Saturday, March 23, 2013
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
Down With Disease!
DownWith Disease and all other illnesses. My ex wife came over the other day after texting me asking me if I was home. I didn't see the text or ignored it or wasn't aware...she showed up in my driveway as i was moving stuff from one building to the house. She's a great person and a good friend but we are lovers no more. She had mail for me and I for her. I was hungry from moving everything from one building to another and asked her if she would like to go grab a bite to eat. We went to a Mexican restaurant down the street, one we took the family to. So we are eating and laughing, being friends with a past. We got to talking about the Phish concert she and I attended at The Gorge Amphitheater in George, WA. We laughed at a certain event. At Phish concerts EVERYONE is stoned. Except we weren't. Everybody else was and they were smoking all around us. People were so stoned they were crawling on the ground. My ex, a Mormon, had not been exposed to anything like it before. During the intermission she said to me, "I am so hungry, I can't believe it. We just ate dinner before coming. Why am I so hungry?" Well, me, former stoner at the time, told her to look around. What is everybody doing? They are all smoking weed. You are breathing second hand smoke. She was fucking stoned! So stoned that we had to leave the concert to go back into Wenatchee to get her fed. That was almost ten years ago and we were laughing at it again last week. She told the story and seems to be very amused by it. Of course, no religious guilt could be attributed as the smoke was second hand and she was naive about the whole thing. I don't think it occurred to her that people would be stoned. It wasn't part of her world.
So, my friend Michelle fed me last night. Evidently, not only am I a starving artist but a starving bachelor, too. We were goofing around with my profile on an online dating sight, trying hard to accurately depict me. It seemed as if everything we thought of would sabotage any chance of meeting up with anyone. Some of the phrases we came up with made us laugh so hard I fell on the floor and she started crying. We howled at the comedy we were producing. I think we came up with "Only the Weird Need Apply." "I think I have a twisted sense of humor and so does my doppelganger." It was if if I were writing a parody profile to not get any response. I held fast and tried to be s truthful as possible. Most profiles are so generic, it as if they are generated by formulas. And they all say the same fucking thing. Everybody likes the outdoors, camping, hunting, fishing, opera, hockey. Because they are dating sites, you are allowed to be so bold as to describe what you see an ideal mate. That's what we did. It's succinct, to the point and there can be no missing the gist of my message. Honestly, when I get to a point in a long, rambling profile, I quit reading, move on.
I get wacky emails from some people. I think the dating sites are becoming the play field of scammers although any segment of being online is open to that. Any way to get information out of you. I've not gotten any that ask for personal info like bank accts #'s but I think one was getting close. Good thing I was using my scum catcher email address. I wonder who on the faee of the Earth has the most email accounts? Yahoo, Google, Hotmail, Juno, hundreds of free email sites to be had for nothing more than information whether honest or made up. The problem would be keeping up with them. Kind of like lying...once you start...but I have three email accounts. I have one with yahoo as I needed a Yahoo ID to get a Flckr account. I never use the Yahoo account because they always get hacked. Like it or not, for the near, maybe far, future, it's a Google world. They are good and secure, my biggest concern. Of course, there is no absolute anonymity on the internet. Information once entered, not matter a bank card # or a photo of you at a party never really goes away. Somewhere you now somebody is downloading everything they can get their hands on. It never goes away. It can make you uneasy but what the fuck? What are I hiding? Of course, I don't want anyone getting their hands on financial info of mine and I am concerned with identity fraud.
I am cautious with the responses I receive. There are all kinds of red flags; people who want to go offline right away, people who want to call right away. It's kind of icky sometimes. Still, it's the only game in town for Americans and citizens of the world.
The best part of it for me is that I can never assume anything. I am black and white. Yes or no. It's more comfortable for me to be like that. Less tension. Unless you run into people that don't operate in that manner. It takes a while to get to know people, usually via email. Innuendo is not easily translated. You have to ask direct questions that cut to the chase. Direct and honest.
Not assuming leaves everything open, everything possible. Even if some things are so obvious if they bit you you couldn't say ow. Never assume. Always ask. Saves a lot of trouble on down the line.
