you a view that makes the whole situation seem like a dream on a roller coaster ride. And for me, it brought a huge smile to my face, and the complete knowledge that a new fire had just arisen from the coals of one I had no idea still smouldered. I was stoked.

I find it crazy stupid ironic that the single greatest thing we all seem to agree on is an intangible that resides purely in the mind, attributed to the heart and essential to true happiness–the power of love. For all you Christians out there, please refrain from telling me your religion is more important than family, love and the people you care for. You are fooling yourself and you appear silly to the rest of us. Don't get me wrong, I respect your beliefs, I just don't buy that it is the most important thing in your life. if it is, you are missing out, bigtime.

The power of love is the thing we all say, that when you go, is the only thing that matters. The people you love and those relationships are all that matters yet we cannot touch it or see it, and it is like the flame in a campfire that can warm and comfort or bring painful burns. Huey Lewis had it right:

It don't take money and it don't take fame

Don't need no credit card to ride this train
Tougher than diamonds and stronger than steel
You won't feel nothin' till you feel
You feel the power, just the power of love
That's the power, that's the power of love

This power is why we move through our days making money, closing deals, eating lunch, buying our groceries and listening to music. We are using life to find the things which build a strong heart and comfort the mind. If we could only recognize that this is the thing which drives and enriches us, we could find so much more value in all the mundane things we do to get by every day. But society and the living needs always consume our time, and our desire for love and friendship turn to dreams. Sad but true daily, everywhere.   So when that second chance comes to you, and a reconnection stuns you into clarity, nothing can be allowed to deter you. Seek the power of love with all your being, and breath it in with great gusto. Let it fill your mind and strengthen your heart for it will be the thing you will miss the most when your time comes. Drink it in now and never look back.

I have to add another note on the NRA now that Mr. LaPierre made his speech. A personal note to Wayne LaPierre, CEO and Executive Vice President of the NRA—Mr. LaPierre, you are a clown, a shill, a stooge for the gun and munitions manufacturers in this country, and a pathetic example of a man who would sell his soul, and the lives of young children for profit and power. Your time is over. Your words remind me of those of the Tobacco executives that wanted us to believe cigarettes didn't cause cancer, or the White Supremacists and Politicians that wanted us to believe Afro-Americans did not deserve equality prior to the Civil Rights Act of 1964, or German citizens who did not want to believe Hitler meant to exterminate the Jews in WWII. Your words are anathema to any caring, intelligent adult who values the lives of school children, teachers and everyday people everywhere. And proposing more weapons on our streets and in our schools as the answer makes you just one more dangerous cowboy with no brains and no morals. The boys back at all the gun manufacturers must be sitting back throwing a few cold beers down and toasting you with the thought that "we gonna' sell a bunch'a guns now so everbody can feel safe!" You are a whore of the worst variety, and it is time we extricate you from our Political system. You are just one more rich bastard who will say and do anything to protect his little fiefdom and pile of money. Good people everywhere need to band together, call their legislators, and see to it that you and the NRA do not decide our public policy.

Guns, Murder and Madness

Somebody posted a moronic statement on Facebook yesterday referring to Timothy McVeigh, and that because he killed 168 people without a gun, "Murderers will murder with or without a gun." This came from somewhere called "Let's Make Fun of Liberals." I found this disgusting and abhorent. This logic is the same as saying that because hundreds of people drowned in a terrible accident on a ferry that sank, we should not co...

nsider having speed limits on our highways because "accidents will happen with or without a car." It is a specious argument that evades the senseless conditions that allowed the terrible events that led to these tragic deaths. The mental health of young boys with no support, coupled with lax gun laws that allow the sale of semi-automatic assault rifles with 100 round magazines and a mother who failed to ensure the guns were not available to her son. I am sickened by anyone that can argue in favor of these assault guns and large magazines when these massacres continue to plague us, and have now taken the lives of 20 children and the 7 adults trying to save them. The vast majority of Police forces Nationwide favor banning these assault weapons and their mega-magazines because they are first on the scene to deal with the carnage. If you hunt or want protection, handguns and single shot rifles are NOT in contention. The first ammedment provides for free speech, but we wisely do not allow people to yell fire in crowded public places for fear of the terrible consequences. The same is true of our second ammendment rights to bear arms. Keep your registered and legal handguns and hunting rifles, and let's ban the kind of gun that allows someone to kill 27 people in under five minutes, shooting some of them over ten times. NOTHING about the second ammendment sought to allow these types of weapons. And then let's have a discussion about locking guns in the home. And let's research the possibility of providing senors in the handles or triggers that can be keyed ONLY to the person that passed the waiting period and background check so only they can release the safety and fire the weapon. And then let's have a discussion about how we deal with a generation of violent video game burn-outs who are mentally and socially damaged to the point that this kind of grisly and sickening event can happen. And I hope I never see anyone post something about this tragic event that comes from something called "Let's Make Fun of Liberals" again. I don't find anything about any of this "fun." And if calling someone who wants to find a way to minimize or end the slaughter of little children a liberal, then fucking count me in, and be assured I will stand against the NRA and their "profit over children's lives" agenda. The America I believe in is better than this. And using the same old "liberal vs conservative" gun bullshit argument in the wake of this massacre of children just makes me want to puke. I refuse to take the same old gun rights bullshit from people too invested in firepower to see the death and carnage it creates.

Let's Talk Taxes

Seems to me, we need an overhaul of our tax code and strategy, not just a bump for the millionaire rate. Taxes, are just like the kitty in a poker game. Or they should be. You wanna play, you gotta pay. And it makes no difference what pile or lack thereof you are sitting on, you pay the kitty to participate in the possibility of winning.
Fair and simple taxation should be the order of the day. Certainly a progressive tax, in which the rate creeps up based on your overall earnings is the appropropriate method with the wide disparity of income levels we have in our cash rich country.

