America: Written in 2025.  

A nation that lives in fear of its own government is not a nation but a symbol of all that is wrong in the human condition. For all our 2000 years of living in modern times, brutality and evil have haunted the rights of men and women, wishing to live in peace and prosperity. 250 years ago, a group of men knew this simple truth, humanity could never survive under the rules of dictatorship. Their ideals were as revolutionary as was Jesus’ teachings that proceeded nearly two centuries before.

The simple idea that men (and women) could govern themselves without the harness of their slave masters were as revolutionary as were, “Love thy brother as thyself.” Though the nation, known as America, whose land is stolen from the natives that lived here, survived through fits and starts, sometimes tottering on oblivion, have survived all this time only because of the bright lights of the people that inhabit it. Sure, there have been leaders that guided us through stormy times, but it’s always been the wherewithal, and the ingenuity of the citizens within that have constantly buoyed this experiment.

So, I find it hard to believe that one little man, with his despicable accomplices could topple such a nation. But here we are. Complacent, in that our silence and even our votes which have propelled a spoiled, rich toddler to lead our country into the bleakest of times. At war, its’ economy crashing, and a solid third of the population seemingly applauding this, it feels more like a Monty Python sketch than a reality show, complete with flags flying and YMCA playing and “peace prizes” seemingly being handed out to a man that has now bombed 8 countries in one year. MAGAs have found a way to separate the most mundane items and people….  It won’t be long before men must part their hair on the right, or be identified as the worst of the offenders, the “WOKE!” 

Case in point, Movies: Superman – WOKE. Melania – Must see. Music: Bad Bunny – WOKE.

So, my question to my fellow MAGAs is this: What will you have accomplished when the final Immigrant has been shown the door? And when all voters such as women, minorities, and the poor have been disenfranchised? Voters will only be rich, white landowners, the way it was in the first years of America? And when the poor, elderly and sick have been told “too bad, fight for yourselves.” When the homeless have been swept off the streets. When the addicted, the mentally ill, and the rest have been told “this is no longer your home.” What is it you have done? You’ve made yourselves stronger? You’ve followed the teaching of your own, re-written bible? Will you finally feel safe? Justified? Smug?

To what end? Will you, like all empires before it, fail? Or do you believe your version of reality will prevail? And what in the world will that look like? This “situation” (not a country, by any means) will never have a moments’ peace. It will never know advancement, or progress. It will be stuck in the mire of the past. Your people will never get beyond the vengeance of the last infliction wrought by the slights of those you rail against. Your elderly left to parish in the woods. Your poor put to work in labor camps. Looking more like what we think of science fiction dystopian movies… what will you have gained?

You know, you can still be a Republican, and still be for democracy. You can still maintain your values of self-sufficiency and still be kind to your neighbors. All good ideas do not die, just because a certain flag waves over your city, or your heart.

We can still be kind. There is still time to realize our mistakes, and to turn back. Send the despot in the white house and all his minions back to the pit from which they belong. This long decade of malaise must end!

 Raw 1st draft of chapter of "Aged Cheese: An old man's take on life."

Today is a true day of summer, sunny, clear blue sky, the municipal swimming pool is open, and the roads are stuffed with RV travel trailers. Gave me a nostalgic feeling, but then realized it was just gas and it passed quickly. I do miss the time we spent with the little trailer. It truly is an educational and learning experience. It was a 2021 Airstream Basecamp 16 (foot) trailer. We named her “shorty.”

Going back…..

So, right about the time I was considering retirement, I had to decide what my life would look like after "working." I had one bout of colon Cancer, and one heart attack (2 stents implanted, thank you) and my job was becoming well…. A bear. (See the chapter: Technology, what really happened).

My planned date of retirement moved up from 66 and 10 to 65, 64, and finally settling on the tender age of 63 (This was after a second heart attack, and one more stent implanted) as my departure date. I planned to leave with the high school band banging out “Tusk” as my walk-off song.

To the ends of “what will my life be like,” I knew several things for sure. One: no matter what those “travel commercials” tell you, retirement does not immediately move one to tour the world, as it is. Money, being one of the biggest impediments. With the meager amount of savings plus retirement income plus Social (not) security (not), would probably allow me to travel to the farthest reaches of….. Iowa. Nothing like corn, I always say.

The 2nd thing is that I was scared to death of a story one of the janitors relayed about their neighbors. Seems her husband spent some time working on their new shop visa-vie pole shed. He was getting annoyed at the small crowd overwatching his every move. The small crowd, the husband and wife next door that just retired. They were “bored” and brought their lawn chairs to watch. Hence the term, “watching paint dry.” Nope. I do not want to just sit and wait for death to overcome.

The last thing was I wanted the third act of my life to stand for something. I wanted to make a difference. Music, or writing or traveling. Towards that end, I’d been attending these RV shows every year (spring) in Madison. At the time, I was a confirmed and committed bachelor. I figured that would continue for me until the end. Did I miss having someone in my life… yes. Did I want to revisit the dating circus again…. Esp. the online dating life? UGH… NO! (No, I’m not 6 foot. No, I don’t own a Harley, or a boat. And no, I don’t command a 7-figure salary. Oh? Yes, nice to meet you too. Bye)

So, I got it into my head, instead of circumnavigating the globe via sailboat (which is what several men in my posture proposed), I would become the wandering minstrel. Allen o’ Dale, Roy Rodgers with his horse Trigger. I would use the RV as my home sweet home. In this way “Sticking it to the man” No more rent. No more utilities.

I read up on all the latest solar upgrades, mechanical advancements and travel tips and tricks on the latest RVs. I settled on a Class C motorhome. Class C is bigger than the Van-sized Class B, but much smaller than the gargantuan Class A (Greyhound Bus like). I wasn’t interested in the pull-behinds, as I was sporting a Mini Cooper as my daily driver. Class C felt like a “win” all around. At the time I began researching things, a class C Forest River ran about 60k. Just on the outside edge of what I could afford, sans rent, sans utilities, but including big power upgrades, gas, insurance, food, and fix-ups. (C’mon, even I knew that RVs required copious amounts of maintenance). Plus, I could pull the mini behind as my so-called get-away car, should I decide to rob a bank.

Well, two things changed the view in a big way. First was Covid. F&&king Covid. Seems like many of us had life divergences as Before and After Covid. Many people my age that were considering retirement, finally figured now was a good time to get out. Many of them were already laid off, or forced to work as “essential personnel.” About this time, many of those retirees were also thinking, as I, of living their final days on the roadways of America.

One last spin around the block, before the Chinese virus came for us all…. After all, the g’ment didn’t know what the hell they were doing (bleach and shoving blacklights up our bums, notwithstanding). After all, we all read The Stand.

The problem with capitalism; if a reduction in production, plus a big increase in demand equals a large increase in price. Suddenly, that 60k doubled within a year, and a full-sized Class C motorhome ran over 120k. That left me with going Class B and living a VAN LIFE.

Still do-able and heck, maybe even best to travel light.

The other life-changing event was one day when Linda the librarian said those 3 words that changed it all, “What about Judy?” Judy was the girlfriend I had been seeing, and was rather enamored with. Up until then, I had (sorry, Judy) not even considered her part of the equation. My plans were hatched when I was a bachelor. “Well,” says I with hands on hips, thinking it was 1950, “She’ll come with, of course. We’ll share the open road together. I as bandoleer and her as a serving wench.”

Then, Judy said the words that still ring true, “You’ll never be able to afford me!” This precipitated a terrible fight and with us nearly broke up. My manly pride thus scorched and pruned. After a while, I realized she was right. (And still is) So, RV living would not be life changing. Just another weekend hobby as we would need to continue living apartment style. Still paying rent. Still paying utilities.

