Parrothead Ramblings

Great Parrotheads In History!

2010-02-02T09:43:00.002-07:00

I don't care to belong to a club that accepts people like me as members
- Groucho Marx.

Like so many great historical Parrotheads, Groucho Marx never knew he was a Parrothead. According to the legend, Parrotheads weren't even invented until circa 1985, some eight years after Groucho sailed on into the mystic.

But he HAD to be a Parrothead in spirit, didn't he? After all, he invented the look that gave us those fake glasses with the nose and cheesy mustache attached, right? It's hard to do anything but smile wearing those stupid things. Did you know that it wasn't until he got into TV that he actually grew a mustache. Prior to that, he just globbed one on with greasepaint, then greased up his hair and eyebrows to match. Does that sound like a normal person?

And what other Parrothead-like mischief was Groucho famous for?

Once upon a time, while passing through customs, Groucho listed his real name on the customs form (Julius Henry Marx), and his occupation as "smuggler." Chaos ensued.

Groucho once ended a letter to Dick Cavett with "P.S. Did you ever notice that Peter O'Toole has a double-phallic name?"

When Groucho met Elton John in 1972, he mirthfully pointed "six-shooter" fingers at Elton, who threw up his hands and shouted.....wait for it..."Don't shoot me, I'm only the piano payer." And history was made.

And if that's not sufficient to convince you of Groucho's Parrotheadism, I give you the following quotations from the man himself:

Getting older is no problem. You just have to live long enough.

I have a mind to join a club and beat you over the head with it.

I intend to live forever, or die trying.

I never forget a face, but in your case I'll be glad to make an exception.

I remember the first time I had sex - I kept the receipt.

And finally, and maybe the best:

I, not events, have the power to make me happy or unhappy today. I can choose which it shall be. Yesterday is dead, tomorrow hasn't arrived yet. I have just one day, today, and I'm going to be happy in it.

So, add Groucho to the Parrothead Hall of Fame! Phins up, everyody!

The Best Albums You Never Heard

2009-11-16T10:34:00.003-07:00

I've often heard that smells more quickly retrieve memories than any other sense. I know whenever I have the now rare opportunity on a cold day to be someplace where they use propane space heaters, I am immediately swept back to my grandparents' home on on remote ranch in eastern New Mexico. A cold, windswept, high plains day, in a cozy home full of love and the smells of Grandma's home cooking. It brings a tear to my eye every time.

Some songs have that effect, too, often more strongly. Such was the case the first time I heard Riverside on Dave Zobls' 2008 release, And So It Goes. Suddenly, there I was with my best high school buddies, my rattle trap car parked above us on the bank, sitting in the shade of the salt cedars, sipping a cold beer and watching the muddy waters of the Pecos River flow past while we cracked on one another and reveled in our worlds of no real jobs, no mortgage, no responsibilities, and no worries.

Dave's voice is so uniquely comforting, he could sing the phone book and make it entertaining. Add to that his insightful, homey lyricism, and Dave's art is something you simply do not want to miss. I particularly also enjoyed Lightning Bugs and Clotheslines, a couple of things I never see anymore but which once again bring back a flood of warm memories. Feeling a little down? Put on Six String Therapy and see if it doesn't bring your smile back, if only for a little while. Every little bit helps, right?

Are You Up There is a wonderfully touching piece of songwriting I heard for the first time when Dave performed it live at Fiddler's Dream a few months ago. It's lovely on this album, and I have to say it's even more effective with the pensive loneliness inherent in the one guitar/one voice of the live show.

The Crime Dog highly recommends And So It Goes. Along with Dave's other albums, it's available in all the usual places, like ITunes, CD Baby, and Rhapsody, or you can go right to the source and get it from Dave himself.

I first reviewed a Dave Zobl album several years ago with Roots and Wings. Then as now, he does not really place himself firmly within the Trop Rock genre, but his music has the heart and soul that we all so enjoy from guys like Mark Mulligan and Rob Mehl. So do yourself a favor, and pick up And So It Goes. While you're at it, try Best Day Yet and Roots and Wings. The Crime Dog would never steer you wrong.

As always, support your favorite artists by purchasing their music. Bootlegs are for losers.

The Best Albums You Never Heard

2009-11-11T09:38:00.006-07:00

A few weeks back, I was chatting with our good friends and wonderful musicians Mark Mulligan, Brent Burns, and Dave Zobl over at Fiddler's Dream. We talked about how I once profiled trop-rock music on this blog, highlighting an artist and album on pretty much a weekly basis. They were all encouraging me to start it up again, and I told them it sounded like a good idea and I'd get off my lazy ass and do it again.

But I didn't. Until now. Why now, Crime Dog?

Because I just had the pleasure of hearing my buddy Sam Rainwater's first CD release, Vacation Location.

You may have heard every one of these songs a bazillion times from Sam and his ever-present ukulele, and enjoyed them every time, but let me tell you, you have never ever heard them like this. Where did that steel guitar come from? And that piano? A horn section? Percussion? Steelpans? Really? Holy trop-rock, folks, this album is GOOD.

I had the privilege of being among the first to purchase Vacation Location at the rooftop singer/songwriter event last week at the Rum Barrel in Key West. It was actually the only one I purchased all week at Meeting of the Minds, not wanting to haul them around in my pockets all night and pack them up for the long trip home. I couldn't have made a better choice.

This is escapism at its Parrothead finest, my friends. Great lyrics, excellent backing music, and a professional sound to rival the work of any label.

I never would have guessed the title track might be the best song on the entire album, but it just may be. Or maybe it's Tiki Bar In My Backyard. And Bourbon Street South? The horns give it a New Orleans street jazz feel that will make you want to head down to Duval Street or even the Big Easy itself.

At this year's Phins To The West event, Sam grabbed me on the first day and asked me to listen to a song he had just begun to write and was excited about. That song was It Ain't Cool To Be A Pirate Anymore. I was immediately captivated by it, and could not get it out of my head for days. Hearing it on this CD, I now know why. Are you listening out there, Sandbar Radio? Island Time? Permanent Vacation? This song needs to be played.

Do yourselves a favor, folks. Come by Sam's release party Friday, November 13, at Club Max's Sports Grill, Thomas & Scottsdale Road in Scottsdale between 6:00 - 9:00PM. There, you'll be able to pick up a copy of Vacation Location and sail away with Sam Rainwater. Out of towners can order a copy from Sam himself at his website, or even download a copy at Digstation.

And remember: It ain't cool to be a pirate anymore, and it's even less cool to bootleg music. All of Sam's CD sales proceeds go to support troop mailings and Castaway Kids, so buy your own and don't make me go all Crime Dog on you by burning a bootleg.

The Affair of the Clown

2009-06-01T14:05:00.002-07:00

Parrotheads putting their best efforts to work for the needy at UMOM!

A great number of Arizona Parrotheads converged Saturday on the United Methodist Outreach Ministry in central Phoenix, spaghetti-laden crock pots, garlic bread, and desserts in tow to help that worthwhile organization feed about 230 folks, people who might be a little less fortunate than perhaps most of us are. And feed them we did, until everyone got their fill (including the Parrotheads), and we still had a few metric tons of delicious pasta left over. A great time, rewarding and enjoyable, was had by all. Well, almost all.....and that's where this story begins. It may not be a 100% accurate depiction of the event, but The Crime Dog never lets the truth get in the way of a good story.

One of our more delightful participants was the always fetching Lexy the Clown, colorfully arrayed in makeup, clown suit and hat, Mardi Gras beads in hand, making the day just a little brighter for a bunch of lovely children. She was, as usual, fantastic. A powder room break brought Lexy the Clown in touch with a little girl who required some assistance. One part of that was assisting the munchkin in getting some hand soap out of the dispenser, mounted too high on the wall for her to reach. As the child expectantly extended her cupped little hands to catch the glob of soap, Lexy the Clown kindly gave the dispenser button a push, and......

somehow blasted the poor kid in the face with it.

The munchkin erupted in a hair curling screech, as you might expect after getting zapped in the eyes with a tablespoon of hand soap. It gets a little foggy what happened then. I prefer to visualize it as several frantic Parrotheads filling the sink with water, holding the child by the ankles and dunking her head up and down in the water several times to get the soap out of her eyes, but my guess it was not quite so dramatic.

Now, let's play role reversal. Let's say it's.....hmmmm...how about Woody in the clown suit instead? Visualize this:

A middle-aged man in a clown suit, pockets full of suckers and pretty beads, takes a little boy into the bathroom. Seconds later, the kid shrieks, other adults enter to help, only to find Woody the Clown grappling with a hysterically screaming four year old boy. In the mens room.

Stop mister! Please! You're HURTING me! Why did you squirt that on me? AIIIEEEE!!!

I'm guessing we'd be seeing Woody on the evening news, verge of tears, makeup running, holding up a little sign with his name and booking number on it. Both frontal and profile. No reward and no bail.

Wish I was somewhere than here, down in some honky tonk sippin' on a beer....

I Dig This Place

2009-05-17T13:07:00.003-07:00

Margaritaville promotion, Buffett show, grandkid's birthdays....my feet haven't stopped moving for DAYS. But who's to complain? These are some of the things that make life enjoyable.

TFMCD and I turned the whole Margaritaville promotion/Buffett concert thing into a getaway. Took Thursday and Friday off, snagged a room at the Marriott Renaissance, and just stayed over. Let me tell, you, that place has some service.

We left our car with the valet Wednesday night, and Thursday morning around 6:30AM, I realized my phone was still in it. I called downstairs, told the valet my problem, and within five minute he was at the door, my phone in hand.

It gets better.

After the Margaritaville promotion, we headed back to the hotel for a little power nap. As I passed the front desk, I asked the attendant there if they could send a fan up to our room. No problem with the A/C, I explained, we just like more air circulation than most folks. The attendant said she was not sure if they had any, but would do what she could.

After a quick nap, we headed back over towards Margaritaville. A valet, whom I have no recollection of ever having met, saw me at the door and told me he had a fan for me, but would have to put it together. I thanked him, and was wondering how he even knew the heck I was.

When we returned to our room that afternoon, a large floor fan was awaiting us, ready for action. Impressive.

But it still gets better.

As we were leaving for the concert, the valet asked me how the fan worked out. I thanked him and told him it was great. He then told me they didn't have any in the hotel, so he had gone to the store, purchased one, assembled it, and took it up to our room.

Any question where we'll be staying every time we decide to hang out overnight on the west side?

Crime Dog, Cream Dog, Now This.....

2009-05-12T09:38:00.005-07:00

A big AZPHC Phinz Up! to the wonderful people at Packages From Home. Heroes helping Heroes.

So I'm with a bunch of my Parrothead Phriends Saturday at Packages From Home, packing up goodies to ship off to America's True Heroes - the men and women of our U.S. Armed Forces in Iraq and Afghanistan - when I suddenly hear raucous, convulsive laughter from the far end of the packing table. I glance that way, and I see Crash and a few of the fine folks from Packages From Home yukking it up. Cool.

But then I see it....that sideways glance from Crash that lets me know beyond any doubt that it is I, the Crime Dog, who is at the butt of this mirth.

Turns out one of the fine folks from Packages misheard my nickname, and had apparently asked Crash something like "Which one is Crap Dog?" I may not have correctly stated the quote, but you get the sentiment. So, for the rest of that day, and much of that fine evening, I was "The Crap Dog." Remains to be seen how long THAT one will hang on.

In retrospect, I'm beginning the think the "Cream Dog" moniker hung on me by the LA club a few years ago at Parrot Grande is downright preferable.

Hey, call me anything! We packed up 50 boxes for our troops Saturday. Everything else pales in comparison.

I Heart Buffett Concert Week

2009-05-11T18:07:00.005-07:00

We Parrotheads know how to start early and finish late.

When I was a kid growing up in New Mexico, there were a few days I really dug, and looked forward to all year. Christmas, of course, a no-brainer. The last day of school. First football game. My birthday, naturally. And then there was the first week of September - the week that the Eastern New Mexico State Fair opened. It was a mega-huge day for kids, because they actually gave us the day out of school to go to the parade and the first day of the fair. A kid could decorate up his bicycle and actually enter the parade - ride that sucker right down the middle of Main Street, baby! No helmet, gloves, or knee pads required!

Forty-plus years later, I can still clearly remember the anticipation, the excitement, and the energy of the days leading up to the big show, surpassed only by the sounds and smells of the fair itself. Carnies barking, music playing, bingo callers shouting out numbers, big diesel engines spinning up "The Bullet" and "The Round Up" into screaming, pants peeing fear and excitement, and the PA announcer at the rodeo calling out who just got thrown from a saddle bronc. I can still smell the stock barns (which you can turn your nose up to, but it just smells like home to me), the burning diesel fuel, delicious cotton candy and popcorn, and of course the savory, sizzling smell of the Kiwanians grilling those delicious burgers over by the Bingo tent, near the Commercial Exhibit building. Who knows, maybe this will be the year I snag a kiss on the haunted house ride, or under the bleachers at Coca Cola Field Man, what I wouldn't give to relive Fair Week one more time before taking that big dirt nap in the sky.

It's been said that "you can never go home again." True enough. I know if I went back there, it wouldn't be nearly the same. It would be too loud, dusty, annoying, and small, even though it seemed so gigantic when I was a 12-year-old. It's better that the fair just lives in my memory, where it still exhilarates me in my middle-ageness.

But guess what? I'm a Parrothead! I have Buffett Concert Week! That same excitement and anticipation, the same exhilaration all week long, looking ahead to the big show! I'll take the day off, just like when I was 10. I'll hang out at Margaritaville all morning, sipping a few adult beverages, palling around and palying grabass with Wayners, Steve-O, Rick and the rest of the kids. Wondering if maybe my special girlfriend will give me a secret kiss in that big dining room sailboat. Parade? You bet! All around the parking lot of Cricket Pavilion will be one big parade of suntan-oiled, Margarita-mixing, shot luge riding, grass skirt wearing, flag waving, fin waving, crustacean and cheeseburger eatin' Parrotheads. Hell, there'll probably be as many folks in the parking lot as in my whole home town!

Are you feeling it now? Maybe just a little? Yeah, I thought so.

Meet me at Margaritaville!

Well, At Least I Remembered My Password...

2009-05-08T23:36:00.003-07:00

Yeah, it's me. Still kickin'. Still thinking about writing Parrothead Ramblings again. Lessee....tomorrow we're helping Packages From Home, then a board meeting, then a happy hour, then a club meeting....Sunday is Mother's Day. Not much free time.

