Thursday, March 29, 2007

 

Assholes, Part Deux


Picked this up off Drifty's blog today. These are the same backed-up old farts we have in Phoenix, aren't they? How do they not know that we are the good guys?

MARGARITAVILLE OPENS A LITTLE LATER

BY MICHAEL GELBWASSER SUN CHRONICLE STAFF

Thursday, March 29, 2007 1:30 AM EDT


Jimmy Buffett fans expecting to tailgate to his Gillette Stadium debut concerts in the morning won't be welcome in Margaritaville.

The Gillette parking lots won't open until 3:30 p.m., four hours before showtime, selectmen said Tuesday night.

Selectmen voted to license the two sold-out shows, scheduled for 7:30 p.m. Sunday, Sept. 2, and Saturday, Sept. 8.

Selectmen voted after discussing the parking issues with Police Chief Edward O'Leary, stadium official Dan Murphy and Stadium Advisory Committee Chairman George Bell II.

"I think we've gone out of our way," Selectmen Vice Chairman James Thrasher said. "The public understands we're not licensing the lots to open until 3:30 p.m."

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What Did You Expect?


I fell head over heels for the music of Jack Mosley while on the Parrothead Cruise, ordering four CDs as soon as I hit the beach. They came in today, and I started importing them to iTunes so I could put them on the ol' iPod. Why am I not surprised by the "Genre" assigned to Jack's music by iTunes?

The Crime Dog has his own genre classification for Jack's music: MY Kind.

That Jack Mosley can flat-ass write a song, my phriends, and he is a helluva good guy. One of us. Stop in at Jack's website and order a few CDs. I especially recommend the Live album. And you know, The Crime Dog would never steer you wrong. I know you'll agree with my genre classification!

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There Are Assholes, And There Are Assholes

Our good phriend Unruly Julie has certainly earned her nickname. It was demonstrated to me multiple times on the Parrothead Cruise, but none quite so endearing as her performance on the flight home.

We first met the guy referred to henceforth as The Asshole at the Ft Lauderdale airport. He was seated with an exceptionally homely but unobtrusive woman right across from us at the departure gate, reading a "People" magazine over her shoulder. There's your first clue - "People" magazine is a brainless rag unfit for human consumption, and reading that drivel over the shoulder of another is grounds for a sound beating - both rude and stupid.

The Asshole was outfitted in traditional "dork" attire. Slacks hitched up around his armpits, button up shirt a size too small, so that the buttons strain at the fabric when seated, horn-rimmed glasses, cheap sneakers with velcro closures. Unruly Julie said he reminded her of "Urkel." Good observation, but to his credit, he did forego the suspenders.

Poor TFMCD (hereinafter know by her new nickname, simply abbreviated to "TC". Due to concerns of my personal safety, that's as far as I'll go right now) was coming down with what turned out to be a pretty nasty case of bronchitis, and had the cough to show for it. The Asshole asked "have you been in contact with anyone sick in the past one to two weeks?" Fuck you, you pretentious prick. It was a cruise ship. How the hell does anybody know who they were or were not in contact with?

"Well," The Asshole announced, "I haven't been sick in a year and a half." Smegmabreath.

Of course you haven't. No one will get close enough to your nerd ass to pass an illness along, shithead.

So we boarded the plane, and guess, just guess, out of 200 seats, who gets the seat directly in front of TC? Yes, The Asshole. He refused to sit there. "She's coughing her head off!" Dickwad.

So, they moved The Asshole to the next row over. Which put him in front of Unruly Julie. Nice move, dillweed, out of the pan and right into the fire. The Unruly one was 100% healthy, but still managed to fake cough for about 1,000 miles or so. TC wrapped up in a blanket, went to sleep, and bothered no one.

A bewildered Mom a couple of rows up had a toddler who was just having a bad day, as kids sometimes do. No rhyme or reason to it - they're just pissed off at the world. It happens. This kid could go from zero to insufferable in just under 2.5 seconds, with what is best described as a piercing shriek that could curdle milk. You know the sound I'm talking about, right? It's the one that somehow finds your tailbone, penetrates to your spinal cord, and then travels upwards as an electrical impulse until reaching your head, where it explodes inside your brain in a shower of light, pain, and a hypothermic shiver.