I think I made the right choice. Right?

So, in order to still enjoy the RV life, we both searched for a used travel trailer RV. Something in Budget. She found it… a slightly used, lovingly taken care of Airstream Basecamp trailer for sale. A nice couple from Indiana owner her. He was an engineer and added a whole ton of stuff to the original trailer. Things like a 19v. 23” flat screen TV, carpeting throughout, and a tiki floor mat in the wet bath. Well, I said okay. Only problem, I did not have a truck.

Judy provided the locomotion, as she bought a 2010 Ford F150, more than enough horsepower to pull the little trailer. We drove down to pick her up, and a few papers signed later, I was a true RV owner. The basecamp towed like a dream, even in high winds.

The mini cooper Putted his last put, and I was wanting to buy a truck. Something I could use to haul the trailer. Of course, by this time finding one used and cheap enough was difficult. We found one at a local dealership. It was a 2014 Chevy Silverado. Two issues, it had almost 200k miles on her and since it was an actual “FARM TRUCK,” it smelled and looked a bit like it. Still, the price was small enough to nearly fit in my wallet. Jump in, I said… and now, though it seemed as if I flipped over backwards, I had my RV and hauler.

Not exactly what I wanted, but not a bad thing either.

We towed that trailer north, south, east and out West. We drove her through the mountains and black hills of South Dakota, saw Mount Rushmore. But last year, luck ran out on the Chevy, as “Glitch” started Glitching somewhere in Central Oklahoma. Fearing we would be stranded in the desert; we decided to cut bait and cut our loses to head home. Well, the ol’ truck finally gave up her ghost months later, and I knew the jig was up. My time as an RV man was coming to a close.

I unceremoniously listed “Shorty” (the trailer) on FB for sale, and a really cool couple from up nort’ bought her. And just like that, I saw my RV dream pass me by. Still. It was a true education. I learned about plumbing, electrical, trucking, towing, emergency repair, heating/cooling, air conditioning, duct tape, engine repair, exhaust repair, computer science, storm watching, cooking, cleaning in small spaces, time management, animal identification, forestry, fire making, grilling, and learning about other people.

It was a good experience, and I do miss the little trailer. But, honestly. I feel sorry all those RV travelers shoulder to shoulder with their fellow man (women, dogs, and screaming kids) trying their best to get away from it all.

From Summer 2025 Camping: Germania

 

Longbranch Saloon, Germania, WI

Tucked in the triangular pocket of central Wisconsin, between the towns of Montello, Princeton and Wautoma, is a pristine marshland area named Germania and Comstock bogs. In the middle of this triangle is the unincorporated town of Germania, population 343 (2020). The town proper is just houses along a straight stretch of road, a converted church, (now the historical society) and the Longbranch Saloon. As a Harvest Host, we decided to try parking our small camper (“Shorty”) for the night.

I’d like to report that at first, the folks were friendly, but when we first entered the bar/restaurant it felt like we were back in the old West, just stepping into the original Longbranch saloon shaking the dust off our boots and were met with suspicious looks and glares like “Year not fr’m around here, are ya?” But then when we told the owners we were the Harvest Host people we’d be spending the night, and order food and drinks, they warmed up considerable-like.

The parking stalls were across the street at two angled spots. One must be adept at backing your rig, and the low-hanging branches might make you a bit squeamish about backing in too far. We opted for the back parking area, as we were small enough to turn about and back into a small area.

The Bar was packed with patrons and I know why. What can you say about the food? It was truly amazing… tasty, delicious, and not expensive in the least! The waitress did a great job, delivering our food fast and hot. The drinks were cold, and the food was great and cheap!

We learned a lot of the history of Germania, including the first (very German) settlers (after the Native Americans were cleared out, of course) in 184

After our meal, we retreated to the little camper, and it was quiet and peaceful, with only the summer wind blowing through the nearby trees. If you’re looking to get away to a real serene area, try the Longbranch Saloon.

 The Inside and Outside. (PART 1)

Some time ago, I posted on my blog an item I called “The Big and Small of it all.” In it, I examined the ideas of distance. The further from an object, or a feeling, or a belief, the more we regard it only on the simplest of terms. This is something that some called, “Looking at the big picture.”

But, the closer we came to an object, a feeling, a belief the more complicated and human it became. Close up, our convictions about things became more entangled, less trustworthy.

As an example, I used the issue of immigration, a big hot political potato right now and honestly, since our country was founded. How does one keep our borders safe from being overrun with illegals, sometimes undesirables, from other countries? Well, the big picture paints a series of simple, easy-to-follow answers: Build a great, big beautiful 30 foot wall. Or round up those without proper identification and simply bus them back to the other side of the border. Or perhaps line the Rio Grande River with razor wire. There, fixed it.

But then, closer up you see the build-a-big-wall would require billions, if not trillions of dollars to complete. And, if you look into history walls have a tendency to be foiled and eventually torn down. Razor wire in the river rips up bodies, young and old and animals with equal aplomb. And rounding up citizens, stuffing them into – oh – railcars dredges up images of Nazi Germany during WWII.

Well. Then. What is the answer? Easy. It’s not an easy answer. In fact, it’s complicated. It’s expensive. It’s a lot more than the big picture suggests. It’s next to impossible. It’s possible, but requires finesse. Something most politicians know nothing about.

So, now I have been considering the self, and how it relates to life we lead now on earth. As I realize my years here are greater behind that ahead, and that time – that precious commodity of the aged – gives one the ability to look at things with (I hope) greater insight than younger days. Therefore, I present the idea of the inside and the outside, or perhaps “The Thick and Thin of it all.” (Nah, sounds like a diet program). The idea of the self on the inside, and what we present on the outside.

Well, we all have a face, That we hide away forever, And we take them out and show ourselves, When everyone has gone… (Billy Joel)

 When a baby is born, he / she is blank slate. That’s not completely true. Already a baby born into the world is endowed with their parent’s DNA and combination of mom and dad. And by, familiar, grandma and gramps, and all those before. On our first day, we are pre-dispositioned for certain types of disease. In my case, both my mom and dad had heart issues. This resulted in two heart attacks for me thus far. As a result, my son exercises regularly, and lifts weights. God, bless him.

Are we pre-disposed for certain personality traits as well? Oh boy. That brings us into that age-old argument “Nature vs. Nurture.” We won’t dwell too much into this, other than to say that I believe in many cases, our children are positioned into having certain personality’s traits by way of their families, and that begins on day one.

Though there is scant scientific proof, all one needs to do is look into the musicians and their progenies in many cases. Hank Williams / Hank Williams Jr.  

Inside equals The Soul?

The inside of self is what I like to think of as the soul. The sticky stuff that institutes all we are, the important parts, anyway.

The inside is: Is this person forward, and outgoing? How they treat other people, regardless of differences. Do they believe in something bigger in the universe (God, or some other force that guides us)? Do they like animals? Are they quick to anger? Do they manage conflict well? Are they easily lead astray by others? Are they moved by small things? And a million other pieces that fit together to form our humanity.

I use the example of my compulsion to fix stuff. From what I understand, I am a third-generation “fixer.” My dad was a fixer. He was mostly into electronics; televisions, radios and record players. But, he also worked on cars, roofs, and boats. He built things; dog house, a-frame playhouse, tree house, basketball hoop. As a result, I became interested in electronics too. This neatly dovetailed into both my lives in computers and music production.

But, it’s music. Music is the thing that drives my inner person, more than anything else. Where this came from, I do not know. Neither my parents, nor known grandparents were musicians. It’s possible that drive came from other places outside. Whatever it came from, music is the center.