Phish is coming to the best place in the world to see any concert, The Gorge Amphitheater in George, WA. I have seen many concerts there and never a bad one. Phish, Steve Miller Band, Joe Cocker, Ringo Starr's All Star Band, Coldplay, Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, all fantastic concerts outdoors in fantastic weather. Being in the middle of the state, it draws from both metropolitan areas in Washington, Spokane and Seattle. People from all over the world will travel there to see a certain band at that venue. I think for at least the last ten years, The Dave Matthews Band has played three nights in a row during the Labor Day weekend. Fantastic.
Phish will be here the 26th and 27th of July. I'm buying two two-day passes. I dont want to go alone.
Hello to all you Germans. This is not gasoline.
So, my friend Michelle fed me last night. Evidently, not only am I a starving artist but a starving bachelor, too. We were goofing around with my profile on an online dating sight, trying hard to accurately depict me. It seemed as if everything we thought of would sabotage any chance of meeting up with anyone. Some of the phrases we came up with made us laugh so hard I fell on the floor and she started crying. We howled at the comedy we were producing. I think we came up with "Only the Weird Need Apply." "I think I have a twisted sense of humor and so does my doppelganger." It was if if I were writing a parody profile to not get any response. I held fast and tried to be s truthful as possible. Most profiles are so generic, it as if they are generated by formulas. And they all say the same fucking thing. Everybody likes the outdoors, camping, hunting, fishing, opera, hockey. Because they are dating sites, you are allowed to be so bold as to describe what you see an ideal mate. That's what we did. It's succinct, to the point and there can be no missing the gist of my message. Honestly, when I get to a point in a long, rambling profile, I quit reading, move on.
I get wacky emails from some people. I think the dating sites are becoming the play field of scammers although any segment of being online is open to that. Any way to get information out of you. I've not gotten any that ask for personal info like bank accts #'s but I think one was getting close. Good thing I was using my scum catcher email address. I wonder who on the faee of the Earth has the most email accounts? Yahoo, Google, Hotmail, Juno, hundreds of free email sites to be had for nothing more than information whether honest or made up. The problem would be keeping up with them. Kind of like lying...once you start...but I have three email accounts. I have one with yahoo as I needed a Yahoo ID to get a Flckr account. I never use the Yahoo account because they always get hacked. Like it or not, for the near, maybe far, future, it's a Google world. They are good and secure, my biggest concern. Of course, there is no absolute anonymity on the internet. Information once entered, not matter a bank card # or a photo of you at a party never really goes away. Somewhere you now somebody is downloading everything they can get their hands on. It never goes away. It can make you uneasy but what the fuck? What are I hiding? Of course, I don't want anyone getting their hands on financial info of mine and I am concerned with identity fraud.
I am cautious with the responses I receive. There are all kinds of red flags; people who want to go offline right away, people who want to call right away. It's kind of icky sometimes. Still, it's the only game in town for Americans and citizens of the world.
The best part of it for me is that I can never assume anything. I am black and white. Yes or no. It's more comfortable for me to be like that. Less tension. Unless you run into people that don't operate in that manner. It takes a while to get to know people, usually via email. Innuendo is not easily translated. You have to ask direct questions that cut to the chase. Direct and honest.
Not assuming leaves everything open, everything possible. Even if some things are so obvious if they bit you you couldn't say ow. Never assume. Always ask. Saves a lot of trouble on down the line.
Phish is coming to the best place in the world to see any concert, The Gorge Amphitheater in George, WA. I have seen many concerts there and never a bad one. Phish, Steve Miller Band, Joe Cocker, Ringo Starr's All Star Band, Coldplay, Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, all fantastic concerts outdoors in fantastic weather. Being in the middle of the state, it draws from both metropolitan areas in Washington, Spokane and Seattle. People from all over the world will travel there to see a certain band at that venue. I think for at least the last ten years, The Dave Matthews Band has played three nights in a row during the Labor Day weekend. Fantastic.
Phish will be here the 26th and 27th of July. I'm buying two two-day passes. I dont want to go alone.
Hello to all you Germans. This is not gasoline.
Sunday, March 17, 2013
Oh! Now I Get it...
