Firewalking

Would I walk on fire? Yes I would. It's actually not that big of a deal, as long as you don't dally. The "secret" is to simply walk, but not run, at a brisk pace, but other than that, you don't have to do anything special.  You don't have to meditate, swear allegiance to Satan, rub asbestos on your feet or even get wasted...you just have to step lively. Anyone can do it.

 An interesting thing happens when bare foot meets hot coals. The sweat on the bottom of the foot is instantly vaporized into steam, and for a fraction of a second it provides a barrier between skin and fire, and keeps the foot from getting burned, but only briefly, which is why you have to walk a bit quickly. Lifting the foot also allows the steam to poof away before it can burn you. It repeats with every step. It's pretty cool.

 It's basically the same thing that allows you to take a cotton ball, soak it an alcohol, and light it right in the palm of your hand, as long as you don't let it linger for more than about half a second. You have to quickly pass it to the other hand, and keep tossing it back and forth. You'll feel some heat, but nowhere near enough to burn you or cause pain. If you let the cotton ball stay in your hand for more than a second, it'll burn the shit out of you, and much less time than that when walking on hot coals. 

 Even if you know how it works, and I'm guessing most people don't, it's still a badass thing to do. I'm sure the adrenaline rush is about as good as it gets. Fire is one of the most primal things. It can be a great tool for boosting self-confidence, overcoming fears and such, but when they try to add a "mystical" element to it, I have a problem, because exploiting Physics for profit and bullshit is against my religion. There are many organizations that organize firewalks, for a fee, and again, it depends on their approach. 

 I think firewalking would be a great thing to do for anyone who can locomote normally. For some people I'm sure it's life-changing, and for others a good thrill at least. For several years I've wished I could organize "grounding" parties, where people get together and get barefoot, and walk on good dirt. If you don't know about grounding, or "earthing," look it up. It's a fantastic way to detox and cleanse your body, and I think it'd make a great excuse for a get-together, once people got used to the tdea. To add firewalking to the grounding parties would be pretty cool. I sure wouldn't go for the mystical bullshit.

 Lastly, would I firewalk with this fire-ass specimen of a sister? Heavens-to-Betsy I would. If I were a quarter-century or so younger, I might try to light another kind of fire with her. Dang. Yes she's hot, but at least her feet won't get burned. 

 

Quote of the Day

"Let me get closer, and have a look at those dead eyes." - a "predator-poacher," confronting this man, who was trying to meet a child for sex
 

Another Bloodcurdling Scream

Jesus. I was just out walking El Doggo, and we heard a bloodcurdling scream come from somewhere nearby in this complex. It was loud as fuck, and was followed by a loud pop/smash sound, as if a big bottle had been thrown at a wall at very high velocity, and had vaporized. But damn...that scream was intense. It made my hair stand up, and my dog started barking like crazy. I hope someone called 911, but around here, they probably said "Fuck it." 

 I've been keeping track in this blog of all the "shots fired" incidents around here, and there have been some crazy screams too. One nearby couple will fight, and it goes from shouting to screaming, and finally into some heinous, shrieking, frightening sounds that don't even sound human. It's freaky as fuck. 

 As scary and full-blown as this scream was, it was also very melodic. It started on one note and went up maybe a minor second, and then dropped down a step and repeated the same interval. I could've found the notes on a keyboard. Too bad I wasn't recording. I hope it was just a bad argument and nobody was hurt, but it sounded serious. Fuck me. This is the motherfucking 'Hood around here, yo. I'm a city boy now. 
 

Lining Their Pockets

Know how most people suffered because of the Plannedemic? Sure you do. And again, it was not due to the bug itself, but the bullshit lockdowns, mandates and shit. There are more people than we'll ever know, who'll never recover...physically, emotionally or spiritually, but guess what...the Elites put something like an extra $3.2 trillion dollars in their pockets, compared to the same period of time for the couple of years before that. In other words, they did okay. 

