Quote of the Day

"Smart people look like crazy people to stupid people." - Albert Einstein

Weed Genetics

[ ]Even though my grass heyday was long ago I still like to keep up with what's going on in the world of weed. I've been waiting since the 70s for it to be legalized, which it has been in some states and may be here too in another century or so. If it were legal I'd grow it just because it's a beautiful plant. I still remember visiting my buddy George from California in California back in '75, before there were Budweiser-sponsored helicoptors and such. Nowadays where it isn't legal to grow, plants are topped to keep them short and bushy, but these plants were left untopped. An untopped plant will grow a large central bud called a Kola, which can be bigger than your leg. I visited a farm when I was there. This will sound unbelievable, but I had photos up until recently, and the old guys would verify it, but the average height of most of the plants was 11' tall, and the tallest was 15'. I've seen a few pot plants in my day but never have I been next to a plant that was well over double my height. I had a photo of George grinning and holding a Kola that was bigger than a baseball bat. [ ]I can't remember what kind it was but it was one of the classics, which had acclimatized to the local climate over several generations and obviously was thriving. BTW that guy is still growing, legally, today, and has turned it into a business. He was already a millionaire a few times over in the 70s; he averaged $500K per year, so I can't imagine what he;s worth today. He gives George Mason jars full of select buds every time he visits. Anyway what's mainly kept my interest is all the amazing strains they've come up with by selective-breeding, and the fact that the myriad of strains came from the kinds we smoked back in the day. Sadly the pure forms of those original strains are grown in very limited areas or have faded away, but are forever in the gene pool of the weed of tomorrow. [ ]I might hop on and look at pics of buds every few months (pot porn) and it never ceases to amaze me what they're doing. They've literally got it down to a science (SCIENCE). I couldn't guess how many strains they've developed, and I'm amazed at how potent it is, compared to the levels of what we smoked back in the day. THC content isn't everything though. If I could I'd rather smoke a joint of Santa Marta Gold, or Red, or some Oaxacan over anything else on the planet, and they say that stuff was way less than half the THC content as top-shelf weed today. But in a way they're still smoking those, as their genetics have been passed along. In the case of some kinds, especially Colombian, it was a matter of locale, soil, weather, local climate etc. Even the finest bud back then had seeds, except for Sinsemilla, or "sinsey" that hit the scene in the 70s as a premium product. [ ]While we're on the subject, Colombian was a special thing. It had a sweet, earthy flavor, and the premium stuff would put you into outer soace. Besides soil and the other conditions, Colombian pot was grown near the Equator. It was used to longer days, warmer weather, a much longer growing season, and it wasn't triggered by shortening days in the Fall to bloom, like plants grown in upper and lower lattitudes. Those plants are triggered to flower when the days start getting shorter, but in Colombia it's different. You could pluck the prettiest seeds you ever saw from a bud of Colombian and plant it and it would grow like a normal plant for most of the season, but it was hard to get them to do nearly as much flowering as normal plants. It could be done occasionally but it was never the same thing. It might be decent to smoke but it would end up being green, while the native-grown stuff was either brick-red, brown (commercial-grade) or golden. Many times the frost would get plants grown here before they could do much flowering. [ ]There was a mag called High Times that I'm pretty sure is still going. It was a good mag, and speaking of pot porn, every issue had a centerfold with a photo of the juiciest buds available at the time. If they still do that now I can only imagine what they look like. I remember one well...it was Santa Marta (Colombian) Gold. They photographed these beautiful, poofy golden buds in actual Mayan 24K goblets. It said something like "Montezuma never had it so good." I may have added that in but I can picture the photo as if I were looking at it now. I have reefographic memory. It's a thing. Every issue had what they called "Trans-High Market Quotes." People would writ in (yes, snail-mail) with what kinds of weed (and some other drugs) were available locally, and the prices. They'd split it up by regions. I'd buy it here and there in the 80s, and the THMQ illustrated the dewcline of Colombian (RIP Colombian). [ ]It would list the substance, city, price and usually add a comment. It might say "Blotter acid, $4/tab, Cleveland, don't waste your time" or "Thai Sticks, $15 each, Atlanta, a rare treat" or "Mexican reg, $110-$120/lb, Chicago downtown, nothing special" or "Santa Marta Gold, Southeast, the real deal $35/oz" or whatever it might be. I kept up with it from the mid-70s into the 80s. For several years it always said basically "plentiful," but as Disco dawned, followed by the 80s, and with them came lots of cocaine; first powder, then freebase and then crack. The farmers in Colombia, along with out very own gub'mint, quickly figured out that they could make WAY more money dealing blow than grass, so they plowed up their beautiful fields of reefer plants and planted evil Coca plants. It took time for that to be known, and over the short few years when Colombian pot was disappearing, the THMQ would be like "Colombian reg, Texas, $35-$40/0z. Gold or Red, $45-$55/oz, getting scarce." Finally they'd just list it out of respect and tradition I guess, and it'd say "Colombian, gone." [ ]What I think was the first hybrid weed hit around here in the mid-80s. Rumors of the odd batch would fly but it was a while before I actually got any. It was the first "gourmet weed," and it had a gourmet price to go along with it. It was called "Skunk #1." It was a big deal. It came in a vacuum-sealed can about the size of a can of peanuts. It had a generic white label with black letterin, with a drawing of a skunk spraying. The aroma was very powerful and said to be as strong as a skunk, and the name stuck. It had an ounce of Skunk#1 and a pack of papers. It cost $55. I got the can one night at the crazy restaurant. It was after dinner and there were only a smattering of people in the place. I knew it'd be stinky but I wasn't prepared for just how much. I held it underneath the counter, to try to contain the aroma and the great "PSSSSSHHHHhhh" sound it made when I popped the top, but the scent was so powerful and overwhelming that it was like an aromatic genie had been released from a bottle. Within thirty seconds two guys sitting way across the bar tilted their heads and sniffed, and looked right in my direction. [ ]It started in the 70s in California. Some hippies who cared about such things saved seeds from the various high-end strains of the day and planted them. The general consensus is that Colombian Gold, Acapulco Gold and Afghani (probably a gold variety we used to call "hash weed"), but some say that Thai and possibly some Hawaiian were also in the mix. Over several generations the growers crossed various plants until they arrived at a stable strain, one that would breed true with itself without reverting back to the original strains. Whatever it was it was kickass. I was glad to know that while some of the old strains had died-out in their original form, they lived on in the Skunk#1, and everything up to today and forever. Viva Colombian![ ]So Skunk#1 was the wellspring for all the hundreds of varieties today, and once the ball got rolling it took off. [ ]I remember getting online in the early computer days, after I hadn't been keeping up with pot for several years. I searched buds and up popped a photo-collage with thumbnails of all these crazy varieties of weed. I didn't think it was real at first. It looked like exotic candy or something, and it came in rainbow colors, including a thousand different shades og green. There were violet and purple leaves and flowers. I really thought that was fake for a minute or that the plants had been hit by frost, which can sometimes cause purpling, but it was real, and simply a trait that was first noticed in maybe a few odd plants, and then bred to get more purple. There were names like "Blueberry" and "Bubblegum." It sounded like you were walking into Baskin-Robbins 31 Flavors, and it looked like it too. Bubblegum? I thought it was just a cute name but supposedly it smells and tastes like the regular pink bubblegum. To this day I wonder what it tastes like. [ ]That was just the tip of the iceberg. Other varieties were mixed in, but Skunk was the granddaddy. The Blueberry strain was developed by crossing Purple Thai with either Afghani or another Thai strain. It's supposed to be one of the best-tasting and most popular strains. It tastes like...you guessed it...blueberries. I bet it goes good with pancakes. Then Bubblegum And Blueberry got together and begat Bubbleberry (as seen above). That cracked me up...little baby Bubbleberry. I know they were proud parents. Many times a strain is named for its taste or color, but it can be named after a region or a person or a meme or whatever. I think Snoop Dogg gave "Green Crack" its name. If you want to have a laugh, Google hemp strains. [ ]One popular strain is called "Girl Scout Cookies." It sounds a little weird but supposedly it tastes just like its namesake. One variety is called "Sour Diesel," which supposedly smells like diesel fuel, "but in a good way," whatever that means. There's "Blackberry Cobbler." Sounds tasty. Yhere's "Gorilla Glue." It must be really sticky. There's "Strawberry Cough." They say "When you cough, you're off." There's Bell Ringer" and "Trainwreck." I bet they have a kick. Then there's "Dank Sinatra." That's a good one. To illustrate how quickly they're coming out with new strains, I'm hearing most of these just now. There's "Ice Cream Cake." Just the thing for your next Birthday party. There's "Platinum Bubba." Ha, that must be for people like me- rednecks with a shiny, bullshit veneer. There's "Purple Haze." Too bad Jimi isn't around to smoke some of that. There's "Cinderella 99." If the shoe fits... [ ]I'm looking at a page that lists all the available strains and it's just gone berserk. I've seen hundreds of strains with killer names and I'm still scrolling. There must be 150 strains named after food alone, such as "Gelato," "Strawberry Cheesecake." "Pineapple Upside Down Cake" and "Cherry Pie." "Sweet cherry pie." I had to say it. I was glad to see the old familiar faces, and most of the orifinal strains I mentioned above, plus a few I'd forgotten about, are still going, although again they wouldn't be the same as if they were grown in their native countries.