 "You make Saturday Afternoons so much more.... Un-Fun."  

That is all...  

 

A history lesson for y’all…

P.T. Barnum (The man attributed with the saying, “A sucker born every minute”) also accurately said “There is no such thing as bad publicity.” Mick Jagger once said, “As long as my face is on page one, I don’t care about what they say about me on page 17.” Well, with the big dust-up over a Jason Aldean song, I would say he got himself a number-one hit, with a bullet (Bad pun, sorry).

As far as outrage goes, in 1966 John Lennon said of the Beatles, “We’re more popular than Jesus now.” Outrage ensued, and there were “Burn Beatle albums” parties in the streets of America. And, wasn’t it just recently, a certain section of America was outraged at a certain lite beer spokesperson representing a certain (not particularly great to start with) beer? Oh, yeah. I remember now.

While I do not agree with the small town assessment in his song, after all I grew up in a small town and anyone taking the law into their own hands were, well…. Jailed, I really honestly don’t care about your controversy. In a few months from now, seems like we’ll all be mad about something else.

How about we worry about things like….oh, I don’t know…. The environment (another heat wave on the way), China, Russia, North Korea, Schooling kids, or rising rents and the status of our crappy roads here?

 

So, here’s another thing about relationships. When you’re with a partner, you actually buy into the faery tale that you are more than just yourself. You face the world together. As a team. As a duo. Like that song “Fast car” implores: “I-ah-eye- had a feeling like I belonged. I-ah-eye had a feeling like I could be someone. Be someone.”

You do. Another very hackneyed saying: You complete me. As corny as that sounds, it is true. At least, we believe this to be true. As a couple, you feel as if your partner, your ally, your kin, your family, your better half not only sees and understands you, but in every instance, has your back. Any obstacles you face, any decisions, any forks in the road, you face together.

It’s only after a short while, you find out this not to be true at all. You’re not a team. You are not together. You are not even advancing the same goals. Why, in some cases, you find yourselves competitors, enemies, and in the worst of situations, actual impediments to your true self.

“The incense burned away, and the stench began to rise. Lovers now estranged, avoided catching each other’s eyes.” (Slit Skirts) 

It may be a modern invention, though I doubt that. Though, it’s much easier to go to distractions these days. She stares at her phone, hoping her new love interest might notice her post on social media. Perhaps she seeks others out and curious, asks for a meeting, and perhaps a more. She can escape her unwanted live for a little private pleasure with an old friend, or a newly found stranger with all the right words.

In the end, it’s all the same result. The couple that started out so promising, and so fresh and new, finding out about the world together, and going on many adventures, finds itself at opposite ends of the structure. This one pulls away, and in revenge, that one does too.

He finds his own solace in strangers too. An old friend, or a newly-found online stranger with all the correct words. She swoons him, and swells him. He wishes for more.

Then, the jealousy. The accusations. Eventually, even the most secretive indiscretions come to light. After all, few lies are ever completely exposed, but is not necessary for a breakdown. At this point, even the hint of indiscretion is enough for suspicions and accusations. The die has been set. The couple distrust.

Distrust only sends each into their private rooms even further. Eventually, one partner or the other will decide it’s no longer feasible to maintain this broken relationship. (Honestly, it’s usually the woman)  They decide they can no longer abide by their agreements to a partnership, and asks for a dissolution, and end.

He, (usually, it’s he) is hurt beyond all words, of all deeds. He decides he must agree to her terms of surrender. He agrees. But, before they part, he tries his best to change her mind. No, sir. She is resolute and will no longer listen to his pathetic pleas.

In the end, he gives up. She gives up, and moves on. They both decide it’s for the best. 

She moves to the next one. He finds his comfort in drink.

Separate, they start their lonely dance all over again with the next one. 

Stages keep on changing... Stages keep on re-arranging, love

It’s never the things you think it’s going to be. Well, rarely never. But, the things that will get ya, never happen the way you expect. I guess life is made that way for a reason. Though I’m sure I have no idea why. 

Almost every plane that faces turbulence lands without incident. The chances you will be involved in a mass shooting are Infinitesimal, though growing by moment. Kidnapping, same. Car accident? Well, a bit better than mass shootings, but still small.

The chances the lump you feel is probably NOT cancer. Your wife is PROBABLY not cheating on you. And the raw hamburger you ate probably will not make you sick. But, you know. There is always that possibility. Always a possibility….

Now, for me. I’ve been a very lucky bugger. Even considering where I am at. I’ve survived lots of problems in my life: Health, heart, financial, and family. Without trying to brag too much; I’ve managed to put myself through school (twice), eke out a 23 year career doing the thing I love to do (fix stuff), loved many and been loved by many, been a lead singer / lead guitar player in a rock n’ roll band (how many of you can say that, huh?), traveled to many distant places including Paris, New York, Los Angeles, Las Vegas, Canada and Mexico. Raised a very good man and someone I can be proud of, as a son. And most of all, been able to dodge many of the miseries people of my age now face. Somehow. It’s more than anything, by luck. Certainly not because I knew what the fuck I was doing.

Of course, there was the challenges too. Divorce. Both my parents’ death. Bankruptcy. Big heart aches. Incarceration. Fired from a job. Friends turning their backs on me. Friends using me for their own evil gains. Homelessness. Loneliness. Desperate loneliness.

Now retired, I have been enjoying the perks that can come with my new-found life: peace, serenity, slower pace, enjoyment of the little-er things. I can now take the time to enjoy the little things I missed so much, the birds in the trees… the grass… the neighbor saying hi as he walks out to the garbage dumpster. I can (if I so desire) wake up at the crack of daylight and watch the dark blues turn to purples and oranges, then reds, eventually to reveal the sun itself. The start of a new day. I can choose to sleep in, as a luxurious rich person might do on their every day.

It’s been an education. But also one fraught with problems. I think my biggest issue, and possibly one of yours too, is the fact that being in a “relationship” is downright nearly impossible these days. Not just for married peoples, but for those of us late comers. The tight ropes and egg-shells and impossible expectations placed upon a duo is, in itself, exhausting.

I know it’s old hat, but I really blame much of today’s media for much of the problems. At least the ones I’ve been facing. The idea that one’s dance card must be completely filled with “bucket list” items, I think, is asking too much. I know. I know… live for today and bother not the cost. Still, there is a cost. There must be a cost.

There is nothing wrong with wanting to live the fullest life you can. But, must every moment be filled with spectacle, with wonderment? Okay, maybe that’s the wrong question. If all is filled with wonder, then what is wonderful? When does wonderful become tiresome? When is much, too much? Is there no room for rest, relaxation, and breathing?

In any case, my awaking came on a Monday around noon. I’ll not disclose the particulars of the issue, but just to say that it led to a full-on blow out.

I happen to think very highly of her family. When her father passed, it struck me nearly just as hard as my own pops. As such, maybe as a late-comer, I’d like to think I was a part, or at least a small part of her family. That’s what apparently happens when you live together for some time.

Well, as the disagreement swelled between us, I realized that we... somehow… do not belong together at all. After all this time, we are diametrically different from each other. I, attaining Yoda-like substance, and she, like that of a bee… wanting to sample all the pollens possible from life. I, grounded. She, of the air.

No way that we can find an agreement on even the simplest of things anymore. It’s always more a battle or a negotiation. As a retired fella…and one that is tired of the fight…. I’m tired of negotiation. Can’t things just be? I guess not.

So, now I find myself at a familiar crossroads… what comes next? Are we going to continue to try and work it out and find a way to forge through the next years, together? Or, am I going to have to re-fire my life at my age and try to find the life I need by myself?