Guess I'll have to think about it.

And thanks, Eric from the house concert.

A High Five For The Babes

2008-10-17T04:24:00.002-07:00

Seems our good phriends the O'Malley Babes have themselves a Top 10 video!

OK, so maybe they haven't broken out on MTV or VH1, but they managed to earn themselves a spot in the Top 10 of the High Fives On the High Seas video contest! Kudos, my phriends! Well played!

Now it's up to the rest of us to make sure their video has a shot at numero uno. Just slide right over to the contest, watch their video, and submit your vote. The top three vote-getters make it all the way to none other than than those lovable Hosers, The Barenaked Ladies for a final vote.

So what are you waiting for? Go there, do that!

Prop 102 Is Horseshit

2008-10-07T12:13:00.002-07:00

After that headline, I doubt I need to say anything else.

The TV ad being continually run by 102 proponents is at once laughable and insulting. It indicates that marriage is solely for the purpose of procreating and raising a family. That the best argument you have for this oppressive, liberty-hating piece of bullshit legislation?

If you're right, and if that's the purpose of marriage, shall we also outlaw marriage by anyone unwilling or incapable for whatever reason of procreating?

Ridiculous.

Memo to Bible thumpers (or Book of Mormon thumpers, as the case may be):

Leave people alone. Stop trying to force your morality down everyone else's throats.
Go to your churches, worship the way you want, raise your families as you see fit, and shut the hell up. Go away, and I promise to do the same.

Any questions?

Krankhaus Adventures

2008-10-07T07:10:00.002-07:00

Well, I'm still here and still dancin'. Today is the first day that my leg has actually looked relatively normal, and I feel good. I had no idea when I went to the ER last Monday that I would be a guest for anything more than a few hours, but took one urgent care, two ER's, four doctors, countless PA's and nurses, six days in the hospital, five shots in the gut, and I think we're up to seven antibiotics now. I don't even want to know how much this cost.

The folks at Mercy Gilbert were terrific. They were were attentive and patient, always answering my stupid questions and laughing at my lame jokes.

The morning I arrived at the ER, the nurse working the front desk took one look at me, and before I could say a word, asked "So, having a problem with your right leg?"

Wow. Is it that obvious?

"It looks like it's on fire."

It is. Please put it out.

The ER doc walked in, took one glance at my leg, said "I'm keeping you," scribbled something on a clipboard, and left. I wonder how much THAT cost me?

So, they got me up to a room, and my nurse came in and asked me all of the same questions I had already answered about six times, but then out of the blue asked:

"Do you feel safe at home?"

It took me a second to process the question before I could answer with a Huh?

"Do you feel safe at home?"

Um....yeah? It's like the only place I DO feel safe.

"We have to ask."

That night, the charge nurse came in to visit. What a nice woman, very sweet. She was one of those "touchy-feely" types, which is cool with me, but she apparently forgot why I was there. She had her hand resting on my left knee, and as she turned to leave, she good-naturedly slapped my right leg. Naturally, I screamed like a Girl Scout at a Jonas Brothers concert. She could not stop apologizing, even though I assured it really didn't hurt so much as it startled me. An hour or so later, she stuck her head in the door and asked

"Mark? Can I ask you something and you promise to be 100% honest with me?"

Now, I'm thinking somebody broke into the morphine cabinet and I'm a suspect.

Um, sure.

"Has your service here been good? Do you have any complaints or problems whatsoever?"

I assured her everything was fine, no problems, it was The Phoenician with drugs and motorized beds.

Interesting observations:

Did you know that the guy at Urgent Care will charge you your $75 deductible just to tell you he can't do anything for you and you need to go to the ER? I didn't.

I never knew prior to this that they have absolutely no healthy food whatsoever in the hospital. The just serve you the same shit that probably got you there in the first place. I guess maybe it's good for return business.

Did you know you can taste some of the stuff they put in your IV? Even the clear saline they flush it with tastes like cheap vodka. The worst was one of the antibiotics, which tasted very much like an old Converse All Star high top sneaker that had just been worn by a dude nicknamed "ToeJam" in a three-day basketball tournament held in a feed lot.

Did you know ultrasounds hurt? Especially when you're a guy, you have a leg infection, and it has managed to work its way all the way up that place that makes you a guy. That's when the ultrasound lady jams that thing in your crotch so hard you can feel it in the back of your throat. It was quick, though, and I got her to admit that it would have taken much longer had I been, say, Matthew McConaghey.

Did you know that high dosage IV antibiotics can also kill the bacteria that you need in your colon for it to work properly? And if that happens, you can get something called infectious diarrhea. And if that's not unsavory enough, one of the ways they cure it is by collecting healthy shit from a relative and pounding it up your ass to replace the missing native bacteria. Doesn't that sound like a hoot? Sorry I missed out.

And, on that note.....Good Day!

Happy 34th To Us.......

2008-09-28T12:58:00.002-07:00

Sick.

Bleah.

For the second time in about 1 1/2 years, I somehow managed to contract cellulitis in my right leg. My leg hurt all last week, but I thought I had injured my knee on a job in Tucson on the prior Friday. Turns out I have a raging infection in there.

So, instead of enjoying our 34th anniversary yesterday with a nice afternoon out and an evening of music with Blooster and the Mighty, Mighty Hot Wings, TFMCD and I spent it in the Emergency Room.

Sheesh.

The Inevitable End......

2008-09-25T14:42:00.004-07:00

Well, it finally happened. We knew it was coming. The handwriting has been on the wall for several weeks.

The Diamondbacks have been eliminated from the National League playoffs.

The Crime Dog has only one thing to say about that:

I'm almost relieved the DBacks are out of it. They would have probably gotten their asses handed to them in the first round anyway, and now I'm free to throw my support 100% to the Cubbies, whom I have followed since long before the DBacks were ever even thought about.

Your assignment today is to watch this video, and then tell me the connection it has with Jimmy Buffett. Pab, don't give it away before the other kids get to play! We both know you've known this one for a lo-o-o-ng time!

And no, it has nothing whatsoever to do with Buffett's Wrigley Field concert.

The Sarah Palin Bandwagon Makes a Detour Around Salem

2008-09-25T07:26:00.006-07:00

I'm not ready yet to leap off the Sarah Palin bandwagon, but I have to admit that shit like this weirds me out. There's probably enough witch-hunting in Washington to meet our current needs. I guess I can be cool with it, so long as she doesn't start throwing pages and interns into ponds to see if they float, or trying to build bridges out of them.

Cheesehead's Cat Is Cool

2008-09-25T06:59:00.002-07:00

I don't usually care for cats, but Cheesehead's cat "George" is cool. I'm not sure which former Dallas Cowboy she (yes, George is a she) was named for: George Andrie, George Teague, or perhaps even Eddie George, but one thing is for certain: The cat has class, demonstrated here by her outfit following Sunday night's beat down of the Green bay packers by America's Team.

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

2008-09-24T10:45:00.004-07:00

And in other breaking news, water is wet.

When Is That Day?

2008-09-23T07:40:00.001-07:00

Last year, that day arrived on September 18th. So far this year, I haven't felt it. Must be global warming.

Notes From the Road

2008-09-20T18:56:00.005-07:00

From a rundown Circle K off I10 in Tucson. It did. I didn't.

A wall mural in the bar of a little Mexican restaurant outside Nogales. Nothin's free, not even a quick ass grope.

And, speaking of ass gropers....Tough to see, but it reads "Capt. Tony's Flower Shop." The old boy must be expanding.

Proof Once Again That The Apocalypse Is Upon Us

2008-09-11T12:41:00.002-07:00

And coming in at #63......aaaargh.....

I saw a web article today that informed me that the most popular Biilboard single of all time is Chubby Checker's The Twist. That's cool. Everybody loves that song, it's catchy, fun, and infinitely danceable.

Believe it or not, Santana's Smooth with Rob Thomas comes in at #2. That's even better. Carlos is undeniably cool, and arguably the most talented guitarist of our generation. Even his restaurant is cool.

Bobby Darin comes in at 3rd with Mack the Knife. Hell, even Buffett performed that one.

But then it gets weird. Leann Rimes has the 4th most popular Billboard single of all time with something called How Do I Live. I think I know that one, and it's a sappy song, but what the hell? At least Leann Rimes can sing her ass off.

But now I have to draw a line in the sand. The #5 most popular Billboard song of all time is...are you sitting down? Take another swig off your beer bottle, get a good deep cleansing breath, try to be strong, because it's......Macarena. Wait a minute....urrrk.....sorry. I just threw up in my mouth a little bit.

It gets worse before it gets better. The #6 and #7 spots are occupied, respectively, but Olivia Newton John's Physical and Debbie Boone's You Light Up My Life. Excuse me.....

::Crime Dog runs to bathroom, finishes throwing up, brushes teeth and comes back::

At least sanity returns at #8 with Hey Jude.

If you want to take a little walk down memory lane, just stop on by the Billboard Hot 100 All-Time Songs. One of The Crime Dog's all-time favorite videos is there at #52. Bet you can't guess why it's one of The Crime Dog's all-time favorite videos.

NOTE: If you are going over to the Billboard site to see where Margaritaville came in....don't bother. I imagine a helluva lot more people sing along with Margaritaville than with Andy Gibb's Shadow Dancing (#42), but what the hell do I know?

Anybody Know Where I Can Find One of These?

2008-09-11T08:14:00.002-07:00

Fun and Games At the Grocery Store

2008-09-09T07:13:00.002-07:00

Do you ever get bored at the grocery store while you wait for your companion to compare nutrition information and prices on twelve different jars of peanut butter? It happens. Let me help with a new and exciting grocery store game:

When you know you're going to the grocery store later in the day, slam a big bowl of beans, pickled eggs, crab cakes, broccoli, or whatever else turns you into a flatulist (New word of the day).

When you feel a particularly volatile fart coming on, position yourself strategically about midway down an empty aisle. Once you are in position, you have to understand that timing is everything. You also need to make sure you have a grocery cart with you, so that you blend with the other shoppers. All systems are go now - let 'er fly. Walk away...slowly at first so that you do not create a slipstream that will cause your handiwork to follow you...and then HAUL ASS! Sprint to the corner make the turn and sprint down the next aisle to about the midway point. If you've timed it correctly, the next shopper - the "mark" - should be coming down the aisle you just gassed and vacated. Wait it out until the mark is a few feet from ground zero, then haul ass again, make the corner back to the bombed out aisle, hit the brakes and act normally.

Try to catch the mark just as he clears ground zero, then wave your arms animatedly, fanning the stench, while making a face and saying "Oh, DUDE!"

Try to get it on video. Could be worth a lot of money on that "funniest videos" show.

Another Question That Bothers Me So

2008-09-08T16:04:00.002-07:00

Why does my ear itch when I drink cold water?

You Had To Be There

2008-09-08T06:52:00.002-07:00

So Friday night a few of us decided to go out to a Red Lobster for the "Endless Shrimp" special and try to break the bank. We failed miserably in that regard, but it was the set up that was the most fun, anyway. I called Wayner to tell him when and where to meet, but he didn't answer. So I called Steve-O. He said he and Rocky were at home, so just call him again when we left for the Fiesta Mall Red Lobster, probably around 5:30. He lives so close to Fiesta Mall he could swing a cat and hit it, so he would go over and get on the seating list. TFMCD got home, and she said she thought we were going to the Gilbert Red Lobster. About that time, Wayner called back, so I told him we'd meet him in Gilbert. Then, TFMCD and I discussed it further and determined Fiesta was the best location after all. So I called Wayner back and told him to meet us at Fiesta. I called Steve-O to tell him we were leaving, but he didn't answer. No problem. I didn't need to leave a message. He'd see the missed call, know why I had called, and head over to Red Lobster to get on the seating list. That's when the texting started. Rocky and TFMCD sometimes prefer texting to dialing. It went someting, but not verbatim, like this:

Rock: Where are we going for dinner?

TFMCD (puzzled): Red Lobster!

Rock: Which one?

TFMCD (How can she not know?): Fiesta Mall

Rock: I'll go over and get on the list.

TFMCD: So where's Steve-O?

Rock: He'll come later. He stepped in cat vomit.

TFMCD: (laughing): EWWWWW!

Rock: Yeah, he's really, really mad.

Guess that explained why she didn't know where we were going. She was just trying to her ass out of the house after Steve-o squashed a pile of cat puke.

We all somehow managed to ultimately arrive at the same Red Lobster at about the same time. Now, when I went to CB's memorial Happy Hour the previous night, I found that I had somehow managed to wear the exact same shirt and shorts as Wayner, and everybody made fun of us. At the Red Lobster, Steve-O walked in wearing the exact same shirt and shorts as me. I must be a real trendsetter.

And I would be remiss if I failed to mention how proud Wayner was that he ate 62 shrimp. Just ask him. He'll tell you. I caught up with ZMan (who works for Red Lobster)at a local watering hole yesterday to watch the Cowboy game, and he told he once did 123. How is it skinny guys can eat so much?

Sail On, Eric

2008-09-01T14:15:00.004-07:00

I'd like nothing more today than to be able to write about all the good times at this past weekend's Parrot Grande. It was a great event with lots of friends, short stories, and long laughs. Maybe I will later. But the gravity of the loss we all suffered just before PG has begun to crowd in on me since arriving home. I saw Eric everyhere at the Francisco. He was on the 8th floor, making one of his endless cracks or laughing at another's. He was out on the lawn, rolling out of that stupid collapsible chair. He was out by the pool in his ever-present cap and sunglasses, enjoying the music he loved so much. As I was heading out the conference center doors for the last time this morning, there he was again, with Annette, busily setting up and handling registration.

I'd love to be able to go back to Key West this year, but it isn't in the stars. There I know I would see him again, as in these pictures we took a few trips back. I want just one more block party, or just one more beer at The Green Parrot with my friend.

Sail on Eric/CB/Catnip. You are so missed already.

It's 2:00PM. Do You Know Where Your Dog Is?

2008-08-25T11:30:00.002-07:00

What happens when Parrotheads leave their dog home alone? They become little canine Gypsies In the Palace.

From Assholes to Heartwarmers

2008-08-14T12:34:00.002-07:00

I have the TV on while I work. It provides a little sound so I know there are other humans out there. Somewhere....

Anyway, it's on the Olympics. I saw this morning that some Swedish rassler who thought he got jaked by a judge was so pissed he didn't get the gold that he threw his bronze medal on the floor and walked out. What an asshole. That Chinese gymnast who got robbed in the last Olympics at least took it like a man.

