Our New Theme Song.

In keeping with my efforts to break out of my slump I have decided Life Explained needs a theme song. I thought it might be a good idea to write and perform the song myself. But, I can't play any instruments, read music, or carry a tune in a wheel barrow. And I certainly don't understand the complicated relationship existing between different parts sounds that make a pleasant melody. I guess I don't know music, but I know what I like.

Of course, this leaves me at a serious disadvantage when it comes to writing and performing a theme song. Fortunately I have an iPhone, and Garage Band is free.Unfortunately making music in an app may be more complicated than learning to play an instrument. I had a nice beat, really easy to listen to and follow. When I went to add some guitar it kind of fell apart. The whole understanding music problem climbed out of its shallow grave and haunted my musical dreams once more.

I thought about hiring a band, explaining what I wanted and turning them loose. But, I'm not really sure what I want, and even if I did I lack the ability to communicate those desires in a coherent paragraph. And, my budget is zero, or slightly less.

Which left me with one option. Choosing a song by somebody else.

It would have to be groovy. It would have to speak in a language that calls all that is good, rejects pessimism, embraces the mathematics of life and love. It has to be a song that represents everything I have tried to accomplish with this little blog. It would have to be instrumental, music that speaks beyond the ability of words to express an idea. Mostly, though, it would have to be groovy.

And I think I found it;

Booker T and the MGs, playing Green Onions. Even my new pen loves it.

A Mothers Day Shopping Trip spills into August.

Parts One, Two, Three, four, five  and Six are here, please have a look,

All around us the men moved with a terrible purpose. The floor had gone from dingy gray concrete to planks, laid at right angles to the walls. And the walls were slowly sinking, and curving, and had taken on a stark brown appearance, with eye bolts sticking up at regular intervals. But, they weren't really bolts, they were pins, driven into the top of the wall. 

Motion, movement, and deliberate confusion were all around us. Men moved, shuffled past our cart without even seeing us. There was a sense of urgency, despite the slow, deliberate ballet unfolding in front of our eyes, you could sense the menace, the terrible importance of each small movement.

Fog was drifting from right to left, wispy clouds floating like small ghosts in front of us, around us. They seemed to avoid getting too close, swerving around the spot where we stood, and then converging on the other side. 

Rays of sunlight began to break through, and the scene was unreal. A ship, shiny with varnish, buckled and rolled. Masts high with sails, ropes wound and hanging from everywhere, grates to the holds below., and stairs leading to an elevated deck in front of us. We were sprayed by briny, cool water that crashed into the side of the "boat."

Somewhere behind us a song broke out, a melancholy song of love, loss, and sorrow. Soon men all around us joined in haunting, chilling, heartbreaking harmony. A tear ran down my cheek, even though I could only understand part of what was being said. Much of it seemed to be in an ancient, dead language, that I, somehow, began to decipher, decode. A dark, long lost language only sailors, and kayakers would understand.

My wife pulled out her phone and said, "this is crazy, I am giving them a bad review on Yelp." 

Everything stopped. Men turned to look at us. One of them grabbed a deck chair from behind a large round vent that led to the bottom off the ship.

Another came rushing over with a frosty drink, topped by a toothpick holding several slices of fruit. A band started playing calypso music. Soon, we were sitting in chairs, under huge umbrellas, being fanned by a couple of men dressed in white shorts and t-shirts that had tuxedos printed on them.

My wife looked over her huge sunglasses at me and said, "you have to love Yelp."

"Yes, you do." I said. 

to be continued.

Gardening, growing a lawn, and enjoying life

Yesterday I planted grass, kind of. It was a bag of patch that my wife bought. But, it had grass seed mixed in with small bits of recycled pulp of some unknown waste product. So, there is a big, kraft paper colored spot on my lawn where there used to be a brown dirt patch with sparse grasssy outposts. Of course, the tufts of grass are still there. Sticking bravely through could be a chewed up wet box. But, soon, with luck, water and unrelenting hope there will be lush grass. Today I am breaking out another bag, my wife goes a little crazy and working on different parts.

Further, I picked the first cucumbers off the vine. A momentous occasion, normally anything I plant ends up dead. Sometimes it dies as I am putting it in the ground. A screaming, piercing death, a noise unlike any I have ever heard, until I deciced to garden. Once, I went out to found one of our tomato plants had uprooted itself, braided bark into a crude rope, fashioned a noose and hanged itself from the tree. It left a note and said, "sorry, Tim, I know you had hopes this year but sooner or later the axe would fall and the anticipation was killing me."