 

 

2022- Saying goodbye to year that felt as if it barely started.

 

Sigh. On average, I would day 2022 was a pretty good year for me. Of course, like all the others that proceeded it, ups and downs. My yearend (rear end) review:

I retired after serving on the same job for (almost) 23 years. With all of the feels that go with leaving my career, I think I miss the people I worked with (believe it or not) the most. An I.T. guy for nearly as long as the personal computer, I have seen both the good and bad of technology. Recently, it feels “more bad.” Part of my parting with my job has to do with the fact I believe we humans have mismanaged the real benefits of technology. Parents appear to be more concerned with CRT (A concept more a politician’s boondoggle than a real worry), than the fact their little darlings are dancing naked on tiktoc in front of the whole world.

Still, I miss the pretty teachers and their entire “oooh-ahhh” approach to seeing me fix something. And the kids that actually applauded me (at the teacher’s behest). “Isn’t mister Glaudell amazing, children? Let’s give him a round of applause!”  That part felt rewarding as hell. Also, their ever-so-innocent flirting and baking cookies (et cetera) to get me to look into their issue first. It was a good gig, and I’m glad I spent my time there.

This year I played some music. All by myself. I found myself on a couple of big stages this year. On my musical bucket list has always been the allusive “Brat Fest,” held annually on Willow Island in the heart of Madison. All the best local bands have graced the stages there. A last minute hole in the schedule, and a call from Natalie from The Crystal Grand (bless her!) and I was suddenly up on the program. I began the day’s music at 11am, and had a short, 40 minute set. During my set, the seats were mostly empty. However, some of my followers actually made it and said hello to me after the set.

Then, in October (thanks again to Natalie and all the folks at the Crystal Grand) I found myself on the big stage, actually opening for Tommy James and the Shondells. Again, a short 40 minute set of (mostly) original material. I was honored and humbled by the crowd, as they actually applauded much and laughed at the right places. (with me, not at me). Wow, what a ride that was.

I performed on several other outside shows during the summer, and all were well received. At one point, a winery owner saying, “Well, we had a pretty good day. And we can attribute most of that to you.” (I answered him in my usual smart-asse-ery): “Gee. I didn’t know I drank that much.

It was all good. No rainouts. Only a couple of small mix-ups. And all the rest went well. I appreciate the folks that came to see me. Thank you!

I purchased an RV. As per my “evil” plan, the idea was to walk away from work on that last day, middle fingers flyin’ high (to the “man”), board the SS RV DALEGOESAWAY, and sail off into the sunset. Well, it didn’t quite happen that way. But, I did get an RV. Big waste of money or gateway to a better life? You decide.

As the RV I could best afford was a gently used Airstream Basecamp 16-foot pull-behind. Small in comparison to most on the roadway. Still, from what I was able to glean from all my reading and comparing, this Airstream Basecamp 16x was a very road-worthy and worthwhile towable. Even my son remarked, “Gee, dad. You normally don’t go in for the top of the line stuff. I was expecting something else.” (I’ll bet. I’m not as “Uncle Eddie” as you think, son.)

The trailer (Christened “Shorty”) had nearly everything a camper might want: Wet bath. Shower. Full Kitchen with Propane stove, microwave and good sized refrigerator. It also has solar on the roof, off-road capabilities. A TV with antenna. Hot water and duel electric/propane heat. The people I bought it from also included a full-sized mattress kit (for the back), very comfy. All packed into a small-towable package. Good stuff. However, now it’s winter in Wisconsin and she’s in storage until April. Not quite the life-changing experience I wanted. Still we did get some good usage from her.  

Adventures: Judy and I managed to take some trips. In the spring (before we got the trailer) to Kohler- Andre state park, east Wisconsin shoreline. Nice area. Highly recommended.

We picked up the trailer from a nice couple that lived in Indiana. (Small town not far from Indianapolis). It was windy on the way back and as it was my first time hauling anything, it was quite a challenge. Thanks to Judy, we made it there and back in just a day.

We took Shorty out for her inaugural “camp” nearby at Skillet Creek just down the street. Nice campground. Though the weather (rainy and cold) had much to be desired. Finally figured out how to operate the furnace in the trailer, and having an alternative heat source (Hello, Mr. Heater portable heater) also really helped.

We drove it all the way to Door County, where we spent the weekend at the Wagon Wheel Campground in Rowley’s Bay at the far north east tip on the peninsula. I like Rowley’s Bay, partially because the history of Mr. Rowley, himself. (from the Rowley Bay resort web site:  is named after Peter Rowley, a curmudgeon of a man who searched for solitude on a scale hard to imagine in today’s world. If another settler pitched camp a few miles away, it was enough to send Rowley packing and searching for a new homestead. Making his way up the Door Peninsula in the late 1830’s, his last stop was Rowleys Bay.)

A man after my own heart! 

The weekend went well, save for a big storm that rolled through. But, we discovered the little cove acted as a hedge against bad weather from the West. We managed in the little trailer, with electric and watched movies while the winds and rains blew around us.

Our next camping adventure was just that. I was warned that when you reach a certain age, it’s probably not incumbent to tent camp, unless you’re really “that type.” We discovered with some dispatch, we were not “that type.” Judy wanted to continue a family tradition, and to honor her dad which passed away earlier in the year. So, I got to meet her cousins. In the rain. In the pouring, frickin’ rain! It’s like the stupid Wild Cat Mountain State Park instinctively knew we were going to tent camp.

From the moment we set up the footings of the tent, it rained. And not just a little. It came down in sheets. Probably the most rain that area has seen in some time, all at once. Judy fell on her ankle (twisted and bruised, but thankfully no break), and I was left to setup tent in the mud in the cold, in the wilderness. It was awful, and I was grumpy all weekend.

Still, the canoe trip (my first) down the Kickapoo was much fun and her cousins all were great people. The top of the end of the trip was watching the majestic sun set in the west from “Lookout Point.” The views were breathtaking. Then later, we popped over the star observatory where they were giving a talk about the stars. The rain clouds gave way to a velvet sky filled with a thousand points of light. Made the whole crappy weekend so much better.

The next camping weekend we went to Turtle Island County park just South of La Crosse. We endured the mosquitoes and skunk and beer-seeking raccoon. It rained. The best thing, was getting to see and chat with Mike (from Checkered Past) for a few minutes. He talked mostly politics, but it’s still good to see him looking svelte and hale.  

When we returned, it was only a few days away from my retirement day. A day I never really expected would come. It was (appropriately) a Wednesday afternoon, August 31^st, when I shook the hand of my co-worker (friend) Dan. The next week was the start of a brand new school year, and the hallways were spotless and the rooms all finished, awaiting the new charges. The place smelled clean.

My office was located in the Spring Hill Elementary school, which, besides the new high school was a newer building. For the last time I locked the door, and shut out my office lights. I just had to end my day at Central Office to turn in my master keys, FOB and work phone. I was extremely proud of the fact in the near 23 years of work, I never lost my keys…. Well, I miss-placed them a time or two, but never lost them.

I never got a chance to say goodbye to the District administrator, whom I was grateful that he made a good deal with me to stay on through the summer, to help the district ready for the next year, at least technology-wise. He wasn’t in his office when I dropped off the keys… Lee and set myself free.

He also didn’t make it to the retirement party a few weeks after that. I guess I know now which side of the “please, Dale, don’t go” he stood on. Oh, well. Life is way too short to hold any grudges. And I don’t. After all I was hired on from “before.” Before he was the district admin, and even before his predecessor. So, I’m sure I was viewed as a bit of stale air, blowing through the district.