But The Asshole clearly was not a parent. Who'd have sex with that douche bag, anyway? Unruly Julie surmised his homely companion must have been a mail-order bride, for no woman would select him voluntarily. The Asshole didn't understand that kids are just kids. They are what they are, and that means sometimes they're a giant pain in the ass. He wanted to know the passenger's name, and who to call to complain about this woman who could not control her own child. Shithook.

Here you go, pal:

Just call 1-800-IM A FUCKING ASSHOLE. They'll have the kid's mouth duct-taped, give the mom a good caning, fire the flight attendants, and have the pilot shot. Anything else we can do for you?

As we were preparing to de-plane in Phoenix, the beleagured Mom was cleaning up after her child, and went rearward to throw some trash away. On her way back, she got stuck behind some folks who got out into the aisle a bit too soon. I guess The Asshole missed that bit of information, because he was running his mouth about the "new Mom" who had no clue about how to handle that child and made everybody miserable, blah, blah, blah, not knowing the "New Mom" was basically standing right behind him. She finally said "I'm standing right here. I can hear everything you're saying. And I'm NOT a new Mom." The Asshole had that "deer in the headlights" look that gave me great pleasure. The Unruly One later told me The Asshole slept through virtually all of the munchkin's tribulations, anyway. Asswipe.

Dude even bitched about wasting money on a magazine he wouldn't have needed had the flight left Ft Lauderdale on time. News Flash: It's "People" asshole! Your money was wasted no matter what. Plus, the pilot made up so much time, we actually arrived in Phoenix early.

I looked for The Asshole at baggage claim. I desperately wanted to "accidentally' turn around and strike him with my backpack, knocking his ass onto the baggage carousel. Thankfully, I never found him. Assmunch.

Feels good to get that off my chest......Now, if I could just find the worthless prick who farted all the way home, I could deal with him as well.

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Wednesday, March 28, 2007

 

The Best Albums You Never Heard


Some songs are just special. Doesn't matter why it's special. That part is up to the listener. It doesn't have to be a famous song by a famous artist. It doesn't have to move you to tears, nor does it have move you to action. It just has to move you. It doesn't even have to be special to anybody else on the planet. But when it moves you to remember special people, special places, special times, and good feelings, it becomes your own. It gets stuck inside you, you hear it, sing it, whistle it, you think about it. Unlike "The Macarena" or some other suicide-inducing earworm, it's not stuck inside your head, it's stuck inside your heart. That's what happened to me.

Sunday afternoon, on a cruise ship to St. Somewhere, and the real world was just a memory. Ahead of us lay clear blue oceans, lush green islands, and no worries. I was on the Lido Deck, catching some rays and sharing drinks and laughs with good friends. The band was done for the day, and a song was playing in the background on the sound system. My mind was somewhere else, but it was a catchy melody, and my foot was tapping away in time on the wooden deck, beneath a sky so blue it hurt your eyes to look at it. Hoser was lying on a deck chair when the song caught his attention, and he lifted his head. "Who is that?" he asked. I focused on the music. Man, what a great melody. And the voice? Unmistakable. "That's Jerry," I answered, "It's Stars On The Water!"

I've been,
Living on an island,
Out in the middle of the ocean,
The middle of the sea.


Hey! That's us! We're living on an island! So, it's made of steel, and it moves, and it has the highest per capita ratio of drunks and overeaters in the galaxy, but it's an island!

I've been,
Living on an island,
And I find,
It's restoring my sanity

You could,
Really start to feel good
If you ever get the notion,
To be happy and free.

Hey! That really is us! We ARE that song!

So now, for the rest of my life, every time I hear that song, I'll be back up on that Lido Deck, with my friends and a cold beer, and not a care in the world. And every time I relive the great times we had on that trip, Living On An Island will be my soundtrack, with Jer and Mike singing and playing their hearts out....

The rest of the album is just as good, from the emotion of Gamble's Guitar , to the escapism of Someday Isle, to the outright fun of What Happens In Key West Never Happened, to every commuter's hood-mounted-flamethrower theme song, Livin' On The Highway:

Here's a little Catch-22
To make you stop and think:
Shouldn't drink and drive,
But drivin's drivin' me to drink


Amen, my brothers.

