Silly Season: Well, DUH!!!

Oh, good grief!!!  The Donald's strategy is working even better than he could hope for!  How he can keep a straight face through it all is nothing more nor less than an actual demonstration of his true political skills.

Let's look at the facts, boys and girls.  For the third time in succession, the focus during the most recent Republican {GOP it is most emphatically NOT any more} "debate" was on "how rotten The Donald Trump is," rather than what any other candidate might bring to the table.  Quite frankly, the others have brought absolutely nothing new into the proceedings - if they had, they sure as hell wouldn't be wasting so much time trying to lasso a veritable political comet now, would they?

The Donald not only knows this, he also shrewdly exploits the phenomenon to the point that the focus remains on HIM, and him alone.  All it takes is an "outrageous" remark, a "questionable" policy stance, or - heaven help us - a simple nugget of plain old common sense that flies right in the face of PC "conventional wisdom,"  and voila - the media and the rest of the candidates jump to the bait like starving Rottweilers, thus ensuring The Donald's spot in the epicenter of the news cycles is virtually continuous.  Chris Christie, whether you love or hate him, has borne my theory out within the last 36 hours or so.  He's hip to what's REALLY going down, hence his endorsement of DJT.

Then too, The Donald again demonstrates his true savvy by being deliberately vague about concrete policy planks.  Why?  Well for starters, it's way, way too early in the game to start laying the planks when the foundation is only perhaps a quarter finished.  And don't forget the fact that the rest of our global population - friend and foe alike - is deeply tuned in to, and closely monitoring our electoral process.  Tipping one's hand about domestic OR foreign policy too early on - whilst simultaneously being under the world's microscope - is a huge no-no.  In a perfect world {which ours is clearly not}, policies should only emerge after the contest has been decided, and even then full disclosure shouldn't be brought about until after our new President is sworn in, and has a Cabinet fully installed.  That silly old common sense thing again, kapish?

Now here's the kicker.  An astute observer would quickly realize that The Donald has business interests in roughly half or perhaps even two thirds of the continents - worldwide interests, in other words.  Ask yourself, would a sane individual do anything to even minutely jeopardize said global holdings?    This is the crux of "gambling" on a Trump Presidency - the bet is generally safe, but still risky nonetheless, thanks to myriad outside influences virtually every other candidate has totally ignored, so far.  DJT has been doing the Presidential do {albeit in the private and business arenas} for decades already.  As the late great Ronnie "Dutch" Raygun would have it, facts are stubborn things, indeed.  This piece of logical reasoning should by all rights virtually eliminate ones' trepidation about foreign policy under a Trump Administration, the way I see and understand things.

The other side of the political aisle?  Puh-lease!!!  The Hildebeast is THE textbook example of politics gone horribly awry - or positive proof of how well and truly broken the system is; and her fellow competitors do more to back that fact up, rather than trying to make the mother of all end-runs around the system as The Donald is doing.  Nope, as far as the Democrats are concerned, one and all are products of our broken system, and their collective and individual platforms are all geared to the status quo, if not accelerating our decline even more.  Their power derives purely from inside the Beltway, whilst The Donald's was built up completely outside the Beltway by himself using his own two hands - need I elaboorate?

And finally, it should be pointed out that in many ways DJT has already demonstrated his Presidential timbre.  He's a man's man {and a self-made one, to boot}; he's the "political outsider" many on both sides of the aisle have long been crying for; he gets things done with alacrity; his brutally frank and absolutely no bullshit mentality is quite simply the freshest air we've all been craving to breathe for far too long; and best of all, Donald John Trump has thoroughly trashed the notion of a career politician, by running his entire campaign out of his own wallet, thus reviving the wonderful concept the Forefathers designed of the citizen-statesman, ready to happily fulfil his end of the bargain, no-holds-barred.  What other Presidential candidate within the last hundred years or so has done as much?

For me, one thing's for certain.  DJT could quite possibly manifest his Executive power in a dictatorial / despotic fashion somewhere down the road, should he win, but I for one will never lose one wink of sleep worrying about the possibility, 'cos the system's already broken beyond repair, barring swift, drastic action.  If my man DJT wants to try on the tyrant shoes, far be it from me to stand in the way of progress - the system's still well and truly f*cked up, remember; anything DJT might do would still be a massive improvement over the shit we've all been enduring since 2009, IMHO.

