Mid-life Crisis

Claire Colburn:  [voice over] Some music *needs* air. Roll down your window

-From the movie Elizabethtown


I've been experiencing a mid-life crisis of late.

I've started listening to music and bands for which I had no use, 30 years ago.

Loudly, in my car.   

Specifically, ACDC and Rush.

Those of you that are fans are all "Yeah, so?  cool!"

But I'm.... not a fan.

Except I sort of am, now.

Not "go see 'em live next tour" fan.  or even "Snap up their back catalog on iTunes" fan.

But, if I happen upon Limelight or New World Man or Highway to Hell or Thunderstruck when surfing the pre-sets, I no longer keep going.

I stop.

And turn it way up.

And, weather permitting, roll down the window.
On truly special days, I'll open the sun roof.

Sometimes music DOES need airing out.   Kirsten Dunst was right.

I do not know how this has come to be.
I expect, in large part, it's due to what I CAN'T expect to hear, when pre-set surfing.  If Husker Du, Chris Whitley, The Jayhawks or The Replacements were on the radio regularly, I'd likely not be writing this.  
But the aren't.
For whatever reason, one day I said "nope" and kept hitting the buttons when I came across Freewill, but the next day I didn't.

So, there I am, middle aged guy, blasting Rush out of the open windows of his car, kids booster seat, granola bar wrappers, stuffed dog and a single glove from last winter, loose in the back seat.

Of COURSE I'm singing along.

(Turns out I already knew most of the lyrics, having picked them up via osmosis somehow, 30 years ago.)

I can live with that, I think. To hell with the other cars around me at the stop lights.

They can sing their own songs...

But I WILL continue to blow past Zep, Floyd and the Nuge, without hesitation.

Gotta have standards.

Can you please describe him?

So, I'm sitting on an off ramp yesterday afternoon, on my way to pick Fiona up from day "camp".

I've just exited southbound I-294, and am toward the back of a long line of folks waiting for the light to turn green.  
I was quite surprised, to see someone riding their bicycle toward, and then past me, continuing on toward the highway itself.

"Well."  I said aloud, a habit I need to be more careful about, "That's f*cked up."

Thought about it for a few seconds as the light turned green and traffic started to move, and then dialed 911.

Explained what was going on to the operator, who responded with "Can you describe him?"
Uh, sure.   He's the kid riding a bicycle along the shoulder of an interstate.  Duh.   You need to narrow that down further?
"Oh, if he's no longer on the road, but on the interstate, I'll have to pass you to the State Police."
Well, I'm not charting his progress, but... do what you need to do.    And she did
And they answered, and I explained that there's a kid, probably 13-14 years old, riding his bike northbound on a southbound exit ramp, toward the actual interstate.

"Can you describe him, and his bike?"
Uh, sure.  HE'S THE KID RIDING HIS BIKE, A TWO WHEELER if that helps, ON THE #$^W$%&#$&% INTERSTATE!!!!"

I, for many reasons, did not actually respond in this manner.
But it made me think.   What if the police, while responding to my call,  came across someone else riding their bike ON THE #$%^$#%& INTERSTATE, NOT the kid I described?

"Oh, hey, Burt - up ahead on the right.  someone's on a bike."
"Yeah, Ernie, wait.. wait.. never mind.  it's a girl, and the bike's the wrong color." and they drive by, letting her continue on un-challenged.

Last summer, I was walking the dog around 8p, and when I did the lap around the school and the field next to it, I see two high school age kids park their car behind a classroom trailer, so that it's not visible from the street. They got out and walked over to a drain pipe that was mounted on the school wall.  One kid's in an overcoat, the other kid's got a video camera.   As I watched, they started looking around, and looking up the drainpipe at the roof of the school.   The kid in the overcoat was tentatively tugging on the pipe as I walked around the corner, out of sight.

I called 911, they asked nature of my call, I explained to them what was going on.

"Can you describe any of them?"