I was a road warrior. I travelled light; two duffel bags of clothes and a drumset with cases. It was all I needed. That and a place to play and a band to play in. I was ready to go at a moment's notice. Really, I'm too old for that now. But I have realized something about it and how it exemplified who I was and who I still am.
I made a promise, vow, whatever, to myself when I first told myself that I was going to be a paid drummer, for hire to any band. I would not get romantically involved seriously with a female. Males either. I didn't want anything to hinder my stairway to fame and fortune. I figured there would be plenty of time for that nce the money started rolling in and our recordings were selling and we didn't have to be on the road all the time.
Ha ha...of course, unless your are stupidly lucky, getting to that point takes hard work and focus, two atributes I was trying to avoid. I was supposed to have fun, meet really interesting people and live my life as if I were to die the next day. Looking back, I was really lucky to keep waking up everyday. In fact, I probably slept through a day or two...
I was successful in keeping my promise to myself. I waited until I was 34 to marry the first time. Problem is, the relationship was about me. No, the relationship was about us in spite of me. I was still doing my thing. I was going to school. sure, I would get a job and support a family but I decided to go to school and nobody had anything to say about it.
I realized the other night that I am still the same way. I drug a second family along with me as I pursued my creative genius in either clay or drumming. I bought equipment, instruments, stuff at the expense of my family. It was all for me.
Even today, I think about what I want to do, not what others want to do. You pay a price for this drive, this creativity that won't leave you alone. You end up being alone. That's too much of a price for me to pay at this juncture in my life. There is much more to do before...
The change is coming. I can feel it. It is slow and steady but the hoofbeats are unmistakable.
I made a promise, vow, whatever, to myself when I first told myself that I was going to be a paid drummer, for hire to any band. I would not get romantically involved seriously with a female. Males either. I didn't want anything to hinder my stairway to fame and fortune. I figured there would be plenty of time for that nce the money started rolling in and our recordings were selling and we didn't have to be on the road all the time.
Ha ha...of course, unless your are stupidly lucky, getting to that point takes hard work and focus, two atributes I was trying to avoid. I was supposed to have fun, meet really interesting people and live my life as if I were to die the next day. Looking back, I was really lucky to keep waking up everyday. In fact, I probably slept through a day or two...
I was successful in keeping my promise to myself. I waited until I was 34 to marry the first time. Problem is, the relationship was about me. No, the relationship was about us in spite of me. I was still doing my thing. I was going to school. sure, I would get a job and support a family but I decided to go to school and nobody had anything to say about it.
I realized the other night that I am still the same way. I drug a second family along with me as I pursued my creative genius in either clay or drumming. I bought equipment, instruments, stuff at the expense of my family. It was all for me.
Even today, I think about what I want to do, not what others want to do. You pay a price for this drive, this creativity that won't leave you alone. You end up being alone. That's too much of a price for me to pay at this juncture in my life. There is much more to do before...
The change is coming. I can feel it. It is slow and steady but the hoofbeats are unmistakable.
Thursday, March 14, 2013
Make A Mighty Fine Time
Weed and wine
make a mighty
fine time no
weep no moan
just give the
dog the dog
a bone
even if there is
no no dog.
Take time and
put
it
in
a boat
and let it sail
past woven Iranian
t a p e s t r i e s
of
b r i l l i a n t
i n t e r w e a v i n g s
O f
w o o l s s p u n f r o m
a n i m a l s with h o o v e s
and breath that smelled like a P a l i s a d e s
G r a s s l a n d s ground and stored
in one
G i a n t Silo more of a S T E N C H
of vegetation resignation
T h a n the wafting o d o r of F E E D L O T
manure P I L E S.
What you see is what
You get. It can be t h e only
course O F a c t i o n
H
o
n
e
s
t
y
I
s
t
h
e
o
n
l
y
P
o
l
i
c
y
Yes, I've tried before. I am here to tell you it does not work. One falsehood produces another and that one to yet another until all conversation has been jumbled into a situation of distrust which
Q U I T E
H O N E S T L Y
sucks the
e n e r g y o u t o f e v e r y t h i n g w i t h i n a
FIFTY MILE DIAMETER OF YOU.
and where was i when all of this came about???