Contrast that with this 34-year-old swimmer from someplace called Equatorial Guinea. Dude has a name too long to reproduce here, and I know I can't find his country on a globe, even if you spot me the hemisphere. I'm guessing it's somewhere near the equator. Anyway, the guy goes out there to swim against the best swimmers in the world. He wasn't even sure how to take a stance on the starting platform, and just copied the guy next to him. You have to know that he had no illusion going in to the race that he was about to get anything beyond a significant ass whipping. He finished dead last, but actually wasn't too far behind. His Olympice were over in about 30 seconds, and all I could do was stand and applaud such a show of courage.

I'll buy that guy a beer anytime, anywhere.

But not that singlet wearing Swedish crybaby.

For Anyone Who Gives Two Happy Hoots In Hell....

2008-08-14T12:33:00.001-07:00

My freakin' phone seems to be OK now.

Mobile Phone Woes

2008-08-13T07:52:00.002-07:00

So, I drowned another cell phone this past weekend. Left it in the cargo pocket on a pair of shorts and washed the shorts. By my count, this is about my fourth phone this year.

There was the infamous beer baggie incident, then a cell phone in the swim suit incident, and now the washing machine incident.

So this time,, I bought a big ass cell phone that will be so annoyingly obvious in my pocket it will be virtually impossible to carry it that way. It's pretty cool. You can even watch TV on it, so long as you have a magnifying glass and a set of headphones. One thing I like about is what they call a "mobile email" feature. I can easily check my email from my mobile phone without having to screw around with its web browser, which once again requires the aforementioned magnifying glass, along with the patience of a saint to use.

Only one problem: It doesn't work.

Oh, it worked for a while, then would no longer access my Yahoo email account. Now, I'm no tech support genius from New Delhi, but I figured out pretty quick that the problem was not the phone. I have two Yahoo email accounts, and the phone works perfectly with the other, ergo.....no phone problem. I also know there is not a password problem, since the application worked briefly. I also have no problem accessing my Yahoo mail from my PC.

I deleted the Yahoo account from my phone, and just to be sure, went back into my Yahoo account on my PC and changed the password. Then, set up the mobile email account for that email address and voila! It worked!

For a while. Then it stopped again. I deleted the mobile account again, but it didn't help. It won't even let me set it up now. There is obviously a problem with that particular Yahoo account.

I went to Yahoo's "help site," which is basically a chat room. The best advice "Erin" could give was "contact your cell carrier," despite my assurances that I had already done so, and that besides, if the other Yahoo email works just fine, how could it be a phone problem?

So, I logged off that senseless chat and logged on another with a different tech later. "Contact Yahoo Mobile," he says. So, I fill out this stupid form, explain the problem in detail, and send it in. The genius who responded sends me an email, to the problematic Yahoo account, suggesting I have a password problem. If there's a passowrd problem, how the hell was I supposed to get his email telling me there is a password problem?

So I called the password guy, gave him the facts, and he says "That's stupid. How could you have a password problem if you can access your email from your PC?" I told him I figured that one out two days ago.

His suggestion for a fix? Fill out that stupid form for Yahoo Mobile again.

I've heard it said that the definition of insanity is: Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.

I must be outta my friggin' mind.

So What Else Is New?

2008-08-05T07:28:00.002-07:00

August Rush Is A Rarity.The Rest of Us Aren't.

2008-08-04T09:55:00.005-07:00

I read once that Mozart could play the clavier at the age of four, and was composing music at only five. Some people are fortunate that way. They are naturally wonderful and gifted musicians, athletes, writers, or orators who seem to just know how to do what they do. For the rest of us, it take years of hard work and repetition.

I've always been a music lover, but I didn't pick up a guitar for the first time until age 50. I did so then only because I wanted to play TFMCD our wedding song, John Denver's For Baby, for her birthday. But I fell in love with playing the thing and just never stopped.

I learned quickly, however, that I am one of the many folks with absolutely no natural talent whatsoever. Whatever we accomplish with music, we do so only after working hard hour upon hour, day after day, week after week. We practice till our fingers ache so badly we can hardly hit the computer keys at work the next day. We play and sing in the morning before work. We play and sing during the day when we have a break, while the rest of you are drinking coffee or chatting with friends over lunch. We play and sing at night all alone, when everyone else has gone to bed. We study every guitar book and DVD we can find. We watch the hands of every guitarist we see, in hopes of picking something up, of finding that secret that takes you from being a string-numbing chord strummer and off key singer to an accomplished singer/guitarist/songwriter. We've taken hours upon hours of lessons and tutorials, drills and exercises. We've worked hard at it. Really hard.

And after years and years of hard work, we know we're never going to make a living with a guitar. We never expected to. We just want to play the music we love in the best way we are able. We really don't need anyone to tell us that we aren't very good. We've known it all along.

So just know that when someone like us is playing and singing, and we miss the chords, or get off rhythm, or our voice doesn't sound perfect, that it still nonetheless represents the culmination of hours and days and weeks of practice and preparation. It took a lot hard work and sore fingers just to get that far, and when you make rude comments about our efforts, tell us we suck, or our voices don't sound wonderful, or we need to adjust the mike volume because you can still hear us, it really doesn't feel very good. Oh, we'll laugh along with you and make our own comments right back at you in order to stave off embarrassment, but it still digs and it still demoralizes and makes us wonder why we worked so hard to be that bad.

So, the next time you pay good money to hear some professional musician, only to find out he is ill-prepared and sounds awful, then let him have it. He deserves it. I'll be right there beside you, dishing it out. But when some unpaid guy has worked his ass off and played his heart out, then try to just be polite, will you?

I am The Crime Dog and I approve of this message.

The Engineer at Circle K

2008-08-02T09:13:00.002-07:00

I went out turn on my gas grille today to heat it up and get it ready to sear a brisket, and in full accordance to Murphy, discovered it was out of gas. I grabbed the tank and headed for the door. Scully, hearing the magic word "Go," came to life and beat me to the door.

Fine. You can come along, girl.

Scully scrambled in to the back seat and off we went. The nice Circle K lady who filled my tank reminded me a lot of Florence, that wise-ass maid on the old TV show The Jeffersons. She petted Scully while my tank filled, then topped it off, handed it over, and out of the clear blue sky asked me:

"You know anybody who's hiring electrical engineers?"

No, but I hear NASA may have an opening for an astronaut.

OK, so that was just my first impulse. Then, I realized she was serious.

Er, no. That's really not my field.

"Too bad. I really want back in the business. I want to go overseas."

Well, good luck with that.

I suppose it's possible that a skilled, educated electrial engineer is filling propane tanks at a Circle K in Gilbert. Stranger things have happened. We headed back towards the store. There in the middle of the parking lot, happy as a clam, was Scully, squatted in that all too familiar position, pinching a loaf. Florence stopped, watched for a second, then looked at me and said

"Well, at least you feed her good. It ain't all squishy."

I paid for my gas, Florence gave me some paper towels, and I cleaned up after Scully while a nice man in a Tahoe waited patiently for his parking space.

Man, this brisket better be good.

Let's Make A Deal

2008-08-01T15:52:00.003-07:00

I'm thinking about demanding that my employer give the same deal that Brett Favre's employer is offering him. Not as much, mind you. I have to be reasonable. I'm thinking $300,000 for me to not show up for work for three years would be reasonable. I'll let you know how it goes.

And The Jockey Was Wearing A WWJBD Bracelet, Too

2008-07-31T07:32:00.000-07:00

Hey, Crime Dog! WTF Is THAT???

2008-07-31T06:28:00.002-07:00

But in this case, the "W" stands for "Who."

The US House voted yesterday to ban lead and other dangerous chemicals from children's toys. Brings to mind two things:

1) I thought it was already illegal to put that shit in children's toys.

2) WTF is the idiot that voted against THAT?

Ohhhh LIVER!

2008-07-31T01:00:00.000-07:00

I was too young to go to Woodstock at only 15, and I have wished my whole life that I could have been there, rain, mud and all. The event continues to fascinate and captivate me to this day. I was plenty old enough, however, to watch the film when it came out in theaters in 1970. I must have seen it fifty times by now, probably forty of those in the summer of 1970. My friends and I would go every weekend to the old Cinema I theater in Roswell and sit through it a couple of times. Then, when it went to the Starlight Drive-In, we'd score a bunch of beer and/or Boone's Farm Apple Wine, stuff two or three friends in the trunk, and go again.

It's hard to decide what my favorite act in the movie is. There's Crosby, Stills and Nash, The Who, Sly, Joplin, Santana, Canned Heat. And what 16 year old is not going to fall in love with and belt out "The Fish Cheer" at every opportunity?

But to this day, it remains Joe Cocker's visceral performance of With A Little Help From My Friends that enthralls and fascinates me the most. I can't take my eyes off it. I even watched every episode of the TV show The Wonder Years just to hear Joe sing the theme.

That said, I have to admit I've always been a wee bit unclear on all the lyrics Joe sang that day in upstate New York.

Unclear, that is, until today.

Submitted for your approval, the captioned version of the great Joe Cocker's Woodstock performance of With A Little Help From My Friends:

Hey, Crime Dog! WTF Is THAT???

2008-07-30T07:20:00.001-07:00

No idea. I'm speechless. But just offhand, I'd say it's maybe about a '96 Grand Am.

Aye Caramba!

2008-07-29T13:27:00.002-07:00

Ever been to a "Ranch Market"? I had some work yesterday that necessitated my going in to one on the west side. I'd passed them by a few times, but like probably most old white guys just figured it wasn't really my territory.

I was wrong.

The place is alive, with a pulse and personality so unlike all the other ho-hum grocery stores. Admittedly, it would help if you spoke Spanish, but what the hell? You can find virtually anything in there. I was instantly reminded of when I was a kid, and my folks would take me with them when they went to Juarez, just over the Rio Grande from El Paso. We'd always visit the "City Market," a sort of bazaar filled with everything imaginable. When we were stationed in Italy in the late 70's, we went a few times into the city of Brescia to the "Citta Mercata" there. Same thing: A huge grocery store, with every sort of shop from shoes to jewelry to music around its perimeter.

Lady I was speaking to there said they have customers come all the way from the far east valley to visit Ranch Market. I can see why. All those goods, music, demos, colors....it's a playhouse.

Road trip, anyone?

Wait Till Next Year......

2008-07-25T07:07:00.002-07:00

I saw on the news this morning that there was huge brawl at a baseball game between the single A Peoria Chiefs and Dayton Dragons. The news clip showed what looked like the two managers in a heated argument, when suddenly a Peoria pitcher runs in to the camera's view and throws a baseball at the opposing dugout. Then it was on.

The real problem here was not so much that a bunch of adult idiots got into a big fight over a game, but that the pitcher completely missed the diugout, striking and injuring a fan.

How well can it bode for your organization if one of your pitchers is so bad he can't even hit a dugout? A dugout! He missed a stationary object probably 50' wide and 8' high. That's some serious bad Karma there.

And with what major league team is this future Cy Young candidate affiliated?

The Cubs, of course. Damn.

And The Real Bad News Is You Have An Appointment With Him Tomorrow

2008-07-24T08:42:00.002-07:00

I read in the paper today that we now have in our midst a doctor who was deemed by the state of Missouri to be incompetent to participate in prisoner executions. How the hell does this work? Since a doctor's purpose is to ease suffering and save lives, does it follow that one who is not competent to kill people is actually a really good doctor? Or does the fact that he cannot competently kill someone make him a top tier candidate for the title of "Worst Doctor In the Universe"? How do you fire a guy like that?

Dr. _________, it has been determined by this medical review board that you are too stupid to successfully kill people. We recommend you go back to healing them instead.

How would you feel if you were chatting up your doctor right before your quadruple bypass surgery, and just as the anesthesia begins to take effect, dude mentions that he just got fired from his old job at the penitentiary because he was judeged incompetent to kill people?

This Kevorkian wannabe needs to find another line of work.

Say Hello To Grampa Crime Dog

2008-07-16T14:08:00.002-07:00

Wait, I'm Grampa Crime Dog. This is actually GREAT Grampa Crime Dog. Beer, baseball, and Sun Devils. The apple didn't fall far from the tree on that count.

More Camera Phone Adventures

2008-07-16T13:34:00.012-07:00

TFMCD had the idea of stopping in at this joint. It seems they specialize in something called "squeaky cheese." From what I could gather, it's "cheese curd," but I haven't a clue what differentiates it from plain ol' cheese. Whatever. It goes down nicely with a cold beer, and squeaks like crazy when you chew it, hence the name. Perhaps Cheesehead can enlighten me on what constitutes a "curd."

This is apparently where the advertising world is headquartered, in West Yellowstone, MT. I looked all over for Wall Street, to no avail.

This has nothing to do with anything. It's just a dog, on a truck, in Yellowstone. I like dogs. So sue me. It's my blog.

Speaking of dogs, this is some sort of dog rodeo we passed by in Utah. Also saw a couple of guys herding cats, and another with a gun slung over his shoulder, riding a tapir. It's a strange place.

Damn! Wrong weekend! I would go back up to Mt. Pleasant, UT for this white knuckle event, but I'm having my hair done Saturday. Just my luck.

This where geezers go to become geysers. I'll have the double pinto bean special, with boiled cabbage, pickled eggs, and a side of broccoli, please.

We came to this detour in Idaho, and I found out that if you do as the sign tells you, you end up driving in a big loop, back and forth all afternoon. They need a little switch in the car they can flip so the sign changes to "You can stop following me now, dumbass."

And finally, from the Awwww, Isn't That Cute Department, TFMCD and I stopped of at the LDS temple in Manti, UT. We were married there nearly 34 years ago, and wanted to get our picture at the same place it was taken right after the wedding. We didn't have the old photo with us, so just had to make a scientific wild-ass guess (SWAG) as to the actual location. We got pretty darn close! And yes, The Crime Dog cut his ties to that church many, many, many years ago.

Cell Phone Camera Adventures

2008-07-15T14:16:00.013-07:00

Well, I'm back, and all I've heard is what a great party I missed Saturday night. As we were enroute to various places, I made a habit of using my cell phone to document what I was seeing. I sent a few via cell phone to those friends and family members smart enough to actually know how to look at a cell phone picture when they get one (you readin' this, Wayner?) with the heading "Where Am I?" Got a few correct responses, and a few incorrect. On the way home Saturday, we hit Flag-Town about 7:00 or so and stopped for one last cool evening before heading down to this pizza oven we call home. My phone beeped, and there I found a couple of pictures of Parrotheads sitting around a pool, drinks in hand, with the heading "Where Am I?" Turnabout is fair play, I suppose. Sounds like you all had a great time.