This year, though, things are different, our tomato plants have reached glorious heights and have produced actual tomatoes. Just small, green balls the size of marbles, or golf balls, all clumped together for safety. Predators are everywhere. It brings me a great deal of pride to know that somehow I haven't managed to kill these wonderful, hearty plants. There is still time, but, I think we are going to get along pretty well.

I've started talking to them, nothing too elaborate. Just pleasantries, mostly. "Hey, how are you guys?" 

"We're good." They will say. "Did you see the weather?" Weather is a big topic among plants. It can get a little irritating, but you have to be gentle, they are more tempermental than the president.

"Cool, dry, comfortable. Can I get you guys a drink?" 

"Please, that would be so nice."  

We talk about the various issues facing the world. They think we need to cut back on green house gasses, and try to stop climate change, most plants feel that way. But, they don't get too pushy, they are pretty happy with some water, a little sunlight, and sometimes they enjoy a little music. They really like the Zombies, "She's not there," really gets their leaves moving.

So, the lawn is getting better, and the garden, such as it is, is growing right along. This summer has been kind, and I am content. Please take a look at my latest column on the Wild Word. My life as an insider, kind of. Tell me that ain't a happy guy.

The Eye of the Storm.

Saturday my wife and I had the honor of volunteering at the Street Speech / Columbus Coalition for the Homeless water sales booth, at ComFest, a music festival held every year in Columbus, OH. For two dollars you could get an frosty, cold bottle of water and help those less fortunate. It was in a prime location, right at the corner of the two major streets that define the most prominent boundaries of the park. ComFest, short for community festival, is built around the idea of inclusion and unity, the driving force behind Columbus Coalition for the Homeless, and Street Speech. Not long ago I was fortunate enough to meet the editor of Street Speech, (and she is kind enough to have published a few articles of mine) which put me in prime position for the gig of volunteer.

It was a beautiful day, sunny, warm but not hot, and the crowd was vibrant. We arrived early and

walked around a little before our shift began. ComFest is the very definition of diversity. Goodale Park is crowded with vendors, stages, people, topless people, tattooed people, mothers and fathers pushing strollers, children, grandchildren, adorable young people on dates, old people in wheel chairs married couples walking happily through the narrow paths lined on both sides with tents. Tents filled with arts, crafts, henna tattoos, t-shirts, political activism. There is enough tie die and woven clothing to have outfitted the Monterey Pop Festival.

And the music echoes from one stage to the next. Reggae, hip hop, occasionally some country and
western, some classic rock, though to a man my age classic rock has a different definition, all manner of music. People who are willing to get on stage and leave themselves open to praise and criticism. It takes a special bravery, a certain amount of self belief to put yourself out there, and I salute every single one of them.

Food lines the streets. Barbecue in all its glory, calling your name, beckoning with the sweet smoky smell of wood chips and dripping with heavy sauce. Buns piled high, and looking absolutely wonderful. Steaming hot cauldrons of spicy hot curry, pita bread stuffed with meat popping and sizzling over an open flame, buried under onion, lettuce, and creamy white sauce.   Pizza, fish sandwiches, lemonade, people will wait in long lines or the lemonade. And beer trucks with masses of humanity crushed in front, a mob of beer customers, thick, thirsty and surprisingly patient. It has to be the national debt in beer sales. Beer, the cornerstone of Americana. The lines were so long I wouldn’t wait, and I like beer. And after my time at the water booth I could have used a beer.

The water booth was like a scene from The Walking Dead. Moments of silent introspection and careful planning, followed by wave after swarm after full frontal assault of people. It could have been the desert and the water would not have sold any better. Some people buying 3 or 4 bottles at a time. A brief lull in the demand, grab a case and try to ice it down, but the motion and the noise and the sight of bottled water was more than the swarm could resist. They would line up, “water please.”

The water came in cases of 36 and we went through at least 4, and possibly 5. It was exhausting, it was terrifying, and it was exhilarating. We worked as a team, fighting the good fight, against the encroaching madness. Supply and demand meet heat and hydration. A tempest in front of the Jazz stage. The sound and the fury, and we were the calm in the center of the storm. Dispensing smiles, cold water and sage wisdom to the yearning masses.