On the pier watching the band with a baby
dancing inside happy for the song summer
song summer summer song.
L O N G
B R O W N
H A I R
W A V Y
S H O U L D E R S
KISS ME SHOULDERS AND I DID
YOURS
L i p s, thin l i p s
WET
luscious as a ripe peach
iNSIDe tongue job
NO TOO MUCH
OH SORRY
What is Happening to What
It Was IS ONLY
What is happening to what
it IS.
Habemus papem
We have A Pope
make a mighty
fine time no
weep no moan
just give the
dog the dog
a bone
even if there is
no no dog.
Take time and
put
it
in
a boat
and let it sail
past woven Iranian
t a p e s t r i e s
of
b r i l l i a n t
i n t e r w e a v i n g s
O f
w o o l s s p u n f r o m
a n i m a l s with h o o v e s
and breath that smelled like a P a l i s a d e s
G r a s s l a n d s ground and stored
in one
G i a n t Silo more of a S T E N C H
of vegetation resignation
T h a n the wafting o d o r of F E E D L O T
manure P I L E S.
What you see is what
You get. It can be t h e only
course O F a c t i o n
H
o
n
e
s
t
y
I
s
t
h
e
o
n
l
y
P
o
l
i
c
y
Yes, I've tried before. I am here to tell you it does not work. One falsehood produces another and that one to yet another until all conversation has been jumbled into a situation of distrust which
Q U I T E
H O N E S T L Y
sucks the
e n e r g y o u t o f e v e r y t h i n g w i t h i n a
FIFTY MILE DIAMETER OF YOU.
and where was i when all of this came about???
On the pier watching the band with a baby
dancing inside happy for the song summer
song summer summer song.
L O N G
B R O W N
H A I R
W A V Y
S H O U L D E R S
KISS ME SHOULDERS AND I DID
YOURS
L i p s, thin l i p s
WET
luscious as a ripe peach
iNSIDe tongue job
NO TOO MUCH
OH SORRY
What is Happening to What
It Was IS ONLY
What is happening to what
it IS.
Habemus papem
We have A Pope
 |
| Even though I am no longer a practicing Catholic, I am the product of very excellent Jesuit education. I am very proud and glad that Pope francis is the first Jesuit to hold the post. Maybe real change can happen. |
Monday, March 11, 2013
Kumbaya, My Lord, Kumbaya...
Some sites boast at having the most match ups or the most marriages, or the most whatever. It's all about marketing yourself for a relationship. Does anybody actually bump into somebody else say, in the grocery store, in the milk aisle, and ask them out? I don't think we trust each other enough anymore for that. One of the upsides to online dating is that the choice is yours to contact someone or not.
Most communication with online daters starts via email through the site. Back and forth go the messages and questions. Since most sites charge for essential services, such as reading an email someone sent you, a subscription is necessary, even for "free" sites. They will lead you down the path and then hold up their hand and say, "No further without paying." Is it worth it? It depends, I suppose.
It is a billion dollar industry. Online dating sites make their money through advertising and subscriptions. Some site use the Meyers-Briggs personality test to align future lovers. Other sites, such as eHarmony, use questions either generated by the prospective dater or questions the site has come up with. It seems rather artificial to me, kind of like standardized testing in schools. Not one size fits all.
I did online dating for a while. I had success until the relationship became troubled. I went offline for the relationship. We both agreed it would be best. We visited and I fell in love. Too bad for me.
The most interesting aspect of online dating for me was the progression of the relationship. Traditionally, there is a strong chemical reaction between people and they may end up fucking each other, think it is a great foundation to a relationship and, after a while, find they are not so interested in fucking all the time but have not developed the personal skills with their partner to maintain the relationship.
Online dating is the opposite. Yes, the photos make you look and then you read the profile. To contact someone, you send an email through the service. This goes on as long as it takes until you decide to Skype of meet somewhere. The advantage is that you have developed a talking relationship. Sex, if there is any, takes place after all the talking is done. In my book, a relationship would have a better chance at sustaining itself if approached in this matter. Many people are friends before lovers. I like it that way.