The only advice I can give anyone who has never been to Yellowstone is simple: Go. What a fantastic place!

But you didn't come here for a travelogue, how did you? I don't like reading that crap either. So, I'll just give you a few quirky items from the road:

Where I come from, we call this a "BFH." Anybody know what a "BFH" is, and where this picture was taken?

These are the Grand Tetons in Wyoming. Cheesehead thought they were in Utah. Little known factoid: Did you know "Grand Tetons" is French for "Big Tits"? Check for yourself. I don't make this stuff up. And if you think THAT's sexist, let me buy you a beer:

We looked everywhere for Yellowstone's legendary big, badass, dangerous bears.

All we found was this Boo-Boo looking little mutt eating weeds beside the road.

Oh, and this guy:

I saw a few things that reminded me of my phriends back home, like:

and:

Or even:

When in Yellowstone, you are on the animals' turf. Take for instance these tough guys, walking smack ass down the middle of the road, on the line, as though taking some sort of buffalo drunk test:

OK, out of time. More to come.

Ask and Ye Shall Receive

2008-07-08T22:24:00.003-07:00

Me and my Dad, blaming one another for the horrendous smell prevalent in this particular part of Yellowstone. This joint smells like the men's room the morning after a Pickled Eggs, Beer, and Crabcake Festival.

Greetings From Yellowstone, Parrotheads!

2008-07-08T20:17:00.005-07:00

The Crime Dog Gang arrived safely Sunday evening here in West Yellowstone, Montana. It's a bit cooler here than back home in the desert. Actually, it's a lot cooler. Low 40's in the mornings, high 70's in the afternoon. Sort of like February at home.

Yellowstone is quite the feast for the eyes, I have to tell you. Waterfalls, geysers, snow capped mountains, geysers, breathtakingly deep and steep canyons, geysers, crystal clear lakes, and geysers. Did I mention there's a shitload of geyers in this place? A nondescript creek here would be a major landmark and waterway in Arizona, and I was told by a Ranger that this is the most water they've had here in decades.

I was looking at one geyser today when this guy comments to his wife that the water trickling out was about 120 degrees. I joked that my pool at home was hotter than that. The guy just looks at me and asks "Phoenix?" Turns out he was from Mesa. Small world.

Dad is pretty lively for a guy coming up on 86 in just a few weeks. He's gone on all but a few of the short hikes we've made up here, and has yet to run out of jokes and stories from his youth. Priceless.

So many geysers here, I feel like I got 'em coming out my ears.

My Dad's Dog is an Asshole

2008-07-01T17:11:00.004-07:00

Cute little guy, though. A miniature pinscher, loaded with personality, the metabolism of a hummingbird, able to jump straight up from a flat footed standing position to a height of about five feet. The human equivalent would be like jumping flat-footed from the sidewalk onto the top of a four-story building. He's a lover, not a fighter, and gets punked regularly by Buddha the Pug. That's the same Buddha who once got dry-humped seven times in one afternoon by Z-Man's boxer. His female boxer. She even got confused and face-humped him once, so that illustrates where dad's dog sits in the canine pecking order around here.

But somehow, he owns me. The Crime Dog is his little bitch. The first time he got me, he was raised up on his hind legs with his front paws in my lap, looking longingly into my face. When I bent down to scratch his ears, he suddenly hacked like a 60-year-old coal miner who also happens to be a lifetime smoker of non-filtered cigarettes. Blasted me right in the face. I had little doggy-loogies all over my face, in my mustache, goatee, and yes, in my mouth. Thank goodness I had on eye protection, but my glasses looked like a windshield after an overnight run through Iowa. OK, it was an accident. He didn't mean to do it.

That afternoon, Dad went out to his land yacht to get something, and instant separation anxiety set in. Little guy started leaping up to see out the window and knocked down the curtains. Dad came in, put him out back, and he nearly scratched all the paint off the door trying to get back in. I'm cool. He's just stressed out a little. He'll be fine.

That night, he pissed on the column in my living room. Marking his territory, so to speak. *&%$#!!!.....Ok, chill out, Crime Dog....No problem....new surroundings, confusion....it happens. Clean it up and forget about it.

The next day he delivered the coup de gras. He laid down enough diarrhetic dog shit that the house nearly had to be condemned. Not content to shit in one spot, he walked in a 3' circle to gain maximum coverage. That's it! Done! You are officially an outside dog! I will give you plenty of shade and cool, fresh water, but your ass is EVICTED unless someone is home to watch you!

He was cool for a couple days. No problems. Good dog! So we left him in the house when we went to the store last night. Came home, stepped right into a puddle of piss.

Thank goodness he's staying with family while we're gone. I know Scully is inwardly laughing her ass off at all this, so at least someone is enjoying it. Hell, she's probably the instigator. Hey, Crime Dog thinks it's HYSTERICAL when you put a shit ring on his bedroom carpet. Go ahead, DO IT! It's great! You'll see. Would I lie?

All things considered, I wish he'd just dry hump me and get it over with.

Hey, Crime Dog! WTF is THAT?

2008-07-01T17:05:00.003-07:00

And what's it got to do with Parrotheads?

Excuses, Excuses.....

2008-07-01T16:24:00.007-07:00

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you.....the Texas Titanic, the Llano Land Yacht, the reason Saudis or so damned rich, and soon to be our home for ten days.

So I haven't posted much lately. No sooner did we break up the party with all the Utah people here a couple weeks ago, then Dad rolled up in the land yacht. Damn thing is so big it has a closed circuit TV in the back so you can easily see from the driver's seat whatever it was you just ran over and crushed into oblivion. I'm glad we're heading north instead of east or west. It would be confusing as hell, having the rear end of that big bastard in a different time zone. The appliances and stuff run on pretty much anything - 12 volts, 120 volts, propane, generator, batteries, a wall outlet. Even the refrigerator runs on propane, a concept that completely escapes me. Hank Hill would be proud. It weighs 23,000 lbs, holds 70 gallons of gas, 75 gallons of water, a bazillion or so cubic feet of propane, 60 gallons of "grey water" and 32 gallons of shit. Yep, that's right. Shit. Feces. Caca. Poop. Good ol' #2. Oh, and enough beer to get an entire Parrothead Club falling-down drunk.

We filled the tank this morning. It was about half full already, and it still cost us about $140. I'm guessing that's about 280 miles worth. Somewhere around $ .32 per mile. Oh, well, that's still cheaper than flying, renting a car, and paying for a hotel room. Hell, I don't even have to pay extra for my suitcase. I just know every time I pass a mile post, I'll hear the sound of a cash register in my brain - cha-ching!

Got my first lesson today in how to drive a Mega-Land Yacht: When making a right turn, do not begin the turn until the street corner is even with your shoulders. Otherwise, you smash whatever happens to be on said corner - joggers, children, little old ladies in wheel chairs, bus stops.

We leave Friday. Wish me luck.

Hey, Crime Dog! WTF Is That?

2008-06-20T00:14:00.003-07:00

Took this one as I was returning to my car at a local store last week. So WTF is this? And what song chorus (not a Buffett song but often mistaken for one) fits this photo? It's a Spur of the Moment sort of thing.

Ok, so it's a stretch. But cut me some slack. I've been busy.

This Shit Just Ain't Right.

2008-06-20T00:12:00.003-07:00

Snapped this with my phone after gassing up a couple days ago. Just shoot me now. You gotta love that reference to "cash customers." Anybody carries enough cash around to gas up their car these days better be packin' heat to protect it.

That's Funny Right There, I Don't Care Who You Are.

2008-06-10T13:24:00.001-07:00

Enter Crime Dog's All-New "WTF IS THAT??" Contest

2008-06-10T13:02:00.003-07:00

Our inaugural contest will be this interesting photo, which I took myself just down the street from the Casa de Crime Dog. WTF is this, and what Jimmy Buffett song most fits the photograph?

Stupid Is As Stupid Does

2008-06-03T08:38:00.002-07:00

If you're ever injured in an auto accident, and you are tempted to call "The Eagle," Goldberg and Osborne, you may first wish to consider this:

OK, first off, getting a lawyer for a case of undisputed liability and non-major injuries is a bad idea to begin with. You're going to lose money. Even should you decide to hire an attorney, at least get one that's smart, with a smart staff.

I was down at the Pima Couty Sheriff's Office last week to pick up a couple of reports. An SUV laden with a Goldberg and Osborne advertising paint job arrived about the same time. The driver took great pains to back into his parking space in front of the records office. I'll never understand why some idiots insist on backing in to a parking space every time, blocking traffic while they go back and forth, trying to get the vehicle straight. I can see it for a cop car, which might need to take off quickly on a call, but Goldberg and Osborne? I guess the guy was concerned that an ambulance might go by and he would have to give chase.

I was waiting my turn when Mr Goldberg and Osborne came in, announcing loudly that he was there to pick up some reports that had already been pulled. The clerk found them and handed them over.

That'll be $5.25, please.

"What? I was told it would be $5.75!"

No, sir. It's just $5.25.

"Look, I know I was told $5.75!"

Sorry, sir. I can only accept $5.25 from you.

OK, what do we learn from this scenario? Just because you work for a bunch of snake in the grass lawyers doesn't mean you have to negotiate the cost of everything. And when you do negotiate, make sure you are negotiatinng in the correct direction for your client. Negotiate settlement values up, and expenses down. We all know that those expenses are coming out of the client's end, not yours.

On a side note, I was discussing Parrotheadism with another lawyer a few weeks ago. He was of the correct mindset, so I suggested he join a club. He declined, asking "Just how many lawyers are in your club?" Good question. Perhaps about the same as the number of Jehovah's Witnesses?

Geographically Impaired

2008-06-03T07:55:00.003-07:00

Another reason I've been out of pocket recently is because I've been taking some new cases down in Tucson. You add the drive time and getting lost in Tucson time to already time-demanding task of working the case, and you soon run out of time.

Tucson is a very nice, picturesque town. I enjoy my trips down there, but I must say that the city fathers who designed the street system of the Catalina Foothills area should be taken out, summarily executed, and dumped in an unmarked grave in Ajo. Even my GPS had no clue where I was half the time. It told me to take Ina Road east to Campbell. So off I go, blindly trusting this contraption and paying litlle attention to my surroundings. Why should I? I got Radio Margaritaville on the Sirius, Mr. Garmin showing the way, and all I have to do is turn when he tells me. Never mind that he could'nt find the exact address on Camino A Los Vientos. He found another address just a few blocks away on the same street. How hard can that be?

Side Rant: And what's up with those ridiculous four and five word street names down there? It's neither quaint nor cool. It's just a pain in the ass.

So, Mr. Garmin takes me right to the address it indicated, and I head off east few blocks further to find the correct address I seek. The street winds around a couple of times and dead ends. I find it again a few blocks north, but it dead-ends again. So I call the guy. Turns out I'm like 200 yards from his house, but you can't get there from here. Go back to Ina Road, he says, and gives me directions from there. So I backtrack, only to find that Ina Road has disappeared. It has been replaced by something called Skyline Drive. What the? So I head east on Skyline Drive, trying to follow the directions my "thickly accented English as a second language" client has provided. Next thing I know, I'm on Sunrise Drive. I turn around and go back to the original spot, call the guy again. This time he gives me different directions. Turns out even the residents haven't clue about how to get around in there.

I have to wind my way back out, avoiding the quail, roadrunners, and snakes, get back on Campbell, and drive wa-a-a-y around on to River Road, go east, then north again on Hacienda del Sol (Here we go with the long-ass street names again). I watch my odometer carefully to know where the turn is, but next thing I know, I've reached Sunrise again. Dude must have given me the distance in kilometers. I turn around and find his place just down the road. Turns out I was a half mile away when I turned around earlier on Sunrise/Skyline/Ina Road.

I had to visit another address later that day. It was an old, somewhat rundown neighborhood in the middle of town, where Ruthrauff and Wetmore are the same freaking street. (You feeling me now?) It was a theft case, so I went to Tucson PD to pull the police report. "Sorry. That's Pima County," the nice lady tells me. A residental neighborhood. The middle of town. No horse property. No fields. No acreage. No driving through an uninhabited area to reach it. But it is nonetheless not in the City of Tucson.

Summary execution. Dawn. Start over again with some numbered streets that go straight and do not cross one another or change names, and get it right this time.

Where The Hell Have You Been, Crime Dog?

2008-06-03T07:48:00.003-07:00

Lexy at about three hours of age with her big sister, Beemyr.

Well, as you can see, we became Grandpa and Grandma Crime Dog once again last week. The little shaver was trying to do "Fins" on her first day on the planet. It was either "Fins", or she was stretching. I choose to believe the former.

So, everybody say hello to the latest addition: Madison Alexy. So far, I've heard her called "Maddy", "Lexy", and "Alex." Perhaps I shall just call her "Parakeet."

OK, So I Was Wrong......

2008-05-21T20:12:00.001-07:00

Cook won. So sue me.

Oh, and thanks to all you Dads who ripped cell phones from the clutches of your pre-teen daughters so that Cook got his shot.

You won't be sorry.

It's Too Late.

2008-05-21T08:07:00.002-07:00

It's a done deal. Over. In the archives.

That little doofus David Archuleta is going to win American Idol.The one-dimensional geek with the great voice (but absolutely nothing else) is going to soundly beat the multi-dimensional and unbelievaby talented David Cook.

Now, mark this down. Two years from today, come back here and read this:

David Cook will be a huge Daughtry-like star, packing halls and selling records. He's that good. And he knows how to mix drinks.

David Archuleta will be on Hollywood Squares, or Celebrity Boxing or some shit like that, because people want to hear something other than weepy ballads.

It's Time

2008-05-20T07:18:00.002-07:00

Fathers of the world, unite!

Take away your 12-year-old daughter's cell phone. NOW!

Do not allow this nation to be condemned to 24/7 inundation of that Utah goofball, David Archuleta. He's had his day. He can now date cheerleaders, get laid on Prom night, keep his lunch money on most days, and reduce the occurrence of ass-kickings from football players by a full two-thirds. What else does he need?

It's time to end this travesty.

And A Final Word On Your Tax Dollars

2008-05-20T07:10:00.002-07:00

Unruly Julie commented yesterday that if I used electronic deposit, I would have already had my rebate. Interestingly enough, it turns out nothing could be further from the truth. I have used direct deposit and e-filing for several years now, and this year was no different. There is a ridiculously high, oppressive, confiscatory fee for e-filing with Turbo Tax. That fee can be paid outright, or it cn be deducted from your refund. I chose the latter for convenience sake. We got an email from Turbo Tax last week, explaining that choosing that option, for some idiotic reason, has caused the IRS to issue checks instead of direct deposits.