Uh, sure.  One of them WILL BE STANDING ON THE ROOF OF THE SCHOOL IN AN OVERCOAT!!!!  Hopefully he will not have removed the overcoat, as then he'll just be a kid STANDING ON THE ROOF OF THE SCHOOL WITHOUT AN OVERCOAT, and the police will let him go, because they're only looking for a kid on the roof of a school wearing an overcoat.....

I know all about phone protocols and procedures, and why you don't necessarily want the person who answers the phone when you're reporting a crime or an emergency to wing it, improv-style.

I GET it.     But that doesn't mean I can't laugh at the stupidity of the questions, in these particular situations....

Conversely... 15 years ago, when I was living in MS, we got whacked, HARD, by hurricane Georges.
The news stories that came out after the storm were, occasionally, some real gems.
One of which has remained with me.  

There were repots of emus, escaped from god knows where, running around in peoples yards and fields in Bay St. Louis, and the police and animal control were called in to capture them.
There was question as to whether or not the police and animal control folks new the physical attributes of an emu.
"Well, no, not really." was the approximate response from the police department.
  But I'm pretty sure we'll know it if we come across any of them."

Awesome.



"911, what's your emergency?"

I'm headed northbound on I-57, near 159th street, and a car just pulled off the road, because it was on fire.

Can you describe the vehicle?

Uh, I'm pretty sure I just did.....

Elevator life lessons

We’re all going to die!!!” she yelled.

“We are NOT all going to die…”  I answered, dismissively.

“Yes we are!”

“Jesus Christ” I thought to myself.

Of all the people with which one CAN be stuck in a malfunctioning elevator, 3-4 stories off the ground, I had to get her.

And half a dozen others, but they were not sounding the alarm for our impending death, at least not yet.

It was the “half a dozen others” that were the root of the problem to begin with.  And the fact that the elevator was hit and miss, as far as being operational, to begin with.

It was an elevator by an elevated train station.  Glass walled so you could see the interstate, and how high off the ground you were...   And it had weight restrictions, which were regularly ignored. 

Shockingly, it broke down frequently.  

I never used it, unless it happened to be right there the moment I was walking by it, and empty.

It was both of those things that morning, so I hopped on, and as it was shutting, someone called out to have it held, and I did so.   

And the panicky woman got on. 

And the door started to shut again, and someone else hollered, and the panicky woman held the door, and someone else got on.

And that person stood in the doorway for what seemed like a very long time, to make sure that all of her friends from the train could hop on the elevator too, as opposed to having to wait the 2 minutes for it to go down and come back up, or opposed to having to… use the damn stairs.

So, there we were, jammed in like sardines, when the door finally shut, and we began to… bounce.

Up and down, herky jerky.
We were still at the elevator doorway, stuck there while the elevator protested the size of load it was being asked to carry.
Up and down, herky jerky....

And my fellow elevator rider began to lose her cool, and predict our deaths.

“No, we’re not.”  I said again, with an inflection that hinted at a roll of the eyes.

And there we all stood, as the elevator continued to bounce.  And she continued to predict that we would plummet to our deaths, and I continued to, with increasing impatience, tell her we would not…

“We’ve just got to open the door.”  I  finally said to the people in front of me, who were all too busy fretting to one another to have heard me.

I spoke louder, asking if any of the people in front of me could try to manually open the door, and they looked at me as if I was insane.   

Open the door?!?!?!?!? 

“How else to you expect to get off the goddam thing?”

 I nudged my way through to the front, put one hand on each half of the door, and strained to pry them apart.

And… it worked.  The bouncing stopped, one of the other people decided I wasn’t going to kill everyone after all and came forward to help out, we got the door all the way open, and everyone stepped out.   

“Oh my god, thank you so much, thank you!”  Said the predictor of our doom.

“No problem” I said, over my shoulder, as I headed down the stairs in a hurry, trying to not be late for work. 

And I mentally dismissed both her, and the intellectually-challenged bunch that were getting BACK on to try it again. 