 They knew exactly when and where to invest, and they cleaned up. For you or me, that'd be called "insider trading." For them it's called "doing business." I've said it before and I'll say it again: THIS IS ALL BY DESIGN. Wake up. 
 

Penis Envy?

Not this sister.
 

The Worst Jokes in the World #93,864,572,208

So this gay guy goes to apply for a job as a mailman. The interviewer asks "What are your qualifications?" He says "Well, I've handled male packages all my life." 
 

Really Badass Things: The Silver Lining of Death Threats (rewritten)

I know I repeat repeat myself a lot these days, but I love this story so I'll tell it again. It helps keep the memories fresh, and it's a badass story. A situation presented itself, and I reacted, and saw an opportunity to have a big-ass laugh. The idea came out of nowhere. Usually I'm not that quick. 

 Ned, my long-time attorney and musical partner, a true genius, and hero of our time, and I were recording the amazing Fine Time in America. We did part of it at our buddy (and producer) Ben's home studio. Ben also played incredible bass and guitars, and sang. 

 Ben lived in an iffy part of town, bordered by about a dozen blocks which were the bad, bad part of town, and which we had to drive through to get home, if we didn't want to circle the city. There was a convenience store that was open 24 hours. Ben had sternly warned us not to go there after dark, and said that even the cops refused to respond to calls after 9pm. After I saw it in person, I could clearly see why.

 It looked like a scene from a bad movie, only it was real. I'd never seen anything like it, especially around here, and I was a bit shocked. There were a couple of guys passed-out, and one guy literally shooting-up in plain sight. I'd never seen that for real until then. There were about half a dozen guys inside, shooting the breeze, and I swear to Pete you could feel the tension through the plate glass window. I can say with relative certainty that the only reason they're open 24 hours is for dope-dealing. Besides their Homeys, no one else in their right mind would even think about stopping there, but who said I was in my right mind, right? 

 Ned is a true hero for what's he's done on behalf of the Cahaba River. He was an environmental attorney, and he sued the shit out of several major corporations who were illegally dumping shit into the river. I'm not sure he lost a single case, and he cost these companies millions in fines and cleanup costs, and they hated him with a passion. For 25 years or so he received quite a few death threats, which he took very seriously, and rightly so. He played a few messages that various goons had left over the years, and they were no joke.

 Because of said threats, you never saw Ned anywhere out without two or three firearms. He and perpetual girlfriend Joyce, aka "Choice," always have "pea shooters" on them- a couple of 9mm Glocks. He keeps a .45 under the front seat of his truck, and usually a third piece, which changes with his mood I guess. It's all legal of course. He's a good shot too.

 One night we were leaving a session at Ben's. We were in an even better mood than usual that night, especially Ned. He never took pills of any kind just to get high, but he'd wrenched his back and was in a lot of pain, and his doc had given him some Percocet. He didn't lose control or anything, but he was high as a kite...laughing and talking shit and just having a big time. 

 Talk about the "It only hurts when I laugh" thing...we were finishing-up a track, and I decided to record the sound of fireworks going off. They were called "Jumping Jacks." The look like firecrackers, except they have a tiny hole in the side, so instead of blowing up, all the energy goes out of the hole, and they spin around violently, and make a great buzzing/whistling sound, like supersonic Bumblebees or something. They're pretty too...they change from red to green, and shoot out sparks.

 Mostly they stay on the ground and spin, but some of them fly off in all directions, and they're completely unpredictable. I've shot a million Jumping Jacks, and I've been burned several times. Once one flew up my trouser leg and burned a path all the way up my leg, stopping just south of the Jewels. 

 Anyway I decided that that sound would be cool at the end of the tune. I tied several packs together, and got a long mic cord that reached out to the patio, with a Shure SM-58 on the end. I knew that with several packs, some of the Jumping Jacks would fly my way. Singed hair or hot nuts is no problem, but I wasn't about to go blind just to record a track, so I lit the fuse, poked the mic as close as I could get it, and turned my face around like an owl. 

