Easter Greetings

    

Happy Easter, Fellow Babies!!! 

Oh HELL No!!!!

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What was true in 1948 is still true today -

THE MEDIA DOES NOT CALL ELECTIONS!!!

COUP DE GRACE!!!!

Don't look now Fellow Babies - but Sleepy Joe, Kamel-Toe, Queen Nancy, and all the rest are about to have their asses handed to them by our  PRESIDENT.  

Mark my words - the next several days are going to be truly historic.  Be prepared to have your minds well and truly blown!!!

More shortly..........

Silly Season: Stupor Tuesday

Don't look now, but Bernie's gonna be 0 for 2 when all is said and done.  He was quoted by the Associated Press as "still battling the Establishment," but get real, Folks.  The "Establishment" in this case is the American Capitalistic Republic - the "Grand Experiment" that simply has no equal, in the whole of Western Civilization - period.

To understand what Bernie's "vision" for our country is, one need look no further than Moscow, Havana, Santiago, or even Mexico City; one and all are the end products of COMMUNISM, despite what individual labels one tries to hastily slap on them.  What Bernie and his radical followers don't get at all is that their ideas have already been tried six ways from Sunday over the last 100 years - and there's not a damn one of ANY of them that has succeeded AT ALL.

Hell's bells - 99.99% of the time, a Communist idea never even gets off the ground unless an absolute dictator is in charge.  That's a dictator in charge of the Communist idea, not a dictator in charge of the target territory, although it's been proven that the latter inevitably follows the former.  I mean, can someone name me ONE successful Communist leader that doesn't have a blood-saturated body count under his or her belt that would make the Hildebeast insanely jealous in a New York Minute?

Will Communism stop the spread of the Corona virus?  Or reassure the Stock Exchange?  Or bring Trayvon Martin back to life?  The answer ought to be painfully obvious, my Dear Friends.  I don't care if it's called "progressiveism," or "democratic socialism," or even plain old "socialism;" a pig is still a pig, no matter how much lipstick and perfume you slather on it.

"Progressive thinking" of the type Bernie subscribes to has over the last sixty years utterly ruined our public schools, destroyed our manufacturing base, and has seriously eroded our foundations of morality from the Church all the way down to the individual nuclear family unit.  And I won't even go into how many major American cities have been all but razed to the ground, thanks to "progressive" governing.

It's Bernie-style "progressive thinking" that insists that there are anywhere from six to sixty different "gender types," when those of us with the common sense God gave a potted plant KNOW that there were, are, and always will be only two.  Which, by the way, were originally GIVEN to us by the Creator; they were never, EVER a simple "choice" we could discover on our own.  

Anyone mentally defective enough to believe otherwise ought to do the rest of us a big fat favor by absenting themselves from the gene-pool ASAP - before the Progressives effect the removal themselves!!  Thanks to the current Progressive crown jewel of Planned Parenthood, such a horrifically ludicrous scenario wouldn't be murder or suicide - it would be an "nth-trimester, ex-utero abortion of a non-viable tissue mass."  It's been done before, Kiddos - just ask any German individual over the age of seventy.

I'm sorry Boys and Girls, but I'm simply sick and tired of watching this country go to Hell in a handbasket, at the hands of a sorry group of butt-sore wastes of oxygen like Bernie, Faux-cahontas Warren, Alexandria Occasional-Kotex, or Mayor Pete Ball-gag.  The coup-de-grace in all of this pathetic mess is the fact that Joe Biden is now the likely Democratic nominee for President.  The same Joe Biden that a mere two weeks ago supposedly epitomized EVERYTHING the Progressives are against - a rich old white dude that made his millions off the backs of those he stomped on, during his ascent up the ladder of career-politics.

"Meet the New Boss; the same as the Old Boss," dig?

Is it any wonder why I call an election cycle "Silly Season?"

Oh yeah, before I forget - The President-Donald will mop the floor with Uncle Joe, come November; and after that, ALL bets are off!!

Ought to be a real hoot, too........

Until anon, mi Amigos - smoke 'em if ya got 'em!