In the re-telling of the story to my wife and friends later that evening, I spoke of the woman who freaked out with a combination of amusement and disdain.  Then, like now, she was the linch pin to my whole story.
I'm a pretty entertaining guy when it comes to story time, and everyone got their chucks.

The life-lesson, BIG POINT part of the story came weeks after the laughter whilst re-telling over beers.

A couple of weeks later, I’m walking down the hallway from the train to the stairs, high above the highway and the bus depot, and I hear someone holler.

“Excuse me!”

I assumed that someone was hollering out to someone else, not me, and kept walking.
I always assume they're hollering out to someone else.  I'm usually right....

“Sir, excuse me!  You in the brown coat!”    Hmmm…. I have a brown coat…  I stopped and turned around.    Oh god, it was the panicky lady from the elevator.  Great….

“I just wanted to thank you again for what you did.”

“No big deal.” I said, again dismissively.

For me, it was just one El-train commute-related incident in a long line of them.  Crazies on the train; getting caught in a closed door, on the OUTSIDE as the train started to pull out; 911 calls due to very suspicious behaviors; getting hit on by middle aged teachers visiting town for a conference; young guys whipping each other with their belts in crowded car; baby geese on the interstate on my walk to the station...  The broken elevator was barely a blip on the "big deal" radar.  

Turns out, it was a big deal, to her.

She explained that she was severely claustrophobic, and that my saying "we're not going to die!" or whatever, over and over, and calmly trying to get others to help me open the door, were the only things that kept her from completely losing it - screaming, crying, trying to push her way out, possibly hurting herself and others.    I was the linchpin to HER story.

You don't ever REALLY know how any of your actions, pronounced or seemingly insignificant, will effect others.     I got lucky that day, with my barely-on-the-polite-side-of-surly responses to what I thought was simply another's propensity for drama.  

You, at least most of you, can't count on being lucky, most times.  I sure as hell can't.  

So perhaps, as they say, you should try to be good.   It's hard for me, but... I'm always trying.

Fishing Weekend 2013, or - If I hadn't walked home early, I'd have gotten the "Cousin Paulie's a F*cking Pimp!!! " reference. Maybe.

Another fishing weekend on the books.

The 6^th, almost annual Winneconne fishing weekend is now historical. 

And why haven't you come along?  

Lots of laughs, as always, and I'm really glad I have the opportunity every year to set up the trip.

That’s how I started last year’s review, save for the “6^th, almost annual….” part.  

I couldn’t come up with a better one this go ‘round, so maybe I’ll just use the same opening, every year.

Two vehicles, Six guys, three cabins, in two different locations.   What could be simpler?   

Why, yes!  Yes there WAS a fair amount of standing around, wondering where some of the others were.  

So be it.  

New this year  - one of the new participants is a big fan of cleaning fish and cooking. 

It’s been six years since I ate my catch.  Tasted pretty damn good

.

We hit the road early Friday morning, and drove 3.25 hours north in a never-ending light rain.  

God laughs.

Got to town shortly before 10a, and as we started across the bridge, I looked over, and spotted one of the guys who came up the night before, fishing the bank next to the bridge.  I stuck my head out the window and yelled his name, as loud as I could, causing him to jump a goodly distance, straight up in the air.  

And he’s not much of a jumper, normally, I’d guess.

The guys in the car with me turned to stare at me.

“Well, he said to give him a holler when we got to town…”

Rain let up by early afternoon, but had stuck around long enough to mess up the bite.   Six guys, three boats, and… two fish for the basket.  We caught a few more that went back into the river, but wasn't a great showing, overall

.

Then the aforementioned cooking/fish-cleaning god, ran to the grocery and brought back chicken and brats and baking potatoes.    Good food was consumed.  And beer.  Beer was consumed, too.  Quite a bit, for some in the group....