“Where is the Gazebo Stage?” Over that way, I think. You have to remember I have only been to ComFest a couple of times, have a lousy sense of direction, and don’t handle pressure well, and demanding mobs of thirsty festival attendees, and a polite request for a location qualifies as pressure.

It was an experience and we are both grateful for the opportunity. There are a lot of good charities, you should pick one and give as much as you can. You could help make the world a better place.

Intelligent Life, Maybe, They Know how to Rock.

Recently several members of the Life Explained Department of Theoretical Exploration were attempting to calculate the odds against intelligent life existing elsewhere in the universe.  Of course, this led to the inevitable debate regarding the lack of intelligent life on Earth.  Which, naturally led to some good natured teasing, a few foolish, harmless slurs, a couple of hurtful, intentionally cruel barbs, a slap, then an uppercut, a knife brandished menacingly, several shots fired wildly, and the custodian bursting into the room and threatening to "bust open a few heads unless all you all stop acting like a bunch of idiots."  At that point everyone stopped, went back to their lunches and acted as though they had some sense.

Dr. Dawg, and I decided to answer the question once and for all.  We configured the Time Machine for deep space travel, and took off for the hippest, happening places in the far reaches of the universe.  We came across a few places that looked promising, but after listening to the radio stations playing nothing but top 40 pop, over and over again, we decided to keep looking.

Flying through the Woodstock Nebula we came across a station playing Before You Accuse Me, the blues influenced rock and roll classic from Credence Clearwater Revival.  By the time they hit the bridge, we were dancing and singing, and making fools of ourselves, in the tiny, cramped cockpit of our recently converted spaceship.  We decided to stop, and have a frosty one with the crazy cats on the planets surface.

And they were great.  The music was being blasted from a small tavern on the outskirts of a huge settlement, called One, it was the first city founded on the planet, and the inhabitants thought that was a good way to keep track of things.

The natives in the bar looked almost human, but not quite, they were a little shorter, kind of pale and seemed to be a little nervous, but who could blame them?  They were hosting a space traveling dog, and his freakishly handsome sidekick (me).

So, we came home, and we can answer, there is beer. I am not sure about intelligent life, but, we probably wouldn't recognize it if it borrowed our car.

Welcome to the Future, Act I

With the rapidly accelerating pace of technological innovation our world has gone through some fundamental, remarkable, profound changes. Opportunity no longer knocks, it texts you "I am on the way, meet me out front." Of course, this is an exaggeration, it normally just honks as it speeds past. And the only people who get to join the party are the people who bought their ticket early.

You know, I live a comfortable life. I probably have reached the level of my incompetence. If I were to be promoted any further failure is probably assured. Given my age, stubbornness and complete lack of technical proficiency it is almost a foregone conclusion. Looking, realistically at my situation, I'm not sure I am able to perform the functions of my current job. Though, we should keep that between us, sanctity of friendship and all.

Anyway, the real problem is nobody understands where they fit anymore. People look around and talk in reverent tones about the good old days. Even people younger than me talk about the past in a way that makes me feel a little sorry for them. Maybe it has always been this way. Maybe so much change scares them.

More than anything they seem to be saying "things couldn't have always been this bad." But, they probably were, in many ways they were much worse. Polio was still a feared, deadly disease until the 1960's, Of course, effective vaccines drastically reduced the threat. Considering the rising swell of groundless opposition to vaccines we may in fact be able to summon at least some ghosts of the golden age.

I look around and think the present is a pretty good place. There are problems desperately looking for solutions, and tragedy is always a moment away, but that is pretty much the way it has always been. It is possible we have reached a nexus. Things have come so far, the next change is going to be of the same scale as the first home computer. It is thrilling to read the speculation. It is an exciting time to be alive.

We have devices that were unimaginable 40 years ago. We carry, in our pockets, or purses, or clipped to out belts computers that would have amazed engineers who designed the little craft that flew to and landed on the moon. We are linked, connected and wired in ways that boggle the mind. I can write this, save it to "the cloud" and edit it on a computer at home, or the gym, or the coffee shop. I can add pictures from another device, and music from a musician in the UK, who I "met" on twitter. And whose albums I buy using a company in Omaha that specializes in the electronic transfer of money. Tell me that ain't cool.