 For some reason (possibly the Percocet) it hit Ned's Funny Bone really hard. He was stooped down on the other side of the patio, trying to keep his back straight. When I lit the fuse and turned my head and looked at him with a grimace on my face, he started laughing so hard he lost his balance and rolled onto his back. He let out a yelp, but he just went with it and lay there laughing. I know it had to hurt, but he didn't care. After a couple of minutes lying there, the hard surface actually made his back feel better. Laughter really is the best medicine.

 We also had a policy of being totally sober while playing, which I've done for decades, but if we were doing vocals, we'd have a glass or two of really good small-batch bourbon, just to loosen the vocal cords. We had a few sips, but nothing major. Ned was driving, and he was already high. We left Ben's around 1am. 

 When we were about a block from the store, inspiration struck. I had to stifle a laugh, and I said, "I'm thirsty. Pull in here." "Simpson...you've lost your mind" he replied. "Cover me" I said. We totally died laughing. How many times in your life can you say that, and really mean it? It was like the Wild West, which fit the general lawlessness of the place. To my delight, he pulled into the parking lot. I wasn't sure he would, but it was kind of like a dare...if he didn't do it, he'd be a pussy.

 We pulled up to the front of the store, still laughing like lunatics. The guys shooting-up ignored us, but the guys inside all stopped talking, and stared at us. I think they were in shock a bit, seeing outsiders pull up. Maybe they thought we were Undo or something, or maybe so far from out of town that we hadn't heard about the place's reputation, or just plain crazy. To see two guys pull up was one thing, but to see them laughing their asses off was quite another, I imagine. 

 Ned reached under the seat, grabbed the .45, clicked off the safety and held it out of view. Although I figured it wouldn't come to that, I knew that if something happened, he'd shoot right through the window and take down at least a few of them. We sat there for a minute, until we could quit laughing, and I could screw-on a serious look. I got out and walked into the store, just like I was walking arm-in-arm with Jesus. "Grab me a water" said Ned.

 I selected beverages and went to pay. Nobody moved or said a word, not even the cashier, but if looks could kill, I'd have been a goner. I didn't go in there to provoke a fight at all. I went in there to fuck with their heads, which it definitely did, and to create a memory I knew we'd cherish in years to come, which we do. I still get a kick out of it. 

 The looks on those guys' faces were wild, and not ones I really want to see again. I figured they'd be in semi-shock for 45 seconds or so, and I didn't plan to linger or chit-chat. I left the change on the counter, nodded and walked out, still grinning. I can only imagine what they must've been thinking...besides the fact that they'd probably love to fuck me up, just to keep in practice, but a couple of options that may have crossed their minds could've been that either I was straight-up insane, or I was a Kung Fu Master or whatever.

 Was it a stupid-ass thing to do? Maybe, but it was truly a badass thing as well, and Ned, who wasn't one to take stupid risks, went along with it. In fact he absolutely loved it. I've always said that basically I've been an unpaid stuntman all my life, and this is more proof. While there was no physicality involved, it was still damn-sure a stunt. Again, I felt strongly that nothing bad would happen, but of course I could've been wrong. Mainly I trusted Ned, and his shooting skills, completely, and I can't say that about too many people. 

 He's semi-retired, but he literally put his life on the line for the Cahaba River, and for that he'll always be a hero. Although he's not quite as crazy, Ned and I are both Type-As. I did it for the Adrenaline rush, and he went along with it for the same reason. He'd have gone all Dirty-Harry on their asses if it'd come to that, but he wasn't figuring on violence either, and the chance for such a batshit-crazy stunt was too much for him to resist. We laughed all the way home, and I drank a well-deserved beer. Good times.

 

667

I just clicked on a vid and saw that I was viewer #667. I was one too late. Dang. I love being #666.
 