Remembering Mr. Neil

My 2020 blogging season kicks off on a bit of a somber note, thanks to the untimely passing late last week of one Neil Peart, the great drummer for Rush.  Mr. Neil held a rather unique position of all the drummers near and dear to me, being the first pure "metronomic" drummer I became aware of.  To be sure, the ultimate impact he had on my own tub-thumping abilities was considerable, although it took more than a little time for his influence to really sink in.  And therein lies the tale.

I was probably around 11 or 12 when I heard Rush for the first time.  As luck would have it, my baptismal tune was the great "2112 Overture / Temple of Syrinx."  I already had a couple years' intensive study of my original four drum Mentors {Ginger Baker, Mitch Mitchell, Keith Moon, and Nigel Olsson} under my belt, but Mr. Neil blew me away with his tasty, and incredibly precise chops.  I literally hadn't heard rock drumming like that before, which is part of the reason why Mr. Neil's influence on me was time-release, rather than immediate.  I simply could not fully wrap my head around what I was hearing, at first blush.

Thankfully, the proper explanation of Mr. Neil's technique that I was seeking was run down to me the first week of seventh grade, courtesy my symphonic band teacher.  Good old Director Finbloom explained to me the two basic timekeeping elements of trap-drumming: swing, and metronomic.  Swing allows you tremendous flexibility to essentially treat the tempo like a rubber band with no penalties for doing so.  Swing is the essence of jazz, and is also the main cornerstone of successful freeform improvisation.  As such, it's also quite well-suited for the likes of blues, rock, pop, and country.

On the other hand, metronomic timekeeping demands rigid adherence to the tempo at all times, which requires absolute discipline on the drummers' part.  Whilst it's still possible to make with the improv when it's called for, doing so in metronomic time is always an exercise in walking the razor's edge, much more so than swing-improv.  Make a mistake in metronomic time, and you're liable to ruin the entire piece on the spot, like a jeweler shattering instead of cutting a diamond; whereas a boo-boo in swing time more often than not becomes a "happy accident." 

Thus did I learn the truth about Mr. Neil's special magic.  Yet despite my new enlightenment, I remained somewhat ambivalent about testing the metronomic waters myself.  And for good reason, too.  I quickly discovered the chief negative aspect of metronomic playing, namely that it's damn near impossible to convey deep emotion wherever and whenever the spirit moves you, if at all.  I mean, get real - how much drama and pathos {or any other emotion} can be conveyed by a bleedin' METRONOME, you know?  Technical precision is one thing, but 99.99% of the time it comes across stone cold, in terms of raw feelings.  In other words, a drum machine's still a drum machine, whether synthetic or organic.

Ironically enough, Mr. Neil subscribed to the above notion himself - it's precisely why he spent several years in the latter portion of his career in earnest study of jazz {swing} drumming.  The effect his studies had on him was immediate and powerful, and gave even his most progressive previous works a new richness in sound, when his enhanced technique was applied.  Myself, I was as blas`e about Mr. Neil's mastery of The SLOP as I could be, 'cos by that point in time I had been gleefully slopping my way through "Syrinx," "Tom Sawyer," and "YYZed" in concert for almost two full decades, so I already knew well what the bulk of the slop-possibilities were.

On a final note, I do regret that I never reached out to Mr. Neil like I did with Mitch, Ginger, and Nigel, if only just to thank him for his inspiration.  I'll just have to be content with the fact that in addition to becoming a second-tier drum Mentor to me, Mr. Neil was also the gateway to my discovery of many other crackerjack strict-timers like Jon Hiseman, Simon Phillips, Ric Parnell, and Lars Ulrich.  In the end, it's all good.

Go carefully, Mr. Neil - and thanks again for being such a wonderful influence.  Yours is a spirit I'll miss something fierce.

More shortly...........

'Twas.......

Twas the night after Christmas, and boy what a house!

I felt like the devil, and so did the spouse.

The eggnog and turkey and candy were swell,

But ten hours later they sure gave me hell!

The stockings weren't hung by the chimney with care -

The damned things were sprawled on the back of my chair!

The children were nestled, all snug in their bed,

And I had a large cake of ice on my head!

When at last I dozed off, taking a nap,

The ice woke me up when it fell in my lap.

