Fresh from the 'Yeahright' Files.

It smells, but it's safe? And you think it's not a problem?

Tell you what. I'm going to have a little party at my house, and everyone at Santa Clara Valley Water District is invited! The h'ors deouvres might smell like rotten eggs but really, folks, it's okay, feel free to eat 'em up. They won't kill you. I promise.

Do Call Indeed.

Judge Lee R. West of Oklahoma had better gird his loins. This is the brainiac who is attempting to overturn the national Do Not Call registry. I guess he thinks FIFTY million Americans, including the President, are just wrong . I know! Here's his phone number. Everyone who reads this, please give this guy a call so he can fully appreciate the gravity of his recent decision. I think right before he sits down to dinner would be the best time to call, don't you?

New and Gone.

I didn't know the California Highway Patrol had Camaros on the fleet until I saw one this morning on 237. The one I saw was all white and really cool looking. Now I know. What a great idea. A guy was getting a ticket right across from where 3-Com used to be. The sign is all covered up and the campus is as empty as a ghost town.

Addendum re Saturnight Gig.

As previously blogged, I did a gig Saturday night regardless of having bronchitis. I know I sound different with a cold, but this was interesting.

After the first couple of songs one woman, I think she worked for the pub because she was helping with the sound check before we started, came up to me and said, "You sound great, is your voice going through an octaver?" Surprised, I said, "An octaver?" She repeated, "Yeah, do you have your voice going through a splitter of some kind?" I said, "No, that's my real voice." My voice splits occasionally when I'm sick, and I sound sort of rough and husky, reminiscent of Janis. Splitter my butt. That's the real me, babe.

Amazing Things To Do When You're Sick.

I scare myself sometimes, I don't even know my own strength.

Friday: Left work @ 1 pm ill w/cold, chills, nausea, dizziness & fever. Came home to wet kitchen floor, spent two hours cleaning up damage from big water leak under kitchen sink. Soggy cardboard, slimy containers and general ick = not so fun. Later, made arrangements by phone with truck-owning friend for Saturday trip to Goodwill and Dump, in true out-with-the-old/in-with-the-new fashion, in order to accommodate daughter's belongings being delivered Sunday. Later discovered that "gentle" cycle on washing machine is DOA.
Saturday: Still sick, up at dawn doing major garage cleaning and reorganization. Friends came to help at the last minute, like good friends do. Nice to know they're there for me/us. The weather was hotter than blazes, and the neighbors' bloody flea-bitten varmints were barking at us furiously as we worked. Our dogs didn't bark, but they didn't help. It was hell. By the end of the day there was a 15x15x10 clearing for Carol's stuff, and my stuff was boxed and shelved as good as could be done under the circumstances. Lots more to do, of course, but lots got done. Major recycling. Loaded up truck with unimaginable junk I hadn't seen in years, including a couch, some tables, dusty crusty brokendown stereo components and some junk computer equipment of whose origin I had no fathomable idea. I was scheduled to sing at the Palo Alto Farmers Market, and look what I wound up doing instead. I believe I sweated out the worst of the bug. Bruce delivered the junk to Goodwill and the dump, telling me to go inside, cool down and rest. What a bud. I didn't really take the chance to rest, as you'll see below. Amazing what you can force yourself do even when you're sick.
Saturday Night: After doing all the work that needed to be done, and delivering Carol to her friend Christine's all the way down in South San Jose for a sleepover, I went home to crash. I came home to five messages from Tim Johnson, guitar player for The Rockaways, pleading me to fill in for their ailing singer. I surprised myself by agreeing. I went, I was great, timing worked out great, the band was nice, the bar was clean and fun, everyone was dancing, we sounded great, got a million compliments and had a total blast. Didn't get home until 3 am. Earned $60, enough for gas and food for the next few days. Living on fumes, $60 really helps out a lot.
Sunday: Up at 7 am continued reconstructing garage, sweeping, organizing, sweeping, stacking, sweeping, clearing, scooping, shoving. Lots of sneezing. The ex showed up right on time, his festering gob spewing vitriol like something out of a horror flick (not really, he was speaking normally, but that's just what I see -- satan's minion -- I cannot help it, it just happens. I consistently maintain composure with stony silence, also amazing). We unpacked the truck, everything went just as planned, he left and I have no reason to ever have to see him again and boy am I relieved. Before going back to South San Jose to pick up Carol, I took last evening's earnings to the Milpitas farmers market and purchased a bounty of fragrant fruits and vegetables: spinach, carrots, sweet crisp grapes, pluots, basil, tomatoes, garlic and a few shiny pasilla peppers for roasting and stuffing (yum). Carol is eating right, her skin is clearing up, she is making nice friends, she loves her new school, we're getting into a good, healthy routine, and all is right with the world.