We ARE the Planet of the Apes

It sounds prophetic now, but I'll never forget the day, years ago, when the first of the "new" Planet of the Apes movies came out. I was talking to my good buddy DC, who worked with me at the crazy restaurant. He's an extraordinary fellow. 

 I knew he was a fellow fan of all the original Planet of the Apes movies, and I figured that the new one might catch his interest. I figured it'd be the same, tired CGI shit, but possibly almost worth watching, and I thought we might go see it together.

 I said "Hey D...you gonna go see the new Planet of the Apes movie?" "Man," he said, "this IS the planet of the apes." He sure was right, and that was years ago. Like everything else, the apelike conditions on this planet have ramped-up exponentially. And I mean no disrespect whatsoever to apes. It's stupid-ass humans I'm talking about. 

 This Planet of the Apes business goes so deep, and it's still unfolding. I don't mean just like the world has become a jungle, although that's very true...there's WAY more to it than that. I guess there's no point in going into it all really...it'd sound crazier than the original movie itself, but you can take this to the bank: We ARE the planet of the apes. 
 

The Legend of MaGeeber

It's funny how things sync-up, and this is hilarious. Weekend before last I went out to hear a band, and saw an interesting cat I played with in a band, about 100 years ago. I came up with the name "Party Hats," which is slang for erect nipples. Another term would be "Highbeams." 

 The band was my long-time buddy Doug, my girl Beck, "Little" Mikey Naylor, me and a guy named Hardy McGee. It's a shame we couldn't resolve our issues at the time, but that's what happens when interpersonal relationships are included in a band, and it rarely works. It's a shame, because that could've been a monster band.

 Hardy was a trip. It'd be hard to describe him really, except to tell the story. He was a really nice guy and he was very talented, but there was something slightly "off," and again hard to describe. He was very intelligent and somewhat witty, so it wasn't a learning thing. We were buddies for a while and we hung out, until Beth.

 Beck and I were dating, but Hardy had a huge thing for her. He wrote songs and poetry about her, including the classic, would-be hit "(We Were Married in a) Japanese Garden." I remember the rest of us trying not to snicker when he played and sang a rough draft for us. It was even funnier because, although he didn't say it, we knew it was about Beck. Sorry Hardy, but that's given us hours and hours of laughs in the years since. Thanks man! 

 The thing is, he already had a girlfriend named Beth, whom he was supposedly madly in love with. He was certainly possessive of her, and talked about her all the time, when Becky wasn't around that is. Beth was supposedly very beautiful and desirable, and I'm sure she was. Hardy was a good-looking fellow, and had no problems in that department anyway. To this day I've never laid eyes on Beth, but I really wish I could've at least seen her once, just to see what all the fuss was about. I never saw her, but poor ol' Hardy sure thought I had. 

 During that time a new Fridays popped up not far from us. We were overjoyed, because we'd be hungry after band practice, and back in those days, nothing much but Waffle House was open late. It beat the shit out of that. We'd hop on a quiet, beautiful backroad, which left enough time to smoke a leisurely bowl, and we'd be there in under ten minutes. Beth was waiting tables there. The very first night we went, she was supposed to be working. For some reason Hardy didn't want to go, but he said to say hello to Beth if we saw her. I said okay and didn't think anything about it.

 We walked into Fridays and were greeted by a thick, beautiful lady with natural, flaming-red hair. I ended up getting with her that night, and we dated a good while. She was so much fun that we'd draw smiley faces on each other with markers, but that's another story, and pretty much as "kinky" as I ever got with a woman. We asked for Beth, but they said she'd left early. Someone said they'd seen her get into a red Porsche, which added a little intrigue. And that's how the trouble started.