Around 10p, finding no dependable drivers, I decided to walk the 4-5 blocks back to my cabin, as the rest of the goofs were trying unsuccessfully to play poker.    Having spent a fair amount of time walking around this tiny little town over the last seven years, I’ve come to realize that, while I would not want to ever LIVE there year ‘round,  it’s a fine town in which to walk semi-inebriated at night.   Little traffic, and neighborhoods where most everyone seems to be asleep by 10p.   You feel like you have the whole place to yourself.

Nice.

I took a slightly longer than necessary route back to my cabin, I was enjoying it so much....

Saturday was a beautiful day, spent trying everything we could think of, to catch fish.   

We didn’t have much to show for our efforts, save for sore asses, and some sun.  

4-5 more fish for the basket, with best boat being one I was in.  we contributed three toward dinner, and I caught biggest fish of the weekend.

Sadly, was not a species we were targeting.  But it was a hell of a lot of fun to wrestle for 10+ minutes.  I had a large, captive audience for the first half of the fight.  Fishermen in other boats, guys fishing from the bridge, groups of people walking to town for breakfast… They heard the sound of fish stripping line from a reel, and stopped to watch the show.

Until the first time I brought it to the surface, and it was clear that it was a sheephead (Freshwater Drum).  You could almost HEAR everyone mutter  “Oh, never mind then” and go about their day.

Saturday evening was fish tacos with cilantro, avocado, tomato, and rice.  And beer.   

Five of us ended up sitting by the river with a cooler and a couple of fishing poles, From 9:30-12a, give or take.  Was the perfect way to finish off the night. 

A fantastic night, the exact type of night I always picture when I think about organizing next year’s weekend.  Great sky; reflection of lights from the Fin and Feather(on the other side of the river) reflecting off the water; And the occasional holler of someone on the bridge as they hooked into a walleye, all while drinking cold beer and making each other laugh.

Sunday we got up late (understandably) fished for a bit, and settled up our bill, while reserving for next year.   

May 16-18, 2014 by the way.   Room for 6-9 guys. 

What’s my takeaway this year?  Waxing philosophically about death and the true point of fishing weekend, like last year?  http://patrickosplayhouse.blogspot.com/2012/05/here-fishy-fishy-fishy-fish.html

  Nah.  

This year’s takeaway comes courtesy of some nice guys I met Sunday morning.  

1    1.       Floating jig heads.  

2    2.      More importantly - A camp stove, coffee pot, campfire toaster, bread and breakfast sausage would be a great addition to my fishing weekend next year.     

Next year, shore breakfast’s on me, everyone.   

Shell fragments, Driftwood and Vertebrae - Oh my!

My daughter's been requesting that I read her my "stories on the internet" a lot lately.   Especially the ones that involve... her.  

So it was not surprising when, as we gathered together (PILED) everything that we were going to take with us on our annual trip to MS gulf coast, she told me I needed to bring the laptop, so I could write stories about our trip.   While I didn't bother with the laptop, I did take copious mental notes....

Trip down was uneventful.  Fiona showed everyone her bear, and told them that I had gotten it for her, and I felt like a great dad.   While waiting to disembark the plane in Gulfport, she told everyone within ear shot about the St. Patrick's day party.   Glad she doesn't know grandma's address....

First day of spring, and we spent an hour or two on the beach, later in the afternoon, while grandma napped.
68 and cloudy, and it was 4pm, and I didn't even think about sunscreen for my bald head.
oopsie.
Lots of detrius down by the water's edge.
Shell fragments and driftwood and various sized vertebrae (no idea...) - Oh My!
Closer to the beach hwy, the sand was criss-crossed with bulldozer tracks, from the annual "rebuild the beach before spring break" efforts.

Fun fact - if they didn't bring sand in and re-build the beach every year... there'd  be no beach.  it would be silt and plants, thanks the row of barrier islands that line the water a short distance from the mainland, all the pretty sand stays well away from coast, and all the silt from rivers and such stays close to shore.
Do NOT swim in the gulf from shore, if you happen to be visiting.   Look, but don't touch.  You can, if you really want, but it's shallow, silty bottomed, crazy warm and... kinda ew-y.

Pockets full of "treasures", we walked back to grandma's and... sat around.