But I also agree that all, or nearly all should have a level they pay so no one can claim we simply let people off the hook. It seems to me that only those at the extreme low point on the income curve would escape paying anything. In my mind, this is somewhere between $5K and $10K annually. You, or your economist can pick the specific income point, beloe which you pay no taxes.

From there, we have a large number of hard working citizens, part timers, seniors, and unskilled labor that sits below $20K annually, but who can all pay something. It would seem an easy plan to come up with a flat pay scheme that would limit the pain, but ensure they pay into our collective American dream. Fix their tax at $200, or create a small scale, $8K, 12K, 15K 20K levels with $100, $200, $350, $500 flat payments. We should ensure they all pay something, but that it is fair and does not punish them as the low earners. Again, this would seem to be an easy task.

Over $20K annually, I think this becomes very easy. But first, we must fix the deduction merry-go-round and investment/capital gains fantasy. Two scenarios: 1) you are a bus driver in a major metropolitan area, working 48 hours per week, and barely breaking $50K annually. Your tax rate is 25%. 2) you are an investment banker who makes $250K salary plus commission and bonus income. As you have the ability to do so, you generally have $500K invested in the stock market, and you realize relatively large capital gains on this money each year. Your base tax rate is 34%, but you only pay 15% on your investment and capital gains income. The current rich guy/investor/congressman viewpoint is that if we don't give the investment banker a break on his investments, he and his other wealthy buddies won't invest and our economy will shrink. If this logic is correct, the bus driver wouldn't waste his time working his ass off only to make $50K a year, and our transportation system will come to a halt. Neither is true.

First, tell me where else will the banker find the kind of returns on his money that the stock market or other investment opportunites offer him? Putting it in his savings account at the bank? Buying baseball cards? No. if you look at the kind of money that can be made with large investment ability, even if his capital gains tax rate went up, it would still be the smart thing to invest it. And for those who want to shriek and wail that the money he used for his investment has already been taxed, how can we think of taxing it again at the same rate? Wow. Income from rich guy job, taxed at 34%, portion of income spent on stocks, which bring profit (income) from investment which is NEW INCOME, and should be taxed. Please, can we just for the moment deal in reality, and not a parallel universe where those with means make up new definitions for stuff we thought we knew about?

Now, what we are talking about is what is the goal of our tax system? Is it to provide a place for the fairly rich to get richer? Is it a big card game like Wall Street where those that play the game properly can make gazillion's of dollars because they had bazillions to start with? Is it an engine that can be aimed at varying industries or other endeavors to make them work better and oil the wheels of progress and profit to make things work better? No. No, and no.

Our tax system is a tangible payment that we as Americans make to ensure national security, a working infrastructure, court system, and political administration to run the workings of our government and ensure order. Once we started diddling the deductions, sheltering the income and providing tax dodges that were oh so legal, but maybe a little shady, we handed over our economy to the wealthy, powerful and politically connected. Do you really believe anyone making under $30K a year had a lot of pull with getting our current plethora of deductions and tax incentives implemented to cover his corporate jet? We must demand an end to this greedy profit grab which has severely damaged the middle class. And how do we do that, you ask?

I'll tell you how. We eliminate, that's right, eliminate — "that starts with T and that rhymes with P and that spells trouble," ALL DEDUCTONS save the mortgage on your primary home, and charitable deductions. And we put limits on those. Again, I hear the shrieking and gnashing of teeth that this will stall business development and profits and make us communist and the world will end and....bullshit! This will return the tax code to what it should be—a direct method of funding our government, shared by all but the lowest income individuals.

Now here is the good news — I refer you back to my comments, "I think this becomes very easy." Over $20K in income, without all the loopholes and tax havens and corporate Cayman Island Investment Schemes, we can now make three simple tax rate categories, and lower the overall percentage rate for each from what we pay now. If it were up to me, I would only lower it a little to bring the broadest amount of income, aimed at increasing it say, 20-25% over what it is now from these levels. So, again, get your own economist to work these percentages for you, but mine would be 15%, for income of $20K to $250K, 20% for $250K to $1M, and 25% over $1 Million. And remember, this would include all investment and capital gains income because it is, after all, income!

Now run along, get your friendly local economist, and work the numbers. This plan could work, and you could file your taxes on a post card at year end. And, it would have the lovely effect of raising tax revenues while lowering the percentages paid. Right now, we have these falsely inflated percentages, but if you are rich, your actual percentage is much lower than your tax bracket because you have all kinds of delicious ways of sheltering income. You know, so it will trickle down to us peons. What a load of shit. The American system of Capitalism is built on people having the freedom to build a business out of nothing, and with their hands and minds making it profiatble. We have for too long given in to the investment banker and wall street financier that what we really need is to float a few IPO's, grab some investment income, borrow some venture capital, sheiled oursleves from taxes, and watch our portfolio grow even if we have a mediocre product and lousy service. Greed is killing us, and if you wonder where that great American manufacturing engine went, it went up in smoke from the fire that companies like Bain Capitol built under American companies to squeeze profit from them as they disappeared. Our tax code rewards this kind of behavior, and it has to stop. We must learn again to compete on excellance, and conduct business with integrity.

In my mind, this is what Mr. Obama should be promoting; instead of leaving himself open to right-wing criticism that he is "re-distributing" wealth and stifling new business and jobs by raising taxes on the job makers. My plan doesn’t re-distribute" wealth, it cleans and simplifies the tax code for us all. How long have we heard about Romney's complaint from Republicans that "47% of Americans don't pay any tax?" Well let's fix that. Let's ensure that with the exception of under $5K in income, all Americans pay their fair share, and this includes those over $1 Million without sheltering them from the full tax that the rest of us are burdened with.

Isn't it better if we all pay, and all our tax brackets come down, the code is simplified, and we raise more income to fix our economy, our infrastructure, Medicare, Social Security and the deficit?

Now, lest you think I am naive, it will take the people of this great country, big and small, rich and poor, well known and obscure, to give this plan a chance of seeing the light of day. What I would like are concrete ideas of how to achieve this. Leave me a post and offer your thoughts.