 Next practice Hardy asked me if we'd met Beth and I said no, that she'd left early. I thought it best not to mention the red Porsche, but otherwise it was true. It wasn't good enough for Hardy though. A while after I told him we hadn't seen her, he came up to me and asked "Are you sure you didn't see Beth?" I was a bit taken aback he'd ask that, but I repeated that she wasn't there. "Okay" replied Hardy, "but you'd tell me if you saw her, right?" That question took me further aback, and I could see trouble ahead.

 It became a routine, repeated every single time I saw him thereafter. "Are you sure you didn't meet Beth?" he'd ask. "How could I not be sure?" I'd ask, but it was never good enough. "Okay...but you'd tell me if you saw her, right?" "Hardy...man...look me in the eye...I'm telling you I never saw her, okay?" "Okay...but you'd tell me, right?" It was funny at first, but soon became a joke, and slightly-counterproductive. It started to fuck with the band, and incredibly the subject of whether or not I'd met Beth became more important to Hardy than the band. And he was still pining away for Beck. Crazy. 

 I have to say the hormones were flying around that practice room. Doug was very gracious in letting us hang out all night, and having a hot tub only fueled the fire. In a weird way, everybody was somehow connected to each other sexually, although it was a would-be situation in most cases, so there was a lot of unrequited love, and all this crazy energy flying around the room. It did make for some impassioned music. 

This is Becky maybe 2-3 years before the band. As you can see, she could launch ships. She's still crazy-beautiful to this day, and looks wildly younger than she is. Doug also had a thing for her. So did Mikey, but he was several years her junior. I got vibes, but I wasn't sure anything went on between them because of the age, but back then I didn't know she has a thing for younger guys (I'm way too old for her now, and she's actually a couple of years older), but now I think maybe they got together.

 Anyway I was allegedly exclusively dating her, but everybody else wanted her too. It made for some interesting dynamics within the band. But back to Hardy and Beth. That was the strangest thing of all.

 On and on it went, like a tired comedy routine. "I never saw her, man...I promise." "Okay...but you'd tell me if you did, right?" Once a practice would've been quite enough, but he'd literally repeat it ten times a night. "My answer is never going to change, Hardy." "Okay...but you'd tell me, right?" One night, out of sheer repetitive-injury, I lost my cool and yelled "OKAY MAN...YEAH...I MET HER AND I FUCKED HER. SHE WAS GOOD TOO!" That was definitely the wrong approach, but I had to try, because the truth certainly wasn't doing the trick. 

 After a week or two of this, he took it to another level. He got it into his head that not only had I met her, but that we were secretly dating behind his back, and that I was bringing her back over to Doug's after he left, of all things. Hardy was usually the first to leave, while the rest of us would hang out and party. About the third week after I'd allegedly met Beth, he'd leave practice after we finished playing, only to return an hour or so later, claiming to be looking for his "notebook." Apparently that was his code word for Beth, since said notebook never existed, and we looked. 

 Bless his heart it was the only excuse he ever used, even when we questioned him, saying we'd never seen it. He'd be all bug-eyed and geeked-out looking.  He looked like someone who'd done way too much coke, but I could never be positive. It's hard to imagine someone getting that worked-up over a notebook, but that was just his cover story. "What's up, Hardy?" we'd ask when he'd burst in an hour after practice. "I'm looking for my notebook. I think I left it." "We haven't seen it man." It became another ritual. 

 It also became fodder for some songs of our own. I penned a little ditty called "Girlfriend," in honor of Hardy and Beth. It went something like this:

Girlfriend

She was lookin' for adventure

She was lookin' so fine

She got into a red Porsche

Said she was lookin' for a good time

(good time good time)

She might be YOUR girlfriend

She might be HIS girlfriend

She used to be MY girlfriend

Girlfriend, girlfriend

 We sometimes still sing it to this day. Between Girlfriend and (We were Married in a) Japanese Garden," at least Party Hats has provided some great laughs. What's also funny is that we could've learned Girlfriend, and never told Hardy that it was about him. Anyway I was a complete drunken asshole on our first gig, which ended up not happening at all, and we never really recovered. I don't see how we could've carried on much longer anyway, with all the unbridled hormones flying around. It's a shame, but it happens. We played everything from Prince to Heart to Devo to (We were Married in a) Japanese Garden. That could've been a wickedly-good band, and the name was tops I thought. 