Once again, when you put the village idiot in charge of the whole freaking country, you have to expect all the stupidity shit to roll downhill.

Parrothead Utah In The House!

2008-05-19T17:09:00.003-07:00

Loyal contributor Parrothead Utah has started a blog of his own. Stop on by and say hello, see if you can talk him into coming down for Parrot Grande so we can meet him. One night on the 8th Floor, and Parrothead Utah will be one with the Zonies.

Your Tax Dollars At Work

2008-05-19T16:58:00.003-07:00

We got a letter from the IRS today, telling us that we're getting a rebate next week.

Let me see if I got this right: The IRS is spending millions and millions of dollars sending us letters telling us they're going to send us a check that we already know we're going to get. Wouldn't it have been a lot cheaper to just send us the check?

What's next? They send me a letter telling me I have to file taxes next year? What idiot is running this country?

That'll Be $10.00 Please, Mr. Goldberg

2008-05-19T16:36:00.002-07:00

Ladybug had her 8th birthday party Saturday at a at a roller skating rink in Mesa, and TFMCD and I had a good laugh over their ridiculous promotional offer. I'm tempted to run back up there tonight just to see how this works. I'm imagining a preacher by the door, an organ softly playing Just As I Am, a makeshift baptismal font off to the side.

Two, please.

"Have you turned your life over to Jesus?"

What? I just came to skate.

"Great! But if give your soul to Jesus, you can skate for free!"

I'd rather just pay, if it's all the same to you.

"Well, all right. It's your soul that's in danger of hell fire, not mine. Ten dollars, please. Next!"

Four, please.

"Have you turned your life over to...ummm....is that a Star of David necklace?"

Why, yes, it is.

"Twenty dollars, please. Next!"

Hi! I'm Elder Young, and this is Elder Smith, and....

"Keep walkin', pal."

Geographical Impairment Revisited

2008-05-14T12:31:00.005-07:00

Hey, Wayners! Think you can find your way home from THIS one?

The new Texas Stadium in Arlington. Home of the Dallas Cowboys.

It's costing over $1,000,000,000 (that's "billion") to construct. It has a capacity of up to 103,000. It won't even be ready until Fall 2009. Seat licensing rights run from a low of $16,000 on up to $150,000.

And there's a waiting list. A waiting list that people are coughing up an unrefundable $100 per seat just for the opportunity to get on!

I'll never complain about the price of Buffett concert tickets again. Wait....yes, I will.

An Appeal To Conscientious Fathers Of Pre-Teen and Teenaged Daughters

2008-05-14T08:50:00.004-07:00

Hear my plea.

Please!

If you have a young teen daughter, and a soul, and a sense of ethics you must do your part to save us all.

By all that is good and holy, you must take away their cell phones for the next few weeks, or at least on Tuesday nights from 7:00PM through 9:00PM Central. Only this can save us from the travesty that is David Archuleta.

C'mon Dad! You know the only thing keeping Archuleta afloat on American Idol is the pitter-patter of your pre-pubescent daughter's heart and the buttons on her cell phone. You know that little annoying dork Archuleta could become the most nauseating entertainer since Donny Osmond. And Osmond is still around over three decades later! Is that what you want? You know that that the real star here is David Cook, a guy that even you and I might actually pay to watch. Isn't that prospect more appealing than ferrying an SUV full of giggling 12-year-olds to a David Archuleta concert?

So, Dad, do the right thing. Don't let your little cherub anywhere near a phone during the two hours following American Idol. We're all counting on you.

P.S. Is it just me, or does the little shaver look perpetually stoned, with those droopy-ass eyelids?

And A Word About "Tales From Margaritaville Part 3"

2008-05-12T11:27:00.001-07:00

You may be wondering what happened to the third and final installment of Tales From Margaritaville. It would have been published already if I had the photos.

You know: THE photos. From the pool? Saturday evening? If you were there, you know what I'm talking about.

Some dumbass has so far failed to send them to me. Be patient, grasshoppers.

Anyone Else But You

2008-05-12T10:36:00.002-07:00

We had a club Happy Hour Saturday night at the Chuy's in Glendale off 95th Ave. I know this is hard to believe, but I was the only person in the entire 400-member club that had the correct location. I showed up, at the right time and place, and you could hear crickets chirping in that joint. Not a single Parrothead was there. Not even one paid enough attention to the multiple emails and website postings to know when and where they were supposed to be Saturday night.

As if that's not weird enough, here's where it gets really strange:

They all showed up simultaneously, though mistakenly, at the Chuy's on Cave Creek.

:::cue Twilight Zone theme:::

I mean, the odds must be astronomical that every single Parrothead that went to the Happy Hour Saturday night had the wrong location, yet somehow managed to show up at the exact same, albeit incorrect, Chuy's on Cave Creek. Even the evening's musical entertainment, The Rocket Man Sam Rainwater himself, got it wrong. He set up all his equipment at the Cave Creek Chuy's instead of the Glendale Chuy's.

And that, folks, is the only reason that The Crime Dog did not put his paw down and insist that every last one of those inattentive Parrotheads get back into their cars and drive to the correct location. I simply think too much of The Rocket Man to force him to tear down his equipment, move it 30+ miles, and set it up again.

Once I arrived, and gave a stern talking-to to that bunch of airheads, the evening actually went very well. I'm satisfied that it won't happen again.

We partied with the purpose of raising money for troop mailings, and it looks like it will come in somewhere around $450 when all is said and done, between The Rocket Man's tips, his company's match, and our 50/50 raffle. Well done, you geographically impaired pinheads.

I had a great time backing Sam on congas, and as intermission entertainment, The Fetching Mrs. Crime Dog and I did a little number of our own. It was Anyone Else But You, the Moldy Peaches song that was featured in the wonderful film Juno. I'm not sure it translated well to our group, as most of them seemed unfamiliar with the song. It's supposed to be very simple and informal, sang in simple voices to simple chords. In fact, if you sing and play well, the song is probably not for you. I thought it went very well, but it may have been lost on most everyone but TFMCD and me.

And if you haven't seen Juno, then you need to run, not walk, to your nearest video store and get it. You too will be singing Anyone Else But You yourself by the end of the film. The Crime Dog would not lead you astray.

Adventures In Margaritaville, Part 2

2008-05-06T07:16:00.003-07:00

Freddy displays his fine sense of political correctness at the Friday evening party. I see a new nickname on the way here.

Friday morning in Margaritaville actually began late Thursday. Bob Karwin returned to the stage for his late night "adult" show, what we Parrot Grande folks call the
"8th Floor Show." The later the evening grew, the more often Wayner, Steve-O, and I all repeated the mantra:

Man, am I glad we aren't playing golf tomorrow!

I didn't even bother rolling out of bed till nearly 9:00AM. Grabbed a leisurely breakfast, helped out at the Mini Mart set up. The damn wind was really whipping out there, and if that wasn't bad enough, someone at the Avi failed to deliver the Mini-Mart tables. They did, however, deliver an assload of round tables onto the lawn nearby, apparently for the cheeseburger buffet scheduled for the following day. So, instead of a couple of badly needed rectangular Mini Mart tables, we ended up with dozens of big round ones with no chairs, and in a place where no one would need them for over 24 hours. The Unruly One politely (I'm sure) advised them that all those unused round tables were very nice, but what was really needed were the Mini Mart tables, and could they bring them right away?

No problem. They responded by delivering another load of round tables to the buffet area. Sigh.

No matter. We stole a round one, and Unruly got busy hustling tee shirts and hats.

As usual, the pool party was off the hook. I didn't know there was as much Corona on the entire planet as 450 Parrotheads can put away at a pool party, when they're only $1.75 apiece. The volume was staggering. I entered a lime diving contest, but when I saw what was actually involved with lime diving, I slunk away, tail between my legs. I thought it was a pool activity. Wrong. It's a "shove your entire head into a big bucket of ice water and try to pull out limes with your teeth" activity. I have a couple of sensitive teeth, so no way my head was going in that thing. Not happening. A guy named "Kody" had the technique, pulling out four. Most contestants got nothing but brain freeze.

Stars On the Water took the big stage Friday night, with personnel most of us were seeing for the first time. Man, those dudes can play. Late that night, as the band was packing up, an odd, softspoken, rail thin guy, hereinafter referred to as "Norman Bates," who had been in the crowd all evening, was taking photos of the late hangers on, of which TFMCD and I, Steve-O, Crash, and Freddy were a part. Picture after picture after picture. That person in, this person out, now you take one, now you....on and on. I finally grabbed the camera, announced I would get a really good picture, and flopped down on the floor to take it from a different vantage point. Norman Bates loved it. Next thing I know, he'd taken his camera back, and gotten TFMCD to join me on the floor for picture after picture after....you get it. It turns out we had all underestimated the creepiness factor of the guy, whose partner had somehow found a mike and was loudly singing "After The Loving." We got up off the floor, Steve-O commented that he could take a picture of our asses headed out the door, and we ignored Norman's protests as we took off like a bunch of scalded cats.

Crash wanted food, as did some others, so off we went in search of late night grub.
We had the pleasure of enjoying our midnight chow with Andy Tirpak, one of Stars' amazing guitarists. Turns out that he's not only a fantastic picker with something like five San Diego-area bands, he's also a baseball coach. Interesting fellow and a genuinely nice guy, who gave me some good guitar tips and even said he'd love to hang out and pick guitars with us next time we're in San Diego.

On our way back up to our room, we kept a wary eye out for a skinny, soft-spoken man, dressed like a little old lady and carrying a camera in one hand and a large knife in the other. He was nowhere to be found.

Adventures In Margaritaville, Part 1

2008-05-05T20:06:00.007-07:00

Bob Karwin, featuring The Laughlin Horns on Ring of Fire. As you might expect, The Jello Shot Prince is drinking while the rest of us work.

I need a couple days of to rest up from four days at Phins To The West. You know - rest, recuperate, rehydrate.

It all started Thursday, when a bunch of us met up at Margaritaville to convoy out to the Avi for the big event. As you might expect, that pretty much turned into a party in its own right. It ended when we pried ourselves away from the bar and began to discuss which navigational beacons we would pass on the way out. Some, Tipsy Tommy included, opted for Wickenburg. I thought that might be a good idea, but the Pirate Captain, in true Pirate Captain fashion, announced in no-nonsense fashion that he was going through Blythe, even it he went alone. OK, Captain. You have the radar detector. Lead on.

After we hit I10 and headed west, I called Tipsy Tommy. They were still shopping at Westgate, but he said they were for sure going through Wickenburg when they left. "Fine," I told him, "I hope to see you sitting poolside with a beer, wondering what took us so long when we finally get there."

The trip wasn't all that remarkable, save for the few moments when The Pirate Captain's moon roof inexplicably opened, and a hand clutching a camera protruded through. WTF? I meant to ask what the hell that was about, but I forgot. Something tells me the explanation just may end up in a comment.

After several hours on those ridiculous winding, humpbacked, one lane roads in California, we did finally arrive to find Tommy and Julia waiting for us, although not poolside. The Captain growled that we stopped three times, and that's what took so long. Tommy countered with the fact they were still shopping at Westgate when we'd been gone 20 minutes.

We went ahead and hit registration early and got our swag bags, which were pretty cool since they included stainless steel flasks and giant insulated beverage mugs. It was somewhat of a mixed message:

YOU ARE PROHIBITED FROM BRINGING OUTSIDE BEVERAGES INTO THE POOL AREA!! Oh, by the way, here's a concealable flask and a giant freakin' drink mug for "water."

The long trip was forgotten quickly as the beer began to flow and the music of Bob Karwin and Alonzo filled the air. The Laughlin Horns once again backed Bob on a rousing cover of Ring of Fire, and as usual, Alonzo's appearance was met with a dozen or more middle-aged white folks wearing Rasta hats and fake dreadlocks. I gotta get me some of those dreads.

That afternoon, as I was putting on my event badge, and......

BACK STORY: I registered Wayner for Phins without his or Janner's knowledge, because the trip was a surprise birthday gift for Janner. When prompted to enter a badge name for him, I couldn't resist entering "DUMBASS." Won't he surprised when he sees THAT on his badge?

A few days later, we were at a party with a bunch of folks, including Cultural Infidel, who is on the Phins Committee. By that time, we had told the birtday girl about her gift. Infidel, not knowing the story on the badge gag, walks up to Wayners and asks "Do you REALLY want 'DUMBASS' on your name badge?"

The best laid plans...... .....

......as I hung it around my neck, I glanced down and saw what appeared to be too many words. Looking more closely. I saw what I should have seen coming all the way from Quartzite.

My name badge read DUMBEST ASS.

Revenge is a dish best served cold.

No, I Didn't Forget.....

2008-04-28T14:18:00.003-07:00

The Unruly One has just reminded me that we also won the Salsa Challenge's "Margarita Mix Off," in memory our great phriend, the Treetop Flyer himself, Craig Broadhurst. I didn't forget. I just wanted to use the word "trifecta."

OK, so I forgot to mention it, but only because we didn't win the actual award itself. John and Barb's Margarita won huge in the bidding. It wasn't even close, but the bid amount is only part of the consideration. I don't know what the winner this year did, but I'm told last year's rode in on horseback, proposed to his girlfriend, and made a Margarita. OK, ladies, all together now:

awwwwwwwwww!

OK, guys. Your turn. All together now:

raaaaalph......

So, props to Barb and John! They made nearly as much on alcohol as the rest of the club combined did on salsa. There's a message there.

A Trifecta For The Parrotheads!

2008-04-28T08:52:00.003-07:00

The AZPHC kicked some very serious ass at the Salsa Challenge this weekend. Very serious:

2nd Place for our Shark Bite Salsa in the "Individual Mild" category.

People's Choice, which means we had more money in the pot than any other competitor after a day of folks voting with their dollars for their favorite.

The BIG ONE! Best In Show, decided by a panel of judges, for whom we basically just acted like a bunch of middle-aged Parrotheads dressed up like Pirates.