Let the Mystery monkey go Free!

The monkey says it all. I have previously referred to the fact that none of us, myself included, are very far removed from our Simian roots. I recognize this fact every time I see one of those commercials where the guy is surrounded by chimps in a business office and they take nothing seriously. Or if I watch one of those "Trunk Monkey" videos on Youtube which leave me in tears from laughing so hard. But of course, that proves without doubt that I am laughing so hard because I identify with the monkeys, not the actors in the video. just recognizing this frees me to embrace the animal in me, and of course makes me want a banana or to go pee in the corner.

Now when I compare these revelations to the recent Political storm we just barely lived through, I feel much more like crying than laughing. It is all to clear that all of our so called "civilized" machinations are simply the same sentiments as those apes in "2001: A Space Odyssey" when they find the ability to pick up clubs and sticks and beat the other tribe silly, thereby winning the day.

Now don't misunderstand—I would have been happy to mimic this activity in the heat of the electorate battle and club people like Rush Limbaugh, Paul Ryan, Mitt Romney, Michelle bachman and Anne Coulter. It is just that on reflection I see clearly that our system is no better than a bunch of mountain gorillas going at it to establish the pecking order. Once the dust settles, we pretty much revert to the "every mammal to them selves" stance for four more years and hope somebody takes care of the details while we go back to scrounging food, liquor, tail and a new iPhone. You know, seeking more monkey sex.

And yes, for those of you who have weathered my high and mighty diatribes on facebook, where I stylistically and with great literary poise eviscerate my Republican counterparts, and generally flip a finger at all opinions I deem narrow minded and moronic, I am certainly a fundamental part of the problem, and enjoy fresh fruit and maniacal laughing as much as the next ape. But in my defense, I also tried very hard to make logical, studied arguments that I had researched so I could back my opinions up with real facts and figures so I could attain Alpha male status in the facebook tribal order. Well, at least in my local tribe.

But now, the battle has been won, and my choice was victorius. I can now hope and pray for peace and prosperity to return, so that I can once again afford to subscribe to Modern Drummer Magazine, and buy new shoes whenever I want. And as I now turn to pushing the powers to be to revamp our tax system so it is able to be understood by mere mortals, built to favor none and be affordable to all, I can't help but offer up a little chuckle, completely out of character for a wild mountain ape who would be beating his chest and shrieking loudly, that America has come to a point in it's demographics that allowed it to re-elect a Black man–a Harvard graduated, family guy soft talking kind of Black man with a distinctly suspicious middle name to the highest office in the land when the white country club types can't even figure out how he got there in the first place! I feel certain that the day after voting day in 2008 there was a hue and cry from gated communities and golf courses everywhere that sounded very close to..."Are you fucking kidding me?" And now, these same people believed in their narrow little white, upper and way-the-fuck upper ruling class homes across the land that the Mittster could not possibly lose to this guy that the Donald claimed was not an American citizen, did not actually graduate from Harvard and was intent on converting us all to the Socialistic Muslim wing of the Communist Atheist party. So yesterday, there once again rose a chorus of sound that might have been..."You have got ot be kidding me! Get my broker on the phone, NOW!" Ain't democracy grand? Now I am off to scratch my nuts in public, and spit fruit seeds on the sidewalk while cackling like Cheetah as I sneak through the night to find the place where they are keeping the hillsborough County Mystery monkey caged and free him to the Central Florida jungle once again!

I am Thankful to be a Fishhead

Thanksgiving week is upon us once again, and at first glance, it appears the only thing to give thanks for is having a full day off with family to cook a real meal, watch football and generally loll around.
But there is much more I am thankful for...
I am thankful for finally electing someone as President who will tell the truth and work to better us all.
And I am thankful that I still have a job, even if I am not making enough money to pay all my bills in one month. Which of course makes me thankful for retirement accounts, and extra stuff I can sell to people who do make enough money to pay their bills, though I will miss that guitar.
And I am thankful that I have three other guitars to comfort me in these lean times, because they make me money, they look very cool in the living room, and they make me feel rich beyond belief.
And I am thankful that my brother is having us over to his house, and that he is doing all the cooking, so my kitchen won't be all screwed up for weeks afterward. And yes, I don't clean up real often, so I am also thankful that I could give a shit if you think that is slothfull.
And I am thankful that in fact my brother is buying a turkey that is fully prepared and cooked because he is an absolutely dreadful chef, so the meal will be good, and my kitchen will still be clean.
And I am thankful that I have some of the most talented and seriously twisted friends to play music with in no less than 4 different groups over the holidays which means I can actually buy some Christmas presents and get paid to party and jam and eat free food and drink free liquor and make really loud but bitching noise with three guitars, a drumset with my new Swiss Paiste cymbals, and of course my treasured congas. So to those of you who thought being in the band in high school was nerdy, go fuck yourself.
And I am thankful that I am a Fishhead. And not just any Fishhead, but one of the founding members of the "Joe Willy, Neckbone and the Fishheads" Fishhead! It means I am certified by the Guild of Working Blues Musicians to sing about dirty stuff, marital discord, drunken and disorderly behavior and jailtime in front of anyone I want, get paid for it, and do it over a microphone at loud volume so they cannot miss the nasty words I am singing.
And I am thankful that lately, the only time I have been in a courthouse was for jury duty.
And I am thankful that my dog Dizzy is absolutley ecstatic if I just come through the front door, regardless of what time or day it is, or what mood I am in. In fact, if I am drunk, he is even happier and thinks it is really funny and we must be paying a new game if I start knocking stuff over. Of course this game can turn really bad if he gets spooked by something I do and he bolts out the front door as it is ususlly late at night and very dark and he is pitch black and intent on being as far aaway from the house as he can be in a New York minute.
And I am thankful that I work for a Ford dealership and not a GM dealer so that there is some chance I will still have a job after the first of the year.
And I am thankful that Sarah Palin has continued to prove just how crazy funny she is by pardoning a turkey and then giving an interview while two of the freed turkey's friends and probable family members are butchered and exsanguinated by being crammed in large funnels covered in the blood of all those who preceeded them directly behind Sarah while she discussed how lucky she was to be there. Makes you wonder if she even wastes her time cooking the turkey dinner on Thanksgiving, or just rips the live bird apart with her bare hands and eats the entrails and heart while still warm and pulsing before she heads out on the tundra to beat some baby seals and have monkey sex with a grizzly bear. What a girl!
And I am thankful that the Swedes are such good engineers so that my two 1993 Volvo's with over 400K miles between them both run and I can flip the bird to anybody who has to make a car payment.
And I am thankful that I live in a country that allows me to write this drivel without immediately being run in for any number of trumped up charges only to have my head cut off like one of Sara's turkeys.
And I am supremely thankful that I am not conflicted with traditional religious values that would make me crazy with guilt and rancor and a phantasmagorical belief that something happens after I am gone, because I absolutely hate to leave a party and I would be very pissed to die expecting some nirvana only to find a complete void. Especially if I had been getting up and getting dressed to be social and nice at church on Sunday mornings with people I found to be shallow and hypocritical when I could have been sleeping in and watching Meet the Press before football.
So, thanks to my friends, thanks to most of my family, and thanks to me.