And he would be right about that, too. To be honest, I had long-ago ran out of forward-thinking ideas and resorted to giving “history lessons” to Dan, and started too many sentences with “Now, when I first came here…”

Part of it was that damned COVID. Part of it was my not-terrific boss. Part of it was I was tired of technology. I fell in love with computers in the 90’s. I fell out of love with computers when kids started TIKTOK-ing, and other awful so-called “social media” BS which is now on our screens every blasted day. Technology (and the Internet, specifically) was meant for us to mass-communicate, and collaborate. Not to instigate.

Well, much was made about a speech I made at the goodbye retirees lunch before the summer. I did it pretty much off the cuff. Made a joke (some got it) and then told a couple of stories. Lots of folk seemed to enjoy it, especially that for the past 23 years I had been fooling everyone into thinking I knew what I was doing, when essentially… all I did was unplug it, waited a few seconds and then plugged it back in. By the way, this is mostly true. Of course, it took me 2 degrees, about 40k and a lot of work to get to that point.

In any case, I did what I could in the waning days of my employment. Tried to say goodbye to folks and generally kept my head in the game. But, frankly… and for some odd reason…I don’t seem to miss it at all (yet). Still, that last day was a big lump in my throat.

We move on smartly.

In August, I finally broke down (literally) and traded in the little mini Cooper for a big azz truck. I still miss the little car. But, the truck (Chevy Silverado) pick up will safely haul “Shorty” and anything else I need.

September, we took Shorty to the little hamlet of Blair for Judy to see her daughter and grandkids. They let us park in their back yard. Very good and very bad. Turns out, Blair in late September is big on Cheese Fest. Light on the cheese, heavy on the tractor pulls. Tractor pulls. Tractors. And more tractors. Son, you ain’t never seen tractors until you’ve been in Blair for “Cheese Fest!”

In all seriousness, it really wouldn’t have been all that bad, except where her daughter lives in right on the main drag and the Tractor pulls go nearly all night long. Main Street is where the tractor vs. heavy weight machine takes place. Hours upon hours of smoke, gasoline, diesel, burning rubber and destroyed transmissions. And we inhaled it all.

Then, just to add to the cacophony of the noise, just one block over bands were busy serenading the locals with the latest rock and country songs at ear-ringing volumes (God, I miss those days!). Judy spent the first night ogling the lead singer (or bass player, not sure which one) and dancing, whilst I went back to the camper to try (try, try) to lower my blood pressure by reading and napping in between pulls.

The best parts of course, was that she got to see her kid and her grandkids and doggie and kitties and….did I mention tractors? Why, I even got my son to come out of his cave of solace to travel down from cosmopolitan Eau Clare and join us for a meal. I tried to apologize to him for the “red-neck-ness of it all” and I think he took offence to that… he told me he had a great time. I was glad. But, if I taught him anything, it was to be polite.

After three days and two night of tractors, seems like the town finally ran out of ammo and had a parade instead.  In true Blair style, the tractors came from across the land for one more showing, along with marching bands (her granddaughter played in one of them). Ignoring latest convention, candies were tossed from the floats, as some gave out Busch beer to the (probably) hung over adults lodged in their lawn chairs.

“Son, run and grab me a beer and run it over to back to me…. “

I managed. We dislodged from our parking spot and headed home. It was nearly dark by the time we got home. It took only two days for the noise of those tractors to get out of my head…

Visited my brother, Nobel in late October and it was so good to see him. My one niece (her very cool teen daughter) and nephew were also there. We all went out for lunch in Glen Ellyn at a nice restaurant. It was a nice family visit. I have a cool family.

Finally, I closed out the year in a fine form as the NYE entertainment at a small wine bar in Baraboo. I only played until a bit after 9pm, and then we headed over to Michael’s Italian Restaurant for a delicious meal. We decided to stop down at Gem City and catch Baraboo favorites “Blacker Brothers” for a few numbers. We made it home just in time to catch the NYE Rockin’ eve on TV.

So long 2022. Moving onward.

 

 Excerpt from "The Kiss at the End of the World"  

Chapter 40 - Mars Base Freedom

Commander William Tahoe had taken his chief engineer aside

“Okay, you’ve been grousing around for the several days here. Now, I’d like to know what your problem is, Grief. Out with it.”

“Sir, I cannot until I am sure of my data,” Grief wiped his nose with his ever-present hanky, and back into the back pocket it goes.

“Come on, out with it. Damn it man, I’ve known you for thirty-five years. I know when something is up in that little engineer head of yours. Now, spill it.”

“Sir, I cannot be sure…”

“Grief, this is an order.”

 “Okay, then. Sir, it is this report I’ve been checking over from logistics.”

“Yes, so? We went over that. We seem to be sitting pretty, as far as resources go.”

“That’s the problem, sir. The numbers…”

William looked back down at his tablet, as another message flashed across the screen. This one about pressure fronts from the Martian weather. Bored, he said, “Yes. The numbers. They can’t be too far off, right?”

Grief grabbed his arm and said, “Sir, from what I can tell they are way off.”

This stopped the Commander cold, “What? We went over all logistics several times already. Everything looks good. Food reserves; water; air recirculation, all look good for as long as we have to remain here. We can stay here forever, right?”

“Commander, what were the original compliment of settlers here at Freedom base?”

“You know as well as I do. You were with us. Four hundred of the heartiest souls to ever live.”

“And how many joined us in the next waves of ships?”

“You know all this too. Three waves of ships delivered two hundred more souls.”

“Any more?”

“Yes, we’ve had fourteen engineers join us. Regrettably, three accidental deaths. One dozen that have been, shipped back to earth, also regrettably. Oh, and one new, healthy baby boy born just a few days ago.”

“Right. I read that as a total of five hundred and ninety nine people in which live upon our little island here.”

“Okay, go on.”

“The numbers that we have been crunching have been derived from the original four hundred original settlers. Not the nearly six hundred here now. And certainly not including those that will hopefully join us from the ISSB.”

“Oh? Are you sure?”

“No, I’m not commander. That’s what I said. But this is what I can gather from these numbers I’ve been crunching the past several days.”

“Well, that is bad. We’ll have to figure out a way to get by with less, I guess,” he started to turn away.

“But this is not the worst problem, commander.”

“Damn it, man. There’s more?”

“I’m afraid it’s much worse than that, sir.”

Blarney now had the commander’s full attention, as he stared at him with absolute dread, “Go ahead.”

“As you know, Commander, the Mars atmosphere is very unforgiving. On earth, there is the atmosphere which protects us from the worst radiation. Here on Mars, we are not only shielded, but also underground, so our water and food resources are protected.”

“Yes. Years of research was done on this and it was determined that we could reside here with no injurious affects from the radiation topside.”

“Yes. Yes. And for how long?”

“What in the hell are you getting at, Grief?”

“I’ve been running these numbers too, and they don’t look good.”

“Okay. Which numbers?”

“Well, sir, I have been using the Sieverts sliding Scale for long-term low-level radiation exposure. You see, a modern CT scan would probably expose you to less than 10 Millisieverts. Our daily input here, even under the ground with full shielding gives us about half that. The worst exposure is in the one thousand range.”

“Okay, I see what you’re saying.”

“Over time, that scale slides upwards. 5 Millisieverts per year for, well, say a hundred years has a cumulative effect of around half of the worst. So, in one generation of living here, we could all die of radiation sickness and cancers.”

“We, or our progeny may be stuck here for hundreds of years, Grief. How the hell does that configure?”

“It doesn’t, sir.”

“Is there anything we can do to now to mitigate this?”

“Probably not. Of course, if you could create a massive electromagnetic atmosphere to completely surround us, or the planet, we could probably adapt to stay here forever.”