And so it goes ~ peace in, garbage out, dig?  
More anon.

WHITEOUT!!!!

Okay, who's the bleedin' clockwork moron what just dumped THIRTEEN INCHES of "climate-shift" on my driveway then, eh???  Crazy-fooking-arse way to kick off the 2016 blogs here, I must say.

Not that I'm complaining, mind you - I had a total blast with my commutes to and from the j-o-b today, thanks to my trusty 4WD grunt-buggy.  Inbound, the snow was deep enough that "4 High" created nifty roostertails from all four wheels that shot a good 20 feet in the air as I trundled along.  Outbound, the snow was twice as deep, was beginning to mix with a thick layer of sleet, and was being blasted every which way by an aggressive 40-mph wind speed.  Visibility?  Measured in inches {if at all}, Boys and Girls.  B-L-I-Z-Z-A-R-D......

Well, fine.  I lived through 40-odd winters in St. Louis; a little Cornhusker Tempest would be a piece of cake, right?  So this time it was "4 Low," stay OFF the brakes altogether, and not more nor less than exactly 30 miles an hour {the optimum speed in 4 Low}.  Since it was just past dusk, my brand-new perscription sunglasses wouldn't be of much use;  I'd have to meet the teeth of the storm with all four of TR's head and fog lamps blazing away, period.  High-beams were useless in a furious maelstrom that featued snow and sleet falling both horizontally and straight UP on occasion - no way in hell could any type of glare penetrate such a wild-n-wooly curtain of frozen precip.

Whilst I'm dramatizing a bit for effect here, in the actual moment I was perfectly calm, and completely matter-of-fact about making my trip home 100% safe and stress free.  Didn't really have to worry about opposing traffic during the evening rush 'cos the only other vehicles I encountered in eight miles was a tandem of snowplows working the opposite lanes from mine - only their strobe beacons gave them away, their silhouettes otherwise greatly resembling the Pilsbury Doughboy on a skateboard!  The trip was a bit slow, yes, but otherwise was uneventful and still great fun, thanks to me trusty wheels.

Inclement weather driving skills aside, allow me to kill the proverbial two birds with a quick segue into Silly Season business.  I find myself somewhat bemused as to how completely all over the place virtually all the Presidential contenders are in the wake of the first preliminary held last night.  Nothing's been decided yet - the delegate count doesn't start to get heavy until the first or second week in March - but one can't swing a dead cat without encountering either armchair political spin-doctoring running amok, or gloom-and-doom resignation {with a heap of attending baggage to go along with it all}.  Both notions are simply asinine; a month before the conventions is when the real story will become clear.  It's been that way since Grover Cleveland ran, and likely will remain so far into the future, barring the radical revamping our political system so desperately needs.

LSS, I'll get excited exactly when I'm supposed to, and not one minute before.  Myself, I still like The Donald's chances overall, but I flatly refuse to plop the ol' heart on the sleeve and hope for the best, quite yet.  I will say, though, that the time between now and the Conventions is an excellend window to become well-informed through research, which is pretty much what I've been doing since last spring.  Forewarned is forearmed, dig?

And so it goes, Fellow Babies.  It's a wrap for now, but much more is still to come.  Fire up a colortini in our late Uncle Tom Snyder's honour, lay back, and ride the groove.

More shortly.

Going Out {of 2015} On A High Note

Okay Fellow Babies, this installment is going to be a bit of fun.   Yeah, I know the last few posts have been rather dark and sombre, but please remember that my writing usually reflects my current mood, or state of mind.  2015 has been anything but kind to me on numerous occasions, and this fact neatly dovetails with my continuing efforts to get all the malaise shit from the last six years off my brain for good.  Per usual, the positive catalyst that made me sit up and pay close attention once again came from an outside source.  Better still, said outside source was none other than my main man James Marshall Hendrix.  Before we go any further, have a gander at the following:

"Jimi's signature tune that we've all heard thousands of times?  What's so special about that?"  Good question.  This performance of PH is from the legendary "Rainbow Bridge {Maui} Vibratory Color-Sound Experiment," put on in July 1970 .  Whilst the whole affair was a right shambles {as my drum Mentor Mitch Mitchell stated years afterwards}, this and a few other cuts from the shindig make me wonder if those silly hippies actually DID tap into something ethereal by happy accident.  To illustrate, please view the video again, and this time pay very close attention to Jimi's guitar between 2:04 and 2:13.  