And thanks, Jer, Mike and Randy. This one's a keeper. But, hey, Parrotheads, you can't have mine! It belongs to me! Go on over to Stars' website and get your own!

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Through The Eyes Of A Parakeet

Transcript of actual conversation in my car with my 6-year-old grand-parakeet, Ladybug:

She was in the back seat, I was in the front, when a little foot with what looked like a mangled flip-flop extended between the seats into my field of vision:

"Look at my flip-flop, Papa!"

Holy Crap! What happened to it? Did you blow out your flip-flop?

The little foot withdraws once again to the back seat for a moment, then reappears, this time with a normal-looking flip-flop.

"No, I was just kidding. See? It's OK." (I still don't know what she did to the thing.)

WHEW! You had me for a minute there. I thought you blew out your flip-flop. Y'know, Jimmy Buffett blew out HIS flip-flop one time. (The kid adores his music)

"Really? What happened?"

He cut his heel, and had to limp on back home.

(An audible gasp comes from the back seat. There's genuine concern in her voice now)

"OH NO! Is he OK?"

Yeah, he's fine. No problems.

"Is he still going to sing and make music?"

Oh, sure. He's FINE. REALLY! You don't have to worry about him.

(Big sigh of relief from back seat)

"Oh, good. I'd be sad if he didn't sing anymore."

ME TOO!. But why would YOU be sad?

"Because Jimmy's music makes me happy."

ME TOO! What's your favorite song? 'Jolly Mon'? 'Little Miss Magic'? 'Chanson Pour les Petits Enfants'?

(Long, thoughtful pause)

"The shark one."

You mean 'Fins'? Like in 'fins to the left, fins to the right'?

"Yeah! That one!"

ME TOO! Why is 'Fins' your favorite?

"Because it makes me feel like summer, Papa."

Yeah, me too, Ladybug. Me too.

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Tuesday, March 27, 2007

 

El Capitan, Your Furniture Has Arrived!


Guns looked a lot better as beer cans than as furniture. They have a bunch of this stuff over here. Good luck with that.

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Damn! Just Damn!

Friday night on the cruise, the last night before returning to the real world, I checked and found I still had a shitload of those little bar credit coupons with the cruise line.

A TRAVESTY! THIS INJUSTICE CANNOT STAND!

So it was down to the theater for the singer/songwriter show, perhaps the best show of the entire trip. Had a couple of drinks there, then up to dinner. The cute South African bar server greeted me, as always, by name.

"Will that be a Dewars on the rocks, Mr. Crime Dog?"

You bet. Make it a double. I got COO-puns. (a la Ron White)

So went the night: Make it a double, I got this round, yada yada. Finally, it's midnight, and we're in a bar with a rock band of what looks like Indonesians playing Led Zeppelin and Jim Hendrix. It's kind of surreal. Steve-O heads to the bar with a "want anything?" I check my pocket: one last coupon. I really don't want a beer, but what the Hell? This is a special moment. I raise the coupon high overhead with a triumphant fist pump, to resounding applause and adulation. In my head, anyway.

YES! I DID IT! I'm not giving one dime back to these overcharging fat cat bastards!

I got my bar tab the next day, showing all those times I didn't use my coupons. As it turns out, I actually gave 7,450 dimes back to those overcharging fat cat bsstards, but that doesn't negate my my triumph over the coupons, right?

Flash forward to this morning as I unpacked my scuba gear. I found a swimsuit in with it, and recalled that I packed it there because it was still a little damp at the time. Just as I started to toss it into the hamper, I thought it wise to check the pockets. What, dear reader, do you suppose was in the right pocket? Of course:

Two damp, but very negotiable, bar coupons.

Overcharging fat cat bastards got me after all.

Know anybody going on a Carnival cruise any time soon, that could use a couple of free drinks, compliments of The Crime Dog?