There are so many good things about history, and we should learn all we can from the past. But, what we should learn, more than anything, is if we are willing to embrace the present it ain't bad, and the future has some potential, too. And, I can't wait.

I have a cold beer with me.

It was such a nice day yesterday we decided to stop for a few drinks at the local beer garden. A festive, free flowing party that wraps around the side and front of the Eager Eagle bar. At the corner where the front meets the side is a small stage, and a band was playing ragtime music. People were tapping their feet, drinking frosty mugs of delicious beer, and everybody was smiling.

It was bright, and cheerful, and the whole world seemed a happier place. Bowls of hot, buttery, salted popcorn sat by pots of unshelled peanuts making the beer taste even better. It was a Monday to remember. But, nothing lasts forever.

I decided to use the restroom, Walking in, the dark was almost complete after the blazing, warmth of the cleansing sunlight. There was something a little sinister, a little spooky about the gloom.

A little spooky until I saw someone standing there in the darkness. A still form from some dark pit, not moving, a dark figure, from a dark place. Then it got really scary.

This guy was just standing in the darkness, not moving, and it was almost certain he was staring at me.

A few quick mental calculations. He seemed to be about 7 to 9 feet away, roughly my size, and his posture, and stillness convinced me he was going to try something.

"Fine," I thought, "I'll let him throw the first punch, It would probably be from my left. To my right was a metal waste basket. Dodging his punch, I would grab the waste basket, hammer him over the head, which would force him to my left, his right, where I could grab the stall door, and smash it into his falling form. When he tried to to stand upright I would turn on the forced air hand dryer, and the noise would confuse his rattled mental condition. Giving me time to squirt some hand sanitizer (I tell everybody about the dangers of hand sanitizers but they don't listen) on the floor causing him to slip and fall in a sobbing pile of regret. I would be free to use the restroom wash my hands and be on my way.

As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I saw it was a mirror, and I was staring at myself. I felt a little foolish. "Sorry, I thought you were someone else." I said, joking with myself.

"You're lucky," My reflection said in a threatening tone, and threw the reflection of the metal waste basket at me.

"I have to stop planning everything so carefully." I thought to myself, throwing a decorative hand
towel holder at myself as I ducked the waste basket. The sudden, violent movement caused me to hit my forehead on the door.

"Dang, that hurt," my reflection said, as the towel holder hit him right above the eye. He dropped to his knees, cursing softly.

"Hey, how about I buy you a drink, And we call a truce." I said to myself.

I agreed and we went and had a couple of beers together. People looked at us a little strange, it may have been the bump on my forehead, or the cut above my eye.

The next day at work we got twice as much done. I am really something.

Something Old and Something New

Friends and fans of this blog will tell you I am a big fan of technology, and progress.  And convenience.  And ease, and comfort.  At the same time I am a staunch ally of the classics.  Wisdom that has traveled the treacherous, rocky, often violent path of time can still have value, and truth.  Moreover, there is a great deal of comfort in applying the remedies that once offered hope and relief to our ancestors.  That is why we were so excited to find out about Infographics.

 
Apparently ancient man was not alone in using pictures to tell enhance a story. Unlike Cro-Magnon man, though, we can use Infographics on almost any PC, tablet, or smart phone. Always just a few keystrokes away, or sometimes a mouse click, or occasionally a swipe, touch, gesture, press, or tap these modern hieroglyphs are easily accessible for the "cave painters" of modern times.

 
If you get an email with the following; "Hey, ( me" you know what to do. You should call that person.  Conversely, if you get a text that looks like this:

You know it means that person wants to know if you are available for toxic coffee with a communist pirate.  Make sure to keep a few hours open every day for opportunities like this. Yes, most days it will be wasted, but when the chance does come up you don't want to be overscheduled.

Maybe you will get this information packed jewel.

Which lets you know that your choice in music is so awful it would make a monkey nauseous. These are things we need to know. These are things we have to hear, or see. These are things that are much better said with Infographics.

Of course, these are the only uses for, and certainly not the only type of Infographics. There are tales of numbers represented by lines and segments imposed on appropriate photos. But, who knows about that stuff.  Send us a sample of your favorite Infographic, and it might end up in "Life Explained, The Trilogy." Yes, friends, it has grown beyond the confines of a single cinematic masterpiece, it has become a franchise.

 

 

Friday, Do I Need To Say Anything More?