Then for some unknown reason I wanted a drink,

So I started feeling my way to the sink.

I got along fine til I stepped on the cat,

I don't recall just what occurred after that.

When I came to, the house flooded with light,

And under the table I was high as a kite.

While visions of sugar plums danced in my head,

I somehow got up and then back to bed.

Then what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer.

The the sleigh seemed to change to a red firetruck,

And each reindeer turned into a bleary eyed buck;

I knew in a moment, it must be Old Nick -

I tried to cry out, but my tongue was too thick.

Then the old devil whistled and shouted with glee,

While each buck pawed the earth, starring daggers at me.

Then he called them by name, and the names made me shudder,

When I heard them I felt like a ship, minus rudder.

Now Eggnog! Bacardi! Four Roses! and Brandy!

Now Fruitcake! Cold Turkey! Gin Rickey! and Candy!

To the top of his dome, to the top of his skull,

Now whack away, crack away, with thumps that are dull!

Then in a twinkling I felt on my roof,

The prancing and pawing of each cloven hoof.

How long it went on, I'm sure I can't say,

Tho' it seemed an eternity, plus one very long day.

But finally the night after Christmas had passed,

And I found that I could really think straight at last.

So I thought of the New Year a few days away,

And I've made me a vow that no tempter can sway.

I'm sticking to water, don't even want ice.

For there's nothing as tasty and nothing as nice.

The night after New Year's may bother some guys,

But I've learned my lesson, and brother I'm wise.

You can have your rich victuals, and liquor that's red,

But what goes to my stomach, won't go to my head.

So a big Happy New Year to you and to all;

I'm back on the wagon, and I hope I don't fall.

Traditional Christmas Rebroadcast

{Editorial Note: This piece was originally published on MySpace 12-25-2007, and was always meant to be an annual tradition, before offline circumstances scotched the idea during 2008-2010.  Last year's re-post here revived the notion, and this year finally gives consecutive weight, as well as celebrating the 5th Anniversary of original publication.  A Good Blog is Worth Repeating Until the Cows Come Home!!  My own take on the whole "It's A Wonderful Life" mess, dig?}  

Of all the many, many wonderful things about the Christmas Season, you just can't beat going back to the "source material" as it were, for the absolute best in the warm-fuzzy department.  {Well, DUH - that's what it's supposed to be all about, innit?}

Welcome, one and all, to my first-ever Christmas Blog.  Today's tale is about my most cherished of all Christmas memories; helping my Father build -  from scratch - a full-on Manger / Nativity Scene {small diorama, in reality}.

I was eighteen at the time; freshly graduated from "high screwel," and four months into my professional musical career.  In the late spring of that year, Dad began drawing up preliminary sketches for a new "project" he wanted to try.  My Dad, an architect by profession, was also a journeyman scholar of both the Bible and ancient architecture.  As a youth, I remember him always complaining about how our original Manger looked {it was an "A-Frame" design}.  He'd always grumble "It looks like a Swiss ski chalet, not a Manger!!!"

After many years of this, he apparently got fed up enough to sit down and design "a Manger that looks like a Manger" himself.  He worked on the plans for about two months, then just after graduation he collared me and said "Chris, we're going to have a great Christmas this year - you're going to help me build our new Manger!"  I was a bit reluctant at first - I was then at a three regular gig-per-week mark for the very first time in my life, but I'd already spent plenty of "quality time" with Dad as we built our model railroad together {along with my brother, until he moved out on his own}, so I soon warmed up to the idea.

Once I saw Dad's full plans, I was stunned - he wanted a near-museum quality diorama, instead of the simple building I was expecting to see plans for.  I vividly remember Dad explaining his ideas in detail; what materials we could use, basic construction techniques, how we could light it, etc.  Our years working on the model railroad together had bonded us pretty tight, and Dad was already wise in how to get me excited early on, which always inspired bursts of creativity on my part, which he got quite a kick out of . Even though I wasn't "following in his footsteps" by vocation, he knew that I got my creativity from him anyway, and he was content to let me have free reign, which I'll alwys deeply respect and Love him for.