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Oh, And Before I Forget:

I could even have added the following:

13) Watched as Jerry Gontang tried to singlehandedly eat every ounce of ice cream on the ship.
14) Bought a map from Yoda.
15) Bought a necklace from a guy on St Lucia, and wore it prominently so the other necklace guys would see it and leave me the fuck alone. Didn't work.
16) Found St Maarten pretty filthy and boring, and St Kitts too small, but fell in love with St. Lucia before the boat even tied up. I could run away and live the rest of my life there. It's easily the most beautiful, has by far the friendliest people, best food, best beer (Piton), best everyt'ing mon.
17) Along with 11 friends, called for the cook in a little local joint in Soufriere, St. Lucia, then stood and applauded her. My God, what that woman could do with Creole Fish, saffron rice, lentils, and fried plantain!
18) Consistently walked in the wrong direction while on board the ship. Didn't know my aft from my fore, unless TFMCD directed me, or I passed a window and could see what direction the ship was heading.
19) Found out that Jack Mosley is one helluva songwriter, and bought every one of his albums.
20) Found that folks in Florida are even weirder about that NASCAR shit than Cheesehead.

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The Envelope, Please:

OK, the answer to yesterday's quiz is #12, "All of the above," but only if you accept the geographical/astronomical premise of #11, which I believe I have adequately proven. I could also have added the following:

1: Yes, I got my toenails painted, and they are quite fetching. They have a blue sea with a shark fin, against a pinkish sky. I have only a vague recollection of the incident.
2: Yes, but in my defense, I did look around my deck chair, didn't see it, and thought I must have already packed it. It should also be noted that .11 left his binoculars at the same bar. That's some tip them damned Frenchies picked up that day.
3: Completely out. We had to go back to Miller Light, which is generally my first choice anyway, but the Bud came in those cool aluminum bottles and stayed cold longer.
4: I think Vickie from Queen Creek had something to do with this one. It was a "If Lost, Please Return To...." thing.
5: The Islamorada Seafood restaurant in Ft. Lauderdale has a collection of iguanas who crawl all over the patio, including into the dishes and silverware. This big bastard (6' long or so) was hanging out on the tiki bar roof when we got there, but later came down to extort food from us. Even he wouldn't eat the shitty conch fritters they make in that joint, but he had a taste for lettuce. We figured the other lizards constituted his stable, hence the nickname, borrowed with respect from the true one and only.
6) Yes - a six pack of Piton, a bottle of guavaberry rum, and one of the three bottles of The Captain I hauled out there.
7) At a dive site a mile or so offshore on St Kitts, a wrecked freighter lies at 60'. There is actually a small bulldozer on the wreck, but I couldn't get it to start. I think it was flooded.
8) Hoser threw the napkin at me, hit me, and it fell into the pool. It dissolved and looked just like a load. Everyone that came by, I'd ask "You know what that is?" I thought Hoser would pee himself, he was laughing so hard.
9) OK, maybe that's semi-true. It was smuggled rum, but it was mixed into a cold concoction and in a water bottle provided by the cruise. It floated nicely, and could be seen for some time bobbing on the gentle Caribbean waves. Some Cuban now has a nice water bottle with my wife's name on it.
10) So sue me. I didn't have my GPS at the moment.
11) I think I've proven my point on that one. Prove me wrong, and I'll admit it. Sure as hell looked like the Southern Cross to me!

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Monday, March 26, 2007

 

Who The Hell Is That?



This photo was snapped by a friend of .11's on a beach in St. Bart's last week. So who is that guy surfing with Cameron? (Click photo to view full-size)

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Some things just require no comment whatsoever.

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Where To Start?

Man, do I have a lot to tell you people....I don't even know where to start. Eight days floating in the Caribbean Sea with 450 Parrotheads, three ports o' call, endless supplies of alcohol, pirates, togas, angry captains, fantastic music, and enough food to nourish the entire third world. We Parrotheads were the poster children for conspicuous consumption in a floating city built on conspicuous consumption.

So, I'll just start out with a one-question, multiple answer quiz. Here it is:

Of the following, which DID NOT happen to The Crime Dog?