The Blue Willy Trio...smokin!

This week, a new chapter in the saga of the Joe Willy Band as we do an unplugged Blues thang with just three of us at the local Pub. A little Vino, a little blues and always a tab to pay.

We will call ourselves "The Blue Willy Trio."

We are looking forward to cutting it up a little free and unplanned. We are using our lead guitar player, the lead singer and his harmonicas, and me on congas, guitar and vocals. As always, we will pull out of our ass whatever you will remain seated and listen to. If you attempt to leave, we will grovel and spin like good jesters and charlatans seeking your approval and tips. Yes, we are whores.

But Whores with a heart of gold. Whores who can play more than mere sexual acts of wonder and desire. We are Blues musicians.

Years ago, I played almost exclusively Rock and Roll. I thought Blues guys were too dark and down for me. But I remember the wise words of an old friend who was an awesome guitar player and unapolegetic whoredog who taught me much about life as a musician—"I ain't playing to make money, I'm playing to get laid." And get laid he did. And he played the raunchiest Blues I had ever heard, even though we were a Rock band. He had my full attention.

So for the last 15 years or so, I have grown into a Blues man who plays some Rock and Roll. And it's all good. I have learned to love and embrace our national treasure in the down home idiom of the Delta players and their big city counterparts.

So come on down some night to Tanner's Pub in the little hamlet of Wiener Haven, and hang out with the boys on stage playing a little Statesboro Blues, or Louisiana Blues, or Sweet Home Chicago. We'll get ya going, and the Blues will set ya free! But bring cash, and don't approach the band too closely, they are dangerous mens!

And with that, here's some words I wrote in a previous post that seems appropriate:

The Night Rag
The tequila is cold, & the bar will be smoking',
the women so hot, they're red, raw & choking.
Don't mess with the band, 'cause they kick & they bite,
Their sound is thick and it's sweet, and they're on for the night.
I'm ready for whatever, bring it all, bring it now—
the bands got no name, and the night sings through them now—

Drink me, eat me, dance & play on me son,
Don't stop till I'm gone, don't ease up on the fun.
Nothings covered, no one's safe, we're all scared of the night,
feel the heat, make it steam, lose yourself it's alright.
I'm running, I'm gunning, jump this miracle feat.
watch it slip, watch me fight, It's my time on this beat—
time goes out like a light—when it’s lost, it’s not cheap.
Can’t go quietly, or go soft, back into that night.

A good friend of mine recently wrote about her feelings regarding race. How we got here, where we were, and where we may go. She was very personal about her personal journey through southern bigotry and our journey along the white and black path to equality.
Through this journey, she spoke of her guilt just by being white, and how we all filter the world in our own way that makes reality as we know it. i tried to assure her that that guilt was not hers, but an "oily film we all wear."
But her words made many connections for me, and instigated deep philosophical thoughts (okay, only in comparison to say, Monday Night Football which I also have been thinking about as I get ready to leave work this fine Monday evening) about filters and reality and the mind.
It occurred to me that mostly we feel that what we see is the filter we use on the world, but I think that is wrong, or at least naive and overly simplistic. I think our entire body, and the world all around us—our hands and feet and limbs and hair and eyes and ears and skin and dirt and air and people and everything combine to absorb the entire realm of existence and universe that we are aware of, as if we are an infinitesimally small sponge deep in the middle of an infinite ocean. All that we take is delivered to our personal filter, the mind.
In this mind, the filtering occurs which defines and identifies our world to each of us uniquely. In this way, reality is only the synapses and electrical activity in our mind. Our mind is just the final stage of the filter which creates our reality. So as each galaxy is made up of millions of individual stars and their associated wave structures, energy and gravity, so are the millions of synapses in each brain.
This makes me think that it isn't what is "out" there that is important or real, it is what ONLY happens as a brief chemical and electrical event deep inside us that is real. All else is handed to us by what has come before our newest thoughts.
Now if this seems inconsequential or silly, I submit it is only because your internal reality is not as real as mine, or you are Sarah Palin. but seriously folks... The thought that we are effecting change does not seem as real to me as the thought that we are only "witnessing" what our collective nerve impulses have already absorbed and processed. Our entire existence and the construct we know as the universe could easily be a mass fabrication of minds processing incorrect initil data that us brought us to the wrong current conclusions.
And this is where I found this thought process so interesting. True revelation may only come when the universe we have created actually hands us new data that we have not had, that does not fit theoretically or physically with what we think we know. Walla! We are all really just nodes in an energy field in a storm in the void. Or, we are frog like creatures with magical abilities, pink skin and outrageous musical talent that do nothing but play Beatles music through the millennium.
Needless to say, this is a long walk from the state of race relations in this country. And I promise, I have not been drinking or imbibing anything that set me into an Alice in Wonderland stupor. I'm just saying!
So here's to hoping change can come from within and without, just like Mighty Quinn the Eskimo. Now if you expect me to parse the meaning(s) of an early Bob Dylan song, forget it. These mysteries will remain until the end of days!