Maui Wowie" is a long-time classic, and once very exclusive and pricey. There's Lamb's Bread" which hails from Jamaica. I remember getting that from a real Jamaican guy back in the day. It was excellent and it had a firm, almost doughy texture from all the resin glands (trichomes). There was another kind of Jamaican that was around more for a time. [ ]I think there's one or two exceptions maybe but pot is either Sativa or Indica. Sativa gives more of a cerebral, energetic "head" high, while Indica gives more of a narcotic, relaxing, laid-back "body" high. Both will kick you back in the long run, but Sativa will energize you for an hour or two. It's good for problem-solvong and creativity and such. Indica is more sedating from the get-go, and can be effective with pain, anxiety and sleeplesness. They have strains for specific things, like headache, appetite-stimulation, muscle cramps and lots of other things. They even make a strain or two that doesn't even get you high? Why would they do that? Because it contains high levels of CBD, an ingredient that isn't psychoactive at all but has some amazing benefits. Pot is illegal here but they can legally sell that. I was in the tobacco shop a while back and saw some. [ ]I thought it was just another one of those "fake weed" products but as I looked more closely it looked just like real bud. I asked the guy and he said it was CBD weed. He showed it to me and it looked just like some good bud. If this were the old days I'd have bought some and rolled up a fatty and watch my friends turn blue in the face trying to get high. Maybe the truckload of weed I smoked back in the day made me mellow, but that's as cruel as I'd ever be to another person. But seriously I bet with the Placebo Effect I could talk one or two people into thinking they were high as a kite. Nah...that really would be cruel. I'd definitely have some real weed for when the joke was up. Real/fake weed. Huh. If it walks like a duck...oh, what the fuck. [ ]Back in the day we didn't have all the science (SCIENCE) associated with it, but there was some experimentation going on. There was this mad-scientist guy who grew plants in his yard. He'd water some of them with water mixed with different substances, and he got some interesting results. I don't remember most of what he did but I remember a couplr of plants he'd watered with ground-up baby aspirin, for some reason. The plants had an orangish tint and tasted just like artificial orange flavor. He claiomed it'd cure a headache but I never got to test it out on that. We just knew what worked and what didn't, and what the buzz was like. The most common weed was Mexican, and within that there were many variaties ranging from no-name "Mex" to name-brands like Acapulco gold, Michoacan and Oaxacan. There was a famous line from a reefer song by Cheech and Chong that went "No stems, no seeds that you don't need, Acapulco Gold is...PFFFFFTT...AHHHHHHHHhhh...BAD-ASS WEED." Classic. BTW if you've never seen their movie "Up in Smoke" you owe it to yourself, even if you aren't a pothead. If you are a pothead you absolutely have to check out a video on YouTube about a guy who was inexperienced with edibles. He went into a dispensary and bought a reefer muffin. [ ]I'll just say that he was hungry and he wolfed it down before the guy behind the counter could tell him that it was enough for two strong doses and under no circumstances should he eat the whole thing at once. Oops. The guy's a commedian, and a good one, but he didn't make it up. It really happened. The way he tells it should have anyone in hysterics. I'll occasionally see something online that makes me lol, but that had me dying. I can't put a link up with whatever's going on with this blog platform, but you can look it up under "Josh Wolf Medical Muffin Emergency." It's funny as fuck and well-worth 3:15 of your time, if you need a good laugh. I just watched it again and it's got my eyes watering from laughing. If you've made it this far here's a little Easter Egg. You'll have to copy/paste.Medical Muffin Emergency: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kkZtm6DlON8. [ ]Anyway some weed would put you on the Moon and some wouldn't get a fly high. Mexican was mostly if not 100% Sativa, so it didn't make you too groggy. It usually had lots of seeds. Most people tossed them but I always ate them, usually plain but sometimes roasted with salt and a dash of honey. I knew they were good for you even back then. I had a friend with a parrot, and he'd let it clean his weed. It was amazing to watch...he'd deftly extract every seed and somehow leave the buds intact. There were all sorts of doohickeys designed to make deseeding easier, but none worked as well as that guy's parrot. He's probably still alive. Maybe the dude too. Polly want a reefer seed? "AWWWWK, yes. Give us a kiss." [ ]The Colombian buzz was harder to explain but it was amazing. It gave you a big body-buzz, like being at Six Flaga. The commercial grade (Commersch or Colombo) could also range from very mild to very strong, and could taste like anything from ancient basement dirt to a sugarless brownie, but the golds and reds were a thing apart. They were like a fine wine, and the aroma and flavor was part of the deal. Colombian was king for the most part, while it was around. It was amazing for listening to music. Both Mexican and Colombian were seasonal, and back then relatively few people outside of California grew it, so supply depended on the time of year. Nowadays they grow it year-round but back then the supply would start to dry up around the end of September, and it would be a couple more months before it was harvested, dried and shipped. Droughts were bad. [ ]Really good Jamaican was a treat. It was Sativa so it had an "up" buzz anyway, but for some reason it'd make me laugh all day long at nothing. It'd also mess with my depth-perception, and no other weed did that, not even stuff that was much stronger. I'd be driving, stoned as a rat on Jamaican and I'd approach a stop sign and stop ten feet short of it even though it looked like I was right up on it. People riding with me would crack up, and since Jamaican made me laugh anyway we'd just be tooling down the road laughing. It was hilarious but I'm certainly glad that weed didn't usually do that to me. Maui Wowie was always available, but at a price almost double good Colombian. It was amazing though. We saved it for special occasions. Then there was the legendary and mysterious "Black Colombian." It only came around twice. When I heard about it I thought it must be weed that had been killed by frost or had really bad mold, but when I saw it it was definitely almost black in color. It was stupid-expensive but it would put you in another world. It was almost too much. I never heard anything about it or where it came from or why it was black, but I smoked it, and it was definitely Colombian. [ ]I've mentioned this before but speaking of Colombian I had a time-machine experience about twenty years ago. My friend Bruce bought a used copy of "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy," and pressed in the middle of the book was a long-forgotten joint. Salut, fellow head! Bruce had quit smoking by then so he gave it to me. It'd been in there for years. He showed me the book. It'd been at the bottom of a huge stack of books so it'd been pressed tight. The pages had closed around it making a chamber that had kept it fairly airtight and remarkably fresh. I thought wouldn't it be great if it was Colombian, and to my great delight it was. I could smell it immediately. Just the smell alone took me back. I decided to open the joint and smoke it a pinch at a time in a pipe so as not to waste a molecule. It was the Red variety. The very first toke hit me like a truck, and immediately transported me back to the 70s, and did so several times. That was one of those times when the Universe truly smiles upon you. Thanks, Universe. MOI. [ ]Most people would be shocked to hear how relatively cheap grass was back then. Mexican "reg" was $15 per ounce, or "lid" as we sometimes called it, $40 a QP and $110/lb. Commercial colombian was around double that. It was usually $35 a lid but Santa Marta and such might be a little more. The Hawaiian was $60, and that was shocking back then, but it's all relative...the good stuff truly was "two-toke" weed. You could smoke three joints of regular Mex and not get as high as two tokes of Maui Wowie. Weed connoisseurs were all about the taste and aroma too. Smoking commercial bunkweed that tasted like gym socks and fine Hawaiian that tasted like some European dessert or something was night and day. Speaking of night and day, that basically sums up the dif between Sativa and Indica in a nutshell. Sativa was better for smoking in the daytime, when you didn't want to get too kicked-back, while Indica was better for nighttime, where it would relax you and make you sleepy in an hour or two. In the Bud Greene Band we called Sativa "day" weed and Indica "night" weed. [ ]I don't know what weed costs now, but I'd say