Day two... nothing.    Li'l Ray's for lunch at least.    If you find yourself in Long Beach, MS around lunch time, you can do worse.    They'll probably screw up your order, but once it's sorted... Fried pickles and po' boys and gumbo.... Oh my!

Day three - New Orleans.    I love New Orleans.   For a few hours, on a nice day...

Great to see the French Market fully re-opened and operational.  And up-scaled!  gone are the hot sauce stands and the boxes of random produce, replaced by... dining options and decent seating.   The back half is still a flea market full of tacky tourist crap, of course.  A gen-U-wine baby gator head will cost you $12.99, but you can get a plastic one for about 1/3 that amount.

Gatorheads, offensive T-shirts and cheap-ass sunglasses  - Oh My!

Jackson Square has gotten seedier, though the gardens are still beautiful.   Fewer street performers and fortune tellers and such, and more... un-washed, un-friendly people loitering on benches.
"Your bird's really pretty"  Fiona said to one of them, who happened to have a pet macau.
She received no pleasant answer.    Step away from the scary man, sweety,...
As we walked away, a N.O. cop came up to the bird man, and started talking to him.   We walked a way a bit faster...

Audobon Aquarium - our first time there.  Can't believe we've never checked it out before.   Seemed a bit pricey, for the size, and for what they have, but it was actually really cool.   It's designed to lead you from beginning to end, very organized in lay out.   Penguins were a big draw, as they liked to swim to the edge of the glass and stare at you.    Seems only fair....  Fiona's (and my) favorite -  There was an owl. Just kinda hanging out on some rocks near the end, where they were featuring local fish and flora.  

Fish and penguins and Owls... Oh my!

And that's pretty much it.  There was a very quiet, sparsely attended St. Patrick's party that weekend.  Elderly irish nuns hollered out requests to Betsy, the musician from New Orleans that comes over to play the party every year.    Betsy's fantastic, but doesn't play music full time any more, so has forgotten some of the songs...  
Everyone was gone by 9:05, sober and well fed.  
How times change....

Airports and such.

So, I’m sitting at C3 at O’Hare airport, waiting to fly to Detroit for a conference.

Aprox. 18 hours ago, I landed in Midway, having been on a trip to see my wife’s mom for a few days. 

By the time I get back to the office on Thursday afternoon, I will have been on six different planes in eight days.  And walked through 5 airports...

Between work and trips to see family, I probably only log 4-5 round trips via air a year, which isn’t that much flying, compared to many.

But the thing is – I hate it.   Not the “paralyzed with fear that I’ll crash and die and they won’t be able to find a big enough piece to ID me” kind of hate.

More the” hurry up and wait and take your shoes and belt off and lug your shit a city block through crowds of people that all appear to have their heads up their asses, so you go sit on a bench for an hour” kind of way.

Whilst spending large sums of money to be treated shabbily.   

Hey you just dropped $500 to fly with us.  Here’s a tiny bag of pretzels, a small plastic cup of water and…. WIFI will cost you.

 I live in fear of the day when they realize they can charge you for the security check,  and that toilet paper will be sold by the square. 

While not traveling as much as some, I sit here at gate C3, on the blue vinyl bench, having just ate my (overpriced) lunch out of my lap, pondering the numbers.

I’ve spent time, as far as I can recall, in the following airports.

Chicago O’hare, Chicago Midway, Tucson AZ, Hartford CT, Detroit Metro, Atlanta, Atlanta Atlanta..sorry.. St Thomas AVI, Miami, Memphis,Lansing,  Houston, New Orleans, Dallas (Love Field I think), Savannah GA, Indianapolis, Ottawa ON,Toronto ON, Shannon Airport in Ireland, Dublin Airport Ireland, Orlando FL, Pensacola FL, Gulfport MS, Washington DC (Reagan)…  

So 24 airports, and I probably missed a couple there somewhere.   Like it matters.   My point’s made.  