Goodbye Sarah...

Note to Sarah...your arrogance and ignorance are only surpassed by your ambition—a very dangerous situation. You have highlighted all that is wrong not only with Republicans, but with politics as usual in this country. When in doubt, lie, create innuendo, divide, make it someone else's fault (the press, the RNC, McCain, your Brother-in-law, your employees, etc). When one considers all the high points of your limited career, it is clear you are motivated purely by greed and the acquisition of power without any regard to your actual abilities or fair play. I think we have all underestimated the power of Barack Obama to effect change, even in the Republican Party. The RNC and their brightest new members (no, not you Sarah) will see from his example that dumbing down the populace (Joe the Plumber comes to mind) and working to foment hate through lies and innuendo does not win the day. I suspect even they will be positively affected by the Obama wave, and we will see an evolution even in the RNC that will be most welcome to lift all of our body politic up. You will be cast aside like a dead wolf missing a paw that some barbaric hunter hacked off to make a buck. Good-bye Sarah—go home, give the clothes back and SHUT-UP!

There is a dog howling somewhere...

It is a testament to the depth of our depravity and utter lack of a national intelligence beyond that of my faithful dog, "Dizzy," that in the midst of this war on terror, and the worst financial crisis since the great depression that we are discussing lipstick on pigs.
While the glimmering of acknowledgement that the world is leaving us behind, we stridently shriek, "but we are still the grewatest nation on earth," the best that the Republican party can sling is that Obama is too liberal, and he called Sarah Palin a pig. I say, if the lipstick matches, get a purse from that sow's ear! Quite frankly, John McCain and his entire election team can kiss my freaking ass! How does this man and his pet swine sleep at night after advertising complete fabrications and then insist they are the ones being wronged?
And lest we forget, the lowly swine offers itself up to our breakfast, lunch and dinner tables where we happily knosh up the entire animal, (at least in the south that is) without the blink of an eye. Arnold from Green Acres must be rolling in his little muddy grave. That is, if we didn't eat him and crush his bones up for some fertilzer or dog bones! I only hope Wilbur the pig is no longer around to bear this disrespect. But on to the McCain mud machine.
Lest we forget what it means to be a liberal, let me remind us of some of the glory we deserve. Women, which party and group of like thinkers fought with you to give you the vote? That's right, the Liberal Democrats. And who gave us Medicare and Medicaid so your parents could afford the small fortune in medication that their Republican Doctor prescribed for them so they could live AND eat? That's right, the Liberal Democrats. And why do we have National Forests, Wildlife Preserves, the Appalachian trail and millions of acres of protected forest and pristine lands? That's right, the Liberal Democrats, and oh yeah, that left of center liberal Republican Teddy Rosevelt. And who gave us Civil Rights and Social Security to show our respect and the value of our elderly? That's right, the Liberal Democrats. So you non-liberal Republicans can again, kiss my liberal, Democratic ass, beacuse I will not apologize for thinking that people, children, elderly and the infirm matter more than profit and greed. Liberal is NOT a bad word. Liberal, as in "Liberty" and the notion that to be free, we must be equal in our "liberties" is a concept that is the heart of our democracy. It is only in the hands of oil sucking, war mongering, greedy little pigs like Dick Cheney and George Bush that this concept could be bastardized beyond recognition. And as for John McCain, the latest incarnation of the worst of their party to claim ANYONE ELSE is a "tax and spend liberal" is hideous in light of the Bush administration handing us the largest budget deficit in our entire history. And therein lies the lipstick on the pig.
Now my dog "Dizzy" is thought to be named for the great Dizzy Gillespie, the jazz trumpeter with the bent horn. And in fact, Dizzy has one ear permanently bent over like Mr. Gillespie's trumpet bell. But no, one only needs to spend 30 seconds to a minute with my loving dog to understand that he was named "Dizzy" because he is, dizzy. As such, he would make a lousy Vice President. He does not support abortion rights for women, he does not support equal pay for equal work, and he generally is a chauvinist pig when it comes to women. But he would still be a far superior pick than Sarah Palin. I come to this conclusion because he is not ready to force his religious views on anyone; he would not think of shooting wildlife of any kind as guns scare the living shit out of him; he does not support drilling in the Arctic Refuge, the Gulf of Mexico or anywhere else. And he is not a liar, a beauty queen or speak with a harsh midwestern twang that causes me to want to oil something or take a hammer to the TV. And besides, even with his limited native intelligence, he is a staunch supporter of Barack Obama.
So in closing, I feel it is important to point out one last time that John McCain, Sarah Palin and the entire Republican party can kiss my freaking ass, lipstick and all!

