Yeah, you know me...  Saint Dale.  Patron Saint of Loser Musicians...  

Fifty-Eight

This is the “Speech” I had written for the show last Saturday night.   Though I only used a small portion of it during an intro for the song “Time won’t let me,” the entire text is within.  I hope you enjoy or at least consider it…  in its totality. 

(Saturday, June 17 2017)   I woke up this morning and realized that this would be the very last day I would ever be 57 years old.  Tomorrow morning, approximately 4:44 am would be 58 years a human on this earth.  You could certainly say that today I’m on the edge of 58. 

Now, I’m sure you’ve heard of the song “the edge of 17,” by Stevie Nicks.  Well, the gulf between the edge of 17 and 58 is a rather large one.  So many things have changed from then until now.  So many technology advances… think about it. 

There was no internet, no cell phones, no “Amber alerts,” no Amazon… not even Super Walmart’s.  No cable television…  no Netflix, no global warming, not even unleaded gas.  There was only a few fast food places…   In Reedsburg, there was “Dairy King” and “A&W”…  The Reedsburg Café and very greasy beer battered fish and chocolate shakes at the Reedsburg Bowling Lanes. 

The thing is, when I was on the edge of 17, I was playing in LaValle, Wisconsin in a rock n’ roll band with a guitar in my hand.  Now, on the edge of 58, I’m playing in LaValle, Wisconsin in a rock n’ roll band with a guitar in my hand.  This leads me to only one conclusion…

I am a time-traveler from another era….   

This I am certain of.  This is the only logical explanation…. 

It’s hard for me to believe that time as slipped away so quickly.  I’ve heard it goes like this, but I always sort of didn’t believe it.  The days zoom by… weeks, months and then years.  Before you know it, you’re considering where to put your “plot” and companies are gleefully sending you “life insurance policies” to make sure your loved ones are not burdened by your funeral expenses… 

Excuse me?  Fuck you! 

I’m not done living yet.  I still have my dreams, thank you very much!

I’m still hoping that maybe.. just maybe… someone might take notice of the guy from Wisconsin that wrote that very heartfelt novel… or maybe spun that thought-provoking song.  I have so many great ideas still dancing in my head… 

Even more than that, I’m hoping someone will find the will to love such a lost soul as myself… and maybe spend some of the time we might still have together.  I’m sure so ready for that. 

58.  Not a curse, but perhaps a hasten…    

Subject:  My face\My head     

I believe I have all the accouterments necessary to have a somewhat normal face.  I have two eyes, ears, a nose, chin, forehead, and cheeks. 

There are some mornings, I look at my face in the mirror (usually while shaving) and think… wow, what a handsome devil there, wonders you find yourself single, I should have gone into movies, perhaps as the brother of Hans Solo in the Star Wars movies.  Then other days:  Who in the hell replaced Hans Solo with Jabba the Hut in my mirror?

No, seriously!  What alien has switched my face with that thing worryingly looking back at me? 

Likewise, my head.  When describing my head, I find it does not fit into any simple category, such as that on web pages when looking for a pair of sunglasses, for example.  Triangular? Oblong? Round?  Nope.  Nope.  When trying to describe the shape of my head structure, only one word comes to mind: Peanut.  Yes, peanut.  A larger, rounded crown, a longer middle section, pinched in the middle, and a rounded cheek area.

 

Jowls.  Lord, save my soul.  I have jowls.  Oh, not like John McCain-sorts of jowls, but enough for me to fear my eldest years not to be my prettiest ones. You know that big fish that’s in the movie Star Wars I (The Phantom Menace: Boss Nass)?  Yeah, like that…

At the top of the peanut a mop-pet of hair that seems to flow from a large hole in the top of my head.  No, really.  Remember the grow-hair Barbie’s they had back in 70’s? 

I use that line in the litany of flirtations I often use with the cute ladies that shear my locks at Fantastic Sam’s, my go-to barber of choice. 

It’s possible I took my shameless - but harmless - flirtations too far one day.  A few years ago, I had my hair shampooed by a rather… shall we say… well-endowed young woman.  As she washed my hair in the basin, my face turned towards the ceiling, she managed to rest one of her boobs literally on my chin.  I mean, if I opened my mouth… I would have had a mouthful.  There is no way she did not know she was doing this. 

(Dear Penthouse Forum:  I’ve never written into a magazine before….  )

The odd thing was I was not aroused by this at all.  Quite the opposite, as I look back it was more frightening than anything.  Perhaps just a little of what you ladies surely must endure with some of those more aggressive members of my gender. 

(Dear Penthouse Forum:  Errrrr..  never mind) 

Where was I?  Oh, yeah.. 

Actually, I shouldn’t be complaining about my hair.  I’ve been sorely reminded that many men my age don’t even have hair, let alone a complete forest of such.  I guess it’s true… the hair is always thicker on the other side of the skull…  er, something like that.