 “Anything else sunshine? What do you suggest, then?”

“Pray, sir. Pray the Earth is not burnt beyond redemption and we may be able to visit her in a few decades, or less.”

“Okay, Grief. You are hereby ordered to take two days off. Keep off from any sort of networking until I tell you, it’s okay.”

“What, sir?”

“Is there anything we can reasonably do right now to change this?”

“Not really, sir.”

“Exactly! Grief, we are now living in extraordinary circumstances. We’ve all lost loved ones, family and friends. Hell, everything we ever knew is now taken from us. So, Chief Blarney I order you to relax and take two days off. I will keep you informed if there are any crucial and immediate developments.”
“But…”

“No buts, Grief. Forty eight hours. And if I see you anywhere near engineering, I’ll personally throw you in the brig. Understand?”

The big guy got a saddened look on his face, like he just lost his best friend.

The Commander repeated, “Understand?”

Blarney reached to his back pocket, pulled out his hanky and blew his nose, as an acknowledgement. Then, suddenly his face brightened considerably. He looked up at the Commander and said, “Well, okay then. There is a whole set of engineering manuals that I’ve been aching to get to but have been too busy. I’ll see you in a couple, Commander.”

William shook his head, as his head engineer hurried off to his quarters. He started to walk the other way down the corridor, when an engineer’s assistant passed him, and he grabbed the young man by the arm, “What’s your name, ensign?”

“Woodruff, Sir.”

“Well, Woodruff. Please do me a great favor; in my cabin behind the book cabinet there are two bottles of Bourbon Whiskey. Please take these, and send one to Head Engineer, Grief Blarney in his room. The other one you may enjoy with your mates. Please do not drink on the job. Got that Woodruff?”

“Yes, sir. But, sir? I do not drink.”

“Well, good for you. You’ll live longer. And, I predict you will be very popular with your friends for the evening. Now, scat.”

“Yes, sir!” The ensign scurries off the same direction that Grief headed.

The Commander shook his head and though he felt good, he knew that his friend and Engineer was probably right. They were absolutely doomed.

 The meeting: This is based on a story told to me about a hard-working guy that I know, just trying to get by when his micro-manager boss decides to call him on the carpet for the latest infraction of his overreaching rules. Any resemblance to others living or dead, is purely coincidental.

 Boss: “Well, I’m looking to hear why you did not do those first four trouble tickets in the queue.”

Me: “I don’t know, boss. I don’t have an explanation. We have been really busy, if you haven’t noticed. And the one other boss lady told me to put her in front of the line for tickets. In my defense, we’ve had only half of the tickets this year, compared to last. Isn’t that something?”

Boss: “Yes, but you take twice the amount of time to do any ticket compared to your co-worker. Why is that?”

Me. “Again, I do not know. I did not know how to do some of this stuff, so I was learning on the fly.”

Boss: “Have you not had training? I recall paying for lots of training of the past couple of years.”

Me: “Yes, that’s true but…”

Boss: “But nothing. If you were having trouble you should have asked for help. Co-worker managed all of that while finishing all of the tickets he was assigned.”

Me: “Well actually, he has the same number of tickets I have now.”

Co-worker looks up from his phone that he has been staring at during the entire exchange… “That’s true, we both have the same number of tickets.”

Boss: “Don’t correct me.” Turns back to me: “I want nightly updates from you about every ticket you do from now on. I want a detailed description of each and every issue, when you accessed the ticket, who you spoke with and what steps you took to resolve the issue.”

Me: “But, that is going to take more time away from actually doing the work.”

Boss: “I don’t care. I don’t want to be caught unawares again.”

 

How I wish it would go:

Me: “Look, boss. I’m paying off one of my two credit cards in two weeks. In two more I’ll pay off my second card. After that, all I have left in debt is my school loans. God willing and the cricks don’t rise, by February I pay them off. Then, I don’t own a soul on this planet one single little cent, other than my monthly bills. Then, I save, save, save and I’ll enter my sixty-third year of life with a good ten grand in the bank.”

Me: “If my ticker holds out, my car holds out, my relationship holds out, and my job holds out…all of which are hanging by a string…I’ll retire and buy the fuckin’ RV and I’ll be saying an adieu to you and you and you and you. I’ll be leaving this bullshit so far behind, and so fast it’ll make your head spin.”

Me: “Now, until then, I’m going to play your little games to make you feel like a big man, much bigger than you deserve to be. So, until then, unless you have some objection and would like to write me up now, I’ve got work I’ve got to get to.”

How it would probably go:

ME: “Okay, I guess we’ll do whatever we can to make that work….” 

Boss: “Okay, then. Let’s get to work.” He gets up from his chair to leave.

Co-worker again looks up from the phone, “Yeah. I have to run to one of the other buildings to do some things. I’ll come with you.” Co-worker stands up and follows boss out the door.

End.

Aged Cheese

Life Lessons from an old and stupid man

 

Chapter one: Wear the Condom

Love and other diseases

The ONE

Old movies and Alone-ness

Finding your Balance / Finding yourself

 

Chapter two: The state of the stupid world

Stupid little people

Traffic

Government

Taxes

 

Chapter three: I’ve got the Music in me

 

Chapter Four: Negatives and Positives

 

Chapter five: Drinking problem

Alcoholism’s

Old Style, bowling and cigarettes

DUI’s and the incarceration shuffle…

 

Chapter Six: Stupid Politics

What’s the real difference between democrats and Republicans? Well, Democrats will tax you, take all your money, and give it to everyone; whether they need it or not. Now Republicans, they will never raise your taxes. But they will raise what they call “user fees,” take all your money, and give it to their rich friends. In the end, it doesn’t matter which side you are on, they will take all your money. DEG 2020

 

Chapter Seven: Oh, my aching… Medical woes

Plaque Psoriasis and Skin Changes

The BIG E-D

Gimmie a head with hair (or lack thereof)

Care of Colon

Doctors, Tests and Checkups, oh my!

If I only had a heart…

Lastly, keeping sharp – brain-wise

 

Chapter Eight: The Money Shot

How do you spell love? MONEY

Keeping up with the Jones’s

Saving vs. Spending

 

Chapter Nine: Stupid bosses and crappy jobs

The Peter Principle Revisited

Stupid politics (part 2)

PROCEDURES – YOU MUST HAVE PROCEDURES

The sharks in your office

Technologies – living the life of a “fixer.”

Where it all went wrong

 

Chapter Ten: Retirement

A primer for a lot of documents that will not make any sense

Dreams and dreamers

Saying goodbye.

 

Chapter Eleven: The Big Sleep

Death. Let’s talk about it.

Religion. God. And Faith.

 

Chapter Eleven: My conclusions.

Sex and Love

People

Alcohol and drugs

Politics

Medicine

Money

Working

Retirement

Death.

 

Aged Cheese

Lessons of life from an Old and Stupid Man

 

Preface:

My only son and I do not talk like we should. He’s over thirty years old now, and successful in his life. For some reason, it often feels difficult to reach out to him. He rarely calls me or stops over to say hello. I know that he has a busy life with his career, super-woman wife and dogs to attend. It’s a complaint I hear often from many men at my age, and in my position. The Cat’s in the Cradle, you know?

His mother is gone. She died several years ago from cancer. Her and I were cordial to each other, after the initial years after the divorce. At first, we got along for the kids’ sake. Later on, it felt like we were a couple of war veterans with a long history of battle in the trenches. We forgave each other, and that made it easier to talk like adults. So few of you do that.

My son could always talk to his mom. I learned of the real son mostly through her. He would call her and tell her all the rough patches he went through in his life. Whenever I speak to him it was, and still is, “Ah, everything’s fine, Pops. No worries.”