(BEGIN RANT)The day was not without its challenges. We had to rally from being given a poor location, and again after being temporarily closed by this (BEGIN DISCLAIMER: The following is solely the opinion of The Crime Dog and should in no way to be construed to represent the opinion of the AZPHC, its members, or any other Parrothead any where or at any time, whether living or dead, or any reader, commenter, or other denizen of Parrothead Ramblings) officious jerk of a health inspector (END DISCLAIMER) who decided our wash water was not hot enough. Of course, we were nearly two hours in by that time. Where was this (BEGIN DISCLAIMER) prick (END DISCLAIMER) before we opened? Wouldn't it have been much better to come around and inspect during the FOUR HOURS we had pholks on site BEFORE the damned gates even OPENED? It was bad enough getting temporarily shut down, but did the guy have to be (BEGIN DISCLAIMER) such a jerk about it? (END DISCLAIMER) OK, I feel better now. (END RANT)

No, wait. (RESTART RANT) (RESTART DISCLAIMER) Bite Me. (END DISCLAIMER) (END RANT)

In true Parrothead fashion, we took those lemons and turned them into lemonade. TFMCD and I had brought in a Master Cool mobile evaporative cooler to keep our salsa choppers comfortable all day. She suggested we turn it out onto the sidewalk just until we could get our hot water up and running. I started calling folks in not for the salsa, but to cool off in our man-made breeze. Worked like a champ, especially when a couple of judges came by. Cheesehead sent her offspring home to get hot water, and we were back up and running in short order. It worked out well, because Young Cheesehead also needed a diversion from all the lovely lasses strolling by, so that he could get his jaw back up off the ground. It was, as Maverick would say, a target rich environment.

We held an acoustic round robin here in our home yesterday, and had a great turnout. The food was good, the music was good, the friends were good, and the laughs were long. I'm already looking forward to the next one.

For those who attended the round robin: I have in my possession one Parrot Grande 2005 fold up chair (green), one Eddie Bauer striped fold up chair, one pair of cool sunglasses (no mystery on that one), two bottles of Taurito Beer, and enough recycleable glass and aluminum to erase the carbon footprint for all of Gilbert, Arizona.

And, no, before you ask, it is highly unlikely that we will have the room to haul these chairs to Phins To The West for you......

Speaking of PTTW, since this is a three-day work week for me, I'm not sure I'll be back here before heading to the river. I'll see you all there Thursday!

P.S. Don't forget to wear your drinkin' shoes.

Weekend Update

2008-04-25T07:11:00.002-07:00

No, not Saturday Night Live's Weekend Update, though that remains about the only part of the show worth staying awake for on a Saturday night these days.

No, I mean I've just been too busy to post. Now, the weekend is upon us, and I haven't written anything in a week. So, I'll just recap:

Scorpion Update: The score stands right now at about 15 - 1 in favor of Wayners, who stands to lose a point soon if he fails to figure out that he can use White Rain Hairspray and a lighter to get the holdouts in the gaps of his cinder block fence. That suspect who escaped from under the Tiki totem remains at large, though he was spotted recently in the vicinity of an expansion joint near the same totem. A BOLO (Be On The Lookout)has been issued by the Scorpion Investigation, Enforcement, and Squashing Tactical Attack (SIESTA) squad for suspect Jerry A. Racknid. Suspect is described as beige male, 6.3cm, scar on third left leg, and a Santa Rosa street gang tattoo on abdomen. Suspect goes by the street name "J Dawg." A reward of a six-pack of Tecate and a lime has been offered for information leading to the capture or death of the suspect. He is considered armed and dangerous.

Norm McDonald is a dumbass by a score of 3-1. He showed up on Good Morning Arizona this morning in front of US Airways Arena, plugging the kickoff off his national tour with a show in Tempe tonight. He was wearing a UCLA sweatshirt and pronounced "Tempe" as TEM-pe instead of Tem-PEE. That's two in the "dumbass" column. He rallied with a point by announcing that Shaquille O'Neal is his lover, but the comeback fell short when he allowed a goal against by suggesting that people without tickets to the Suns/Spurs game tonight come to his show instead.

Salsa Team AZPHC leads The Dead Hippies by a score of 2-1-1 going into the finals tomorrow at the My Nana's Salsa Challenge in Tem-PEE. We went shoulder to shoulder with the Dead Hippies yesterday on Fox 10, doing a spot for the Salsa Challenge. We outgunned them in sheer numbers (5-1) for a point, and our spokesman was far more dashing, handsome, and eloquent than their spokesman for yet another point. They had a cooler setup with all those little bowls of ingredients, scoring one point. Even that was contested when the cameraman lingered much longer on our gigantic bowl of salsa than on theirs. No one was willing to throw the gauntlet on the comparative tastes of our salsas, so that one went for a tie. We'll settle this thing the old-fashioned way, taking it ouside tomorrow. May the best spicy conglomeration win.

The Suns trail 2-0. 'Nuff said, especially when they held double-digit leads in both losses. They have to win now. What would Phins To The West be without hanging around the pool bar watching the game?

Janers wins Gilbert Candy Spitting Open: If you're considering putting together a watermelon seed-spitting team, consider drafting Janers. She trounced me soundly when, after dinner at a restaurant, we both grabbed what we thought were mints from a big bowl on the way out. They weren't mints, but some lime things that tasted like ass. I didn't make it to the car before spitting mine out, with a distance of perhaps 18" at best. Janers held out until we were in the car in traffic. She wanted to spit the nasty thing, but her rear window was locked. By the time I figured out how to roll it down, she had built up significant pressure. This was no petite drop it into your hand and gently toss it from the window. No, this was take a full hyperventilation breath and launch. I heard a THOOP! sound and felt a noticeable reduction in interior air pressure. I'm pretty sure she winged a Chevy two lanes over. So, I lost the candy spitting contest in a blowout. So to speak.

Hope to see you all at the Salsa Challenge tomorrow, or at the acoustic round robin Sunday!

Stone Cold Killers

2008-04-18T06:32:00.003-07:00

This thing lights their little asses up like Vegas.

A couple weeks ago, I was with ZMan running a couple of errands. We had to go to this snake and ugly critter shop in Mesa. This joint was Heebie-Jeebie central, loaded with critters that make most folks' skin crawl, and staffed by what looked like the cast of This Is Spinal Tap. They have a freakin' snake in there that weighed 250lbs. ZMan loved it. I was wishing I had my Remington 870. They have snakes, spiders, scorpions, and - I'm not making this up - a couple different varieties of cockroaches for sale.

Cockroaches? People buy cockroaches?

Hell, if I'd known that 30 years ago when I lived in the deep south, I would have stocked up on those damn palmetto bugs instead of squashing them on a daily basis. I could be retired now.

Anyway, ZMan was there to buy a couple of "feeder" mice. These are mice raised for the sole purpose of being ingested by folks' pet carnivores. He bought a couple of them for his snake, the guy put them in a brown paper bag, and we headed out. Of course, I couldn't resist the temptation to walk behind him through the store, loudly saying "DEAD MOUSE WALKIN' HERE. STEP ASIDE FOLKS, DEAD MOUSE WALKIN!" Zman has a pet snake, and it was viscerally very cool to watch the mouse snatched, squished, and eaten whole. Sorry, Mickey.

While I was there, I saw they had these "scorpion hunter" black lights. I couldn't resist. Wayners and Bo both have scorpions at their houses and the little demons light up under black light like the 4th of July. Last night, Wayners and I put on bandanas and camo, donned jungle boots, blacked our faces, and went to work. The first one we found was under the tiki statue in his backyard. I pointed him out, and Wayners stomped him. Sort of. He stomped, lifted up his foot to observe his work, and the little bastard hauled ass like a scalded cat, escaping uninjured. Nice job, great white hunter. How do you stomp something and miss?

The next one was in a bad place: Right on top of the low wall around his pool pump, next to the gate, where you would put your hand when going through the gate. This time, he left no room for error. He hit the damned thing with a flip-flop so hard that itty-bitty chunks of scorpion went everywhere. Did you know that scorpion corpse debris still fluoresces under black light? It just doesn't look much like a scorpion any more, but more like somebody hocked a glow-in-the-dark loogie.

By the end of the expedition, the body count stood at five. We're hoping their pissed-off buddies don't show up, looking for a little payback. A couple were tiny little guys, clearly juveniles. I asked Wayners how he could kill them like that when they were just babies.

"Easy." He said, "You just don't lead 'em as much."

I Hate San Antonio

2008-04-18T06:26:00.002-07:00

Well, not the city. The city is cool. It's their damn basketball team I hate. Bring 'em on. Nothing would be sweeter than the Suns eliminating them from the playoffs.

Hey, Amare. Keep your head on straight. Don't let the refs steal this one like they did last year. And Steve.....well, just try to stay alive, man.

TFMCD Hits The Big Time

2008-04-17T23:09:00.002-07:00

TFMCD (left) and her steelpan friends enjoying a laugh in class. Photo courtesy of the Chandler Republic, from whom I stole it, with premeditation and without remorse.

The Fetching Mrs. Crime Dog's steelpan class got a visit a few weeks ago from a Republic reporter and photographer. We looked for the article for a few days, then kind of forgot about it. Probably got cut in favor of some story about the Hamilton High School Full Contact Karaoke Team or something.

Then I went to my guitar lesson this afternoon, and my instructor whips out the Chandler Republic and shows me my wife's photo. Turns out we get the GILBERT Republic insert, not the Chandler Republic. Duh.

Hmmm....seems like someone is missing from the picture. Can't quite place who that might be....but it rhymes with "Unruly."

So she also made it to the online version, but the picture is itty-bitty.

Maybe we should have a caption contest. Keep it clean.

The New Deal

2008-04-17T22:44:00.003-07:00

The MFWICs where I work held a big meeting today for all employees, where they laid out a new benefits and compensation plan. One thing is for sure: When they tell you "You're getting more choice and flexibility in a new industry leading compensation package!" it translates to "you're going to work more for less." Of course, we all threw out the obligatory "Does the new package include a tube of vaseline?" and "Hey, will somebody kiss me. please? I like to be kissed when I'm getting fucked" jokes.

The bottom line is that it's still a better place to work than anywhere else in the industry. It's just not as much better as it was a week ago.

What's A Crime Dog To Do?

2008-04-15T20:17:00.002-07:00

I'm tired. Don't want to blog. Chased my tail all day on cases. It's tax day, and I have filed my own, helped Wayner with his, filed Mateo's, and sent in an extension for Z-Man because he's a fiscal dumbass. I'm feeling pretty hostile towards the guvmint about now. I could go over to a couple of those ultra-right-wing-arch-conservative blogs, but I really don't give a shit what Obama's middle name is, or that his preacher is an asshole, or that he doesn't like white guys with guns, or whatever. I don't care if Hillary Clinton is a leftist wacko who does shots like a girl and has a marriage of convenience. Blah blah blah blah. I'm just going to vote for the mean old guy.

At a time like this, only one thing works.

Cat Schtick:

Yeah, I know. I should be ashamed......

Attention Shoppers!

2008-04-14T19:33:00.005-07:00

I recently had to swap out a couple of our pool umbrellas for new ones. The monsoon got one last year when I exercised poor judgment and left it open all one July afternoon. It's almost like those anti-drowning commercials: Watch your umbrellas around monsoons.It only takes a minute.....The other one, a cantilever umbrella, just wore out and died in its sleep last Fall. It was peaceful.

So I brought in new ones and threw the other two on my ever-burgeoning side yard junk heap. There they sat for several weeks, alongside some worn out lawn chairs about as old as my kids, a defunct portable Master Cool, and a plastic garbage can with its bottom busted out.

I can never seem to remember when my bulk trash week is. I only know it's time when my neighbors start stacking crap up on the sidewalks in front of their homes. I thought it was last week, so every time I came home, I gazed up and down the streets to see if anything was piling up. Nothing.

And then, as if by magic, I walked out Saturday to get my paper and there was shit stacked everywhere. I think they put it out late at night to try and trip me up. I dutifully dragged all my junk out and piled it as neatly as possible at the curb. Fearing the garbage can would catch a breeze and roll down the street, I laid it on its side and jammed the top on the cantilever umbrella into it. I was also concerned somebody would trip over its large base, which protruded on to the sidewalk, but it's a pain in the ass to take it off. I just shoved it further out from the curb instead. I took one last look at the other umbrella, and wondered for the umpteenth time whether it might be salvaged. I picked it up to inspect it again, and found - Yeesh - that the cat had decided it would make a nice urinal. It stunk to high heaven. Sayonara, umbrella. What's the deal with cats and pissing on things?

We had about five minutes of wind this morning for some weird reason, and it blew pretty hard. A little later, as I passed by the front door, I glanced outside and something caught my eye. It was the garbage can, right in front of the door. How the hell did that get loose? I walked outside, picked it up, and headed for the junk pile.

What the....?

The broken umbrellas were gone. Vaporized. What was even more odd was that whoever took them also took the time to remove the cantilever from its base. Then, they left the base behind. What the hell good is a broken cantilever umbrella with no base, for Clapton's sake?

I retrieved the geographically separated trash can lid from down the street and piled it and its host back with the remaining junk. Oh well, at least it didn't look so cluttered out there, with the busted cantilever and piss-stained umbrellas having taken a powder.

TFMCD got home around five-ish, and a little later we went out to get in the car to go get some dinner. Damned if the Master Cool wasn't gone. And....WTF? Somebody took the cantilever base? Hope whoever took the base bumps into the guy who took the top. At least they can pool their resources and have a complete - though inoperable - cantilever umbrella.

Anybody want three crappy old lawn chairs and a garbage can with a hole in it? We can save the bulk waste guy some time.

And G Is For.......

2008-04-12T11:54:00.004-07:00

Wayners couldn't get Turbo Tax to work on his laptop yesterday, so he called me and I went over to see if I could help. We considered getting help from tech support, but who needs it? We had Tecate. We proved that two idiots, given enough beer and allowed free reign, can fix a computer. It's now a solid corollary to the ol' If you give an infinite number of monkeys an infinite number of typewriters, they will eventually turn out the works of Shakespeare.

In the process, we managed to completely erase his entire operating system. We reloaded it with a restore disc, but then we couldn't access the Internet.

OK, maybe we did need tech support.

Wayners first tried Cox Tech Support. Their tech said we were missing something called a LAN connection, but they couldn't help us with that. They could connect us to a tech who could help, but we'd have to pay for it. For free help, we'd have to call Dell. So, we called Dell. Thank God for cordless speaker phones. A solid 45 minutes and three beers later, a tech picked up. It was a dude from India speaking English, but it didn't really sound like English. Speaking louder and more slowly was not helpful. The conversation finally broke down in to phonetic spelling:

My name is William Adam Young Nora Edward Robert Sam!

Ultimately, the guy had no idea and had to get somebody else on the line. In so doing, he disconnected us. Thanks, asshat.