Dale Fun Fact:  My parents once told me that when I was born, my skull had not completely grown correctly.  There’s even a scientific term for it: Craniosynostosis. 

I cannot be completely accurate, but I believe the version I had was: 

Brachycephaly - usually refers to bicoronal synostosis (both coronal sutures involved) and causes the forehead region to be wide and high. The eyes may appear wide apart.*

My parents were understandably upset and took me to see famed Pediatric surgeons in Madison:  ZaSu and Pitts (Or that’s what my dad called them… he was making a funny regarding a silent film star ZaSu Pitts).  They righted my skull correctly and I grew up… fairly normal. 

Thank Goodness!  Otherwise, I might have grown up to be a Republican!  (Yeah, I still got it… ) Sorry, sorry, sorry...  

In any case, the whole head assembly (Brainpan, ears, nose, eyes, jowly cheeks, lips, mouth, unkempt hair, chin)  is attached to the rather thick neck (which will never be red, as long as I have rock music to listen to) and swivels to and fro… depending on what it is that I’m watching at the present time.  This is what God gave me, and I’m at times both enamored and repulsed by the final results. 

I’ve heard the expression:  By the time you’re fifty, you finally get the face you deserve.  I like this maxim very much.  It supposes that we are continually changing and (hopefully) improving as we age.  It has a certain ring of truth to it.

I like my version better, though:  As we learn wisdom, our face catches up to the rest… 

It may not be the face of an angel… but, the scars upon it were well-earned. 

*Source:  PPSA - Pediatric Plastic Surgery & Craniofacial Associates a division of Atlanta Plastic Surgery - dot com 

Countryin' Me to Death  (written by D.Glaudell) 

So, who’s the little girl by the CD machine,

With the raven hair, and the tight blue jeans?

I think I fell in love with her on first sight

I think I could love her with all my might

But, then all my love just faded away,

When I heard the kinda music that she had to play…

(uh huh)

I went into a bar to get my band some work

I ended up talking to a red-neck jerk

He said “if you wanna make in our town,

You gotta play the country and keep it down”

I told him that’s just not our way…

Cuz it’s Stevie….  NOT Billy Ray. 

Ever since I was a tiny tot

I love the music when it really rocks

Led Zep, The Beatles and BOC

Even “the king” is rock to me…

So, if you wanna take me home,

Don’t hold your breath,  cuz baby….

You been a-countryin’ me to death

Well, all the women swoon for them country hunks,

But I don’t think they nuthin’ but punks

When the play all our old rock and roll songs…

They put the fiddle in the middle and

It all sounds wrong

I told him that’s just not our way

Cuz rock n’ roll…. It’s here to stay!

Ever since I was a tiny tot

I love the music when it really rocks

Led Zep, The Beatles and BOC

And BB King is rock to me…

So, if you wanna take me home,

Don’t hold your breath,  cuz baby….

You been a-countryin’ me to death

(Fiddle solo)

So, you can have your sad, sappy songs

About the whisky and the dog, and the one that done ya wrong

You gotta stop singin’ outta your nose…

You ain’t no cowboy, why you wear those clothes?

Play a little music that’s got rhythm and soul…

Just cut the…   

Ever since I was a tiny tot

I love the music when it really rocks

Led Zep, The Beatles and BOC

Even the Jackson 5 is rock to me…

So, if you wanna take me home,

Don’t hold your breath,  cuz baby….

You been a-countryin’ me to death

One Man's Minutiae is another Man's Manure...  

All My Originals (2017)

Tonite

Midlife Crisis Song

Bang them things

Obsession

Countryin’ Me to Death

I need a Drink

Call me Lonesome

I only wanna be with you

Stand up!

I keep Hangin’ on

Rain

Put ‘er there

Drunk again

Whatever happened to Suzy Q?

Millennium

Hurt me Again

Harley Man

Young Enough

Lullabye

I wanna build my house on Lover’s Lane

My Baby’s Gone

Left her In Lavalle

Could be Scary

Blues

Drivin’ to Vegas

Working ON:

Ipso Facto Recoil

It would have been Better with me

Little Debby / Red Rocket

Having the time of my life

Shut the f up

3^rd Day of My Sobriety

It Wasn’t the Fault of the Gun

Naked Celebrities

A window into a (possible) future of evil:

 

I work in a school district, so I get to often interact with all kinds of school-age kids… though I am more maintenance than teacher.  (I work as a “systems analyst” which is short for computer-fixer-guy).  Most of the interactions I have with the kids are pleasant or utilitarian.  Like an adult swimming in the kids’ pool, I’m mostly ignored…  and that is as it should be. 