Today is a joyous day, and I am singing the praises of Friday to the heavens. For one thing it is Friday, and that is hard to beat. This morning the coffee is so good it is almost unbelievable.

Recently my gym closed to move and expand. It was part of the local YMCA. It was small, and lightly equipped, but it was free. It was a benefit of being of my wife's job, and I was pretty happy there.

Since they moved, and expanded spouses are no longer allowed to use it for free, so I had to join the YMCA. Last night we went over and joined. It is huge, filled with weights, and machines and all of those devices that show up so frequently in the Health Whacko. It used to make me think, I need to join a better gym, (when I wasn't seething with envy) now I have. Plus I get three free sessions with a personal trainer. Pictures will come later.

Also, I have a smart watch. Well, it is not really smart, but it tells me the time, month, day and date, and it has a few functions that defy explanation, So, it might be smarter than me. Plus, it is attractive, functional and durable, so that makes it pretty smart for a guy who is hard on watches. Moreover, it is very complimentary, and that is a better than email, or text messages.


And, if that weren't enough, on my way to work this morning, I got stuck in the slow lane. It was rainy, and all the lanes were slow, so it was expected. But, my phone sensed the tension in the car, and played a lot of very appropriate songs.







Here is one of the choices.

To recap, a new gym, hot coffee, a very polite watch, and good music. Fridays are a great way to start the weekend.

Dilemmas Of Modern Life.

Where does a person draw the line? A question that applies to almost every situation, every day. At work, lunch time, cruise to the kitchen, stop and chat with a few co-workers, stuck in their cubicles, chained to their desks, waiting for that all important call, email, or fax. Man, poor suckers! But, you, my friend, you are free.

Ah, the sweet joy of lunch time, birds sing, eagles soar, and you are floating on air. A brief stop to waltz with the receptionists chair, and you are there, the kitchen, the last bastion of freedom in this wicked world of crushing, suffocating responsibility.

Plus, you have leftover Huli Huli chicken, wild rice and asparagus. So good, so tasty, so mush better the next day. How does that always happen? One day something is so delicious and the next day it is ambrosia. Who cares? Why analyze it? Just enjoy.

What?!??! Someone is using the microwave! and there are meals stacked up behind it, like a train wreck of tasteless food. Isn't there a faster way to warm up lunch?  That microwave is so slow! Curse the fates.

No one is there. Should you just sneak that awful looking, cheese covered pile of awful, processed
food out and warm up your healthy, delicious celebration of nutritional joy?

Looking around, you notice there is nobody near the kitchen. Nobody would see. It would be simple, pop your meal in warm it up and be eating before anybody notices.  What if you got caught, though? How would you explain this?

"My lunchtime is more important than yours."  My meal is better than yours."

Damn these moral dilemmas. These are the great questions of our generation. We should really get a hobby.

On a more historical note, fifty years ago today Bob Dylan played an electric set at the Newport Folk Festival. He was booed, and criticized, and cursed. Being Bob Dylan he didn't care. Since then he has gained some acclaim as a singer songwriter. Here is one of my favorite Bob Dylan songs.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L9EKqQWPjyo

The second music post.

As promised, I have written the 2nd in a three part series of music posts.  It is on my new blog.

Life Explained, explains music.

Go check it out, you have time, you know.

The last post will be coming soon, and will have a Life Explained Production, so hold on to your butts.

Music, the Grammys, and and Ingenuity.

According to Variety Sunday night's Grammy Award Show hit a 6 year low.  With an 8.5 rating in adults 18 to 49 and 25.3 million viewers the show was down 14% from last year.  This is significant.  With the shifting logistics of music delivery the economics of the industry are changing.  Pharrell Williams' song "Happy" (one of the most popular, catchy, cheerful songs ever written) was played 43 million times in the first quarter of 2014 on Pandora paying a tidy little sum of $2700.00.  This can not make him very happy.  Obviously, music needs to find new ways to attract an audience, and stay solvent.

Kanye West has been making repeated attempts to liven up the ceremony.  Inject a little life into the staid, lifeless proceedings only to be spurned by the very industry he is struggling to save.  However, there is some movement at the top.

There are plans to the song of the year award decided in a "Survivor" style competition.  Singers will need to crawl across a rope bridge suspended over a pit filled with ice water (filtered, carbonated mineral water, of course) while singing the nominated composition.  Competitors will try to knock them off of the bridge by hurling insults, slander, recriminations, and tennis balls.  The contestant who crosses the pit the quickest will receive immunity, and be allowed to choose the competition used to decide the Grammy for New Artist of the year.  There is even talk of having the oscar winners face the grammy winners in a paintball contest.  This is very exciting, but that is only the beginning.