Let's assess from the beginning, shall we?  By the summer of '70, Jimi had probably done PH in concert a good 400 times or more, playing every one a bit differently each time out.  He would have been perfectly within his rights to "phone it in" on occasion, but he rarely did so.  Indeed, the first 

half of PH certainly feels like Jimi's coasting on autopilot, "sound-freaking" as he would say, but right at 2:04 Jimi lets loose with the most MAGNIFICENT guitar passage I've ever heard in my entire life.  Those incredible nine seconds literally sent chills up and down mny spine the first time I discovered them, and the magic is still there after many repeated viewings.  My initial thought was "How the hell did Jimi steal one of Steve Vai's tastiest licks before Stevie even picked up an axe for the first time?"

The answer is obvious - it's the other way around, of course.  All one has to do is dig up the "Jack Butler Guitar Duel" from the movie "Crossroads," to catch my drift.  Stevie himself freely acknowledges Jimi as a personal Mentor, and has been demonstrating the fruits of his study at the Master's foot for a good 30 years or more now.  However, there is one crucial clarification that needs to be presented here.  The late, great Jack Bruce summed it all up perfectly when he said that Eric Clapton was a virtuoso guitar player, but Jimi Hendrix was a force of Nature.  It's the same with Steve Vai; he's a grade musician and technical guitar genius, whilst JMH is a tsunami, volcano, hurricane, wildfire, tidalwave, meteor shower, lightning strike, and earthquake, all rolled into one.

And there you have it, Cats and Kitties.  As the video proves, Jimi did more in a mere nine seconds, than a lot of musicians do their entire lifetimes.  And it's precisely this wonderful fact that has brightened my outlook considerably, and given me the urge to share the joy with all and sundry.  Rather a pleasant way to bridge the Old and New Years, wouldn't you agree?

Happy New Year, Fellow Babies!!!
More shortly......

Thanksgiving Appetizer

Whilst we're all doing the do this Thursday, consider the following.  Any conclusions are left up to you lot;  I'm merely the messenger, here.

Dig this:

The Five Stages of Collapse
Dmitry Orlov

Financial Collapse. Faith in "business as usual" is lost.

Commercial Collapse. Faith that "the market shall provide" is lost.

Political Collapse. Faith that "the government will take care of you" is lost.

Social Collapse. Faith that "your people will take care of you" is lost.

Cultural Collapse. Faith in the goodness of humanity is lost.

Pleasant Holiday, Fellow Babies.

More anon..........

Ten Years On

Today marks a bittersweet anniversary: ten years ago to the day, my dread "malaise" began.  It cost me plenty - everything one could possibly lose in this life, I lost, barring one or two exceptions.  Material goods; emotional equilibrium; moral stability / a focused spiritual direction; the ability to support ones' self effectively; hell, even simple peace-of-mind - one and all were stripped away from me over the years.  And if that weren't enough, good old Thanatos Hisownself popped up on THREE separate occasions this past decade, most intent on keeping "our" Date.  Which I somehow managed to avoid each time out.  True to my strong penchant for black humor, I'm quite sure I'm sowing some ferocious karma in the "Final Destination" vein, if you catch me drift?

Yeah, I know; mine is hardly a unique tale -  ubiquitous is much closer to the bone - but painting as gloomy an initial portrait as I possibly can here is nothing more than me doing the writers' norm of concocting a juicy hook for the piece.  It's that simple.  Be that as it may, the last ten years have taught me that there is no more painful, cruel, vicious, bloody, vile, petty, wicked, absurdly frenetic, violent, nerve-wracking, mind-deadening, soul-destroying, utterly self-destructive experience known to mankind.............. than life itself.  And in the end, nobody gets out alive.

Oh yeah, almost forgot: there's also a downside.