Yet, there have been a few times over the years, where little warning bells went off in my head, as a possible dangerous situation.  As I get older, I’ve learned to listen very carefully to this warning…given that today everyone seems to possess a Glock or at least an AR15 assault rifle.

 

The other night, those warning bells went off loud and clear as I looked into the pleading eyes of a kid no more than 11 years old. 

I had been feeling not so well over the past few days, and I’ve found that working out really does help both my mind and body relax.  Now, my workouts are not big crunches or 2-hour sweat-fests… generally, some weights (a couple of reps), a five-minute pull on the rower, and a three-mile (or less) fast walk (on a slight incline) on the treadmill. 

As I get closer to a 5K I hope to do in April, I will be running on the treadmill too. 

I currently belong to the Baraboo Fitness club.  I’m thinking about moving to a more upscale club (a bit more $) soon, even before this incident.  But, BFC is cheap, and well-kept, even if the machines are old and sometimes out of order.  The place has a glass front, and next door is the neighborhood laundromat.  

The owners are friendly and helpful.  The front has the cardio machines, and in the back are the weights and lifting machines. 

Most of the attendees are, well…if not friendly, at least not threatening.  And most of the muscle-lunks are in the back, and rarely do any cardio work. 

I have my favorite “iron horse” (I call it) treadmill that I mostly use.  It faces out of the window, so I can watch the scenery outside.  I always said that I must be part-dog because I love staring out a window…and enjoy having the window open when I drive…  (arf!)

This particular evening (Saturday) was not late… around 6:30pm and I was the only soul at the center.  I was about halfway through my work out on the old Iron Horse, when I heard a knock at the door.  I turned my head to the left, and saw a small boy, no more than eleven years old, if even that, with an oversize coat wave at me.  I waved back, and continued walking on. 

The knocking persisted, and I looked again and the boy had a troubled look on his face and motioned for me to come to the door.   Thinking there may have been an accident, or perhaps something was wrong, I shut down the machine and headed to the door.

The door is security locked with a card key for entrance after general business hours, so I stood inside the door and shrugged my shoulders at the kid.  He knocked again and asked me to open the door.  

I did open it a crack, and asked, “Yes? Can I help you with something?”

A tiny, clear voice said, “Yeah.  Can I come in?” 

“I’m afraid they do not allow any one in here after hours, unless you have a card.  Do you have a key card?”

“No, but I just want to come in.” 

“I’m sorry, I can’t.  They are pretty big about that here… the rules, you know?  Sorry. Is something wrong?” 

He says, “Well my mom runs this place and she said it’s okay for me to come in.” 

Well, I knew at this point, that was a lie.  I had been a regular here for years and had never seen this kid before. 

And then I noticed something else.  He stuck his foot between the door and the jamb.  

Maybe it’s my suspicious nature, maybe it’s just a reflex, but that’s an old hoodlum trick I once learned from…. Well, let’s just call him an acquaintance… that showed me how to do door-to-door sales.  A way to keep the “mark” talking while trying to convince him to let you inside, where “the real magic happens.” 

I told him, “Well, I’m sure if you bring your mom, she would let you in then.  I’m sorry I can’t.” 

He pointed to a jar sitting on the counter, and said, “Well… can I have a piece of candy then?” 

I looked over at the jar and noticed he now had his body part way in the door as well, as I was holding the door against him. 

I told him, “Well.  No, I’m sorry.  That’s not my candy.  I can’t give it to you.  It’s not my candy to give you.  Sorry.”

Then, he pleaded with me and said, “Come on, man!  Can’t I just have some of that candy?” 

Something bizarre happened at this point.  I looked down into those wide, open, pleading cow-pie eyes… and I thought I could see into this boys’ future.  I saw him, older, maybe 16… and drawing a gun on someone that dared tell him “No, you cannot come in” or “No, you cannot have something that is not yours.” 

It was the most strangest of moments. 

I told him.  “No, I’m sorry.  I cannot let you in or have any candy.” 

His look completely changed then.  He spit out the words in a screaming voice:  “FUCK YOU!”  and then just disappeared. 

The monster within. 

Emboldened, but still foolish… I opened the door after him and yelled:  “Nice!  Thank you very much.  I hope your vocabulary improves with age….”  

I got back to the treadmill to start the machine, and realized my hands were trembling. 

Man… an eleven year old kid made me scared. 

You know, back in the day…I knew a few bad dudes.  I mean, bad bad guys….  Fellas that they write books about….And I’ve witnessed some pretty nasty, weird and wicked stuff.  Let’s just say, I really do know where the bodies are buried.  But, that was a long time ago… In a different life. Now, I’m just a fat, old guy on a treadmill.  And a little kid made me tremble.

I’ve often heard it said that the world has changed. 

Maybe I’ve gotten old and jaded, but I do not think it’s changed for the better.