Some people have sex with their dates thinking that is the way to solidify the relationship. As for me, I can't do it. I have to be monogamous. Which means I don't get laid. That's ok. I just want to make sure that I know the person I am making love to. And there's only been one in the last couple of years. Sigh, I miss her but am happy to hold off until I can feel comfortable with someone again. I am completely disease free and want to stay that way. So, I wait. And wait. What's the hurry? None, really, but at 60, I know my time is short and I want my time to count. It all takes time. Time to get to know someone, time to love them, time to enjoy their company, time to make up your mind.
Dating doesn't seem like it is ever simple. If we are fickle or have had a bad experience or two with the opposite sex during dating, it may be difficult to trust enough to have a decent relationship. Many profiles on dating sites ask for someone "without any baggage." Baggage comes with every thing. We all have experiences that shape ou perspective and how we react to perceived wrongdoings. Consider, though, how this colors your perception of your prospective dates. If you have been hurt or taken for a ride by someone you met online, or not, this will certainly bend how you look at profiles and photos.
As for me, online dating is an option. It is one that is taken slowly and only part of the actuality of finding someone to date and possible develop a relationship with. But it is not the end all of dating. Yes, it is convenient and profitable for those who own the sites. There's still a part of me that want to meet someone in a more natural setting, like a bookstore.
Friday, March 8, 2013
Time Has Come...
Time. Or timing. We all think about time although it is possibly something our brain concocted so it could either remember something or look forward to something. Plausible, I suppose. More important is timing; when things happen, or don't. I took a trip to Seattle again today to swap my bad digital kiln controller for new, better digital control. It was pretty cool. They took me in the back and showed me where they make the kilns. I walked through the door that said "Employees Only." I've been going there for 21 years and I have always wanted to do that. Once I tried but didn't get very far before someone noticed me. "Hey! What are you doing? You're not supposed to be back here!" I used my standard get out of jail free phrase, "I'm looking for the restroom."
I was supposed to go over a week ago Thursday but couldn't make it due to work restrictions. Today, I had made the necessary arrangements with work and took off about noon. As usual, I took a wrong turn and it ended up taking longer to arrive at my destination than it should have. I was there about 3:10PM.
I walked in with my dysfunctional digital controller in a box, walked to the counter where an employee was working with a customer. She was grim-faced, as usual, so I said, "Hi, Smiley." She let a grin slip, asked me what I wanted. I held up the box. She called back to the warehouse, announcing me by name. Wow! She knows my name! I felt pretty good about that.
The kiln person came to the front and escorted me to the back where the magic happens. He spent a long time explaining the wiring on the controller, how it might be different than the wiring on the old controller and expected me to remember it all. "Do you have graphics?" I asked. He looked at me and I thought I saw him shake his head.
As I was leaving, Kim, the lovely young person who works there, came out and we started to chat. The kiln person brought the new controller out to me. They both told me how much they enjoyed my sense of humor. I told them I was the mystery shopper for all the pottery stores in Washington State and being funny was a trick I used so I could tell their boss they were goofing around on company time. They laughed at that. So did I. I crack myself up.
Usually, I try to find something to do while I'm in Seattle. I try to make it to the International District for real Vietnamese food, or downtown to the Dragonfish for their Holy Garlic Chicken. Today, though, since the weather was good, and I was by myself, I felt I should get back and maybe have time to install the new equipment. So, I hit I-90 East. It was smooth sailing. I stopped at the top of Snoqualmie Pass to use the facilities and headed back onto the freeway and toward Ellensburg, home of Central Washington University. I was sleepy but at 5:30PM was thinking it's too late for caffeine. I stopped and got gas and gauged my exhaustion factor. I'd better get some caffeine. Stopped at Starbucks, pulled out the iPad, ordered a White Chocolate Latte, and sat down to read email and drink coffee. I received a phone call, talked for a bit, and continued to read email. I get lots of email. A lot of it is junk to me and I don't know why I just don't give up and unsubscribe from those pesky emails from Home Depot. I was hoping to meet a friend but they had dinner plans. I finished my coffee and hit the road. When I went into Starbucks, it was still sunny outside. When I left, night had fallen.