it's gone up more than inflation. My friends who live in legal states tell me it's more or less the same cost as from a dealer, or maybe a tad cheaper. Years ago I was aware of it selling for $100 a quarter/oz. I've heard it's gone up and down and so I have no idea, but $110 for a pound of weed was cheap, and if it was good then it was a bargain. You could also get an ounce of the finest Afghani or Lebanese hash for the same price. Try doing that these days, if it's even still around. I used to love hash in the day. I ate it on gigs, at over triple the amount that would make most people get so high that they thought they were never going to come down, and literally swore off drugs for life, if God would let them return to Earth. Eating a gram was way too much for many people. I'd eat three or four grams. The thing is I'd keep a pinch between cheek and gum like chew, and it'd slowly dissolve and get into my system over the course of several hours rather than all at once. Still it was a savagely-powerful buzz, and I remember some nights at 3am after a gig we'd be up partying until dawn, and I'd be so high I could barely speak, and all I could really do was laugh. Good times. [ ]I should mention the best weed I ever got. My first year in college a guy had some Michoacan. I remember everyone was tripping at first because it was $20 a z, or $5 more. Today that'd be a laugh but back then it was a bit of cash, for a sack of weed. They guy was really apologetic but told us to try it and if we didn't like it he'd buy it back, which is unheard of. Once we took the third toke nobody ever said another word about price. It wasn't the strongest by far, but what was amazing was it's consistency. From the first toke to the last, and a LOT in between, it got us just as high as the first time we smoked it, and that's never happened before or since. After a while you get a bit "jaded" to the same pot, which is why it's good to mix it up. Depending on the genetics and type and potency, the effects from one strain to another can vary widely. It still works fine but switching to a new flavor usually hits you in the face a lot more the first few times you smoke it, but that pot was the same from first lid to last. That still blows my mind. It tasted like chocolate. If I could smoke and somehow find some of that I'd be happy with it forever... [ ]I almost forgot to mention the legendary (and spooky) "Batshit Weed." We grew it out in the woods along animal trails. It was Colombian Gold seed. Again it wasn't the same as if it had been grown in Colombia, but in this case something unexplained happened, and somehow that pot was a whole 'nother Universe.. We'd heard that bat guano was the best fertilizer, which I still believe, so we went into a cave where bats roosted and scraped a bunch up and planted the plants in it. True to form it was September and it had barely started to flower, which makes it that much more unreal. All I can say is that it was too much for me. It was almost like tripping hard on acid. As many times as I smoked the finest pot in the world or ate enough hash to kill an elephant I still can't believe I'm saying this, but I couldn't smoke it. One night I was driving stoned, which ordinarily I adored, but that night I was gripping the wheel until I had white knuckles. I was hearing "voices," and they were "demons" talking amongst themselves about how they could take control of the steering wheel and make me crash. How about that shit? On weed. To this day I still don't get it. I have no idea how it got so mind-bendingly strong...the bat guano, the genetics, the weather...maybe it was Satan himself, but I have no idea. For the only time in my life I tossed perfectly good weed out onto the highway. Nope...I still don't understand that one. [ ]As untethered to the planet I sometimes got on pot, there was only one other time that I was almost too stoned to enjoy it. Luckily I didn't hear voices that time but it was intense, and again a huge surprise. I was going to a baseball game in Atlanta with my ex. Since I couldn't smoke in the stadium I figured I'd make a batch of green cookies. I didn't have nearly the amount of weed I usually used, but the saving grace was that I had leftovers from several different kinds of weed, and mixing different kinds always gets you tremendously stoned. I made my "magic Butter" and made a small batch of cookies. I wanted to gauge how strong they'd be the next day so I ate some of the plain butter, and I got blasted. I was tripping in fact. Luckily I was home but I was high as a kite. I tried to get to sleep but that was futile. My body was buzzing like crazy and it was like being on nitrous oxide...I was hearing sounds going "EEYOINGOINGOINGOING..." With the lights off it felt like the ceiling had dropped down and was pressing down on my chest. I knew it wasn't real of course but I coulld literally feel it. I felt like I was inside a huge bouncy ball going up and down, to the point that I was getting dizzy and I had to turn the light on to make it stop. That night I had to sleep with the light on and I felt like a little kid. At least I could laugh at myself, and I knew damn good and well not to let my girlfriend eat too many cookies. Or me either. But I did anyway. [ ]The next day was hilarious. The drive was a bit over two hours and I decided to have a cookie for the road. I had a digital recorder to record the crowd noise to maybe use on a recording project. I needed to change the batteries but I needed a tiny screwdriver for the battery compartment and I couldn't find one. I realized I'd have to stop at a Home Depot or somewhere on the way to Atlants, and the cookie had kicked-in already, and I was off like a rocket. We pulled into the parking lot and had to park a good way from the store. I was so high I literally thought I might not be able to speak, no joke, and I thought that if I couldn't find it on my own I'd have to engage a human, and I didn't want to have a clerk say "May I help you?" and not be able to say a word. The whole way across the parking lot I kept saying out loud: "Small slotted screwdriver, small slotted screwdriver, small slotted screwdriver" over and over while my girlfriend cracked up, and rightly so. I was so stoned I almost had to relearn the English language, or at least get in a little practice. Luckily I found the small-slotted-screwdriver isle right away and I didn't have to talk to anyone. [ ]The game was incredible. The grass was greener, the sky was bluer, the hot dogs smelled hot-doggier...I was completely immersed in the experience. It was really intense but really enjoyable. There were a couple of slight problems. I had cottonmouth like a motherfucker and I wanted some water, but nobody came around with any. The stadium was fairly sloped but as high as I was it was greatly exaggerated. I felt like if I even stood up I'd tumble down the steps and onto the field, so for the first six innings or so I sat firmly-planted in my seat, and I was wishing it had a seatbelt. Finally before the seventh-inning stretch I managed to slowly make my way down the steps and to the refreshment stand, but I wish I'd been tied-off with rappelling gear. Also they had a couple of security guards with dogs, and they walked in front of us at one point. I found out later that my girlfriend was so high she thought they were drug-sniffing dogs, and would sniff-out the cookies in her purse, which we didn't need anyway. That's funny. [ ]Since this is a history lesson for weed, and some people are interested in that, I should mention the famous "Paraquat Scare." I don't remember exactly when it was but I guess late-70s/early 80s. With funding from the gub-mint and Budweiser (I wonder why...) they started a project to eradicate weed from the air, so they loaded tanks on helicopters and went around spraying a powerful and very toxic herbicide on weed fields. Since it was so toxic and didn't just kill the plants, they were sending a strong message that smoking pot laced with Paraquat could fuck you up, and it could. They made a bloody fortune selling "Paraquat test kits." Most people were scared shitless, which was the point, and everybody was testing their weed, if not quitting and turning to beer (get it?). What people didn't realize, and certainly what they didn't tell you, was the thing at the very heart of the issue- it killed the plants. If you got a normal-looking bag that was healthy and fresh and not brown, dead and crumbly, it were perfectly okay. I actually saw a batch that had been sprayed. It was yellow and it crumbled to dust. The guy was an asshole and an idiot for trying to sell it, but people were afraid of smoking healthy weed that hadn't been touched. Looking back I see that it was just another psyop and yet another excuse to profit off of people's needless fear, but that's how it goes. [ ]Well, it's been fun reminiscing (as the Little River Band, or the "Little Reefer" band as we called them used to say) and checking out all the new reefer strains with the incredible names. I could talk about those for another hour and tell a million great reefer stories but I won't right now. The reefer industry has come a long way from the days of Skunk #1. There's strains that old hippies wouldn't recognize as pot even, but I'm sure they'd get a kick out of the names. There are SO many pot stories...like the time I took my buddy Rusty flying in a glider plane and got him so stoned beforehand that he nearly shit himself, or the time I bought an authentic bottle of hash oil in the early days of eBay, where it was deemed legal because it was encased in Lucite and therefore unaccessible, and the bidding went sky-high but I had plenty of money, and people bid from all over the world until everyone dropped out of the race except for me and the Museum of Hash and Marijuana in Amsterdam. That was fun and they ended up sending me a nice congrats message. I could go on and on but I'd better bust out. I got the munchies. You know what they say...it's always 4:20 somewhere. Smoke 'em if you got 'em, and have a nice day.