Amazing.

Let Your Mind Drift.

This is cute. Anyone who knows me knows how fascinated I am by intriguing animation, such as this. Meet Drift, the interactive floating dancer.

The Wes Wing.

Wesley Clark for President! I really like this man. Read his "100 Year Vision."

Crunchy.

For my birthday, my sweet mom gave me a nice leather-bound Bible with my first name engraved on the cover. We had a heat wave a couple weekends ago, and after church my daughter, Carol Anne, and I went back-to-school shopping. Dialogue after we put our bags in the trunk and climbed into my oven of a car:

Me: Oh no, I left the Bible in the back seat and it got cooked. The cover is all curled up on one side.
C: We're in trouble now. We fried the Bible.
Me: Hey, what's for dinner?
C: Fried Bible!
Me: Aw man. Fried Bible, again??

Correction.

Uh, ABC? Just a clue. Not everybody loves Raymond. I personally cannot stand Raymond. I refer to that series as "Everybody Loathes Raymond." It is farcical that it received more Emmy awards last year than, say, a really good show like Six Feet Under. Can't wait for season premier of Sopranos, either. Carnivale is like a really, really bad Twin Peaks. Just my two cents.

Blank Slate.

This is a fun site. Create something artistic today. You might need to download Shockwave. Have fun.

Ode to John Cash.

With your voice so crackling deep
hewn by the deepest downfalls and pits
and chains life binds us by
your words made me listen
and believe.

Thanks for all the great, great music, John Cash. God rest your soul.

Remembering When.

I remember when I was fifteen how my mom would end an argument with a finger-wag and quip something like, "I just hope when you have a teenage daughter that she puts you through the same stuff you're doing to me now." I think many amongst us may have heard that at some point but who knows. Well, for those of you who love me enough to keep up to date with matters of importance in my life, you should know that Carol Anne has blue hair. We did it last night. She has been begging me for about two years now, and I think if a kid wants something bad enough and wants to express her personality that way, and is a good kid, what's the harm if it makes her happy. She's ecstatic. I'm in shock. Thank goodness we got the wash-out kind, but it washes out after, like, two months. But the way she's wearing it, it actually looks kind of cute. And no, you don't get a photo, because I cannot find where I put my f%$k#@* camera.

Homecoming.

All worldly matters pale in comparison to my daughter.

Just Say Nein.

I don't care how many Arnold For Governor commercials I hear, there's no way in hades he will get my vote. This man is one misogynist extraordinaire, and the governorship of California is one visualization of his that is not going to come to fruition, if I can help it. He's got a few friends, sure, but he has neither the wherewithal nor the experience to even begin.

As far as the other candidates go, I'm voting No on the recall, and Not Yes for everyone else. It is a lose/lose. Like Jay Leno says, "You can have a robot from the future, or a robot with no future."

Propaganda.

Can someone please explain to me why in the world would there be $1.5 million worth of beer and wine located on a U.S. Army base in Seoul? I am of the impression that our soldiers consume alcoholic beverages only while on leave, using their own money. If it's not for the solders then is the beer and wine in question for Army officers only? Do all U.S. Army bases worldwide have similar beer and wine reserves? Do the remainder of U.S. military factions have them too? If that's the case, are the Marines' beer and wine reserves the biggest and best? These numbers cannot be real. Perhaps these are inflated government prices, you know, like a thousand bucks for a case of Gallo. The question is, how much did the black marketeers make after selling it back to the general public, including unsuspecting Americans? Is that the $1.7 million figure in the story, or was $1.7 the pre-theft value? Please tell me this is propaganda.

If this story has a shred of truth, and if this is where our tax dollars are going, I conclude that the U.S. has a universal drinking problem on its hands. Somebody somewhere, of some military rank and position, is pulling off some pret-ty fancy parties over there, on our tab. I just hope the soldiers are invited.

What a Was-Be.

It is a shame that ahemnglkp guy -- I have a hard time spitting out his name -- Timberlake, won more MTV awards than Johnny Cash. Timberlake is unattractive, plastic, saccherine and cannot sing. A was-be. A has-been wannabe. The male Britney, ergo a product. But I think those awards might be video awards, not really music awards. The Cash video is a grand artistic archive, but because it has no sexy scenes, it lost. A pock on society.

However, I surmise it may be a well-planned setup for Cash in that if enough people are miffed he was overlooked this time, there is no possible way he won't win at least one Grammy for "Hurt," from his album, "When The Man Comes Around." Hey, even Snoop Dogg was rooting for him. This is tremendous work from a man who knows, and I'm proud that I actually went out and bought the compact disc, thereby contributing to the number of album sales. I understand that much.