I’ve spent way more time in way more airports than I’d like.   Even though I like the convenience and efficiency of flying.

Lessee, so far today, just since clearing security…

I’ve had d 3 different people walk right into me in the last hour, because they were on their phones and can’t talk and pay attention at the same time.  I’d hate to be next to them on the highway.  I was standing off to the side at the time, near.. nothing.    I’ve had 2 people stop dead in front of me, in the middle of the concourse, in traffic in otherwords, to make a call.   Apparently the call could not wait for them to step aside, out of traffic. 

And while in security line, the woman behind me bumped into me so many times, I had to tell her to stop, and had to make sure she wasn’t trying to steal my wallet.   When I told her to stop, she acted surprised, like she had no idea she had bumped me >10 times in <5 minutes.="" nbsp="" o:p="">

Space people.  Personal Space.   You’re invading Patrick Land, and I do not like it.

Oh and I’ve eaten a crappy lunch from a restaurant I Never eat at, except when I’m at an airport. 

Soon it will be time to board, and everyone will surge toward the gate, regardless of whether it’s time for them to board.   There will be at least 2 people that will appear to have never ever been on an airplane before, and incapable of understanding how seats and rows are laid out.  The little map will confuse them.  They will sit in the wrong row AND the wrong seat.   It’ll be time to leave, they’ll announce that everyone needs to turn their crap off, and the flight attendant will still have to tell some self-involved jack wagon to… turn his crap off.

                                                                                               

My daughter LOVES to fly.   She loves the airplane ride, the airports, saying hi to…everyone.  She loves the turbulence, the view out the window, the take off, the landing..

 It’s all one big amusement park ride for her.   Whereas for me, it’s the 75 minute wait in line in 90 degree heat, behind some foul mouthed cracker, to get ON that amusement park ride.   

And I'm jealous, as I often am, of her simple and innocent and non-jaded outlook on life.

Many hours later.......   We boarded, three people didn't know their numbers or letters

Plane was too full for all the carry ons, so mine ended up being stowed in baggage. And then... we set for almost an hour, without access to electronic devices, and without any indication whatsoever as to why we were just... sitting there.  No extra beverage, no pretzels (at all, for the entire flight,cheap b*stards) , no cool air nor announcements nor apologies.....    

My daughter probably would have been cool with it.

We're screwed. OR: Ted Nugent and the Dixie Chicks walk into a bar...

I stand before you today, my friends, with a troubled heart.
Brothers and Sisters, our society makes less sense with every passing week, and this weighs heavily upon my furrowed brow.

can I get an Amen?

Not too long ago, at least not too long ago for those of us who are of a certain age,  there were three women, my friends.    Three women who possessed great talent.   God had blessed them with the ability to play multiple musical instruments, write music, and sing like angels.

Halleluia.
Halleluiah

Praise jesus!    Way easier to spell, so we'll stick with that, going forward.

And the lord above brought these three women together, and their parts blended together to make a better whole, and they became famous, sold millions of records, sold out arenas world wide,  and won prestigious musical awards and accolades.  Testify!

Friends, they were so popular that radio executives and concert promoters and corporate sponsors from around the world happily would have stood in line to hold the three women's hair back, while they threw up.     And it was good.

If you like that sort of music.  I honestly don't know any of their songs, but that's not the point here....

Until one night, my friends, when on stage during a concert in a land far away, one of the three women told the crowd that, gasp!  Horrors!!!! She was ashamed to be from the same state as the president of the United States.      EGADS!   Gadzooks!!!!

This, at a time in history where americans who traveled abroad would, when asked, regularly claim to be from Canada, because of how unpopular that president and our politics were, globally.

Oh, my brothers and sisters, punishment for such blasphemy was swift and terrible.
Overnight, their music was pulled from rotation at country stations around the country.  People were encouraged to boycott their concerts.  There were even, if memory serves, cd burnings.   People were calling for them to leave 'Murica, if they hated it so much.  Such a swift and total change in fortunes has  rarely been witnessed, 'lo these many years.
And if that were not enough, my children, all of the sudden, it was decided that the woman who had uttered the blasphemous statement, was deemed to be... physically unattractive, and should be told about it.