Great Nicknames: Box Magnet (rewritten from another blog)

[ ]I've had some nicknames in my day. The longest-running is Doctor Octafer, which is still in use. I can't remember them all...and certain ones like "ShithooK" or "Dickhead," which I admit I've most-assuredly deserved at times, probably aren't registered like the more fun ones are. "Billy Bullshit" is a personal favorite, and comes from soon after the Octafer one. The Generic Band was playing a gig at the Nick and our master-of-ceremonies Scott Leader was introducing the band. We were best buds but when he got to me, somehow he forgot my name. He was looking back at me and we were both cracking up. Finally he said "On drums...Mr. Billy Bullshit!" We all lost it laughing. I don't get to use that one much but on my Facebook page where it says how to pronounce your name, if you click on it it says "Bil-ly Bull-shit." I doubt anyone's ever noticed but I think it's hilarious. [ ]The next nickname didn't last but maybe a year until the band broke up, but it was a good one. This is actually two stories that revolve around the same random guy...a kid we met briefly at a gig at a frat party in Colombia, SC. He was a "pledge," a first-yeat frat brother. Occasionally they'd make them help bands move equipment, which was always nice. One of the pledges that showed up to help was noticeably grinding his jaw. I called it "chewing air-gum." He was really working that jaw, and I doubted he'd done enough coke to get that geeked that early in the day, so I figured he was doing X, which he was. [ ]It was Halloween and it was going to be a huge party. All but one of the other guys in the band were planning to dress up and trip on acid that evening, but I thought some X might be fun. Instead of asking him outright I said "Dude, what's your favorite letter of the alphabet?" "X" he said. "Thought so. Think I could get a tab?" I asked. "I'll see what I can do" he said. "I really appreciate it man. Can I give you some money?" "No, I'll have to look around a little." "Okay, 'preesh" I said. "Happy to try" he said. [ ]We set up and then farted around and went and had dinner and a look around the town. A couple of the guys had brought costumes, sort of, and at the last minute I decided to do my default sad-clown (Emmett Kelly) face that I've done a million times on Halloween. I had to borrow some makeup from a couple of gals, who watched transfixed as I turned myself into a clown. Girls love that shit. Anyway we did the hurry-up-and-wait thing, which we dealt with by smoking a bowl or two. We were excited, and so was everybody else. We'd played another Halloween party for a frat there the year before. They'd done the place up to look like a cemetary, with cobwebs and blacklights and ghosts in sheets and shit. Oh and plenty of sororiety sisters. It was a sauna that night too. They had a huge kitchen and that's where we went to toke-up on the first break. [ ]Like usual I was sweating, and when I took my t-shirt off I saw a stack of cotton aprons, and grabbed one to dry off. "I dare you to wear just that" said O', out of the blue. I couldn't refuse a dare like that so I stripped naked except for an apron. It covered my goober but not my skinny ass. We didn't trip that night but I did a drum solo, and hipped the people who hadn't noticed already that I was almost naked, and in the middle of the solo O' came behind me and fanned me with a towel. Yep...that's why you learn to play music. Anyway the kids knew us and were primed for a fun time. [ ]I had a feeling the kid who was X-ing would come through, but I hadn't heard from him before we started playing. The other guys had semi-dressed-up and they'd dosed, but I was holding out for the X, and hoping I'd see the kid on the first break. I didn't, so before the second set I decided to join the other guys, and I put two drops of 25 on my tongue. It was chilly that night but when you have 250 or more warm bodies packed into a room and grooving and dancing it turns into a sauna in five minutes. I'd sweat like a whore in church no matter if it were Summer or WInter. I set up right next to an open window so I could be as cool as possible. [ ]Since it was Halloween and we were tripping I guess and for whatever reason I did a drum solo. Most times the only solos I ever did were when the other guys would gang-up and slowly drop out and MAKE me do a solo, but anyway this night I was doing one. The solo started around half an hour into the set, so the acid was starting to kick-in. I was seeing purple ripples like in a pond when I'd hit a drum, and layers of colors and patterns flew from the cymbals. I was really having fun. Whether or not the solo was any good I have no idea, but it was fun. [ ]Halfway through the drum solo a movement in the window caught my eye. I looked over and there was a hand sticking in, with a blue tablet in the middle. Dude had come through. I was already tripping pretty good, but I decided WTF and kept playing with my left hand while my right hand picked up the tab and ate it. "Thanks man!" I said. "How much do I owe you?" "Nothing" he replied. "We love your band. It's on the house" "You sure?" "Sure." "Much appreciated man!" "We appreciate you! Have fun. Catch ya later." Off he went into the night. I never saw his face. Or knew his name. [ ]Back to earlier in the day. After I'd broken the ice about the X and he realized we were just regular guys he started talking to us about what it was like being in a band. He obviously knew there was a lot of work involved, so we told him a bit about things, and how much fun it was to get to travel around and see new places and meet new people, and hopefully give them their money's worth and then some. We told a couple of crazy band stories and he and the other pledges were into it. Dude got quiet for a second and then he said "Um...do any of y'all ever...you know...hook-up with any females on the road?" As if it were well-rehearsed (the sign of a good band), all four guys sort of made a frowny-face, pointed to me and said, in unison, "HE does." It was classic. [ ]"I see" said the kid. "'Box Magnet,' eh?" I'd never heard that term before and it cracked me up. The other guys died laughing too and started calling me "Box Magnet." I didn't brag too much about my extra-musicular activities in the band, although it was hard to really hide them, but I have to admit it was a proud moment, and I loved the term. "Box" of course is slang for a certain part of the female anatomy. I'd never heard it paired with "magnet" before, and it had a great ring to it...Box Magnet. I immediately thought it'd be a great name for a band, but it really sounded more like a comic-book hero in an animated cartoon, with lots of scantily-clad women with nice, perky cartoon-breasts. At the start of every show the announcer would say "BOOOOXXXX-X-X-X-x-x-x MAGNET-MAGNET-AGNET-GNET-NET-T-T-t-t-t." In every episode Box skips saving the day and goes straight to getting the girl. Anyway for a while my nickname was Box Magnet, or just "Box." [ ]Box Magnet...I like it. The law of attraction...literally and figuratively and every whichaway. I can dig it. Box...a word for one of the best things in the world. Magnet...one who attracts it. I can dig that too. Box Magnet...it's fun to say and there'a a certain energy when you say it. It's a strong phrase. Had it stuck, "Box" wouldn't have been a bad nickname really. It would've been a conversation-starter for sure. Hey, I've been called worse.

IQ

[ ]Recently I've taken a few "IQ teats" on YouTube videos. I've never taken an official IQ test, and these certainly aren't, but I'm guessing I'd score somewhere in the "Upper-Dumbass" range. I did okay in school and had straight-As in Math, English and Science all through school, but I don't know how much that actually matters. I aced one test that guaranteed you wouldn't get more than 7 out of 10 right, which was just clickbait. It didn't seem all that hard really. I had to guess at one but I got all 10 right. A few of the questions on some tests were over my head completely, and stuff like that is why I could never be considered a genius in any way. But on most of the tests I did better than I'd have thought. [ ]They say that truly intelligent people don't try to brag on it. I think it's true. Most Mensa members would never think of bringing up the fact that they're Mensa members in conversation, to try to impress someone. The few that do are regarded as egotistical, narcissistic douchebags by everyone else. Anyway I just took another test that popped up in my feed. It said something like "If you get 10/10 your IQ is 130+." It was more clickbait, but I already knew the answer to the question in the thumbnail so I decided to take the test. The question I saw was just a trivia question about a famous 60s movie. I thought it had much more to do with how old you were than your IQ, but I took it anyway. I missed the first question, no clue, and thought "I really AM a dumbass," but then I got the rest correct, and I have to admit it was a little exciting getting down to the wire. [ ]It said that if you got 9/10 right your IQ was 120+. I'm guessing that's well-below Mensa range but I have no idea what the official numbers are. I don't care. Like age, color, creed and such, it doesn't matter. It's what you do with your "intelligence." Do you use it for good and to help others, or do you use it just for your own good? There's no wrong answer, but one is better. It's all in how you apply it. It's your works, or "fruits." As my friend Tut once quipped, as sparks were flying between him and some young lady he'd just met, who was about to repaint her crib and thought he'd be a great "handyman" to have around: "You know, it's not the SIZE of the paintbrush...it's how you STROKE it."

These Dreams: OPD (Other People's Dreams)

[ ]I've talked about this before but I'm not sure whether I posted it or not. If you happened to have read it, my bad. If so fell free to read on or go do something else. Have a nice day. [ ]Some years back I happened to overhear a phone conversation between a man and a buddy of his. Not that it has any bearing but it was a black man roughly my age. He'd just had a crazy dream and I could tell it freaked him out a little because he was talking loudly and excitedly. I couldn't help but hear what he was saying. I can't remember every word of it but I remember the basic plot. [ ]The dream started out with dude and his buddy setting off on a road trip. They were about to pull out of the driveway when his wife or girlfriend came running out with a big bag of ham sandwiches for the road. They decided to go ahead and eat one but when they unwrapped them they were nothing but fat, and soaked in grease. They couldn't eat them so they put them back in the bag and went to look for a trash can to throw them away. That's a good dude there, BTW. Before they could find a trash can they saw three bums (his words) standing by a fire in an oil drum, and thought they might be hungry enough to eat the sandwiches. He rolled down the window, hollered and got their attention and tossed the bag their way. [ ]Sadly none of them caught it and it landed straight in the oil drum. The bag of fat and grease sandwiches fed the flames and a huge fireball erupted from the drum. Unfortunately it also set the bums alight. I didn't expect to hear that and I almost started laughing. What a crazy-ass dream. He said they "went up like charcoal briquettes." He went "AAAIIIIIEEEEEE!" making the sound of the flaming bums, and I made a sound trying to stifle a laugh. I was getting a kick out of it and I didn't want him to stop telling it on my account, but that was pretty much it anyway. He said that seeing the bums go up in flames freaked him out so much he woke up. The rest of his conversation was mostly trying to figure out where a dream like that came from in the first place. [ ]I kinda had to wonder that myself. I could picture it...it was like some deleted scene from a David Lynch movie or something. Dude was trying to be kind to some hungry, homeless people, but instead he lit them on fire. That's hilarious, and like they say, it's just a dream. I'd never want to see actual people set ablaze by a bag of greasy sandwiches in real life, but in a dream it's off the charts. That one will always crack me up. Here's to REM sleep, and sweet dreams.

Winter Wonderland (Special Texas Edition)

"A beautiful sight, we're happy tonight, walkin' in a Winter Wonderland...in our fucking kitchen."

Things I Should've Never Let People Talk Me out of- Bitcoin (My bad, Little Voice)

[ ]Bitcoin just hit $50K per. I remember when it first came out over a decade ago. I'm pretty sure it started trading at under a buck. I'd been hearing for years that digital currency was coming, so I took a bit more interest that I might have. Some say it's the beginning of the so-called "one-world currency" that's just one part of the upcoming Beast System, but that's another story. Anyway there was a deal that I guess is still in place today, where you downloaded shareware or whatever it is, and for letting whomever use your computer during downtime you'd receive so much in Bitcoin. It's called mining. [ ]Even interested to the degree I was I'd never have thought about doing that probably, but then along came my "Little Voice." Again it's not an actual voice in my head; it's more like a loud, clear thought that completely supercedes all other thoughts for a moment. If there's one thing my dumb-ass has learned it's to never, EVER argue with it or not do what it "says." It was like "I should do that. No, I should REALLY do that." Nobody much back then saw it hitting 50K but you never know. The thing was it was hard to imagine investing in digital currency...just numbers on a hard drive, rather than silver or something holdable, but again I felt led by the nose to do it. [ ]I wanted to get a dedicated desktop and let it run 24/7. I know someone who was in a position to help me out with all the towers I needed for free or next-to-nothing, but they grinned and said it wouldn't be worth the electricity. Boy, that was a big ol' heap o' wrong, eh? My ex said I'd be an idiot too. I can't blame it on anyone but myself though. I'd have bought a tower but I was dirt-poor. I should've tried harder to find a way to make it happen. I don't know what the mining rate is or was, but you'd think that in well over a decade I'd have mined at least one coin...maybe two. Even if it was just a third of a coin it'd be over $15K. Like Jimmy Buffet sings in the chorus of Margaritaville, "It's my own damn fault." [ ]I guess all I can do is bitch about it uselessly. Actually this is to illustrate yet again the validity of my Little Voice, whatever it is. I knew better than to not do whatever it took to make it happen, screw what everybody else said. I fucked-up, and this time it really cost me. 50-Big to be exact, or maybe more. Fuck me. I'm sorry, LV. I know you tried. Maybe it wasn't meant to be.