Please join me in a grim chuckle over that last bit - black humor is still humor, and I love to share.  Y'all won't be creamed by the PC-Thought Police, believe me.  I've got your back, so let fly.  It's all good, as they say.  And speaking of good in general, it was Good in Particular that has seen me through every last step of the past decade.  Said Good can be evenly split between my family, and Our Lord Jesus.  All had their hands very full indeed with me on many, many occasions; and all kept coming back for more, Lord only knows why.  Thanks to their combined and collective safety net, I've been able to concentrate on the healing / rehabilitation process pretty much exclusively.

I'll never be 100% again; some wounds I've suffered simply won't heal in the mortal realm.  Once more, a fairly common scenario; only mentioned in passing.  Chasing a PhD from the School of Hard Knocks hardly comes free, can be quite excruciating at times, but somehow still seems to be a goal worth pursuing, the way I see things today.  And as such, I will continue the Good Fight indefinitely.  If nothing else, the last ten years have proven one fact - I'm a fairly competent drawn-out seige, pitched-battle fighter that simply refuses to quit.  A lifetime of trench warfare?  Yeah, I can do that.  Who knows - in a few more years, I might even actually start to dig it again; stranger happenings, and all that mess, kapish?

And so it goes.

More anon.

Butterflies, Moonbeams & Fairy Tales.............

She's out there, somewhere - I can still feel her {faintly}.

Happy Birthday, Pet.  I'm still wearing the thimble......
LILY, A&F~E.

Mein Kampfwagen, MK III

At long last, my total rehabilitation from malaisus-neverendus is complete!  Better still, there have been several rewards for my sufferings, neatly epitomized by a certain Pacific Green coupe-wagon; a true Gift From God:

It wasn't an easy acquisition at all, but it was well worth all the hassles I went through during my break from this damned Interwide-Web thingy.  My late, lamented Jimmy, aka "Mein Kampfwagen Mark 1" has a worthy successor, with an equally worthy tale to be told.

A little over a year ago, it looked like my passion for "grunt buggies" had come full circle when my brother sold me his 1989 Chevy Suburban.  Here was THE classic granddaddy of all sport-utility vehicles, complete with arguably the most revered and recognizable automotive silhouette {the station wagon}, which ranks right up there alongside the original VW Beetle and the Ford Model T.  For my money it was indeed coming full circle, vehicle-wise.  My very first car was a big Chevy wagon with a stout 350 small block for a heart - and my new 'Burb {Mein Kampfwagen  MK 2 } was likewise a big Chevy wagon with a stout 350 small block for a heart, and 4WD to boot.  I lost no time in planning how I was going to restore, modify, and otherwise hot-rod the hell out of it; the time for my very first "hobby vehicle" had finally come, or so it seemed.  True to form, Fate had other plans.

Barely two months later, Old Blue IV's TH700R4 transmission gave up the ghost altogether; my nifty "Square 'Burb" was a goner, and I was once again without transport.  Circumstances that I furiously but vainly rebelled against dictated that the scrap value I realized from selling OB4 had to go into the basic keeping-body-and-soul-together fund.  Wheels went out of the question indefinitely, and I likely chopped a good decade or more off my life wallowing WAY deep in the sea of frustration and livid bitterness I'd become accustomed to since the start of 2009.

 For the next nine months I relied on borrowed-from-the-family wheels; worked like a pair of manic demons hustling up enough bread for a DECENT new ride; scoured Craigslist, Auto Trader, and Hemmings on a daily basis; had no less than eight promising possibilities go south on me before a bargain could be struck; and finally was willing to settle for a damn MOPED if it would restore my mobility - as well as my independence.  The holidays came and went, and my depression began to return with a vengeance.  I'd seen all this mess many, MANY times before, and was pretty sure of the  eventual {negative} outcome at the end.  My penchant for black humor went wickedly acidic as I revised my needs one notch lower, all the way to the bottom - we're talking skateboards and pogo-sticks here, Fellow Babies.


The Good Lord had other notions though.  A week before my birthday last month, I was stunned to see a certain Pacific Green beauty on Craigslist - it had just been listed within the last 20 minutes; it was in my price range; and was being sold by one of my coworkers, no less!  I'd actually seen and fallen in love with it when I started my latest gig September last, but I figured Bobby had no intention whatsoever of letting such a sweet little ride get away from him.  Well, circumstances eventually forced Bobby to find a more practical vehicle for his growing family than a coupe-wagon, no matter how sweet it was - and our Good Lord made sure that I was first in line to jump on the offer when it suddenly came up.  Bob was quite happy to sell to a coworker / friend as opposed to Joe Stranger looking to gyp him down on the bread; and I was quite happy to answer his asking price without haggle, seeing as it would help him close on his new minivan.  LSS, we closed the deal in one day, and I happily drove "TR" {Mein Kampfwagen MK 3} home for the first time a scant two weeks ago, a day before Bobby happily drove his new minivan home.  Win-win for the both of us, no?