Now, I’ve lived enough of my life to know that not everything is fine. I know. His mom told me that he looks up to me, and does not want to disappoint me. Rare is the instance he confided to me his fears and dreams. I’ve tried to tell him that regardless of what he does, I’m proud as I can be of him. Still, it would be nice to have a deep conversation about the real things of life.

What makes a man a man? Why is love so flippant? Why is money so easy for some, and so hard for others? What is the nature of God and the universe? What is our purpose here in life? Is it really all about making money, and having the nicest toys when we expire?

I’ve had conversations like this with too few of my male friends. Some have surprised me with their insights. Some, I am convinced are full-on conspiracy nuts ready to storm the Capital again. But, at least they were interesting and chock-full of interesting ideas. That’s what I mean by real conversations.

All too many of my male friends resort to the tried and true male grunting known as guy-speak. Such examples are: “Yeah, look at the cans on that MILF! I’d look really good on her…” Or, “How about those Packers?”

I have certainly tried to regale my son with frank stories of my past. Lord knows, I’ve probably repeated many of them, and probably will here too. From these, I hope he takes bits and pieces of knowledge about real life. Or if not that, at least a cautionary tale of how not to live. He laughs (along with me) about my misfortunes and miscalculations. But, there in the heart of these stories are true heartache, and redemption.

Eleanor Roosevelt once said, “Learn from the mistakes of others. You can't live long enough to make them all yourself.” In just sixty-some years, I think I’ve finally learned to live a life. It has certainly not been without its’ divots. I still struggle with life’s ups and downs, even when I should be shrugging at it all and saying, “Yeah. So Fucking What?” 

Well, as a gift to my son… and to all the sons and daughters out there, I’ve decided to give this compendium of life lessons and opinions. Granted, these are from my point of view. As Groucho Marx once quipped, “Those are my principles, and if you don't like them... well, I have others.” But, maybe. Just maybe someone might read these stories and writings and take away something important from them.

I have written down the sum total of what I have learned so far in my life. Take it as you may. Laugh at the jokes, feel bad for the stupid author. He is obviously not the sharpest tool in the shed. Yet, the fool may have something to teach us all. After all, it was a game that kept death at bay in the movie, “The Seventh Seal.”

Do you want to play a game?

Couple-ers. THE CAR.

 Couple-ers. 

 Okay, let’s talk about THE CAR. I know she loves THE CAR, probably more than anything else on this earth… except maybe her daughter. A 1991 Ford Mustang 5.0 V8 – Black as night. Nice ride. But, I don’t think I would tell her that, now. Oh, I love the car too…. It’s hard not to. The thing is from another era… gas, oil, rock n’ roll, burn out competitions. You know? I have a certain kinship with that era, as that’s where I came from… certainly more so than she ever did. 

She’s younger than me… by some amount of years, I must say. Hers was the era of big hair rock….  OZZY! And hard rock band names like TOOL… and SHED…. And RAKE… and BLOODYGUTSRIPPEDOUT.  Here too, I have a certain kinship.. after all, what self-respecting rock musician hasn’t played Ratt’s Round and Round? Or Crazy Train?

Still, it’s all about the friggin’ car. Of course, I get to hear (over and over again) about the stories where her and her ex-hubby purchased their Mustangs together… ah, sweet love in youth. Well, he had to sell his for one reason or another… and yet, the black ‘Tang rules this roost.

She has a regular, daily driver, so this makes her an admiral with two automobiles within her fleet. I, on the other hand just own one vehicle. We have one parking spot in front of our apartment, and one spot in the Garage. She also has a storage shed where she keeps the Mustang in hibernation over the winter months. That means in early April the beast comes out and stays parked in the Garage.

She parks her truck in the parking stall, car in the garage… leaving me and my little mini to fend for ourselves in the wild. We did strike up a deal where my car at least gets some egress in front of the apartment. Yet, the beast now rules the Garage area from now until late October.

The car itself is in some dire QT, as the doors don’t entirely latch, the left front headlight is out. Normally, an easy FORD fix.. but, these are not your stock headlights, no. These are special HID or “xenon” lights, installed by a “best friend of an Uncle of a brother’s friend who knew how to do these things…” AH, I see.

So, no headlight on the passenger side.

“Yeah, I gotta get that fixed someday…” Well, again I have a more-than-nodding-acquaintance with that expression. I understand.

The beast rumbles like a tiger, which is exciting of course. As long as you don’t have to ride too far or too fast in it. And of course, the appreciative looks from people walking or riding by gives one that Rock Star feeling….  “OOOH, Nice car!” they exclaim. She gets a look on her face, like that of many of the smug lead singers (no, not like me) get when they are loved by the crowd. “Thank you,” she says. What she means is “F--- yah!” and then she squeals around the corner.

Of course, there are the oil/gas/water leaks that happen invariably. This does not sit well with the landlady.. always on the lookout for potential “spills” – which they will charge you for any found. (Or, so they say).  It’s all because life and acreage is taken up by THE CAR.

There are the roads in which she will not drive (TOO BUMPY!), which means that to get from A to B requires a maze-like roundabout way to get to any destination. All the while, she is complaining about everyone’s driving.

All in all, it’s another one of those “extras” one gets to have in a relationship – The Girlfriend (s) from the past in which she must tell every.single.thing. (“Oh? Then he just rolls over? Really?”) and the family (mega-family with mult-branches) and the little patio baubles that light up (of course). The Mustang will forever haunt my nightmares, much like the Christine before her (UGH, I could hear her say… THAT’S a MOPAR product!)… but, I get it.

She would say, “AND HOW MANY GUITARS DO YOU HAVE?”  and I would have to agree that my little “hobby” (It’s not a friggin’ HOBBY!) is at least as expensive as hers. I remind myself it’s a better thing than hanging out in bars, or gambling. And it is nice to have folks notice when we drive by (the old Rock Star in me)… but just once, just once I wish she would let me drive the thing.  

WHY EBIKES WILL NEVER CATCH ON! // Why do some people hate eBikes?

Recently, a friend lamented about losing friends he had due to face book posts about politics. I commiserated with him. Though we are political opposites I think of him as a brother, someone I would stand shoulder to shoulder with in any sort of fracas, or trouble.  But, man. Some of his posts…. Ewe.

I believe the disconnection with those we were once close to is another example of our technology smarter than those that use it. We seemed to have forgotten that in this country, we have rights. 

Oh, we haven’t forgotten that. But, we did not realize with each and every right comes a responsibility and consequences if we forget.

You have a right to own a gun. But you also have a responsibility to keep it out of the wrong hands. And secured away safely, when not in use. If not, the consequences can be catastrophic.

You have a right to stand and scream at the top of your lungs, if you believe the world is flat. But you have a responsibility to study and examine science so you speak with some knowledge, not just parrot what you saw on some web site.

Too Many Jerks in the Sea (from a writing essay in 2009)

Too many Jerks in the Sea:  

This chapter is dedicated to all the jerks in the world.  Now, there are as many jerks out there as there are people.  There are political jerks, financial jerks, dangerous jerks, school jerks, work jerks and that total jerk that has been on your tailpipe since you’ve turned on this road.  Since there is not enough space in the world to cover all the jerks, we will just concern ourselves to the most malicious, salacious, and underhanded of all the jerks; those that affect your love relationship.  

There are both men and women jerks, of course.  Being a jerk is an equal opportunity employer.  There are women jerks, to be sure.  However, in my life, I have observed men as jerks much more than women, so we are going to concentrate on them. There seems to be a consensus that when it comes to jerk-dom, men are easily of greater quantity and eminence.    