So it was back to Cox. They tried to help, but eventually said once again that only Dell could solve this problem. Back to Dell again. This time, it was only a two-beer wait.

When it comes to computers, I'm only about half the dumbass Wayners is, so I took over. Time to chat up the India guy who outsourced some American out of a job, to be nice, get him on our side.

So, where are you?

We Yanks say it with three syllables: In-dee-uh. They say it with two: Een-dyuh.) "I live in in Eendya."

Thanks, Captain Obvious. Yes, but where in India?

"I am from town in south of Eendya called unintelligible."

Oh! Unintelligible! I've always wanted to see the Taj Mahal.

"Dat ees een north of Eendyuh."

My bad. What's your name?

"I am Deen Cue." (I'm sounding it out here. No clue on the spelling.)

OK, Deen Cue.

"Deen Cue.".

(Thought that's what I said?) Oh, OK, sorry Deen Cue.

"No, sir, Deen Cue."

Now I'm confused. Is he saying his name, or "thank you?" So who's on first? Let it go.

He walked us patiently through a whole bunch of crap. Ultimately, between the three of us, we got the damn thing to work. But Deen Cue was not finished with us.

"We need now load sound driver."

Don't worry about it. We already did it. The sound will be fine.

So instead, he went into a ten-minute dissertation on re-installing Microsoft Word. Then he he into an endless spiel about how to contact him if we need more help. Then the phonetic spellings began again. Wayners was spelling his name phonetically for the guy:

William Adam Young Nora Edward, Mary Charles....

Just as he was about to say George, I interrupted and said Gandhi instead. Deen Cue apparently didn't hear me, but Wayners started laughing and struggled to get the last bit out. He went up side my head when he was done. What's a brother for?

So, all was well that ended well. Until this morning when Wayners called me:

Hey! The sound isn't working.

Man, that Dell guy was good, Deen Cue berry much.

Let the Hate Mail Begin....

2008-04-12T11:50:00.002-07:00

I admit I don't like cats. I don't necessarily hate them. I just don't like them. But for some reason, I laughed when I read this article. Sorry, cat people. I'm a horrible excuse for a human being.

The Island Of Margaritaville or I Was Close Enough To Pants Buffett But Decided Against It

2008-04-10T17:02:00.006-07:00

Photo compliments of Pabla. I stole it, but it's still nice to acknowledge from whom you stole something.

Yesterday was regular slice o' paradise at Margaritaville Glendale. It really doesn't get much better, pholks! Here's the rundown:

5:45AM: Show up at Margaritaville to support Mike and the restaurant on Channel 3's Good Morning Arizona. GMA's Brad Perry was as much fun and as nice a guy in person as he portrays himself on TV. He's truly a what you see is what you get person. Of course, we had to do that annoying "GOOD MORNING ARIZONA" yell, which is surprisingly not annoying in the least when you're the one doing the yelling.

6:30AM: Free breakfast and cocktails, compliments of Margaritaville. Those pholks can cook. Hello, Bloody Mary and Tequila Sunrise, goodbye brain cells.

7:00 to 9:00: Hang out at Margaritaville as props for various TV shots for Channels 3 and 10. Make sure you have a complimentary cocktail or beer in hand just in case the camera finds you. Repeatedly sing Matt Wahl's There's no way you can drink all day unless you start in the morning.

9:00 to 11:00: TV folks head out to other stories, but Margaritaville continues to say "Thank you, Parrotheads" by plying us with free drinks until last call around 11:00AM.

11:00-12:00 Who cares if they're no longer free? Bring us another round of Land Sharks! Go out and watch Mac McAnally do his sound check.

Noon to 4:00PM: Tailgate party! Bum a cheeseburger off new friends Becky and Andrea, and Becky's fiance, Kevin? I think? Bum beer off Scott, chips and salsa off Bob R, and who's thay guy over there? Why, it's Alonzo! And look over there, it's Bob What's My Name Karwin! Then, suddenly standing beside me watching Karwin play the parking lot was Michael Marriott, who entertains us when we all phlock to the Hamburger Works in central Phoenix. Next thing you know, it's a jam session! Beat some young people's asses at Beer Pong, and then drink all the beer anyway.

4:00 - 6:30 Pile into the Westgate for the show. We'd heard there was going to be an opening act, but it never materialized. It was just Jimmy and Mac, and nobody seemed to mind. You always hope when you attend a live event that something special will happen. Well,last night it did. A few verses in to Son of A Son of A Sailor, the sound suddenly and unexpectedly went out. Not to worry though, the crowd soldiered on wihout missing so much as a single word. Jimmy and Mac laughingly played on, though they could not be heard, and when the sound came back several seconds later, they were exactly where they were supposed to be. What a moment! I even heard the Radio Margaritaville DJ making reference to it today. I got a call from Tommy afterwards all the way from Houston. He could actually hear the Flamingo Queens on Radio Margaritaville. That tells you how close to the stage we all were!

6:30-8:30 Continue to bum beer and food in the parking lot while Karwin continues to jam and entertain, accompanied now and then by those brave enough to grab a guitar, namely Steve-O and his son Jesse.

8:30-9:30 Somehow manage to arrive home safely despite being dead on our feet from a very long but mega-fun day.

10:00 Z-Z-Z-Z-Z-Z-Z-Z

1:30 Wake up with enough acid in my stomach to dissolve a bulldozer. Oh, well, it's the price we pay for the life we choose sometimes. A little baking soda and water, and I was right as rain.

All day today: Drink massive quantities of water.......

One For the Hall of Fame

2008-04-07T08:09:00.004-07:00

I thought about publishing a list of all the names of people who misbehaved Saturday night at the Jell Shot Queen's birthday bash, but I don't have the time or bandwidth to support a list of that size.

It was a great party, with relatively little property damage. There was the unfortunate affair of the ceramic parrot, may peace be upon him in his time of eternal rest, and a close call between my foot and Rocket Man Sam's ukulele, but those were just blips on the radar screen.

On the plus side, several drunks, aided by my Binford 475D Super-Charged Handheld Blacklight Scorpion Detector, were able to determine that none of the little armor-plated bastards had penetrated the security of the Goat and Queen's backyard. The Goat politely informed ne that he already knew that, and that there have been no scorpions in Scottsdale for many years. Scottsdale is way too exclusive to allow any such thing. Which reminds me of a story:

TFMCD and I grabbed a motel room nearby so as to avoid the long drive home late at night. When we headed out to our car Sunday morning, there was an obviously upset lady in the parking lot, standing behind an SUV with its side window busted into a gazillion itty-bitty pieces. Everything ad been stolen from inside. I saw she had Montana plates, and immediately felt badly for her. Probably from some small town where you don't even need to lock your car. We told her we were sorry something like that happened to her while visiting Scottsdale.

She commented angrily that she had come here to look at real estate in the Scottsdale area, and never expected such a thing to happen here. She had one of those "WELL, I NEVER!" self righteously indignant attitudes that replaced my "sorry this happened to you" interest with more of a "hey, it sure sucks to be you" apathy. "I'm calling my realtor and cancelling!" she griped, "I'm not going to live any place where this sort of thing can happen!"

"Where are you from?" TFMCD asked her.

"Chicago."

It was a rental car.

We just rolled our eyes, got in our own car, and left without another word. Don't let the saguaro hit you in your ignorant ass on the way out, and have a good life in crime-free Chicago.

Hey, nothing against the great city of Chicago. Love it there. It's a beautiful, fun, vibrant city I will visit again. But that particular inhabitant was an idiot. They can keep her.

I Really, Really Want To Give Away These Margaritaville Flip Flops

2008-04-04T13:34:00.003-07:00

So, here's what you need to know to track down Dock:

Dock is a wonderful friend of mine (and probably yours) and a fantastic human being.

If you are reading this, and you are in AZPHC, you know Dock.

Dock wanders a lot. It's not like Dock has a job or anything.

Dock used to have a different nickname, but now it's "Dock." I have no clue what that means, because I haven't asked Dock.

I only figured out who Dock was by tracking Dock's IP address. Dock's IP address changed somewhere around the time Dock became "Dock," which made it more difficult.

Dock is a west sider.

Unruly Julie and TFMCD are ineligible because they now know who Dock is, too. They don't need any Margaritaville flip flops, anyway.

At least they can sleep at night now......

Tips On Spring Cleaning

2008-04-03T11:04:00.004-07:00

The Crime Dog is a giver. Everybody knows that. It's why I'm here, with all my fellow giver Parrothead Phriends. And in that spirit, I want those who care to do so to be able to follow in my wake....For I have plowed the seas and smoothed the troubled waters.

My back patio got rather dirty with all of the rain and muddy dog tracks and whatnot that accrued this winter, much while I was sick there for a while. Then, when illness was no longer a viable excuse, I fell back on the ol' reliable hedonistic one: It's easier to not scrub the patio.

But a couple weeks ago, with the weather warming and the pool beckoning, I decided I had to get it done. With not one moment more of procrastination, I promptly went out and did absolutely nothing about my decision. Until, that is, I found myself at the hardware store on an unrelated matter. And I saw it. The answer to my problem, very plain to see, was on the end cap of Aisle 15 at Ace Hardware.

It was a 1600psi pressure washer. It was on sale. Clearly, God had placed it there before me, had led me to it, and wanted me to have it. Who am I to question the almighty?

Just looking at the box sent me into a chest-thumping testosterone-fueled frenzy.

ar ar Ar Ar ARGH ARRRGH! Must HAVE it! NOW!

So, I took it home, hooked it up, and went to work on my patio. Beer in one hand, sprayer in the other, all was right in my world. You could eat off that patio when I was done.

Hell, if it works that good on my patio, imagine what it could do on other household chores? For two weeks, I used it on everything I could possibly think of. That's where the giver comes in. I have prepared for you all a list of things that you need to know do not respond well to 1600psi of spinning water.

Follow in my wake, and avoid pressure washing the following:

1) Canvass hammock. It gets clean, but you can actually read through it afterwards.
2) Feet. Regardless of how dirty.
3) Flip flops. They actually get quite clean. You will, however, have to retrieve them from your neighbor's yard after blasting them, unless you hold them down with your feet while washing. (See #2)
4) House cats. They object. Strenuously.
5) Resist the temptation to multitask. Watering your potted plants with a pressure washer is a bad idea. Remember Agent Orange? Same effect.
6) A shower stall. Wonderful idea in theory, not so good in practice. One split second shot into your soapdish = tsunami. You'll be wiping water off your ceiling for an hour.
7) The inside of your gas grill. Blech. External use only, please.

Hope this helps. Once the weather turns off hot, I'll tie the trigger down, bolt the sprayer to the fence, and use it as a mister system. I'll let you know how that works out.

And You Don't Have To Be Present To Win

2008-04-03T07:03:00.003-07:00

I have a pair of Margaritaville flip-flops and a glowing swizzle stick for the first person to correctly identify who "dock" is. It's driving Unruly Julie nuts, and she didn't have far to go to begin with.

Help me help her. A mind is a terrible thing to waste.

Time To Church Up This Motley Crew

2008-04-01T14:19:00.003-07:00

I have an idea. It's a good one.

We all get together and go to a church one Sunday morning. It has to be a church where they pass around those little cups of wine and chunks of bread. We'll each take our little cup of wine, and then wait till everybody alse has one, too.

Then I'll yell out WHAT TIME IS IT?

Then you can all yell back IT'S TIME FOR A TEAM DRINK! AAAARGH!!

We'll all slam our wine, crush the little cups against our foreheads, and go home.

Don't forget to drop a quarter in the collection plate on your way out, you cheapskates.

I Need Some Urban Renewal

2008-04-01T07:00:00.000-07:00

So today I was driving down the street leading into my neighborhood, when....wait, let me set this up. There's history here.

When we bought our home in 1995, we spent every last dime we had to get it. If you've been here, you know it's a pretty nice home, in a neighborhood of pretty nice homes. The builder was known at the time for building massive numbers of inexpensive homes, and his son was a custom home builder. Dad and son teamed up for this subdivision, with the result being the really nice places you see here now. But that was this subdivision. Immediately adjacent to it, Dad built one of his usual collections of cheap cracker boxes. We bought very early in the build up, before the other subdivision was really started. By the time the other homes began to take shape, we were already in ours, just a block away from the rapidly developing crackerboxville. Not only were they a block away, anybody coming to our home would have to drive through crackerboxville to get to us.

Oh well, we're easy. We got over it. There have been a few households that got run down over there, some questionable characters from time to time, but things went overwhelmingly just fine.

Until now.

Every time I drive home now, I go past this one house where there are always a bunch of guys in wifebeaters hanging around in the cluttered garage, door wide open, smoking, admiring one another's tatoos, and guzzling beer. The cars have begun collecting in earnest, as if there's 40 people living there. Many have the family name written in huge Old English letters on the back glass, or those dumbass decals that say mi familia and display stick figures of parents, children, dogs, cats, iguanas, or whatever. Maneuvering through there is a DWI test in itself, especially with 14 kids darting around. I know it won't be long now till there's a guy pushing around one of those little popsicle handcarts over there.

But it gets worse. Today, as I cleared the gauntlet, I saw three beater cars in the driveway next door to them. Every one of them had a Pittsburgh Steelers decal on the black glass.

We're screwed.

Margaritaville Comes Through For Parrotheads!

2008-03-30T19:47:00.004-07:00

There's been a lot of speculation the past few months about whether Buffett would make an appearance in Phoenix again this year. For whatever reason, he seems to think nothing of passing us by these days. Getting a show is the exception, not the rule. I don't really understand why, since the show invariably sells out in a matter of minutes. He could sell out two here if he wanted.

Then, the opening of Margaritaville Glendale was announced.

He'll do Phoenix shows now! He wouldn't build one of his flagships here if he didn't intend to come to town!

2007: Nothing
2008: Nothing....so far

We found out a couple of weeks ago that Jimmy would be here on April 9th to do a grand opening show in the courtyard outside Margaritaville. That was the good news! The bad bews is it's only an hour, and it starts at 5:30 on a Wednesday. The even worse news was that it would be a small affair, by invitation only......

But Margaritaville came through! They're giving us 700 tickets to pass out to active Parrothead Club members in the Phoenix and Tucson areas. It would be very cool if the SLUT people could get a few, so I'd finally get the opportunity to meet Parrothead Utah. I may already have, but I just don't know who he is....and it would be a blast if Rhett, Lewie, Shannon, and the rest of the Wasatch gang could show up and hang out with us desert dwellers.