I don't mind driving at night although my night vision is near blindness. It is an hour from Ellensburg to Wenatchee. There are two routes you can take. One is US 97 that goes up and over Blewett Pass. The other is to stay on I-90 until George. That's right, there is a town named George, Washington. Believe it or not, there are a fair number of millionaires living there. It is a faming community but the farms are REALLY big. I remember playing at a party next to a swimming pool at a farmhouse back in the late 70's. The guy had a landing strip out front so his buddies could fly in to visit. It was his daughter's birthday and she wanted a live rock band. We were it.
Since I live on the east side of the Columbia River, I always take the route to George. Sometimes I'll stop and have cherry pie at Martha's Inn. That's right again. Martha's Inn in George, Washington. They cook the world's biggest cherry pie every Fourth of July. I had a piece once. Tasted just like cherry pie.
Since it was dark and I was in no hurry, I decided to drive the speed limit. Good thing. From Ellensburg, I-90 goes about 10 miles downhill to the Vantage Bridge across the Columbia. There is a hairpin corner which dictates about 50mph in driving speed. Then there is a hill as you climb away from the river and back onto the Columbia Plateau. I was playing passing tag with an old Toyota pickup who would slow down going uphill and speed up on the flat. As we were coming up the hill from the river, he was behind me.
As we crested the hill, there were brake lights everywhere. Traffic was stopped. I was doing 70mph. I swerved into the left lane and hit the brakes. So did the guy in the Toyota but not fast enough. He bumped me. I pulled over, he pulled over. Semis were passing inches away from us as we gave each other contact info. We both stood looking down the freeway to see why traffic was stopped. It was Armageddon. It was the end of the earth. It was cars on fire, an engine laying in the middle of the road and about ten cars either in the median or up the hill off the freeway. People were laying in the road. There were no police or ambulances. It was unfuckingbelievable. I have never seen anything like it. People thought we were involved in the accident, which looked to be a chain reaction. Too many cars bunched together on the freeway, going too fast. It was death. I smelled it.
The State Patrol arrived. One of them came over to us and asked if we were part of the conflagration (my words, not his.) No, I replied, he just bumped me and we are exchanging info. Good, said the cop, when you get done, just jam on out of here. I looked down the freeway and saw trafic cones and flares and a roadblock. They closed the freeway. They don't do that unless there is a fatality. Oh my God, I thought as I was driving down the middle of the freeway. There were literally a dozen people laying or sitting on the side of the road. One car had no front end. I had just driven around it. I could hear and feel glass and plastic and who knows what else crunching under my tires. I just wanted to get away but kept looking at either side of the freeway. There was luggage, blankets, clothes, car parts all over the place. It was a minefield. It was horrible.
I did not think about it driving home. I couldn't. I counted five ambulances heading toward the scene of the accident. Family trips disrupted by possible death. People going somewhere that would not arrive. I could not think about it and drive. I drove.
I made it home. I started shaking. Then I started crying. I thought that if I had been a minute faster, I would have been involved. I thought about all the people I saw on the side of the road. All of the plastic crap parts of cars in the road. I thought that if the guy behind me had hit me hard enough, it would have sent me into the back end of a horse trailer. Me, in my little plastic car. Tears rolled down my face.
Yes, I am glad it wasn't me. But it was SOMEBODY. I still can't shake it. I'm sad and scared. Alone. That's what got me started on thinking about time and timing. I guess you could say it's all in the timing.
I don't want to drive anymore.
 |
| Downtown Seattle from Seattle Pottery Supply parking lot |
I walked in with my dysfunctional digital controller in a box, walked to the counter where an employee was working with a customer. She was grim-faced, as usual, so I said, "Hi, Smiley." She let a grin slip, asked me what I wanted. I held up the box. She called back to the warehouse, announcing me by name. Wow! She knows my name! I felt pretty good about that.
The kiln person came to the front and escorted me to the back where the magic happens. He spent a long time explaining the wiring on the controller, how it might be different than the wiring on the old controller and expected me to remember it all. "Do you have graphics?" I asked. He looked at me and I thought I saw him shake his head.