Hulk Hogan is going to give out the Grammy for Artist of the Year.  When the award is handed out Nature Boy Rick Flair is going to come storming in Stage Left, and smash a chair over the head of...  Wait, I can't tell you who is going to win the Grammy, contractual obligations.  Flair will climb up on the top rope, leap down and deliver a "Devastating Flying Body Slam of Doom" just as the grammy winner rolls from the ring, and is replaced by The Rock, who smiles winningly at the audience, while delivering a "The Peoples Elbow" to the prone Rick Flair, and accepting the award on behalf of the incapacitated recipient, whose identity is secret.  You are going to want to tune in for that.

Things seem to be in good hands.  Another national industry saved from financial collapse by solid American Know How, and a can do it spirit.  It brings a tear to the eye.

Thank you, to all of the Dylan fans here.

Somebody, possibly several somebodies, has been posting quite a few Bob Dylan videos on Google+.  This has made me very happy, thank you all.  Dylan has been an icon in my life for so many years, memory fades trying to remember a time when he wasn't a regular on my music player, I had Bob Dylan 8 tracks cassettes.  It was a long time ago.

To this day, Dylan remains an unrepentant individualist.  His recent work may be as strong as his earliest albums.  He writes songs that can be universal in meaning, and so narrowly focused at the same time.  He hammers home a point and lets the listener figure out what it means to them.

Since he began his meteoric rise to music royalty he has been unapologetic, and cared little for the criticism.  He ignored the people who felt his voice was less than ideal, the same for the people who felt he sold out whatever style they preferred.  He made music his way, and when he sang it always seemed to me that the voice and lyrics were a perfect match.

His voice has aged, and changed, but I still find it perfectly in sync with the lyrics.  Lyrics that are still strong and vibrant, filled with life, and meaning.  He is evolving, experimenting, even at 73 he is new and fresh.  I hope he is working on another album.

His music takes a lot of room on my phone, and Siri and I listen to a lot of Dylan.  "Siri, play 'Changing of the Guards'."


So to all of you who have been posting his videos, thank you, because the times may be changing but Dylan is still fantastic.  Let me return the favor."Changing of the Guards" album version

Building, and the Chance for Exploitation.

They are "tearing down" the parking lot next to us and constructing a building.  It is a fascinating process to watch.  They assembled a temporary fence around the parking lot, then bought in a huge excavator, and tore up the asphalt.  One worker was operating the machine, clawing up the pavement, and the other watching.  That is one getting over job, standing there watching somebody maneuver a tractor, but it would get very dull very quickly, plus, in direct opposition to well established stereotype, he did not even have a shovel handle to lean on.  Maybe it is part of a fitness initiative, "leave the shovel in the truck, tone up, trim down, live longer."

In an effort to reduce the risks associated with construction jobs workers are now required to wear bright neon shirts, or vests, and hard hats.  So these men, surrounded by chain link fence, tearing up a parking lot, with nothing above them but sky are safe.  From what?  There is a shirt that said "if I were a bird I know who I would poop on."  That makes me laugh every time I think about it.  Honestly, I would need to give it some thought, before I picked the target, if I were a bird, but it would not be one the poor man standing there watching his "co-worker" rip apart the parking lot with a tractor, he has enough problems.  Besides, his head is protected, he has a hard hat.

Once in a while men show up in shiny blue jeans, and button down shirts, normally they have the cuffs rolled up, and they look pretty official, it is obvious they are not there to tear anything up.  They point randomly around the destruction that used to be a parking lot, sweeping motions that might embrace the whole block, I worry for our parking lot.  Suddenly, they realize there is a tree across the street, and they scurry over to stand under the leafy branches, and it is not clear if it is for shade or protection, since they are not wearing hard hats, it would muss their stylishly combed hair.

Anyway, I have decided to take advantage of the opportunity provided by fate, and Verizon wireless.  I am going to take a picture at random times during the day, sometimes once, sometimes more, and at some point I am going to assemble these photos in an animation app I have on my iPad, and put the whole thing to music, and then post it on here.  Aren't you lucky?