 The reason I'm telling this story is because I ran into Hardy a couple weeks back when I went out to see a band. I wouldn't have recognized him if someone hadn't told me who he was. I was shocked. I don't look very good myself these days, but Hardy hasn't aged well. He looked gaunt and shorter, and he looked like he had "old man" makeup on. I felt bad. He was by himself, and I wanted to speak to him, but I knew so many people there that I never got a chance to say hello.

 I cracked up when I found this drawing I made of him about ten years ago, after I happened to catch an episode of the legendary local show The country Boy Eddie Show, where he was billed as "Smiles McGee." It made my day. I posted this drawing on Facebook, and forgot about it. The other day I was looking for his FB account, which I didn't find, but this popped up in the search. I sent it to Beck and I believe she said "Brilliant." 

 Oh, and the "MaGeeber" thing...one night Doug and I had gone to Fridays, and when we got back, our friend Champ was there. At the time he had a racing-orange MGB, with a silver racing stripe on the side, with MGB in bold letters. We'd been talking and laughing about the Beth situation, and when we saw the big MGB letters, we both hollered at the exact time, in stereo, "MaGeeBer!" It was classic. Of course it became his nickname, mainly because the Beth thing was becoming a pain in the arse.

 So the Legend of MaGeeber lives, and so does Hardy. By the time the band took their last break and it got quiet enough to talk without having to yell, I went looking for Hardy, but he was gone. Doug was there too, and as far as I know he didn't speak to Hardy either. I'd have loved to say hello to him, and hopefully grab a photo, just for old times' sake, and to show Beck. I can guaranfuckingtee that if I'd spoken to him, eventually he'd say, "So, did you ever see Beth? You'd tell me if you did, right?" Crazy. God bless you Hardy, and you too, Beth. Hope you enjoyed that Porsche ride. Shhh...don't tell Hardy!

 

 

 

 

Quote of the Day (Here You Go)

"The blood of children fuels the New World Order." - Doug Hagmann
 

Could I Still Get a Rise Out of You?

I heard from an old girlfriend today. We were just talking about general stuff, when, out of the blue, she asked, "So...can you still get it up?" I didn't expect that. "That just crossed your mind, did it?" I asked. "Yeah, apparently so" she replied. "Most guys your age have trouble in that area. So, can you?" 

 Here's basically what I said to her, in a nutshell: "Can I get it up? Ha-ha. Ha-ha-ha. Ha HAAA-ha-ha. HAAAAAAAAAA-HAAAAAA-HAAAAA. Ha-HA-HAAA-HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. HAAA-ha-ha."

 "HAAAAAA-HAAA-HAAA-HAAA-HA. HAAAAAAAAAAAA Ha-Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha. Ha-HAAAAAAAAA HAAAAAAAA-HAAAAA-HAAA. Ha-ha-HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-ha-ha-ha. Ha-ha. Ha. Whew. Yes." 

 

"Jeeba-Jabba-Jooba"

It's funny what things stick with you. I'll never forget one night during the all-too-brief period I dated Laura "Hot Damn" Pittman. Long story short, back in the early days when I worked in the crazy restaurant and so did she, we became big ol' best-buddies, and we still talk occasionally. She's a beautiful soul, as fine a woman as you could ask, and for mega-bonus points, she's hilarious. I really should've dated Laura longer. Much longer. 

 One night we went to see a band called the Cast. They were one of my favorite bands on the planet, who just happened to be local. They were amazing. The things that happened before, during and after a Cast show were legendary. This was during the peak of my "X" days, and Laura and I each took a couple of hits over about a four-hour period. We were flying.