1) Got his toenails painted after consuming too much rum.
2) Lost a very expensive scuba mask after consuming too much Carib beer.
3) Helped drink the Lido Bar on the 9th Deck right out of Bud Light.
4) Had his room number written on his feet with a Sharpie so as to not get hopelessly lost after drinking the Lido Deck Bar right out of Bud Light.
5) Met a giant lizard nicknamed "Pimp Daddy."
6) Smuggled more booze coming home than leaving.
7) Tried to drive a bull dozer 60 feet under the Caribbean.
8) Had people believing that a napkin dissolving in the pool was actually spooge.
9) Laughed hysterically when his fetching wife, while trying to keep her hat from blowing off, flung a bottle of smuggled rum into the Caribbean just off Guantanamo.
10) Led a bunch of folks in flipping off Castro as the ship passed Cuba, only to find out he had actually led a bunch of folks in flipping off the Dominican Republic.
11) In the immortal words of the classic song, got to "see the southern cross for the first time."
12) All the above happened to The Crime Dog.

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Wednesday, March 14, 2007

 

The Mysterious Origin Of My Newspaper

Did you miss me? My brain can't catch up with my ass these days...or is it the other way around? Whatever. We're getting ready for the Parrothead Cruise, along with Steve-O and Rock, The Pirate Captain and His Wench, .11 and Kristie, Hoser and Joy, and other great Phriends. Leaving tomorrow morning, in fact, to catch up with the pre-cruise party at the Marriott in Ft. Lauderdale tomorrow night. Our ship shoves off Friday for several St Somewheres and lots of friends, music, food, drink, and debauchery. I'm sure she's well stocked with short stories and long laughs.

Hell, I haven't even been able to unroll my newspaper the past few days to catch up with what passes itself off as news. Which reminds me: I've been meaning for some time to ask you all if you know where newspapers come from? I'm mystified by the whole process. All I know is that somebody called me one day, and told me that for a mere pittance they would make sure I got all the news fit to read. I paid up, and these newspapers began appearing every morning in my driveway.

Seemingly from nowhere.

I have never, ever actually seen my paper being delivered. I have no idea if it's delivered by a kid on a bike, a guy on a moped, a woman in a car, or an alien spacecraft. Countless times, I've gone out at 6:00AM, no paper. Go out a few minutes later - there it is. I've gone back into the house for mere seconds before, and the paper was there when I came back out. Once, I just pretended I was going back into my house, walked nonchalantly up the walkway, whistling, hands in pockets, then BAM! turned around and there the sonofabitch was.

Monday, it almost happened for me. I went out about 6:30AM. I saw no car, but I did see headlights reflecting off a neighbor's wall, and heard a car moving on the street. I held back a second, seeing as how I was clad only in a tee-shirt and boxers, and I didn't want to flash whichever neighbor was headed out to work at such an ungodly hour. Then, I heard it:

Plump! The telltale sound of newspaper striking concrete from a height of perhaps four feet.

This was it! My chance! I ran as fast as my bum leg would carry me so I could see around the corner of my house. There was the paper on the driveway! But where was the deliverer? I looked down the street. Nothing. No cars, no lights, nothing. Where the hell did he/she/it go? I'm pretty sure I saw some lights hovering over the next cul-de-sac, but I don't want to sound weird or nothing.

I picked up the paper.

Still warm.

What manner of craziness is this? Maybe I need a little vacation, just to rest my weary head. I'll see you in two weeks, OK? Don't forget me.

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Friday, March 09, 2007

 

The Exhibition is PEOPLE! It's PEEEEO-PLE!!!!!


Am I the only one that's a little bit creeped out by that human body display thing they got going over at the Arizona Science Center? I was disinterestedly cool with it until I found out the displays are real people. Real dead people. In both senses of the word real, even.

Now, don't get me wrong. People without clothes on don't bother me all that much. Hell, with some folks, I'm all for it. But once you've skinned and freeze-dried them, for God's sake, throw a housecoat on 'em. It just goes a wee bit beyond the pale for The Crime Dog. I make no judgments about it, have no ethical concerns whatsoever. If it's not my body out there, then my Don't Give A Shit-O-Meter stays pretty much in the red. It's just weird, that's all.

Now, understand that I've been to countless suicide, homicide, accidental death, and natural death scenes in my day. I can eat a sandwich while the body guys scrape some dude off the asphalt, no problem. But take some guy, skin him, and freeze his dead ass doing a handstand off a skateboard, and I'll just go have a beer instead. Let me know when you're done.