A letter to John, George and Rush

John, I am truly sorry you were in a prisoner of war camp for five years. Correct me if I am wrong, but wasn't that about 40 years ago? Didn't your extreme sacrifice and incredible display of courage and determination convince you that the best principles of our nation—honesty, fair play and equality for all should be upheld by everyone, especially Presidential Candidates? Didn't you find that respect for the individual is one of our most valuable national values? Wasn't it starkly apparent from that experience that we are all equal, and that no man or woman or corporation should benefit to the detriment of otheres, especially millions of others? Wouldn't it be anathema to you to find that a Senior official of the very administration that runs our government had leaked the identity of one of our undercover intelligence agents working for years to combat terrorism just to cover up their own complicity in fabricating data to go to war? Wouldn't you find criminal, any American President, Vice President or Secretary of Defense who had knowingly instigated, promoted and covered up our use of the very torture techniques which caused you so much pain in Viet Nam? If so, why in God's name are you running a hack campaign that insists on promoting lies about your opposition, and attacking the person and his family instead of working to make this a better nation?
And finally, are you really asking us to give you and your Republican buddies the opportunity to have four more years to trample our constitutional rights, hand over huge tax breaks for the wealthiest 2% of the population and the largest oil coprorations? Are you kidding? And with all that, you are actually trying to make the first black presidential candidate look bad by using more lies and subterfuge instead of just being honest and saying you cannot stomach a Black man in power?
Now Rush, you need to get in on this, as you have also trashed John, because he apparently isn't dirty and deceitful enough for you. Is there anyone who actually believes you have any real love of this country, or any decent thoughts of your fellow Americans? Have you ever, for just one minute thought of the damage that you so gleefully spout and what harm it does to everyone? Does it make you feel good to deal in nothing but negative and vicious attacks on people that many times you manufacture or lift from someone who manufactured it? Do you have a gracious, honest American bone in your drug riddled, venomous body?
What can I say, George? You, along with your evil Daddy, Dick, have engineered the biggest money grab in the history of American Politics. You lied to get us into a war that has changed the course of history, and the face of the greatest nation on earth in the worst ways. You have sold our economic health up the river for decades to come. You pissed on our environment and our allies, and ignored climate change and global warming and squandered our position in the world order. You flipped the finger to all of our enemies, dramtically escalating tensions everywhere, and fixed nothing in the war on terror. You diddled at nation building after you turned Iraq into a torn and battered nation, while completely bungling the prosecution of the international terrorist and his organization who slaughtered almost 4000 of our citizens and attacked us in our home, as nobody since the Japanese in 1941. You are a moron, a liar, a greedy robber baron and a chicken-shit drunken cowboy who cannot even complete a sentence without bungling the English language and looking like a buffoon. You should be impeached and jailed, preferable with Dick Cheney and Donnie Rumsfeld. Waterboarding is too good for any of you. What you need is for someone to open a large can of ass-whipping on the bunch of you.
P.S. If anyone reading this is seriously thinking of voting for John McLame, I submit you are either (1) simply too weak to admit you are a racist, or (2) just another rich bastard who is happy to let their greed for their own personal gain outweigh common sense and true patriotism, or (3) you are like Rush and Bill O'Really and are all of the above, or (4) you are Joe Lieberman.
P.S.S. Remember me when Barack Obama and Joe Biden assume the position of President and Vice President. I will be the one with one finger in the air asking you to "KISS MY ASS!"
My name is Brian Everhart and I approve this message.

Gimme' Heat to Eat!

I'm taking a page from an old friend this weekend and going to hear AND taste the blues with Mr. Bill Wharton, aka "The Sauce Boss" up in Orlando. Talk about hot...Bill's slide playing is every bit as burn-alicious as his hoit sauce "Liquid Summer."

When Bill comes to town, I just get this overwhelming urge to do things that hurt. I put too much spice in my food. I listen to music turned up way too loud. I yell at the dog. I beat on my drums. And I stand out in lighting storms and howl at the thunder. It must be the dead of summer in central Florida, and "the livin' is easy, and the fisheads are jumpin'."

I played three weekends in a row, with three different bands at the same bar, and I guess I am just in a mood to hear one of my favorite blues guys jack it up another notch and buzz saw the crowd of suits that show up at the House of Blues in Orlando. If there is anyone that can cut through the crowd and get to the meat, it is Bill Wharton. "Let the Big Dog eat!"

In fact, Bill is so inspiring to my musical persona, that I will probably do some songwriting this weekend. I already have the nuts and bolts to a song I am writing for Bill called, "Gimme' Heat to Eat." I feel certain he will leave me sweating and drained Saturday night, and Sunday I will revive myself with a cold brew and some hot gumbo and go on to write some justifiably nasty and clever lyrics for songs about snakes, liquor, women, gambling and money. Ain't life grand?

It seems that lately, I have been on a tilt to acquire more musical toys than I am really allowed, except that I find that as I am still divorced, there is nobody to stop me from going to the music store whenever I damn well please. And while there, I just pick out what I want, beat on it for a while, and then take it home like a shiny new pet dog. The result is that I have a new Telecaster, a new Stratocaster and a new Tube amp with way more power than I can justify, which is of course the criteria all guitar players use to purchase amps—they get one that is way louder than any mortal can actually listen to.

But my base urges do not end with simple acquisition. No. I am now in the process of getting custom pickguards, replacing the neck on the Tele with a hard to find vintage "V" neck in satin finish, and getting quotes on having the Tele body painted Fender "Surf Green" to ameliorate my desperate need to move to the Carribean and languish with my extensive musical instrument collection in a beach bar where I play roots music and drink no-name rum with nothing but ice. Again, ain't life grand?

So here is my advice for the present...eat gumbo with lots of hot sauce, fire up whatever musical instrument you play, even if it is just the howling, off key raving of your own voice, like something caught in a bear trap, and flip the world a finger to show your utter disregard for your own cosmic safety and the natural order of things, because as we all know—there is nothing natural about the order of things as we know them.

Sunday FishHead Soup Blues

As the pot boils on the stove, and my back hurts to remind me I turned 54 this past Wednesday, I am reminded that having the Blues is really a great way to contrast the candy coated crap that most people see as the good times. Things look really great when you have really suck-ass blue moments to compare them to.

I have learned many things in my 54 years, and Ms. Moon reminded me of an important one in her Valentines day rant. Valentines Day? Speaking of candy coated...The thing she reminded me was that all of the drudge and smack that we experience can be just as enlightening and meaningful when you consider those you love, and how each of these little specs of life give you the perspective and framework to enjoy it all.

The Moonblog of course was framed against a long and successful marriage, which unfortunately escaped me after thirteen years, but the concept works for family and friends as well, and even the dog, when he behaves.