These Dreams: My Funny Valentine?

[ ]I went to sleep shortly after midnight on the 14th and apparently I had a Valentine's dream. I was walking around outside in a nice neighborhood where there was a party, which has been a recurring theme to start out several dreams lately. This time I was by myself, and a young lady approached with a nice smile on her face. She looked friendly enough and I thought she was just in a good mood or whatever and that she'd brighten my night and we'd pass like two ships in the night, but she walked up to me and stopped. I decided to stop too. I was hesitant because she was a fair bit younger than me, maybe twenty years, but I apparently wanted to hear what she had to say. "Hello" she said, and offered her hand. These days a handshake is almost like a cool drink of water in the desert. This bullshit where we're all treating each other like biohazards has permeated my dreamscape. [ ]"Hi there" I said and gladly took her hand. Like the delivery woman in real life a couple of weeks ago who also shook my hand, she got instant points for not living in fear. If the girl of my dreams told me her name I forgot. "Listen," she started, 'this may seem forward, but I'd really like to go out with you." "Really?" I asked. "Yes" she replied. "Do you know how old I am?" I asked. "Yes. I don't care" she said. "People are people. It's never been a big deal." I'm the same way, in real-life and dreams too I guess. "I know a few of your friends and they say you're an okay dude. They thought we might be a good fit and so do I. What say you?" [ ]I was a bit taken aback. What I knew up to that point is that a pleasant young lady had basically hit on me in a most honest way, and I wasn't saying no right off the bat. She was very pretty but not like "model-pretty," which usually doesn't work at all for me anyway. For what it's worth I got a really good vibe from her. I've heard pickup lines from women before, including the timeless classic, "Wanna screw?" but I liked the honest approach, and things like that have happened in real life of course. "These are weird times" she said, "but you don't seem to be as caught up in the madness, and I'm not either." "It's bullshit" I said. "Pardon my French." "No problem" she said. "It IS bullshit." I was beginning to like this sister. [ ]After a moment's ponderance I said "I say we take a walk and have a chat about things." "Good" she said. "Your friends say you love animals and you're into music and you're a tree-hugger and you care about people." "Guilty I guess" I said. "I don't mean to have you at a disadvantage, because I talked to your friends but you haven't talked to any of mine, so I'll be happy to tell you anything you want to know about me." "Right on" I said. [ ]"I don't mean to be pushy" she said, "but I'm single and you're single and things might be more fun with a friend." "I can dig it" I said. We started walking around the neighborhood, and well...it didn't feel too bad. She seemed pretty cool so far. She was five-foot-two, eyes of blue...not really...she had semi-curly brown hair and green eyes. She was maybe 5-7 or half a notch taller, which was just about right. I put my arm around her. It seemed like the thing to do. I was still getting a good vibe from her, with no detectable traces of static in her head. [ ]"You know we're not six feet apart" she said. "I noticed, and I like it" I said. "We'll have to pretend we're a couple" I half-joked. "Fine by me" she said. I was beginning to get into the flow a little better and I was beginning to wonder if she was as much of a keeper as she seemed to be, and the stars aligned and she walked right up straight out of Heaven or something, and I'd be a fool to blow her off just because she was younger. The older you get the less it matters I think. "So...besides what I've heard, what else are you into? What else do you like to do?" she asked. "I like Pina Coladas and getting caught in the rain" I quipped. I'm hilarious. In my dreams thst is. "Ha-ha-ha...my DAD loved that song." "Of course he did" I replied. "I can't believe you said that. You're a nerd, aren't you?" she asked. "Dork" I replied. "I see" she said. She was already giving me a little shit in a good way, and I liked her style. [ ]"What's up with you?" I asked. She started telling me about things, and she mentioned her family first before she talked about herself, which was a good indication. She was into art and music and Nature, same as me. "I usually don't just approach guys and ask them for a date, but..." she blurted out as her cheeks got red. "Neither do I" I said. Really though it's okay. I don't mind at all. I'm very pleased to meet you." "Me too" she said. We both decided to go for a hug at the same time. That was cool. It was a good hug. I may have gotten a bit of a boner, but I can't remember...but I already knew I was going to try to be a gentleman and not even try to hit it until at least three or four more dates. And she was quite hittable too, but so far it wasn't one of "those" dreams. She was cool and she seemed like a true sweetheart, and I wasn't about to screw it up by immediately trying to jump her bones. [ ]It was amazing to be standing closer than six feet from someone, not to mention hugging. I was digging this sister. We walked on and had a nice conversation. We had a pretty good bit in common...a lot in fact. They say that even if you don't recognize someone in a dream they're based on people you know. Dream girl did have a mix of qualities I admire in women, and no doubt I conjured her up out of my subconscious. Hey, maybe she had a dream about me too...and she's real. You never know. Anyway she was very nice to be around and I was very glad I didn't blow her off when we met. She had a brain. That's always a plus. "Wanna go get loaded?" she asked out of nowhere. For a second I was shocked but then I figured she must be pulling my leg, and she was. "Nah, I don't drink very often" she said. "No problem" I replied. { ]I'm guessing we'd have spent the night together, but I woke up. I remembered so much detail that I'm surprised I didn't go into lucid mode, which would've been incredible. As it was it was still a great dream, and I wondered if it could possibly mean that there's a similar sister out there with my name on her. Who knows. I'm not actively wookin' panub at the moment but I'm certainly not NOT looking either. Maybe there's a dream-sister right around the corner, or maybe not. In any case it's nice to know that my dreams are still on track, and it was a perfect dream for Valentine's Day. Sweet dreams.

Fireworks Photo Encore (Click to Enlarge)

{ }I'm posting this photo again. Blow it up and have a look. This stupid fuck doesn't know how to handle fireworks. He's way out of his league and he's lucky he escaped with his balls intact, which I'm assuming he did. Check the energy of that burst...it looks like special-effects. Seeing it go off on the ground like that makes it look like the dude is about to enter an energy field or a portal or something. Speaking of going off on the ground, these shells weren't meant to do that. They're meant to go off at around 1,500' or so in the air, where they can't blow someone's balls off. Look at the stars shooting out...they're out of frame and they're already impressive, and they're just getting started. These aren't fireworks-stand fireworks. This is pro stuff. Unless you're a licensed pyrotechnician you're not even supposed to be near these fireworks, and Numbnut here demonstrates why. Do you read me? [ ]This is a very impressive photo. In fact I'm going to have it printed on a t-shirt. No joke. It's a printable-quality image, and it says so many things. First off it's just plain hilarious to see some goofydick who can't handle fireworks. His stance is priceless. He didn't even have time to complete the phrase "OH, SHI..." or cover his face or his balls before it went off. It's such a perfect image. It could be a movie poster. It also clearly shows the bullshit going on and that we're being played like fiddles, and that there are truly many people who want to destroy this country and incite v1olence and h@te, and this image is living proof, to those with eyes to see. It is. It makes me happy to see it, but before you judge me, read on. [ ]Again these are professional fireworks. People aren't even supposed to possess them, much less set them off on crowded city streets for the love of God, where they could cause serious injuries, and for good measure expose stupid assholes like this guy. It boggles my mind that people arean't at least curious enough to want to know who gave them these fireworks and WHY, but most people will use their computer time to check their Facebook status and wait for that next dopamine hit when the notification bell lights up. BTW you can train a dog with a clicker. Think about it. [ ]This is a phenominal photo and a clear indicator of the bullshit, right in front of our noses, and in my book you can't beat that. Plus it'll make a badass t-shirt. Besides clearly illustrating bullshit in a spectacular way, it's a moment in time captured perfectly. I don't know what to say about Goofydick. Either he just dropped it or he didn't get the "GET AWAY" part of the iconic statement on all fireworks packages- "LIGHT FUSE...GET AWAY." It's the most important half of the equation. And lordy it's funny. It's made me lol a few times. Here's the kicker...I don't want to see anyone get hurt for any reason, but I can't say I feel bad for this guy at all. Except for Fuckface here, who can't throw a lit firework 15', these fireworks were being thrown at cops. That's not cool. No wonder they had riot shields. [ ]If people are going to do cowardly and disgraceful (and SUBSIDIZED) things like this, they deserve what they get, even if it's a loss of balls. I bet it was a minute before that asshole tried to shoot any more of those. He did leave us with a beautiful image, captured at just the right millisecond. It also clearly shows the bullshit, with a bit of backstory anyway, and people will see it if they want to. It's right there in front of their faces. Our true enemies AREN'T people of a different color, political party, religious views, etc. IT'S THE SICKO PEOPLE WHO ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS SHIT, END OF STORY. WAKE UP! Have a nice day.