In reality, Dad knew that if he let me run amok as was/is my wont, some pretty good ideas would emerge.  We got the basic construction finished fairly quickly - a simple plywood design {base and building}.  Even less time was spent on wiring it for lights - two days, as I recall.  Our greatest time was spent in the details - covering the basic structure with it's "proto-Adobe" finish; Dad hand-carving AND "aging" each individual fence post and rail, finding the best looking places for the "boulders" and sparse vegetation; carefully putting hoof prints in the sand, using the actual camels in the scene to "make" the prints for authenticity, etc.

My main contribution came in the Manger's covering and final finish.  Dad wanted a contrasting look betwen the sand-impregnated mud of the building, and the naturally sandy ground.  We tried all kinds of different sand mixtures, using every size we could find, but nothing looked right to either of us.  One evening Dad accidentally dropped a used Mr. Coffee filter on the counter, spilling it's still-wet contents all over.  When I heard him swearing like the Sailor he was in WWII, I went to look, and was startled by what I saw.

"Dad, if we dried out the coffee grounds, and mixed them with the sand, would that give the Manger 'the' look?"  He slowly turned to stare at me, slack-jawed.  "Where in the Hell did you get THAT brilliant idea from?"

"Oh, a certain KLUTZ I know........."

Both Dad and I were blown away by how good the coffee-sand mixture looked - Dad even approved of my painting efforts.  I painted it in differing shades all over, working from darkest to lightest, in separate layers, thus "aging" it gradually, just as Nature does.  Dad was quick to spot my two "in-jokes" right off - tiny spots that I deliberately avoided painting, letting the natural coffee ground color show clearly.

Once the building and landscaping were done, the next problem arose - hay for the interior {well, a manger IS nothing more than a barn/stable, in reality}.   My notion was instant - "Grass, Dad - dried grass." {No, no, no - not THAT type of grass......}  I had just cut our lawn, so I went out in the front yard, and picked up a handful of fresh thatch.  Dad looked at it and said, "No, that won't work, that's Bluegrass - blade's way too wide.  The Baby Jesus will look like he's lying on a bed of palm fronds!  Try the back yard, Chris."

I did, and Dad was happy - "That's more like it - Fescue is just the ticket!  Good job!"  As we neared the finish line, Dad and I both started getting pretty excited; the project looked good from all angles, and when my brother's beautifully hand-painted figures arrived in the mail, we had a small "Christmas in late August" ceremony for the official unveiling.  We patiently waited until it got dark, then we plugged our new Manger in.

My Mom, Dad and I all gasped in unison - it looked SO pretty.  We marvelled at how Dad's simple, but incredibly effective lighting {using only a single bulb, BTW} washed the scene in a way that enhanced textures, color, and ambience alike.  Dad wasn't totally happy, though.  "It's too bright - who ever saw a Manger lit up like a 1950's diner?"  The tone in his voice triggered what I can only describe as a truly "miraculous" inspiration in my head.

"Dad, what about an orange bulb, would that work?"  Again slack-jawed {but smiling ear-to-ear}, Dad went to the storeroom, found the Christmas lights, and shortly the Manger was bathed in the warm glow you see here.  The effect was as dazzling as before, just tastefully muted, somewhat.  NOW it looked like the Nativity Dad had envisioned from the start.

We did indeed have a Magical Christmas that year; despite all the hassles we faced {and overcame} during construction, my Dad and I set the Adult Seal on our mutal bond that summer - and it only got better with age.  The Nativity itself has been in regular use since then.  Now that Dad's gone, it has become my most precious link to him, a symbol of both the Love for the Season in general, the Love for Jesus in particular - and my own specific Love for my Dad.

On this Day, two Millenia-plus odd back, a small Boy was born in a barn, and they Loved Him.  Nineteen hundred and eighty-six years later, that same Boy was re-born in a custom-designed and totally hand-made environment - by another not-quite-so-small Boy and his Dad, who also Loved Him {and each other}.

What finer Gift For a King, eh?

I'm sure that when Dad sees this post, he'll too be smiling..................................................

Just like a kid on Christmas Morning, dig?!!!!!

Merriest of Christmases, and the Happiest of New Years', my Friends - I  Love you all too, y'know..............