Just my thought for the day.

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I learned today that local artist Sarah Vanell will be opening for David Pack on April 13th, down at the Higley Center for the Performing Arts. OK, so it ain't the sexiest venue in town, but Sarah is a terrific musician and David Pack is....well, he's David Pack. You probably know him better as the front man for Ambrosia, which enjoyed their greatest popularity on the progressive rock scene in the early 80's, but was around a lot longer than that. Pack has a solo album out now, and is hitting the comeback trail. It sounds like he will be running out some of the old Ambrosia stuff, but has some new music as well.

Anyway, I picked up a couple of tickets. Here's the info. Maybe I'll see you there.

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Thursday, March 08, 2007

 

So, Call Me A Pig.......



I still think this is funny!

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Tuesday, March 06, 2007

 

This Just In To The Crime Dog Newsroom.....

Today's Crime Dog/Parrothead slant on the news:

Ann Coulter is an insufferable asshole. I believe that, and I'm a registered Republican. I'm a registered Republican who actually thinks even Hillary Clinton is beginning to look pretty good in the wake of perhaps the most inept administration since Jimmy Carter, so you know where I'm coming from. But why the Republicans keep asking this wingnut to speak for them is beyond me.

A bunch of good-hearted folks want to swim from Alcatraz to San Francisco to raise money for an Arizona drowning-prevention group. To train for the event, they're swimming around in 55 degree Saguaro Lake. We're talking maximum shrinkage here. Nonetheless, this is a wonderful cause, and I think we should all help. I'm in. On March 21st, I'll do a cannonball off my dive boat at St. Kitts. Get out your checkbook.

Mesa child molester Richard Paul Norris has been sentenced to prison, but will be eligible for parole after only 482 years. You Moms and Dads out there, mark your calendars for March 2nd, 2489. He could be moving in to your neighborhood. Ever notice that really bad guys seem to always use all three names? Makes you wonder....

Some idiot who was hauling 43 pounds of weed in his trunk in South Carolina ran headlong into the back of a parked Highway patrol vehicle. I'm letting that one go. it's too easy.

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Monday, March 05, 2007

 

And The Horse You Rode In On

Actual transcript of a phone call received by the Crime Dog International Investigation and Boat Drink Headquarters today:

BRRRRIIINNNG!

Investigations, this is The Crime Dog.

Long pause...then a click. Big hint, that long pause and click.

Hello, Dan?

Nope, no Dan here. Wrong number.

"That's OK, Crime Dog. You can help me. My name is Annoying Twat, and I directly represent the Fraternal Order of Police."

(OK, so I don't remember the name she used. That one is close enough.)

They teach you that down there at the FOP, Annoying Twat?

"Teach me what?"

That little bait and switch you just ran by me.

"I'm not sure what you're referring to, Sir."

Now I'm "Sir"? A second ago we were on a first-name-basis. I thought we were friends.

"I'm just trying to be respectful."

If you want to be respectful, then hang up the goddam phone and don't call me again. We both know you don't directly represent the FOP. You're a contract telemarketer who couldn't spell "FOP" if I spotted you the "F" and the "O".

"Well! I, um...er...." CLICK!

Ah yes, the sweet sound of success.

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Stands To Reason....

The drunk and rowdy passenger that forced an entire 747 flying from England to Phoenix to land in Canada, just so the crew could throw his ass off the plane, had to be an Irishman. The 98% of us Irish guys who drink, cuss, and get in trouble give a bad name to the rest.

My big brother and I come from a long line of hard drinkin', hard ridin', loud- mouthed Irish cowboys. The rest of our heritage is somewhat less upstanding, but it is what it is. The guy they kicked off the plane is probably a cousin.

So, here we go, off on a Caribbean cuise next week with 399 like-minded Parrotheads on one boat. And we'll be out there for St. Patrick's Day. And one of our number will be having a birthday on the trip, too. And then there's a toga party. I foresee a great many dead brain cells in my immediate future.

Cool.