I Know My Fireworks

[ ]Several months ago I was watching vids of some of the so-called "peaceful protests" where they were shooting fireworks. For one thing I wondered how so many people happened to have fireworks to begin with and how they could afford to buy so many, but as I saw some of the bursts taking up a city block and heard the loudness of the explosions I thought "Damn...them there are professional fireworks. No question." I was perplexed. Even possessing fireworks like those requires a special pyrotechnics license and years of training. I've been shooting fireworks since first grade, and I know my way around things that go boom. [ ]When I was a kid there was a fireworks stand that we used to pass going to Atlanta. My dad was my hero for allowing fireworks. I got to know the owner and he knew I was a freak, so occasionally he'd get something out of the ordinary and save it for me. He'd have Cracker Balls (RIP Cracker Balls), M-80s and such, and one day he offered me a bag of small tubes marked "Class-A Special Fireworks." The ones they sell to the public in the US are marked "Class-C Common Fireworks." In other words they were illegal, but God bless that guy for selling them to me anyway. [ ]They were innocent-looking 4" tubes with a base, but I knew they must be kickass, and they blew away my expectations. My dumb-ass decided to try one right on my street. The lift charge alone was louder than an M-80, and I was thinking "Oh, shit" as I waited for the main charge. A few seconds later there was a huge "BLAM." It rattled windows. You could feel it in your chest. They were the same ones we see at fireworks displays that just go up and explode with a big bang. Let's just say that every door in the neighborhood opened, and it was the only one of those I ever shot in public. Again, God bless that fireworks guy for befriending me. [ ]Day before yesterday I was talking to someone who lives up north near some of the most violent "peaceful protests." He told me that for days on end the fireworks drove him and his family and his dogs and cats berserk, and he actually went and engaged some of the protestors, to ask them what was up with all the 'works. They told him that vans would pull up and hand out boxes and boxes of fireworks. They told the "peaceful protestors" to be careful because they weren't ordinary fireworks. Indeed. It's simply more proof that all this division and hate is being orchestrated on purpose. IT'S BY DESIGN. Most people do NOT want this shit. People will wake up or they won't. In any case I called it yo. Class-A, baby, all day long. I know my fireworks.

Tint Tim Revisited

[ ]I recently did a post about Tiny Tim, the legendary-lefty Uke player and falsetto singer. I talked about the impact he had on me and how I knew he was much more than a "novelty act," which so many saw him as, and how he seemed to be a genuinely good person. He had a heart attack and died onstage, performing his hit "Tiptoe Through the Tulips," which I think is the ultimate way for a musician to go out. I was just watching a video about him, and one of the comments put a lump in my throat. [ ]It said "I met him in person. I went to one of his later-in-life appearances. I'm ashamed to say I went to mock him. Then we met and shook hands. He was so kind. His eyes were so kind, and I knew he just wanted what we all want: kindness and compassion. I was so ashamed of myself. I complemented his hair color. He told me he used Miss Clairol 23, and his eyes were filled with gratitude for my small acceptance of him. That was an enormous lesson for me at age 25, and I'll be forever grateful that he was my teacher. Bless you Tiny Tim- you taught me about kindness and compassion." What an amazing story. There were over 1,200 replies to that comment, which I've never seen before. I said that Tiny Tim was a good person. I rest my case. God bless you Tiny Tim.

Quote of the Day

"Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul and sings the tunes without the words, and never stops at all." - Emily Dickenson

Stash (Cache) Cap

[ ]They're coming out with some cool stuff in the tactical/EDC (everyday carry) department. I guess they've had stash caps for a while but this one is fairly new I think. A few years ago a search of "tactical caps" would take you to pages where they had baseball caps filled with lead shot. You could use them to whack the shit out of a perp. I don't know of anyone who's been beaten to death with a baseball cap but stranger things have happened. [ ]The Cache cap by Wazoo Survival is a little kinder and gentler, although you could keep a small knife or some such weapon in it I suppose. It looks like a normal baseball cap but it has several hidden pockets, making it "tactical." There are guys who do videos on these and it's amazing what they can cram into these caps. Some of them pack gear like firestarters, small fishing and sewing kits, mini-multitools, meds, water-purification tabs, foil, duct tape, cordage, wire saws, a compass, whistle, signal mirror and such. Except for food and water it almost becomes a survival hat, and that stuff could actually save your life if you were caught in a snowstorm or ran off the road and got hurt or whatever. Seeing all the stuff they pull out of their caps reminds me of a clown car, where there's a dozen clown in a tiny little whoopty car. Except for looking like the wearer has a mild case of Encephalitis maybe, you can't tell there's anything in it. Seriously it's pretty discrete. [ ]I might pack some of that stuff in there if I were planning a trip to the river or something but sadly I don't get to do that any more. For an EDC deal I'd probably pack some cash (while it'll still works), a small flashlight, small knife or razor blade, maybe a bandana, a mini Bic lighter, a spare key, a rubber band or two, a small screwdriver set or maybe a mini Leatherman, a couple of Bandaids and alcohol swabs (for the times we're in). I'd write my name in that bitch like I was back in summer camp. Well, actually I'd probably just put a card with my contact info in it. Speaking of the past, in the olden days I'd have also put a small pen or pencil and a few sheets of paper, in case I might happen to get some digits from a female-type person. I guess they could still come in handy. Or maybe I'd just pack it with lead shot and use it to beat the shit out of someone if I really had to. Nah, I'm kidding. I'm a lover, not a cap-fighter. But it would be pretty funny to see some guy who'd been pummeled by one talking to a friend about his fucked-up face. "Dude, WTF happened to YOU?" "Some dude beat me up with a baseball cap." "Huh?" [ ]I watched a vid about this hat before I started this post. The guy had a water bag plus water tablets. The bag is plastic and folds flat, and you can even boil water in it. He also had a wire saw, compass, firestarter and tender, 15' of thin paracord, two of those thin, "credit-card" tools, one a fishing kit and one like a multi-tool, a small drill and a whole array of bits, fancy gel bandages, antibiotic ointment, alcohol prep pads, several different meds and such, cash, keys, a few tiny glow-sticks plus a USB cable and adaptors. Oh, and he had an extra mask, which sadly isn't a bad idea these days. I left a comment saying that he could survive in the woods, become a medic, build a hut and run a business, all from his hat. I also mentioned the clown-car thing. He just now replied and said "Best comment ever!" There are three pockets under the bill and a pocket underneath the crown and side pockets around the rim. He had all that shit in there, with room to spare. Wazoo makes a range of gear specifically for the cap, with some items sealed in plastic that forms a curve and is designed to fit in the curved rim pockets. Pretty cool. [ ]My hair has gotten long enough that I'll need to wear a hat soon so I can see. I have a few but nothing as cool as a cache-stash cap. They have a gray one that's cotton but all the other colors, and camo, are rip-stop nylon. I'd choose cotton of course but nylon might be better in certain situations. It's not like I have a busy social calendar but if I was leading a normal life and going places and gigging and whatnot it might be cool to have a cache cap. $30 isn't a bad price but they do add $5 for shipping. You can spend a lot more than that on the custom tools they make for it or you could certianly fill it with your own stuff. There's always times when you could use a flashlight or a knife or a rubber band or some extra cash, or your dumb ass locks yourself out of your crib. You could turn an "Oh, shit" moment into a "Thank God I have my Cache Cap" moment. If there happened to be a damsel-in-distress involved and you saved the day, you'd probably get laid. That wouldn't be a problem at all- the Cache Cap has plenty of rooms for condoms. [ ]I'm sure some people might be tempted to use it as a "party hat." It'd probably hold half a Zeeber in the rim pockets alone. A pinch-hitter and a mini Bic would fit perfectly in the brim pockets. You'd be a sitting duck if you got busted but I'm sure lots of people would overlook it. If you were in a bad part of town where you might get mugged you could leave $20 in your wallet so the bad guys wouldn't get mad and shoot you, and put the rest of your cash and cards, family photos and such in your cap. If they stole your cap though you'd be fucked. I guess that's when you should concealed-carry. [ ]Anyway a Cache Cap wouldn't be bad to have. You could always just wear it as a hat. It's very stylish, not that I care about that, but the cotton one especially looks really nice. A small "Wazoo" logo is embroidered in the same-colored thread just above the brim and to the side, so it's very discreet. I'm not a logo guy and I'd never pay to advertise someone else's shit, but in this case I don't mind and I even like it. It makes me think of "Out the wazoo" and this cap pretty much lives up to that term. You can pack it out the wazoo, and who knew? In these uncertain times it might be a comfort to some people knowing they had a few extra goodies up their sleeve. Or rather in their cap. I'd have tripped-out on this if it'd been around when I was a kid. It would've been secret-agent shit, or like Batman's utility belt. There's no telling what I might have kept in it...rocks, marbles, coins, arrowheads, fireworks...I'd definitely have had fireworks in it, and a book of matches. I'd have been the king! [ ]You can spend $30 on a nice cotton-twill hat all day of the week. If you're in the market for a new hat, might as well get one that can hold some shit. Even if you just carried a twenty and a spare house key it would probably come in handy one day. If you're going to the beach and don't want to take your wallet you could pack your keys, credit card, a bottle-opener, lighter, sunscreen, condoms, etc. If you decide to go camping you can pack it with a bunch of survival shit. It really was wild how much shit those guys packed in the hats, and even when you were looking for lumps they were very hard to see, and the average person would never notice. I have a giant pumpkin head, and when I put a cap on it stretches and distorts and has lumps anyway, so none would be the wiser. The geek in me thinks it's a great idea. If you added one of those dual clip-on LED lights that go on the brim of your cap you'd be happening. Hell, you might as well go on and add a propeller on top. You can buy those too. The stash cache hat. I can dig it. I tip my cap to all them over there at Wazoo.