If you have a preference for the song, or type of music, let me know, and if I can come up with nothing better I will use your suggestion.  And as an added bonus, I will give you credit for the choice in the opening and closing scenes of the video.  Aren't you lucky.

Hey, You Should Stop By, Tell Them Hello.

As many of you may know our vacation was over about two weeks ago.  It was a good time, and we had a lot of fun, ate a little too much, exercised a little too little, and enjoyed a cold beer or two, well maybe more.  Of course we put on a little weight.  But, we tried new places and new things and found some things we will try, or enjoy again, on our next trip to the Smoky Mountains.

As is normally the case, while looking for something we took a wrong turn, or missed a turn, or drove past what we seeking, or did not go far enough, anyway, for some reason we did not reach our original goal.  As is so often the case we found something unusual, wonderful, and fun.

Along a road that runs out of Pigeon Forge (I am not sure what direction, left if you are heading for Gatlinburg, how about that?) is a little treasure, beside a small prize, hidden behind a privacy fence.  It looks a little odd as you drive past, and it seems a little exclusive as you walk in.  But, don't be discouraged, it is a jewel.

If you are traveling on Wears Valley Road, and want a cold beer, a snack, and a fantastic experience, you should stop into "Friendly Falls, Food and Stuff."  It is a tiny place and almost impossible to resist if you have any sense of adventure.

There is little in the way of seating, and what is there faces scenery that really makes you believe you are in a magical place.  the Falls part is provided by nature, and it is gorgeous.  The water runs over the rock and almost dances with delight at being in such a wonderful place.  It is beautiful, peaceful, and relaxing.

You need to go inside and order for yourself, but even that is part of the fun, it is filled with little trinkets and treasures, and stuff.  The beer selection is plentiful, and served cold, plus they loan you a can insulating "cozy" so it stays that way.  The food is delicious, and unique.  We had the loaded fries, and they were wonderful, and "loaded" and worth the price.  We also had chicken wings, but my companions made sure I did not get the opportunity to try those.

They have live music, and it would be an ideal place to listen to an acoustic act, but we did not find this until we were almost ready to leave town, and did not get the opportunity.  Next year, I hope to tell you how delightful that was.

The Friendly part is provided by the help, the counter person, who is probably the owner, had a charming sense of humor, and a keen memory for names, and the charisma of a television evangelist.  She could sparkle and insult, and laugh, and tell stories, and make you believe she was interested in what you had to say.  I would probably vote for her if she ran for office.

If you get the chance stop in for a snack, a drink and a moment, you will enjoy all three.

Sorry I Asked.

While driving to work this morning I listened to "Black Diamond Bay" by Bob Dylan.  My music is always set to shuffle so it was a pleasant surprise.  The song dissects the last days of several people and the fictional resort island they are visiting.  It is filled with odd twists and takes several bizarre turns.  One of the characters (the Greek) came to island to commit suicide and actually kills himself as the entire island is dying.

From one frantic scene to the next Dylan sends you tumultuously through the last hours of disparate lives ending tragically.  It is a song that provides a lot of imagery and fascinating character interplay.

It all starts with an aging woman, you never learn much about her, but the descriptive text leaves you guessing, and wondering.

"Up on the white veranda
She wears a necktie and a Panama Hat,
Her passport shows a face
From another time and place
She looks nothing like that."

Moves quickly to an aging gentleman from Greece who is there to end his own life.

"While the morning light breaks open,
The Greek comes down and he asks for a rope,
And a pen that will write,
Pardon Monsieur," the desk clerk says
And carefully removes his Fez,
"Am I hearing you right?"

In a short song you start to identify with the characters.

"And as the island slowly sank,
The loser finally broke the bank, in the gambling room,
The dealer said it's too late now,
you can take your money, but, I don't know how
You're going to spend it in the tomb."

And it ends with the finality that only Dylan can bring to such a wild ride.

"I was sitting home alone one night, in LA
Watching old Cronkite on the seven o clock news
It seems there was an earthquake that
Left nothing but a Panama hat
And a pair of old Greek shoes
Didn't seem like much was happening
So I turned it off and went to grab another beer
It seems like every time you turn around
There is another hard luck story that you're gonna here
And there's really nothing anyone can say
And I never did plan to go anyway,
To Black Diamond Bay.