 Her brother John met us at the club. He's a great guy and a character extraordinaire. He was X-ing too, and he'd taken a lot more than we had. We may have been flying, but John-Boy had blasted off in a rocketship. Or a UFO maybe. We were all groovin' to the music, and hoping our faces wouldn't crack from smiling so much. For brother and sister, John and Laura were best friends, and they were bouncing funny shit off of each other the whole time. I was having a ball.

 Ay some point John disappeared, like he went to get another spring water, and never came back. We were all drinking spring water, and talking about how wonderful it was. Everything was wonderful in fact...the music, the company, the buzz...everything. Then John was gone. We knew he was blasted, but he was also a big boy, so we didn't worry too much.

 A few hours later, after we'd shut down the band and gone by the crazy restaurant for a nightcap, we got back to Laura's. She and John were a few years younger than me, and still living at their parents' beautiful pad. We walked in, headed for the bedroom of course, but we were sidetracked by music coming from the living room, and went to investigate. 

 Sure enough, there was John, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the stereo. He was changing stations on the receiver, and twiddling knobs at random. He was mumbling something to himself. Basically it sounded like (to paraphrase): "Jeeba-Jabba Jooba. Jooba-Jeeba-Jooba. Jeeba-Jeeba-Jabba. Jooba-Jooba-Jooba." He was smiling ear-to-ear, so we knew he was okay, but he was still high as a blimp. 

 We died laughing, but we weren't sure he could actually speak, so we said "John...you okay?" He nodded and smiled bigger, but all he said was "Jeeba-Jeeba." We cracked-up again. That answered our question. He was so high that he couldn't talk (done there...been that), but he was speaking fluent Jeeba-Jooba. Not many people speak Jeeba-Jooba. We hang out with him a bit, making sure he was hydrated and all, and then went off to even further ecstasy. My, what a honey she was...and still is. 

 Of course it became a Joke with Laura and me, and we spread it far and wide. We'd get buzzed after work, and if we were really buzzed, we'd look at each other and go "Jeeba-Jabba-Jooba," and crack-up. Sometimes when I get so completely flabbergasted at something that I don't know what to say, I'll automatically go "Jeeba-Jabba-Jooba." It works as well as anything else, plus it rolls off the tongue, and as a bonus it gives me a laugh, and reminds me of Laura "Hot Damn" Pittman, aka "Ass of God." Love always Laura, and Jeeba-Jooba to Youba. 

 

 
 

Discovering Nature

Day before yesterday my friend Greg and I went to a place called Moss Rock Preserve. This is an underwater view from Moss Rock Creek, from a video I took. I haven't been in the woods an ages, and Moss Rock is a strikingly-beautiful place. I knew I'd have a great time, but I also knew that I'd experience something profound, and I did. 

 As we were standing by the creek, a group of six young ladies walked up and started talking to us. They were high-school age, ages 15-18 I'd say. I noticed a very strange look on one of the younger girl's face. It was a look of wonder, surprise, happiness and also some slight trepidation. I wondered what the deal was.

 Then another girl said that it was the younger girl's very first time to be out in "Nature." I just did manage to stop the words "Holy shit" from coming out of my mouth, and immediately went into "welcoming/education mode. She was staring at the creek with her mouth hanging open, as if she'd never seen one before, which incredibly may have been the case. I was gobsmacked.

 "Are there fish in here?" she asked. Again I had to stop myself from laughing. "Oh yes" I said. I pointed to a school of minnows, but she couldn't see them at first. To be fair they do blend-in, especially to city folk. She still couldn't see them, so I told her to focus on a big flat rock that was lighter in color than the surrounding rocks, and she finally saw the fish swim by. "Ooh!" she cried with delight. I almost burst into tears. It was heavy. 