Making Extra Cash in Indiana

[ ]A rather interesting law has been passed in Indiana. A $5,000 grant is being offered to churches of any denomination that start performing exorcisms. It's tough to make a buck these days and that might be an option for people living there. If it were available in this state I might look into it. I've occasionally thought about joining the Church of the Subgenious. One of the benefits of membership is that you become a legally-ordained minister. Of what I'm not exactly sure, but you're legal, and you can actually perform weddings, if someone were dumb enough to hire you. It would be hilarious to actually preside over a wedding. Plus you get some groovy paraphernalia and stickers and stuff for joining. If society should crumble, like some say it will, people will still want to get hitched, and if they couldn't find a real minister I could do it and it'd be legal...not that that legality would make much difference in such a scenario. [ ]If I lived in Indiana I think I'd be thinking about starting a church. I'd have the ordained part down. I could start the First Church of Hoosier Daddy. I'd get some holy water, a few cans of split-pea soup for someone to spew, and go nuts. And get $5,000. Plus I could legally marry people after the service. Maybe they'll pass that law here. Well, I'm talking about crazy shit again. Maybe I'm finally losing it altogether. Must be this plannedemic. In any case have a nice day, and if you happen to meet that special someone but you can't find a real preacher to tie the knot, feel free to hit me up. I can see it now..."Do you take this fine-ass sister to be your lawfully-wedded wifey?"

Making Money on YouTube

[ ]It blows my mind how much money some people make on YouTube. If you happen to be a narcissistic, cross-dressing man and you do makeup tutorials you can have a mansion in LA and a Rolls in the driveway. No shit. But those sad fucks are the exception to the rule. Having said that, some cats with medium-sized channels can still make some serious cash. Channels that are monetized have a "Superchat" option in the chat on livestreams. People can donate via CC or Paypal. Their comment is highlighted, and generally the host will acknowledge their donation, but not always. [ ]There's also a membership option where you pay a monthly fee. Your name in chat changes to green. It starts at $2.50 a month and goes up from there. There's one guy who comes on every morning with sort of a business/economics show. He'll have over 2 or 3K people watching his livestreams, every day, and he's selected the option where only members can chat. He probably has at least 1,500 members paying a minimum of $2.50 a month, plus people Superchat on top of that. Most people want a shoutout when they donate but he never pays a bit of attention to the chat. It's nothing personal; he wants to get his message across without distractions, even though the chat is basically dollar signs rolling by at a good clip. YT takes 30% off the top but who cares when that kind of money is rolling in. [ ]Don't get me wrong...I don't begrudge anyone (with a few notable exceptions) making money on YouTube. It's a lot of work being a content-creator, especially if you have a bunch of pro gear. It's a full-time job for lots of people. There are some good people on there and they deserve every penny. The morning dude makes a lot more than I'd think he would. He makes several-thou a month on memberships alone, but even without that I'd say he easily makes $1,500 an hour in his steams from Superchat. He clears over 11. He does a two-hour show seven days a week. Do the math. Plus he gets even more money from ads from the thousands of people who watch his livestreams later. Unreal. [ ]The image above is from a stream I was watching when I started this post. It's a missionary/minister-type dude. He does a lot of work in Africa which makes him okay in my book. He was doing a breakdown of the Super Bowl halftime show and I watched for maybe half an hour. I wasn't paying attention to the chat but all of the Superchats pop up at the top of the page, and his digits were pretty impressive. This is a random screenshot I snagged during the show. Not too shabby I'd say. You don't see all that many $400 donations but they do happen, and there were quite a few hunj donations. In fact when I checked again there was yet another $400 Superchat, as if they didn't want to be outdone. There were several more $100 ones and many other smaller donations, maybe 150 or so, ranging from $5 up to $50. I'm sure he cleared two grand or more. He's not quite up there with morning dude or makeup dudes certainly, but that kind of scratch ain't bad. He only goes live once a week or so, but morning dude must be nailing down maybe $750K a year. [ ]And still even that is a drop in the bucket compared to the dicksuckers. I haven't bothered to look into how much they make because I don't care, but it's a lot. Plus they get endorsements from the major beauty companies. What a flippy-floppy-ass world we live in. What some people will do for money never ceases to amaze. Morning dude has it good enough I'd say. Too much money can turn someone into an asshole, makeup or not. As it is I'm sure he's hired a good CPA and probably an attorney. Even missionary dude gets a good payoff for the time he spends. He probably takes in $35K or more a year, and that's just a part-time job. It's gravy. God's gravy as it were. Please pass those heavenly mashed potatoes. [ ]I've actually made some money myself because of my little channel, although it was unsolicited. I met a sweetheart about four years ago, and two Xmases ago she found out about the dog treats and ordered $100 worth. I made up a big batch and sent her some Moongazers and a small set of chimes as a gift, and she sent $50 more as a gift too. That worked out well. Another young lady took a shine to me. When she found out a couple of years back that we didn't have a washer and dryer (through a mutual YT friend) she ordered both from a local family biz and had them delivered. Another woman I met about two years ago ended up being a good friend, and a profitable one. The moral of this part of the story is that kindness sometimes does come back. [ ]Another sister showed up on the meteor page one evening. At first I didn't know it was a female. Her YT name was String Cheese, and at first I assumed it was a guy. Not only was she new to the meteor page and didn't know what was going on, she wasn't overly computer-savvy. I learned more in three years in that chat about things like weather, the Sun and its effects on the planets, earth changes and of course meteors than I learned in all my life before. So when a newbie showed up anyone in chat would try to help out if they could. Whomever it was I knew they were genuinely interested and eager to learn, and I jumped in to help. At first she apologized for asking "stupid questions" but I told her that we all had to start somewhere, and the only thing that would be stupid would be to NOT ask questions. That put her at ease and maybe allowed her to trust me. [ ]Long story short I found out she was a she, and over the next few weeks I helped her as much as my limited expertise allowed, and we became YT friends. After we'd been chatting for a couple of weeks I was helping her with something that was pretty involved. I can't type and I gave her my number and told her she was welcome to call so I could explain it in person. I knew it was a big step...women especially, but everyone has to be careful on YT, and whom you trust. There are some harmless (and fun) YT groupies out there, and believe it or not I have a few, but there are also stalkers out there, and worse. She did call, and it worked out great. I knew she'd love my mom so I introduced them, and now they talk once a week at least. She's a trip. [ ]About six months ago her dad passed away and she inherited some money. I should back up and say that before that she was struggling a bit, and when I found out through our same mutual friend that all she had to eat for the next two weeks was peanut butter, I sent her $40. It wasn't much but it helped her out when she really needed it. One day she called and said to check the mail. She sent me a $500 Amazon gift card, plus $150 in cash, $50 each for me, mom, and even my dog. How's about that? You never know how much a kindness might mean to someone. It's my nature to help someone if I can. I didn't know her from Adam. In fact I thought at first her name might BE Adam. I was happy to help, and it came back to me many times over. [ ]I've thought several times about starting a channel for monetization, and promoting it and the whole deal, but it'd mean working long hours and treating it like a business. It might be worth doing, especially considering there's not much else to do these days. At this point in time I doubt I could get to where morning dude is, but I know I could easily match missionary dude and then some. I have some ideas. When I saw the dollar signs popping up in missionary dude's chat I was floored. It'd take maybe a year to grow the channel but there are lots of ways to do that. I wouldn't want to have to work as hard as morning dude either, and the subject isn't my field of expertise. Forget makeup dudes. You don't have to suck any dicks if you don't want to. Making money on YouTube? Surprisingly it can be done. Maybe you'll have some YouTube groupies yourself. You never know. Get busy.

Leatherback Ceremony (Turtle Stories)