Maybe it was too much coffee.  Maybe a lack of sleep, but I was convinced this song held the secret to a happy life.  How do you discover the meaning.  Wait, Siri to the rescue.  "Siri, is this song the ultimate answer to life?"

After a long, uncomfortable pause, followed by a low, pained groan Siri said, "it is a good song, Tim, but you are looking for too much.  Obviously, Dylan was exploring his boundaries as a playwright, in fact the entire album "Desire" is filled with imagery designed with stage direction in mind."

"If you are looking for a metaphor for the existence of mankind, I would choose something from "War Child" by Jethro Tull.  "Two Fingers" might be good, but it may be too focused on the quest for redemption, and the urge to justify a life of excesses.  The first lines offer some proof;

'I'll see you at the weighing in,
When your life's sum-totals weighed
And you set your wealth of goodly deeds
Against the sins you've laid.'

"In fact," Siri continued, "many people feel the entire album is riddled with overtly Christian references, and is too heavy handed to be enjoyable.  However, I find comfort in the possibilities of divinity and a more noble purpose.  But, I digress.  If you really want to find an explanation for life in song (and you must, because you are always going on and on about it) you need look no further than "Bungle in the Jungle."  It sums up the entire human existence through the interplay of animals in the jungle.  It is really quite fascinating;

'Walking through forest of palm tree apartments,
Scoff at the monkeys who live in their dark tents,
Down by the waterhole, drunk every Friday,
Eating their nuts, saving their raisins for Sunday,
Lions and tigers who wait in the shadows,
Their fast but their lazy and sleep in green meadows."

"You see, all through the song there is a delightful interplay between the strong and the weak, those in power and those being ruled.  It is a fantastic journey through life."

By then I was at work and thought it was over, and then I had to put up with this.

A short lived career.

Last weekend my son asked a question about the government, and a perfect opportunity for education was born.  He needs to understand the obtrusive, controlling interference that has been the overriding purpose of governments throughout history.  Sure, they provide roads, waste removal, national security, and parks and recreational opportunities, plus education, and assistance in many facets of research and development, but that is just a front, a method to cover the real purpose. The manipulation and control of the lives of it's citizenry. Who better to explain this than John Kay of Steppenwolf, (he is from Canada, the largest, and most successful, state, I think it is somewhere around Montana)?.  And what better vehicle than the lyrics from "The Ostrich"?

"You're free to speak your mind, my friend,
As long as you agree with me,
Don't criticize the Fatherland,
Or those who shape your destiny,
'Cause if you do, you'll lose your mind, your job and all the friends you knew,
We'll send out all our boys in blue,
And they'll find a way to silence you."

Oh, the nostalgia, the memories, troubadours of defiance, artists against the "establishment."  Leaping quickly to action, I had a cup of coffee and thought about some cool songs. By Wednesday evening, I had assembled a play list of anger, and disillusionment selectively going between Amazon and iTunes to fill in the gaps in my collection, judiciously using whichever was less expensive. Thursday morning it was ready, the turning of the page, the dawning of a new age.

Here is the list (you know, sometimes lists are useful and can be very cool);

All loaded and ready to roll, it was a great drive to work.  I got out in the parking lot, and thought, "I'm through toilin' for the MAN.  It is time to take a stand against tyranny, injustice, it is time to stand up and be the voice of those that can not be heard."  Fuming, angry, intolerant, life was going to start playing by my rules, answering to me.

Then, daylight came and slapped me in the face, "you have a mortgage, a car payment, an HMO and a retirement plan, plus your son is headed for college. And, don't forget, the Klondike Bars in the freezer at home."  Revolution will have to wait,"  Reality said.  Curse you reality, curse your love affair with cold, hard, remorseless facts, and curse your flawless refrigerator inventory technique.

Oh well, change is difficult, and I probably don't have the stomach for insurgency, anyway.  Remember, though, good music should speak to you in powerful, wonderful ways, art should always make you dream.  Everybody should be allowed to feel like a revolutionary once in a while, but, the dishwasher still needs emptied and somebody has to make the first pot of coffee, so off I go, smiling, happy about the beautiful weather, and delighted there is only one more day until the weekend.

Tomorrow on the way to work, "Ghost Riders in the Sky" by Johnny Cash, "Cheyenne" by the Del Lords  and "My Heroes Have Always Been Cowboys" by Willie Nelson,  I hope I can find some boots, a hat and a lariat, because I will be ready to ride the range.