As I was leaving, Kim, the lovely young person who works there, came out and we started to chat. The kiln person brought the new controller out to me. They both told me how much they enjoyed my sense of humor. I told them I was the mystery shopper for all the pottery stores in Washington State and being funny was a trick I used so I could tell their boss they were goofing around on company time. They laughed at that. So did I. I crack myself up.
 |
| I-90 East with the Veteran's Hospital on Beacon Hill |
I don't mind driving at night although my night vision is near blindness. It is an hour from Ellensburg to Wenatchee. There are two routes you can take. One is US 97 that goes up and over Blewett Pass. The other is to stay on I-90 until George. That's right, there is a town named George, Washington. Believe it or not, there are a fair number of millionaires living there. It is a faming community but the farms are REALLY big. I remember playing at a party next to a swimming pool at a farmhouse back in the late 70's. The guy had a landing strip out front so his buddies could fly in to visit. It was his daughter's birthday and she wanted a live rock band. We were it.
Since I live on the east side of the Columbia River, I always take the route to George. Sometimes I'll stop and have cherry pie at Martha's Inn. That's right again. Martha's Inn in George, Washington. They cook the world's biggest cherry pie every Fourth of July. I had a piece once. Tasted just like cherry pie.
Since it was dark and I was in no hurry, I decided to drive the speed limit. Good thing. From Ellensburg, I-90 goes about 10 miles downhill to the Vantage Bridge across the Columbia. There is a hairpin corner which dictates about 50mph in driving speed. Then there is a hill as you climb away from the river and back onto the Columbia Plateau. I was playing passing tag with an old Toyota pickup who would slow down going uphill and speed up on the flat. As we were coming up the hill from the river, he was behind me.
As we crested the hill, there were brake lights everywhere. Traffic was stopped. I was doing 70mph. I swerved into the left lane and hit the brakes. So did the guy in the Toyota but not fast enough. He bumped me. I pulled over, he pulled over. Semis were passing inches away from us as we gave each other contact info. We both stood looking down the freeway to see why traffic was stopped. It was Armageddon. It was the end of the earth. It was cars on fire, an engine laying in the middle of the road and about ten cars either in the median or up the hill off the freeway. People were laying in the road. There were no police or ambulances. It was unfuckingbelievable. I have never seen anything like it. People thought we were involved in the accident, which looked to be a chain reaction. Too many cars bunched together on the freeway, going too fast. It was death. I smelled it.
The State Patrol arrived. One of them came over to us and asked if we were part of the conflagration (my words, not his.) No, I replied, he just bumped me and we are exchanging info. Good, said the cop, when you get done, just jam on out of here. I looked down the freeway and saw trafic cones and flares and a roadblock. They closed the freeway. They don't do that unless there is a fatality. Oh my God, I thought as I was driving down the middle of the freeway. There were literally a dozen people laying or sitting on the side of the road. One car had no front end. I had just driven around it. I could hear and feel glass and plastic and who knows what else crunching under my tires. I just wanted to get away but kept looking at either side of the freeway. There was luggage, blankets, clothes, car parts all over the place. It was a minefield. It was horrible.
I did not think about it driving home. I couldn't. I counted five ambulances heading toward the scene of the accident. Family trips disrupted by possible death. People going somewhere that would not arrive. I could not think about it and drive. I drove.
I made it home. I started shaking. Then I started crying. I thought that if I had been a minute faster, I would have been involved. I thought about all the people I saw on the side of the road. All of the plastic crap parts of cars in the road. I thought that if the guy behind me had hit me hard enough, it would have sent me into the back end of a horse trailer. Me, in my little plastic car. Tears rolled down my face.
Yes, I am glad it wasn't me. But it was SOMEBODY. I still can't shake it. I'm sad and scared. Alone. That's what got me started on thinking about time and timing. I guess you could say it's all in the timing.
I don't want to drive anymore.
Thursday, March 7, 2013
Whistling...
I received an email today from one close to my heart who reminded me of her initial image of me coming down a set of escalators and whistling. I smiled as I recalled the image and the beautiful person waiting for me at the bottom of the escalator. It set me off on a tangent about my whistling. I have always whistled. I even used to be able to do the one where you put your fingers in your mouth and let 'er rip. I haven't done that one successfully in years. I'll bet if I practice it will come back.