[ ]I bought some Cowrie shells on eBay recently to finish up a Beaver Stick I started probably twenty years ago. I'd decorated half of it and technically it could be called finished, and I've used it on several recordings and live a few times, but I wanted to finish it off with several more rows of Cowrie shells. They're beautiful shells and even better they're hollow and have a great percussive sound. In times like these people are giving away stuff like that, and I used the trick I mentioned where you put something in your cart but don't buy it, and the seller will see your interest and usually offer you a discount. One of the people who sold me the shells absolutely made my day, twice over. [ ]When the package from her arrived I was almost shocked. She'd made a handmade box, folded, painted and tied off with a ribbon. There was a small envelope and inside of that was a folded card like a greeting card. On the front she'd made an underwater scene out of shells and it was amazing. Some of that stuff is still cool but a bit cheesy but this was really well-done. She'd even made a jellyfish out of a shell, with tiny, thin pieces for the tentacles. It must have taken her at least an hour or so to make it. The star of the show was a Sea Turtle. I was blown away, and all for an $11 order, shipped. [ ]I'm a turtle guy from way back. I was immediately reminded of all the turtle incidents in my life. Some years back I rescued a Box turtle after a bad storm. He was disoriented because the landscape was torn up, and he kept heading full tilt for an interchange where two interstates meet. I kept turning him around toward the woods but he'd immediately turn back and take off straight for the highway, so I finally brought him home and let him go in the backyard, where there was a creek that led into the Little Cahaba River, where he'd be fine. About three months later I saw him on the front porch and he looked hungry. I recognized him by the distinct sunburst pattern on his shell. I was eating a banana and I broke off a piece and held it down to him and he immediately started eating. He really was hungry because he didn't flinch when I approached him. He set up shop under the front porch for about two years. I fed him every day and even gave him a water bowl, as recommended by the experts. He was a lot of fun. His name was Charles T. Box. [ ] Then there's the time I first met my friend Bruce. He's a fellow drummer and we'd played in a couple of the same bands here in town. We hit it off immediately. He's a character. He'd just had hernia surgery, and when I found out that he had to leave his drums at a club because he was in too much pain, I offered to go pack them up and bring them to his crib. I woke up early that morning and went back to sleep. I had a vivid dream about having some land and several turtle ponds. I'd go out to feed them and they'd all swim over and gather 'round to eat. There were freshwater turtles of every description. It was an awesome dream, and it'd be real life if I had my druthers. [ ]I snagged the drums and went to his place. I'd never been there before. On the way over I was still thinking about that dream. When I pulled into Bruce's driveway my jaw dropped and I basically froze in place, looking around. All over the yard there were baby pools full of all kinds of turtles. It had barely been an hour since I had a dream about turtles. Bruce asked me what was wrong because I'm sure I looked like a fool just standing there. I told him about the dream. "You're a Shaman" he said. I'll never forget that day. We hardly knew each other but we bonded over drums and turtles. As a bonus I quickly realized that I'd recently dated his sister a few times (boy, howdy she was fun) but I didn't tell him that. She did though and that always gave him something to rag me about. [ ]Way back around '93 or '94 I was at the Cahaba River one day. I looked down and noticed what looked like two thin circles drawn on the sand in pencil, and it turned out to be two tiny hatchling Musk turtles, about as big as a nickel, if that big. I can't believe I even noticed but maybe my brain is wired to recognize the turtle shape. I found them at the end of a tiny stream that ran into the river. The mother had laid the eggs a few feet up the stream, knowing that the babies would wash down into the river. I didn't know it at the time but it's illegal to keep Musk turtles, although I doubt you'd do any jail time for having a couple in an aquarium, and the Statute of Limitations has long run out. I put them into an aquarium that already had another river-dweller- a crawdad. There was a layer of sand, and I made a bank so they could get out of the water, so they felt right at home. I kept them maybe two years and they were really fun to watch. They ate everything from veggies to frozen Silverside minnows, and they'd eat out of my hand. When I'd turn on the light in the morning they'd excitedly swim up to the glass and paddle around like a couple of dogs, waiting to be fed. It was awesome. Most likely had I not brought them home they'd have ended up in the belly of a fish or a bird. They were tiny and their shells were soft. Just like the mother knows where to lay eggs, other creatures know too. [ ]I wrote to the woman to tell her how much I appreciated everything and how much I loved turtles. She told me that she gets most of her shells from Native tribes in Mexico, which is interesting in itself, but then she told me that they use Cowrie shells to make rattles, which is exactly what I'm doing. Small world. Then she told me about the turtle ceremony. It took me a minute to grasp the idea of Native people living by the sea, due to our westernized view of Natives, but man...talk about an interesting beach party... [ ]She said that every time they find a Leatherback turtle on land, they have a brief but huge celebration. Unlike our dumb asses these people understand the importance of any creature, and the idea that if one species is endangered we all are, and they especially revere the turtle. They hold to the Creation theory that says basically that the world was carried on the back of a turtle. As rare as the Leatherback is now (and will probably be finished off by all the fucking masks ending uo in the ocean) it's cause for celebration. I'd really love to know more about it and maybe she'll tell me more, but what she said was that they quickly paint it with temporary natural dyes and then they release it back into the ocean. She said the turtles don't seem to mind. It's showing reverence and respect and sort of a prayer for the continuing of the species. That's pretty cool. [ ]When you're a turtle person it's great to hear a turtle story. It's also great to hear that there are still people who give a damn about things like Sea Turtles. Plus we make rattles with Cowrie shells. I'm honored. It's nice to meet someone who's basically on my same wavelength. My love of turtles was no doubt enhanced when I read "Yertle the Turtle" by Dr. Seuss, but I'd be a turtle guy with or without that wonderful book. It's cool to know that I have something in common with that tribe- I love all creatures but I have a special place for turtles. If I had a "spirit animal" it'd totally be the turtle. Slow and steady wins the race. I'm not ashamed to say I pray for the Sea Turtles. They're going to need it.

People with Funny and Kinda Unfortunate Names

[ ]Who doesn't love funny names? There's actual people with names Like P. Ennis, Chris P. Bacon, Paul Twocock (interestingly a gay-rights activist), Jed I. Knight, Dick Power, B.J. Worthy, Dick Tips, Gay Neighbors, Moe Lester (classic) and Mike Litoris. I always thought racecar driver Dick Trickle had an amusing name, and one I wouldn't want. I always pictured him driving around the track with a sore bum, because he'd just had a big penecillin injection. But "Crystal Methany" takes the cake. It's so hilarious and unexpected. It's poetry. Either it came about naturally or her parents had a quite brutal sense of humor. [ ]I wonder what Crystal Methany got busted for but I really wouldn't want to get close enough to find out, and never fuck with a woman who can kick your ass. Crystal Methany...too much. Best of luck in the future, Crystal Methany. Love your name.

10X Strain

[ ]Dr. Bill Gates says that the next strain will be ten times as deadly. How does he know? BECAUSE THEY ALREADY KNOW THIS STUFF. So many times I wish Frank Zappa was alive. Frank was brilliant and he saw all of this coming down the pike all the way back in the 70s. As he said in the song "She's 200 Years Old" which was written in 1975 for the then-upcoming Bicentennial, "Next year people are going to try and sell you things that maybe you shouldn't ought to buy, and what's worse they've been planning it for years." Dr. Gates and company have known that this was coming for years. [ ]Frank also predicted in the incredible, incredible album "Joe's Garage" that in the future music would be illegal and "sexual gratification can only be achieved through the use of machines." Well, music isn't illegal yet (never say never) but look where we are with sexbots and the like. With this current plannedemic people are avoiding each other literally like the plague. Doesn't say much for the preservation of the species, does it? How does Dr. B know that the upcoming strain will be 10X deadlier? How could he possibly know? BECAUSE THEY KNOW. They've been planning it for years. WAAAAAAAAAAAAKE UP! WAKE UP! You can do it.

Quote of the Day

"Y'all cookin' biscuits in the micawave oven?" - an unknown woman who once took up with the Dollar Seven band for the night

Beast Numbers/The Daily 6ullshit: 6uild 6ack 6etter

[ ]Well, well, well y'all...look what the cat brought in- "6uild 6ack 6etter." I'm shocked/not shocked. I'm shocked because they're showing their ass, and the one they serve, for all to see, but I'm not shocked because some people believe that the Devil is quite real, and for now is in control of this world. I haven't looked into it extensively yet because I just heard about it, but even without the blatant 666 part it's just more social-conditioning. It deals with the so-called "Great Reset," and they've added "The Great Awakening" to the narritive. It's 6ullshit. [ ]I searched on it and came across a short vid on YouTube that I'd recommend everyone watch. The list of "luminaries," all repeating the phrase "Build back better," is impressive. It's on YouTube under "6uild 6ack 6etter." It has everyone from Obama to Biden saying we're going to "Build back better." It should also clearly show people how the 6ullshit works, but most refuse to even consider the possibility that we're being influenced in any way. It sounds encouraging but how can a world with less be better? Repetition is the simplest form of brainwashing. Look it up. The video shows them all saying the same thing, as if somehow it's a good thing, when in fact it's a very, very bad thing, but if they repeat it enough, most people will simply accept it and even think it's a good thing, just like some shitty song that you hate at first but after hearing it over and over on a TV show or the radio you eventually accept it, and then learn to like it. Lather, rinse, repeat. [ ]That's one thing, and we see it every day, but now the Satanists are putting their stamp on it. It's clever graphically and all, but here's that number again. That's how they roll. The thing is they used to keep this stuff secret but now it's out in the open. They don't try to hide it any more. Besides, 666 is really becoming a thing, in fashion, culture, music and everywhere else. Just wait...we're going to be seeing the number 666 more and more as time goes on, and it has nothing to do with anyone's beliefs or lack thereof. Mark my words. Call it another "prediction" if you like. BTW for those keeping score I'm batting .1000 on my "predictions" so far. One-point-zero-zero-zero, baby. [ ]The Good Book says that there will come a time when a light will be shone upon the darkness. I say we're there, and this 6uild 6ack 6etter thing is living proof. Just look at the sick-ass "fritophiles" who've been arrested (and "suicided" too) so far. That's just the tip of the iceberg. These people, admired to the hilt by so many, are in reality some sick, evil fucks. Evil operates in the dark, and light overcomes darkness. It's Physics. [ ]While "Great Reset" translates into "Get used to a much shittier life," there's something to the "Great Awakening" part. The Good Book mentions it too. It also says "People perish from lack of knowledge," and I have to say "Amen" to that. I think about it every time I tell somebody something they haven't heard, and tell them to look into it but they say "I don't NEED to look into it." Okay then. If one side of the story is cool, then fine. I always heard there were two sides to every story. [ ]So here they are putting 666 onto a celebrity campaign designed to 6ullshit people into thinking that a shittier world is somehow a good thing, while at the same time clearly showing the one they serve. It's not just a cute logo. And I'm not dumping on anyone except the Devil. What people do is their own biz and none of mine, and I support their right to express themselves as long as no harm is done. [ ]The 666s just keep on coming, and again, just watch...we'll be seeing it a lot more in the coming years. In fact I wish I had a dollar for every time I've seen a shirt with 666 on it being worn by some celeb and even people in public around here. I'd have at least $666. I've been saying for a long time that these people show their true colors if you dig into their scene just a little, but now they're showing us to our faces. There's no guessing any more. It's in the open. They don't care who knows. If the Good Book happens by some miracle to be true then the afterlife might be a bitch for some of these fucks, but we'll have to wait and see. [ ]Whether any of this bothers you or not it should at least show what's up. It's not a joke. And it might lend a bit more cred to what some people have been saying for a long time...the Beast System is coming, and now it's here. Or not. After all, 666 is just a number that falls between 665 and 667, although lots and lots of people, myself included, attach great meaning to it. It actually frightens many people but I get a kick out of it. Knowledge is power. No fear. Have a nice day.