I find that a good bottle of Sweet Basil store shelf spaghetti sacue can be made to sing when you cook up a little ground chuck or hot sausage, and plenty of garlic, stewed tomatoes, mushrooms, thinly sliced carrots, onion and celery, salt & pepper, a touch of hot sauce and plenty of extra virgin olive oil. Usually I had a touch of sugar also. I can make a sauce like this and never miss an Italian restaurant, though i do have to clean the kitchen afterward. That would be the suck-ass part.

So if I have the blues because there's nobody to share this with, that's okay because I don't live in Afghanistan, I am not a Republican, and I can whip out my guitar and paly myself something by the Subdudes, or learn one of my new faves by Paolo Nutini, and the pasta was hot shit, and I have lunch all made to take to work tomorrow. So don't sweat the small stuff, and of course everything is the small stuff!

The Vagaries of the Time/Space Continuum and Rent

Well, I started this blogging thing on a whim, and at first, all was well with the world. Then, my job status changed, and poof! I went back to 55 hour work weeks, played some gigs with my bands, and suddenly my kitchen looked like there had been interstellar war fought along the counter tops, and the evil Spacula Nebulae creatures had spewed alien detritus in their mewling death throes on the floors, walls and appliances. Or,...I might just have neglected the place from working, gigging and sleeping too much.

Anyway, my job status went back to a commission status, and the pressure of imminent homelessness weighed heavily on my reality. So I bucked up and fought the good fight, sold some stuff to make some money, and you guessed it—I slipped into the NONBLOGGER PARALLEL UNIVERSE!

Then, I gots chastised by the Blog Queen, who had incented me to become fraught with blog in the first place, oh miserable and unworthy me. So, hark! Let the heavens ring with the sound of my return to the wormhole of blogdom. The space/time continuum can now return to an existential stasis that keeps all in balance, including democratic candidates, my landlord, clocks everywhere, good and evil, yin and yang, blah, blah, blahg, blag, blog, blog.

On a more Terrestrial note, I am exceedingly happy to report that "Joe Willy, Neckbone & the Fishheads" were welcomed to the stage at the Lake Wales Mardi Gras several weeks ago, after a long and dangerous journey through the digital wasteland known as..."why are we making this fucking CD ourselves without an engineer and a studio?" After almost 12 long months of recording, we have added our new guitar player, and proceeded to kick some Mardi Gras ass at the local festival to a rousing, albeit drunken throng on the streets of Lake Wales, FL. We played a long and intense set of faves, including three of our original cuts from the still evolving CD called "Hook, Line & Sinker." A good time was had by all.

And, as fate would have it, I celebrated my Aquarian fest birthday on the 13th with the acquisition of yet another (now totalling two) 1993 Volvo. So now I can lay claim to being a two Volvo family. This latest is a really sweet old 850 GLT sedan with 125K miles, which makes it 145K miles newer than my 1993 960 wagon. I should write the Swedes and tell them to come do a commercial about this, with pictures of me and my drums happily loaded into one of their creations with 270K miles on it sailing down the road on another mission de blueage, to spread the word of musical redemption, underage drinking and public displays of overt sexuality. You know, party, dude, er, Swen! There was no planning here, the deal was just too good to pass up.

So to all/both of you who may read this, I am working too hard to make money I don't want, but that somebody I have never met does want, in a galaxy far, far away. And so I retain my small but important grip on reality by beating the drums, picking a little Taj Mahal on my guitar, keeping the dog out of the garbage, and thanking the Norse Gods for their great wisdom in imbuing the Swedes with such fine automobile design and manufacturing skills.

In closing tonight my children, we should all pay homage to the Goddess of Blog. Ring her name true to all who can read. Revere her substantial gifts, and feed the universe on the depth of her blogisity. And bow to the superior nature of her enlightened spirit. Merluna, Merluna, Merluna, we chant as her mighty pen takes to the page. And listen for the sure sound of the beating of our blessed little hearts!

The Night Rag

I've been writing some lyrics lately, and thought I would post some from time to time to see what kind of vitriolic response I can drum up. This current one was written a few months back with some recent tweaks. I haven't decided what kind of music to put with it, but some nasty, oily blues changes with an edge seem appropriate. A little dark, but they ring true to many feelings I have collected from playing in bars over the last 35+ years.

The Night Rag

The tequila is cold, & the bar will be smoking',
the women so hot, their groove is red, raw & choking.
Don't mess with the band, 'cause they kick & they bite,
Their sound is thick and sweet, and they're on for the night.

I'm ready for whatever, bring it all, bring it now—
the bands got no name, and the night sings to them now—
Drink me, eat me, dance & play on me son,
Don't stop till I'm gone, don't ease up on the fun.

Nothings covered, no one's safe, we're all scared of the night,
feel the heat, make it steam, lose yourself in the blight.
I'm running, I'm gunning, jump this miracle feat.
watch it slip, watch me fight, It's my time on this beat—
time goes out like a light—when it’s lost, it’s not cheap.
Can’t go quietly, or go soft, back into that night.

Christmas Eve in Blues land

On this eve of Christmas 2007, I have time to reflect on the music in my life. Many songs, diverse lyrics and a wide range of emotions. My band, Joe Willy, Neckbone & the Fishheads is finishing up the final work on our tracks for our first CD entitled "Hook, Line & Sinker." A CD that is fully ten years in the making.

At one of our earliest rehearsals in putting this band together around 1996, I suggested a very tongue-in-cheek title for our first CD as "Hook, Line & Sinker." Our stylish new harp player, BB, immediately went home and wrote the song. It also became the graphic images for our first t-shirt. We had big laughs, but after that we just went back to being a shiftless blues band that played music, chased women, drank liquor and generally screwed off. You can see the original t-shirt artwork and read the saga of the Joe Willy Band at our website at http://www.joewillyband.com/. See, just like papa Wharton the Sauce Boss, we always find a way to plug the band!