Why whistle? I've often wondered myself. It seems to be such a natural thing to do. I love music and I sing, too. Whistling for me is more effective than singing. As long as I can remember, whenever I am going someplace or am somewhere and I'm whistling, somebody always says, "There goes a happy guy!"
In general, yes, I am happy or, at least, content. And, I suppose, whistling is the result. I don't remember when I first started whistling seriously. Is that an oxymoron? I remember my dad whistling. All the time. For him, probably a coping mechanism. I mean, six kids...that's what I remember. Dad whistling. I don't think I ever saw Grandpa whistle. Grandpa would grunt a lot, though.
I remember hearing a recording, when I was young, of a whistler. It was cool. I don't know if we owned the vinyl or I just happened to hear it on the radio. I remember it was a recording and thinking to myself, "They did a whole recording session of a guy whistling." A harmonica band was one thing. A recording of a guy whistling was a new ballgame. I started whistling more.
Now, I whistle every day. I can whistle whole songs, lead guitar parts to rock anthems, I even get the string bending in, I whistle.
Some people take it very seriously. This is a totally contained musical instrument. Something that every one carries with them. I used to carry a harmonica with me in my front shirt pocket. Once in a while I would pull it out and give it a blow. I have a step-brother in-law who plays real harmonica. He has even written a book about harmonica players. I've read it and found very few typos. I haven't seen him since my dad died. Looks like like he's doing ok. The harmonica is something you put in front of your whistle. It adds depth, for sure. Whistling is pretty high frequency. I wonder if you could shatter glass with a whistle?
Birds whistle but it doesn't come from their lips. Because they have no lips. So, is it a whistle? No, in my opinion, it is chirping. Birds vocalize. They don't whistle. If your world is built around the notion that birds whistle, I'm sorry, they don't. Really, I'm sorry. It's the truth.
I was very glad to be reminded of the image of me coming down the escalator, whistling. That was a very good day in my life. It makes me warm to think about it. I like whistling and can burst into it at a moment's thought of a song that pops into my head.
Whistling is a happy activity and it makes people happy, too. Thanks, wonderful person, for the great memory you made me remember today.
Why whistle? I've often wondered myself. It seems to be such a natural thing to do. I love music and I sing, too. Whistling for me is more effective than singing. As long as I can remember, whenever I am going someplace or am somewhere and I'm whistling, somebody always says, "There goes a happy guy!"
In general, yes, I am happy or, at least, content. And, I suppose, whistling is the result. I don't remember when I first started whistling seriously. Is that an oxymoron? I remember my dad whistling. All the time. For him, probably a coping mechanism. I mean, six kids...that's what I remember. Dad whistling. I don't think I ever saw Grandpa whistle. Grandpa would grunt a lot, though.
I remember hearing a recording, when I was young, of a whistler. It was cool. I don't know if we owned the vinyl or I just happened to hear it on the radio. I remember it was a recording and thinking to myself, "They did a whole recording session of a guy whistling." A harmonica band was one thing. A recording of a guy whistling was a new ballgame. I started whistling more.
Now, I whistle every day. I can whistle whole songs, lead guitar parts to rock anthems, I even get the string bending in, I whistle.
Some people take it very seriously. This is a totally contained musical instrument. Something that every one carries with them. I used to carry a harmonica with me in my front shirt pocket. Once in a while I would pull it out and give it a blow. I have a step-brother in-law who plays real harmonica. He has even written a book about harmonica players. I've read it and found very few typos. I haven't seen him since my dad died. Looks like like he's doing ok. The harmonica is something you put in front of your whistle. It adds depth, for sure. Whistling is pretty high frequency. I wonder if you could shatter glass with a whistle?
Birds whistle but it doesn't come from their lips. Because they have no lips. So, is it a whistle? No, in my opinion, it is chirping. Birds vocalize. They don't whistle. If your world is built around the notion that birds whistle, I'm sorry, they don't. Really, I'm sorry. It's the truth.
I was very glad to be reminded of the image of me coming down the escalator, whistling. That was a very good day in my life. It makes me warm to think about it. I like whistling and can burst into it at a moment's thought of a song that pops into my head.
Whistling is a happy activity and it makes people happy, too. Thanks, wonderful person, for the great memory you made me remember today.
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