The comparative jerk and the beautiful woman: 

It was a hot summer afternoon and the band I was playing for “The Nighthawks,” was just finishing a rousing set of solid dance hits.  We were setup on the sun deck of Jolly Bob’s Tiki Beach Saloon on the Northern shore of Lake Wassapamani.  The sun was in my eyes during the whole set, which necessitated the need for my darkest sunglasses.  

Now, some guys can pull off that “I’m cool” look in dark glasses, Congo shorts, and a sweaty Hawaiian shirt.  Not me.  Since my middle age has hit me rather hard, I look more the balloon artist rather than a rock star.  Still, it really didn’t matter because I had it made in the shade.  I had my little band, and we were pretty good.  I also had a good job during the week, which made playing in my band even more of a treat.  But best of all, I had Glinda.  Even her name was poetry. 

I know you could ask yourself what a beautiful woman like Glinda is doing with an overfed, losing his hair insurance actuary.  I know I ask myself that every day, and I’m grateful for the answer; because she loves me.  No small feat, for sure.  Even my bachelor friends cannot believe I was dating Glinda.  

She was nearly six-foot tall.  She had willowy, dark hair, long, shapely legs, and a body most men would die just to gaze at from afar.  More than that, she had the darkest, most soulful eyes any human should be allowed and not be from another plane of existence.  Even on our first date, I took one look in her eyes, and I fell dead hot in love with the girl.  Everyone has told me since that I am a lucky man.  

“She’s not…. Well, she’s not anything like the women you normally go out with,” declared the drummer, after leering at her ample charms while also wearing dark sunglasses.  

There is, to paraphrase Frank Zappa, “the crux of the biscuit.”  I have a suspicion that sometimes a woman can be too beautiful.  There has to be some beauty quotient equality that exist somewhere.  If there is too much beautiful on one side of a relationship, it can spell trouble.  Terms like, “trophy wife” and other unpleasant assumptions are assigned the happy couple.  

“Is she really going out with him,” (Elvis Costello) is playing somewhere in the background.  

The set was over and I was just putting my guitar back on its stand.  I was thinking about finding Glinda and asking if we could have an adult (read nearly naked) swim after the show.  This is explains my stupid smile on my face as I saw Glinda ply her way through the crowd to talk to me.  Unfortunately, I saw that she also had a tag-along.  In slow motion, my gaze switched from her smiling face to that of her companion.  He was even taller than she was, anorexic-skinny, and with nearly the exact same length, color and texture of her hair.  He was perhaps, the most handsome man I had ever seen.  I noticed she had her arm in his, as she was escorting him to me. 

“Hi honey,” she said as she leaned over to kiss me with a peck on the lips, “This is my new friend, Chad.  He plays in a band too.” 

“Oh, hello there,” Mr. Awesome extends his hand for a shake.  I shake his hand, and notice his grip is formidable.  

He says, “I really love your Gibson guitar.  I play a Fender, myself.”  Even worse!  The guy has a British-sounding accent!  Real or fake?  I have no idea. 

“Chad’s here from England for a vacation, and just loves you guys!  He’s been going on and on how talented you all are.  It thought you should meet!”  
Just then, one of her girlfriends grabbed her from behind and wanted her to accompany to the ladies room.  

Within seconds after Glinda was out of earshot, Chad put his hand on my shoulder and spoke into my right ear, “I feel sort of bad for her.  She’s much too good for the likes of you.” Pat. Pat. He patted me like an old friend. 
Thinking I misheard his remark, “Huh?”  

“I said, that I think Glinda is wonderful, and she would be better off with me, old sport.”  

Old sport? Yeah, like he had ever read the Great Gatsby.  I just stood there, dumbfounded. 

He continued, “I’m going to find a way to take your girl away from you, and you can go back to your pathetic little hornswoggle group.  She’s one sweet piece, and before the night is out, I’m going to make love to your hot, little woman.”  
With that, he took his right hand and placed it on the middle of my back, and then with his left hand patted my stomach, “Ohhh, say.  A little bit of tubby you got going on there, don’t you?”  

I thought the whole thing was a joke, until I looked up in his face, and noticed his very menacing smile.  He meant every word he said.  I took one-step back in amazement.  I was about to say something when Glinda came back smiling with two drinks in her hands for this Chad character and me. 

“So, you boys are talking shop, I’m sure.. but I’m going to introduce Chad to the rest of the guys if that’s okay with you, babe?”  She hands me a cup filled with gin, and then one to Chad.  Never taking my eyes off from the tall worm, I nodded, not even saying a word.  Before I knew it, they walked off into the crowd. 

We had to start the next set before I got much of a chance to talk to Glinda.  She handed me another cup of gin, kissed me, and then headed back to her seat where Mr. wonderful awaited.  I could see them sitting there.  For the next grueling fourteen songs, I stared eagle-eyed, to where the new couple sat on top of a picnic table.  They sat close to each other, talking, laughing, and drinking.  They seems like they were as old friends sharing secrets and touching arms, shoulders and legs.  Occasionally, Glinda would catch my eye and nod at me with that sweet smile I know so well.  

Honestly, I was so jealous, I could barely contain myself.  Yet, all I did was continue to play my guitar, barely concentrating on my music.  I stood there and stared at the two having a wonderful time without me.  It was almost like being in prison.  Worse yet, being in prison where I got to watch though a peep hole, the indiscretions of the love of my life.  It was torture.  

At the end of the show, thankfully, Chad was nowhere to be found.  At some point, the little turd exited the scene.  Glinda came up to me at the end of the show and gave me a big, long slow kiss.  

I was not impressed.  I pulled away from her, looked at her in her beautiful eyes, and I accusingly asked, “So, where’s your new boyfriend?”

At first, she thought I was kidding.  It was evident I was not.   

Well, needless to say that we did not have a nice swim after the show.  We fought our first real fight.  And it was ugly.  All the way home, it was an awful representation of humans at their worst.  I dropped her off at her apartment.  

She did not kiss me goodnight.  I was almost glad. 

It took two days before we talked again on the phone.  
Eventually, we made amends.  But…  

It was only a first fight, yet once that membrane of respect is broken; it’s very had to get back.  I accused her.  She accused me.  From there, the fights and the jealousy just accelerated.  

Towards the end, there was nothing either of us would be afraid to accuse each other of terrible indiscretions.  We fought more than we made love.  Eventually, it felt as if both of us were squeezing the life from each other. 
Eventually, she packed up all her belongings and moved back with parents somewhere in Arizona.  

I know you’re thinking, she must have eventually hooked up with Chad the rock star jerk from (maybe) England, just to spite me.  That never happened.  She was never interested him, other than he was from another country, and like her boyfriend, played music in a band.  Her intentions were never anything but pure. 

Many years later, I must admit I stalked her once on Facebook (oh, come on.. I know you have too.. don’t be so innocent with me!)  and noticed a man she lived with for a short while did have a resemblance to that Chad person.  She lived with a tall, thin, long-haired guy for a while that looked somewhat like him.   

However, she moved away (no forwarding address) after he abused her.  
What a terrible missed opportunity for both of us. 

Now, in this story, it’s obvious the jerk here is this Chad.  But, the truth of the matter is, the biggest jerk was completely, awfully, terribly, most regretfully, yours truly.  

I began to realize, there are jerks everywhere.  Unfortunately, you cannot change that… other than something illegal or immoral (thinking duct tape, shovel, and tarp)..  it’s unavoidable.  What’s more important is how you handle them is your response to the many jerks in life. 

I missed a naked swim with one of the most beautiful woman I had ever known.  And eventually, missed her completely, all because I did not believe in her.  And that, my friends.. makes me the biggest jerk, ever.