They became punchlines for pundits, and were all that was wrong and unpatriotic about some people in this great country of ours, can I get an amen?

Fast forward to a few days ago.   I'm punching pre-sets on my drive home, trying to find music.
Classic Rock station #1 had just started STRANGLEHOLD, by Ted Nugent.

It is, quite possibly, one of the longest and most repetitive songs in the history of rock and roll.  It's a nice little jam for the first couple of minutes, and then it just repeats itself over and over and over and over... And the drum fills are uninspired at best, down right annoying at worst....

Anyhow, beyond thinking about it's mediocrity, and the fact that I was due to come across my daily Pink Floyd song (not cause for celebration in my car) on one of the stations at any moment, I didn't give it much more thought.

Until the very next day, when classic rock station # 2 played the same damn song, at roughly the same time.     I can state with all honesty that I'd gone 20 years or longer without hearing this song, until this past thursday, and here it was, 2x in 24 hours.
To be honest, if it wasn't for the digital display on the radio, I wouldn't even have known it was the Nuge...

The Nuge......... a B list guitarist of mediocre musical fame, 20 years past his last hint of mainstream success, 30 years past the prime of his career, whatever that may have been....

The Nuge, who, not too long ago my friends,  said in an interview or while on stage that he thought that the current president of the United States should "suck on my machine gun."  

The Nuge, who had been so inflammatory in interviews, that he came under the scrutiny of the US Secret Service, shortly before the election of 2012, and was investigated as a possible threat to the well being of the president of the united states.

And oh, my brothers and sisters, punishment for such blasphemous and un-american behavior was swift and terrible, praise the lord!
He was not asked to appear on talk shows anymore.
The dozens and dozens of people that own his cd's got together and burned them, after washing their ears out with holy water.
The reaction from radio stations across the nation was so swift and so harsh that he took one of his machine guns and shot the radio out of the dash of his pick up truck.

And it was goo... what's that?     It didn't happen like that at all?
He got more offers for talk radio than ever before?
Some cracker  politician even went so far as to invite him to attend the State of the Union address as his personal guest?

Surely, brothers and sisters, thou are bullshitting me, right?
Can I get an amen?
Please?
Pretty please?

No "amen"on the whole "bullshitting me" thing?

Oh, dear.


He's touring with two other nostalgia acts this spring and summer, and the classic rock stations in Chicago are not only promoting the tour, and putting his two almost hits from 35 years ago back into heavier rotation, they appear to be putting him forward as the face and voice of that tour?
Heard Bobby Skafish announce it thusly (I paraphrase):
"Ted Nugent announced today that he'll be touring with REO and Styx again this year, and was quoted as saying 'Those guys deserve me'...

Why are they even mentioning his name on air, let alone playing his music and supporting his tours?
Jesus Willy Christ, he said the president should suck on a machine gun!!!!   Surely that's worse than "I'm embarrassed to be from the same state...."

New rule, commercial radio stations across the country.  If the secret service investigates someone for threats against the president of the United States,  you should not be enabling his career.


And, my friends, you're telling me that many of the same folks who felt that "I'm embarrassed to be from the same state as our president"  was un-American and wrong, and should be punishable by death, and all held hands as they got high off the fumes of burning compact discs,  and screamed "if you don't love 'Murica, you can leave! Oh, and you're ugly"...
Are the same members of god's flock who are now saying "Yeah, terrible Ted!  that's tellin' him!!!!  USA USA!!!!"  and  can be found running out to Walmart to see if they have restocked the firearms department since their last visit?

Brothers and sisters, they say the road to hell is paved with good intentions.  I fear we are a bit light on good intent at this point, and have started to pave it with ignorance and hypocrisy.


Go in peace, brothers and sisters.  I need some quiet time to reflect on this.  And perhaps enough brown liquor to get my hands to stop shaking.