Well, the band has been through some mighty changes over this past ten years. We've been through many guitar players (all of them whores), a couple of drummers, a keyboard player here and there, and even a part time female voaclist. I've been in and out of the band three times over ten years, and we've played all over Polk County. As a result, we have become a very tight knit core of four players who have grown to find we really did want to make a CD. We have slowly developed about 15 originals that we evolved playing live, and now have spent the last six months recording the raw tracks. Again, there are some snips on our web site to listen to.

So this Christmas, I am very excited about finishing this project early this Spring, and having a CD to hustle at our gigs. We will be adding two new folks on guitar and bass to really push this project out live, and things look great for us right now.

But there is more music in my life. Lately I have been digging around in different artists material to broaden my scope, and I have come to have some new (and old but revisited) faves in Evanescence, Paolo Nutini, The Goo Goo Dolls, Donavon Frankenreiter, and Bob Dylan. All of them inspiring and different. And if you haven't heard of Paolo Nutini, give a listen. He is a Scottish (yeah, as in MacGregor Nutini!) singer who is very hot in Europe with a very unique voice, and some really great and fresh songs. Anyway, it keeps me going.

More music for my holiday, was spending the day with my daughter Samantha yesterday, and getting her latest installment of a Christmas mix CD. Every time she comes back from college, she makes me a mix CD of all kinds of music. She is very into alternative music only found on the web, and completely eschews the normal commercial distribution channels and artists for the really eclectic and obscure. It is really cool, as I get a very close listen to the soundtrack to her college years, and can only imagine what the video must entail. Scary to say the least.

And then will come Christmas morning music. I wrote an ode to the blues for Christmas, and alluded to getting myself a new Fender Telecaster for Christmas. Well, Leo and the boys at Fender will have to wait, as I could not resist getting a new Taylor acoustic instead. I have played a Taylor for a number of years, but I bought one a litlle further up the food chain this time. I am positively giddy with anticipation as I had to order it, so it isn't even under the tree. But when it comes in, I will quickly put it to use and learn some new material, and book a date for the No Name Band, my acoustic trio. Merry Christmas to me!

So to close out this Christmas eve sojourn, I will resolve to clean the kitchen, walk the dog, make some egg nog and liberally apply the rum. And all through the house, not a creature was stirring, except that fat guy in the corner with a big glass of grogg. Happy, happy, joy, joy!

A Telecaster for a Blue Christmas

When the wind blows cold across ridges near Lake Walk-in-Water,
and a northern tree stands silent in the corner,
flashing tiny lights like soft voices gone unheard,
my plans don't include any kids or bikes or model trains,
no Christmas village—I can easily get a stocking full of Blues.



When the dog senses daylight slipping off, giving into night
at an hour that should be sunset, but instead has given up the fight,
I look for things that others have for Christmas,
and somehow theirs is right.


There seems to be no pear tree, the partridge has fluttered in flight,
I am left with the notion that nothing will stir, as the Blues will own the night.
So I wonder, "where's the wonder?" and I search to make things right.
I pull on faded memories, I buy candles someone else would light.
My mind hears softened voices, dim cheer for distant visions,
the frost seems warm whilst flames drift wet and dance cold through night.


Then comes a song, a Blues moment clear, a thought occurs, a twinkle stirs—
my hands can work this thing, my voice can join it well.
I can make this happen and spend this night caroling the Blues to tell,
I'll make my Christmas special and make it glow and growl like fire.
My gift you see, to none but me, a Telecaster beneath my tree!

aPolitical Blues and an Evangelical Thug

This Christmas, nobody better tell me what I can/cannot/should/shouldn't say. And I don't want anyone telling anyone else either. Christmas is a freaking holiday that the general public has decided to celebrate at the mall. Following said cash orgy, the Evangelical thug patrol wants us to believe they don't get to worship the religious reason for the season.

Someone must have hidden the million dollar churches they built and locked them out of their house if they are having a hard time celebrating the birth of Jesus. Their only problem is forcing their religious view of the world into the public mind and then getting pissed because the rest of us don't want to hear it. Worship at church, put the manger scene up on your own lawn, try getting up at 5am to pray instead of rushing the door at Wal-Mart and shut-up! Remember, your boy Jaysus (checked his green card? is he Jewish or Latino?) chucked the money lenders out before, and he can damn sure do it again.

Now, this all leads to our political process getting hacked into by the same Evangelical thugs who want to force us to elect a Christian. What a shame we didn't burn the Calvinists and Puritans along with the witches in the early days to clean the gene pool. Are we really watching our Republic held hostage by this zealous veneer of Christian dogma that wants to force us back about 200 years?

Here in Imperial Polk County we just became enlightened recently and passed shoolboard doctrine that now allows us to teach evolution and not call it "biological change over time!" Apparently we are not yet far removed from our Simian roots.

Organized Evangelicals are becoming theological gangs who bully our thoughts, our actions, our rights and our political system. It is the worst bastardization of what the framers of the constitution intended. Seperation of church and state ensured people would not be persecuted or harassed due to their religious beliefs. An obvious core value in a free society. And that means no Religious test for politcal position.

I don't care where the President is on Sunday morings, as long as he/she is protecting our vital interests in this country, reforming our energy position in the world, solving the Immigration, Social Security and Medicare crisis, creating the best educational system in the world, and reforming the political system to flush the greed, graft, power and corporate malfeasance out of existence. I don't want anymore Evangelical thugs dictating our foreign policy, medical access or other personal freedoms. And I don't want anymore corporate interference (fucking with) individual pursuit of happiness. Mitt, Rudy, Huckleberrybe, George W., Rush, Ann, you can all go to hell! You are all lying, venal, greedy, mean-spirited sons-of-bitches and you have every right to spout your vitriol, as I have the right to flip you the bird and flaunt my obvious superiority by inviting you to kiss my ass!

That said, it is time to pick up a guitar or drumstick and make some devil music more commonly referred to as "the blues!" Ain't nothing but a thang!