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Friday, March 02, 2007

 

Next Stop: Sun Lakes

My iPod is sitting in its little speaker mount thingie, playing away as I work. I tracked the first ten songs, just for the sheer shit of it. My age is showing.

1) You're So Vain - Carly Simon - 1972
2) Philadelphia Freedom - Elton John - 1976
3) Centerfield - John Fogerty - 1986
4) Gypsies In The Palace - Jimmy Buffett - 1985
5) Dirty Love - Frank Zappa - 1972
6) Black Friday - Steely Dan - 1975
7) Riders On The Storm - The Doors - 1971
8) Come Sail Away - Styx - 1977
9) Who Will Save Your Soul - Jewel - 1995
10)Litenin' - Dr. John - 2001

I'm guessing at the years, but they should be pretty close.

Those last two saved me from being a bonafide artifact. Even though Dr. John has been around for a couple of decades, he didn't release Litenin' to my knowledge until about 2001. It lifted the average year of the music I'm listening to all the way up to 1981. Good thing he came in when he did. #11 was Revolution by the Beatles.

EXTRA CREDIT QUESTION: I have an all-expense paid trip to Laveen for whoever can first tell me just what the Hell Styx (Is that redundant?) was alluding to with the last two verses of that song up there. Go ahead. Google it. You know you want to.

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I Was Almost Famous

A few days ago, I made reference to a chance encounter I had with a celebrity when I was 14 years old. OK, already, here's the story. Stop asking.

Wayners was living in SoCal back in 1970, after finishing a stint in the Navy. When my high school in Roswell got out that Spring, he sent me a plane ticket to come spend some time with him. Or Mom bought it, hell I don't know. All I know is my young ass was on an airplane for its very first ride, and I was stoked, just short of my 15th birthday.

In those days (and I doubt it's changed much in 37 years), you could fly nowhere from Roswell without flying first to Albuquerque, so we landed there for a brief layover. I stayed on the plane, absolutely convinced they'd leave my country ass behind if I got off. Of course, I didn't know I was bumpkin. I thought I was like, the coolest almost-15-year-old in Roswell. That's roughly equivalent to being the smartest kid on the short bus.

A group of hippie-looking dudes got on the plane together, and I knew immediately they had to be a rock band. I searched their faces as they selected their seats and settled in....Let's see here....Three Dog Night? Creedence? Cream? Grass Roots? NO! I've GOT it! Look at that tall black dude - this is Sly and the Family Stone!

Unfortunately for me, one of the white guys who wasn't Sly took the seat next to mine. Shit! Probably a roadie. Just my luck. The guy leaned his head over and promptly fell asleep without a word.

About a half-hour out of LA, the guy woke up, looked at me, nodded his head and smiled. Now, you know me, I'm the shy type. Not much for talking. But I seized the moment and chatted him up a bit.

Hey, I noticed you got on with some other guys. Are you a band or something?

He smiled, "Yeah, we're the Steve Miller Band. I'm Steve Miller." He extended his hand, and I shook it, all the while thinking:

Dammit. A bunch of loser garage-banders no one ever heard of.

Gimme a break. It WAS only 1970, after all, and nobody had heard of them.

We talked a bit more. They had just done a show in Albuquerque and were enroute to Honolulu for another. They were worn out from the road, looking forward to a break, the usual idle chit chat. The plane landed, we parted company, and that was that.

A few weeks later, I was browsing a record store. Hell, I could have pitched a tent and lived in a record store in those days. I had music. Who needed food?
I asked the clerk if he'd ever heard of The Steve Miller Band. He went to a rack and produced an album called Number 5, put it on, and played it.

Still never heard of 'em.

The day I got back home, I was in my room listening to the radio when a song I really liked came on.

Hey, ho, one thing I know
Every mother's child really lets himself go


As I said, I'd heard it before, but just who the Hell was that? The song ended, and the DJ said "That was the Steve Miller Band with In The Country."

And the rest, as they say, is history. They went on to become one of the most popular rock bands of the 70's. If I knew when I was sitting next to him on the plane what I know now, I'd have followed them to Honolulu. I could have been the William Miller to his Russell Hammond. Maybe I'd be Cameron Crowe today.

It's all about timing......

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