It was funny to watch the messages from well-intended people flying around on the AZPHC Yahoo group, trying to pass on information and rumors about this upcoming show. It was funny because they believed they were on the cutting edge of the concert information superhighway, but our board of directors had the information days before the posters did. We had been all over it for a couple of weeks, but just couldn't pass a lot of information along.

So we have our show. A shortened one for sure, and not the best choice of day and time...but a show nonetheless! And it should be a little more intimate. We'll be there with somewhere around 5,000 of our best friends instead of the usual 20,000 we phlock with out at Desert Sky Pavilion.

Reminds me of the block party at Meeting of the Minds. Except with this one, we at least know for sure that Buffett will show up!

And, To Add To The Confusion Around Here

2008-03-30T00:04:00.000-07:00

We found these guys on sale yesterday at a local music store and thought "What the hell?" They make a nice addition to the musical craziness and eclecticism we're enjoying around here. The Pirate Captain will soon have in his possession a djembe. I played around with a djembe yesterday at the same music store, and it really has a beautiful sound.

But I can tell you this much about congas and djembes. Playing them ain't as easy as it looks......

Making Beautiful Music

2008-03-29T22:34:00.002-07:00

As you now know, TFMCD's pan arrived in perfect condition yesterday, and she's already banging out Volcano on it. It makes a beautiful, escapist sound that you have to hear to believe.

I learned a valuable lesson today, as I planted a couple of passion fruit vines on the pergola in our beautiful backyard paradise. TFMCD was working hard on the pan, and I found that I loved every sound emanating from our living...err...music room. Even when she completely missed a note, it was still music to my ears.

I was reminded of the hundreds of times that I have been plucking away at my guitar, making a noise that falls somewhere within that genre of sounds occupied by fingernails on chalkboards and horny cats. In my judgment, the sounds coming from TFMCD and her pan fell nowhere within those parameters. I looked in on her through an open window just as she hit a very wrong note. She looked at me, smiled, and said "I suck!" I can only guess at the number times have I made that same statement about my own guitar playing, and she would just look at me, smile, and say, "It sounds good to me." That was when it dawned on me that to her, the sound of my guitar is music, regardless of how terribly I play it. She's not patronizing me or just trying to encourage me when I make mistakes!

She really likes to hear me play, even when I suck!

Just as I love to hear her on that pan, even when she is perhaps somewhat less than stellar in her performance.

I know I'm going to be a better guitar player someday. I'll never be a Clapton, or Mac McAnally, or Mike Broward, but I'll be pretty good. I can't miss. I have TFMCD. She will one day be a good pan player. Probably not a Robert Greenidge or a Yohan Popwell, but she'll be good.

She can't miss. She's got me.

A Fallen Parrothead Brother?

2008-03-28T07:53:00.008-07:00

Top: The infamous screen shot from The First 48.
Bottom: A copy of Songs You Know By Heart on the seat of my car.

I'm an avid fan of the TV program The First 48. If you haven't seen it, it's basically a camera crew shadowing homicide squads in several cities as they go about the oftentimes tedious task of working murder cases. I Tivo the show late at night, then watch while I read the paper and have my morning java jolt.

The episode I was watching today involved Miami PD working a case in which a poor guy from Illinois, Ronald Gentile, apparently made a wrong turn in the wrong place at the wrong time, and was shot to death in his rental car for this horrible indiscretion. Welcome to Paradise. A couple of scenes showed the bloodstained interior of the vehicle. A music CD could be seen lying on the seat, its MCA label easily visible.

It looked familiar. Where had I seen that before? I froze the frame, looked more closely. Too blurry, but I do maybe recognize it... Nah, can't be. Couldn't happen.

A few minutes later, a second shot of the vehicle's interior, this time showing the CD a bit more closely. I froze it again.

Can't be sure....but it looks like it might say "Jimmy Buffett" at the top....still too blurry....

The investigator in me came out:

Let's see....13 tracks....the label information on the right side is unusually long....three lines of bold print in the artist and album title....pay attention to how the letters line up over and under one another.....

As you might expect, I have a few (read: ALL) of Jimmy's CDs, displayed prominently in my family room. I started flipping through the old MCA productions.

There it was: Songs You Know By Heart. Yeah, I know them all by heart, and my heart had just sunk to the pit of my stomach.

Man goes to Miami to visit family, hang out on the beach, have a little fun, listen to some Buffett tunes to set the mood, but then he makes a wrong turn and ends up dead for it.

Sail on, Ronald Gentile.

FLASH! Pan Acquisition Update

2008-03-28T07:48:00.002-07:00

TFMCD's steel pan cleared U.S. customs yesterday on its long slow trip from paradise to the Valley of the Sun. I'm under strictest orders to not open the box when it finally arrives. She gets excited about traveling, grandkids, stuff like that, but I haven't seen her this stoked about a thing since....come to think of it, I don't think I've even seen her this stoked.

We're going to take some well-deserved downtime today and head over to the Tempe Music Festival to hear a calypso band. This could actually be considered a covert mission by the Order of the Sleepless Knights to find new and exciting local musical acts. Anybody care to join?

Stuff I Just Want To Know

2008-03-27T14:42:00.002-07:00

Why is it that when I'm listening to Radio Margaritaville on my Sirius satellite radio on the freeway, and I pass under a one-lane overpass, the signal gets blocked out and disappears for a second, but when I drive through the stack tunnel in downtown Phoenix for a quarter mile, with untold megatons of dirt, concrete, a park, and public library over me, the signal stays strong and clear as a bell?

And if you can answer that one, maybe you can help me with this one: Why is it that radio station 98.7 The Peak has these commercials where the listener, (usually a pretty girl) is driving along rocking out and singing along to a cool song, but every time I tune to that station, they're playing stuff that sucks so badly I can't change stations quickly enough? Michael Jackson, Hall and Oats, Celine Dion.....

By Now, You May Have Already Noticed.....

2008-03-26T13:54:00.003-07:00

The self-indulgent change to my avatar. It was taken recently while I was on a busking trip to Key West, drawing a crowd in front of Irish Kevin's on St. Patrick's Day. Or, with a tripod, in front of my pool fence, with the mike not even connected.

You decide.

More Of The Best Music You've Never Heard: Ellis Paul

2008-03-26T07:36:00.005-07:00

I've written before about my unabashed admiration for singer-songwriter Ellis Paul. He's on The Crime Dog's Top Ten List Of Concerts I've Never Seen But Want To. He was here last year for a show in Tucson and one in Cave Creek, but we were on The Parrothead Cruise at the time.

I checked his tour schedule this morning. No Phoenix. No Tucson, No Flagstaff, Gila Bend, or Ajo. He has a west coast swing in November, with not one, not two, but three shows in one day. Ellis Paul: Iron Man.

So, don't plan anything for The Crime Dog on November 9th. I'll be in San Diego. And if you swing on over to iTunes, or to Ellis Paul's website, and sample some of his music, you'll be sitting right next to me.

Go ahead, do yourself a favor. Check him out. You know you want to. If you can hear Blacktop Train, Kiss The Sun (A Song For Pat Tillman), Alice's Champagne Palace, and The World Ain't Slowin' Down without buying them, then I'll shut up about it. To you, anyway. And by the way, you, your kids, and your grandkids will fall in love with The Dragonfly Races. You can call it a "family album" or "children's music," but one listen and you'll be humming and singing along as well.

Then, after you hear the music, shoot Ellis Paul a note. Tell him how much you enjoyed his music, and that it would be very cool if he'd hit Cave Creek again this Fall when he's out here. You never know. It could happen.

Suggestions For Plundering Pirates

2008-03-25T10:39:00.002-07:00

Arrrgh! If you plan to plunder your kid's (or grandkid's) Easter stash, beware of the jelly beans. They make 'em that taste like coffee and even buttered popcorn. They taste like ass. Even Ass thinks they taste like Ass. Just beware.

Unruly Julie and TFMCD Have the Right Idea

2008-03-25T08:13:00.002-07:00

Our friend Drifty referenced this article on Bubba on his blog a few days ago. It's a pretty good (good in this context being defined as short) article, in which you will find this little gem of wisdom regarding the song "Margaritaville":

The sentiments and the breezy delivery resonate across generations of those who, like Buffett, would eagerly trade deadlines and responsibilities for the chance to bang on their drums all day.

Get bangin' girls! Let's make some music and escape those deadlines and responsibilities for at least an hour or two!

By the way:

Pan Acquisition Update - It ain't here. Left Trinidad 3/19. Must be on a slow boat to Miami.

The Dance Police Go National Again!

2008-03-23T11:22:00.005-07:00

Don't know if everyone might have already seen this, but Thursday's Arizona Republic included this op-ed piece from syndicated Pulitzer Prize/Cronkite Award/Silurian Award winning columnist George Will.

Seems George agrees with me on Pinal County's self-important stupidity over the San Tan Flat outdoor dancing issue.

Nice going George! You do realize, however, that I brought up the whole outdoor poetry reading thing first, right? Glad I could help.

As for Dale Bell and San Tan Flat: Dude, you cannot BUY publicity like this. Keep on dancin', baby, and I'll keep on showing up.

Turning Pleasure Into Work and Vice Versa

2008-03-22T16:36:00.007-07:00

A dive master once told me that the worst thing you can do if you love scuba diving is to turn it in to a job. There's probably some truth to that.

I picked up a guitar for the first time a little under two years ago, for one reason: To play The Fetching Mrs Crime Dog a song for her birthday. It was the same one played at our wedding in 1974. I learned that song - John Denver's For Baby (For Bobbie), but also found that the guitar was a great stress reliever in the very difficult months following the death of my mother. For a few minutes, I could do something that required my full concentration. Everything else just disappeared.

Now, here I am, not quite two years later, and I love all things acoustic. I'm really not very good at it, but I just love making music, no matter how bad it might be. Hell, I've only recently stopped eschewing any song that required a barre chord, and have found that I can actually barre a chord fairly well if I make a little effort. Go figure. Now, the hard part seems to be seamlessly moving to and from a barre chord. Margaritaville wasn't built in a day, I guess.

TFMCD has encouraged me for a long time now to go take some lessons. Not so much because I suck, even though I do, but because she knows that's probably the only way I will ever get better. TFMCD will sit and listen to me and enjoy it, no matter how bad it is, but she wants me to be better for me, not for herself.

I finally took her advice and signed up for one lesson per week. My instructor seems like a nice guy, but I came away from my first lesson on Thursday believing the man to be completely deluded. My wrists and hands simply are not designed for the sort of things he expects me to do:

You actually want me to use FOUR fingers?

My thumb won't go there.

No, my pinky will NOT reach the fourth fret, pal.

I don't want to do that. It hurts.

He even gave me homework. Stuff that I was incapable of doing in his presence, somehow this madman thinks I can do alone. Something called a "Blues Scale." There I was, Thursday night, trying to practice what he made look so effortless. Suddenly, I was reminded of what the dive master told me many years ago. This kind of guitar playing was work. This wasn't fun.

So, I did what any red blooded American male would have done in that situation: I blamed my wife.

How am I supposed to hit the first and fourth frets at once, way up there on the low 'E'?? It's impossible! Why did you want me to do this? It isn't FUN! Playing my guitar is supposed to be FUN!

TFMCD put a stop to that real fast.

Maybe not, but if you work hard and get better, it will be a lot MORE fun, won't it?

Ummm, yeah....guess so. That's one reason she's such a great Mom. She brooks no whining.

So, I plugged away. Thursday night. Friday before work. Friday till after midnight. I picked up my guitar this morning and went back to the Blues Scale once again.

What the.....?

Somehow, I could simultaneously hit the 1st and 4th fret of the low 'E.' It wasn't even difficult.

Hey, honey! C'mere! You gotta SEE this! So, she sat down and patiently watched me play the Blues Scale. Without even cracking a smile, she said But remember? You can't DO that. She knew before I did that I could do it. Smarty pants.

My Blues Scale was slow, and choppy, and ugly, but I did it. This guitar stuff is a lot of fun.

I Want Paul McCartney

2008-03-18T10:21:00.002-07:00

That's right. I want him. Bad.

Yeah, I'm straight as straight can be. But I have 48,600,000 reasons to sleep with McCartney for four years. That's the number of dollars his now ex-wife got out of him for banging him for four years. It's not like she had anything at all to do with helping him actually earn any of his $800,000,000 fortune, but she ended up with a nice chunk.

Let's see....how about we break that down:

$12.15 mil per year.

$1,000,000 per month.

$233,653.84 per week

$33,287.67 per day

$1,386.98 per hour, if being married to a Beatle is a 24/7 job.

$5.841.35 per hour if being married to a Beatle is a 40 hour per week job.

Hell, how about I just sleep with him for a month?

Diabetes, Shmiabetes

2008-03-17T10:41:00.004-07:00

I wrote a few months ago that the doc told me I had Type II diabetes. Well, I must have fooled 'em. My last blood test was normal - admittedly on the high side of normal - but nonetheless normal.

My doctor is a blood sugar Nazi. She's a very sweet woman and a fine doctor, but I didn't really select her for her medical education, expertise, militant attitude toward blood sugar, or bedside manner. I picked her because I was approaching 50 years of age, and she has real small fingers.

Think I'll have a beer to celebrate.

Puttin' The Band Together

2008-03-17T09:15:00.004-07:00

Whew! What a weekend! Is it Monday already? This was one of those weekends where you stay so busy that it's over before you know it, and now you need a day off to rest up from your weekend. Know what I mean?

TFMCD and Unruly Julie have now both secured ownership of steel pans, both tenors tuned to a low C....I hope that means they can play effectively together, but knowing absolutely squat about steel pans, none of us will know until they can actually try it. I'm guessing one can play the music as arranged, and the other can take it either up or down a half or full step, but I am in reality musically illiterate and have no clue if what I just said even makes any sense to a guy like.....oh, I dunno, maybe Robert Greenidge.

TFMCD is much more artistically inclined than I am, so with a few lessons and practice, she will have caught and passed me by while I continue to drill and wear grooves in my fingers on my guitar strings.

Let's see: In our circle of good phriends, we now have guitars galore, steel pans, ukulele, bass.....we need drums. I hear the Pirate Captain will soon be the proud and percussive owner of a conga....or was it some other drum? Hell if I know the difference, but it's cool whichever it is. Now, if we can just find him a two-toned Ricky Ricardo jacket (Juuuuuulie! You got some splainin' to do!), we might have ourselves a garage trop-rock-calypso-surf-rock-trailer park band.

The Thursday night pre-Parrot Grande penthouse party will never be the same again.