Now, those of you who know me well might wonder how I, a diehard GM loyalist, would wind up owning a FORD, of all things?  That's easy - remember, this scenario was totally orchestrated by Our Lord; all I had to do was lose my silly material attachment to a brand name, and I'd wind up with exactly what I originally lost so painfully seven years previously,  albeit in somewhat different outer garb.  Lesson learned, Reward granted, simple as that.  To be completely candid though, it took me one hell of a lot longer to learn, and then totally UNDERSTAND said lesson, than it did for me to type the last three lines here.  And you know what?  TR really IS the equal of his predecessor James, and is even better in some areas.  At 210 horsepower, TR boasts twenty more horses than my old Jimmy; ironically he also equals the power of my late Square 'Burb, but with two less cylinders, and about half a ton less weight.  The latter two facts add up to one neat one, which came clear to me the instant I put me new ride through his first stress-test - TR has the makings of a SERIOUS Q-ship, if I carefully play my cards right, hence his nickname honoring Teddy Roosevelt.  Speak softly but carry a BIG stick, dig?

On a side note, this past week one of our local talk-radio dudes did a whole hour on "midlife-crisis" cliche`s, including vehicles of choice.  Not the proverbial red convertible, mind you.  These days, the clich`e is a black SUV, preferably an Escalade or a Mercedes!  Humble Jeep-clones like my buggy just don't do the do, nor does it appeal much to the "Don't Shoot / whilst I loot 22" chrome rims" crowd at the opposite end of the age spectrum {thank God}.  Nope, my new baby is perfectly in synch with my newfound overall philosophy which also came as a Lesson from Our Lord; Thou shalt practice Humble Stealth diligently and above all else, in all things and all ways.  No midlife crisis here; a perpetual kid on Christmas morning is more like it, thanks to God's Mercy. It feels bloody well SWEET, which is a pretty new one on me after SO much mucking about in the Deep Blues jungle for far too long.


On top of all this, the Blessings God lavished on me have also allowed a rare chance for "political comeuppance" in a completely dignified manner.  My defection from the General, and embrace of the FoMoCo is simple payback for the government bailouts of our automakers - which Ford resolutely and steadfastly refused to participate in, on general principle.  And what's more, the number two vehicle on the list of the outrageously corrupt and totally immoral "cash for clunkers" money-laundering scheme - er, ah, I mean "bill" just happened to be the Ford Explorer Sport - need I elaborate on, OR relish my karma-reaping / abused-animal-rescuing glee even more?

And thus did the last piece in the puzzle of my rehabilitation finally fall into place; like I said at the outset, TR is a true Gift From God.  And no wonder - aside from hustling bread and a ride, my hiatus offline was spent in getting right with The Lord.  I'd like to think He's pleased with my baby-steps so far, hence the Pacific Green gem I've been nattering on about - doing the grunt-work earns one a grunt-buggy, kapish?

Permit a sidebar on that paint hue, Pacific Green.  It's been a standard Ford color since at least the mid 1980's, if not earlier.  It got wildly popular as the base color of the Eddie Bauer limited editions  FoMoCo has issued over the last quarter-century.   But seeing it as the sole color, or with a different accent color than EB tan is a fairly rare thing.  I dig it to death; it's a rich, cheerful, and ridiculously cool tint that doesn't loudly call attention to itself, and is anything but "midlife crisis."  A perfect color to complement my new outlook, big picture-wise.

And that's about it for this one, my Dear Friends.  There are a few themes and notions in this entry that I'll be fleshing out as we go forward.  So please stay tuned, fire up the colortinis, and thanks LOADS for all the prayers, thoughts, and well-wishes.  I truly appreciate them all; they really did help tremendously.  You lot are a fine bunch of Friends, bar NONE!!!!

Diggez-vous, Mon petit-skonks-de-pew?
More  shortly...