 To see her actually discovering Nature for the very first time was something I was thrilled to share with her. She asked questions about this and that, and I answered as best I could. It was a joy to increase her interest, and without overselling it, I tried to at least plant a seed in her that Nature is cool, and she should dang-sure start enjoying it occasionally. I prayed that God would nurture that seed, and I know He will. 

 As I set up my camera for an underwater video, they walked on ahead, to the waterfall. After a few minutes we followed and stopped at the base of the "falls," which might actually be termed "cascade." The water mostly flows over massive rocks, rather than falling. It's beautiful. The girls were up ahead at the top of the falls, waving down to us. It would've made an excellent photo, but my camera was underwater at the time. Our new "Nature Girl" was grinning ear-to-ear. She was feeling it. 

 I know to never doubt my "Little Voice," so I knew something profound was going to happen, but I couldn't have imagined what took place. I hope that seed I planted in her will grow big. It was heavy. God bless you, New Nature Sister. Happy Trails!
 

More Delightful British Slang

I just ran across yet another charming British euphemism for "wanking," as the Brits would say- "Having a tug." To our ears it sounds more like "'aving a toog." That's classic. Ah, those Brits...they bever cease to amuse, but what would one expect from the culture who also gave us the term "Polishing the helmet?"

The "Good Clown" Days

As I've said before, back in the day, for Halloween parties and other special occasions where a costume was apropos, my default costume was loosely based on Emmett Kelly. He was sort of the "bum" clown, with a sad face and a five-o'clock shadow. I'm distantly related to him, so that was cool. I got away with so much shit wearing this costume that occasionally I'd do it just for the fun of it. 

 In fact, I was "clowning around" when this photo was taken. We were having professional photos made, and I decided to do the clown thing. The parrot was the photographer's idea. I wasn't supposed to be a pirate, but what the fuck. My mom was going through some of my dad's stuff and found it. Too funny, ha-ha.

 Some people have always been afraid of clowns, and understandably so, and there have always been scary clowns, but the era of the "creepy clown" didn't really go mainstream until two decades or so ago. Maybe the movie It jumpstarted it all...who knows. It used to be okay to be a clown. I miss those days.

 Some years back, sightings of "creepy clowns" in the woods, roaming streets and even appearing near schools and such began. After almost two years it died-down, made a bit of a resurgence, but we haven't heard that much lately, what with life being a clown show these days. I'll say again that I'll never forget one day about five years ago, when several schools were actually in lockdown due to sightings of "creepy clowns" in the woods nearby that morning, and it was right near us.

 I t was surreal walking the dogs while the local schools were under lockdown, and scanning the woods for the possible presence of a creepy clown. How crazy is that? I knew that the world was further losing its collective mind when things like that were happening. My ex didn't want to go on the midnight walk that night. She was terrified of running into a creepy clown. I have to admit it's a bit of a mindfuck. I told her not to worry, if I saw a clown I'd honk his nose and then pepper-spray him, but she wasn't amused. 

 There was a time during all that where you'd get the shit beaten out of you if you were caught wearing a clown costume, but my clown days were mostly before things got this fucked-up. The crazy shit I got away with...I realize that pretty much any costume gives a person an "alter ego," and the right to behave differently, within reason. Even so there was something about a clown costume, and maybe even this clown costume.

 It wasn't the traditional funny clown with the bulb nose, although I did carry a squirt-flower many times, it was more...I don't know...subtle maybe. Without wearing a mask, it was amazing how it completely changed my appearance. I could walk right up to people and they wouldn't recognize me. It was somehow disarming, and people kinda expected you to do crazy shit dressed like a clown, and I got away with some shit I still can't believe. 

 Seeing as how I'm all old and skinny and gnarly now, seeing this photo was a bit of a shock. Of course about half a century has passed since it was taken, but back then I didn't make a bad-looking clown really, if I do say so myself. No wonder I got so much high-quality pussy. Heck, I'd'a done me. Cheers, Emmett!