We Need More Holidays

Posted on January 18, 2011 by travellinbaen

Quote of the Day:

“Nothing in all the world is more dangerous than sincere ignorance and conscientious stupidity.” –MLK

TB really enjoys MLK day. It is one of the most timely three-day weekends of the year, in fact, along with Labor Day, Memorial Day, and sometimes Independence Day. It still rankles that we lost Good Friday somehow–maybe if we paid more attention to the reason we celebrate Labor Day…..but that’s another subject for another blog.

The point is we’ve got a lot of weeks that could use a longer weekend. Coincidentally, or not, we also have a lot of reasons to celebrate that are going, um, un-celebrated. Yes, Third Week is gaining momentum, but that’s the big prize of the “add more holidays movement.” We must keep our eyes on it. In the meantime, it oughtn’t be so hard to achieve smaller goals. There is no shame in this. Somebody once said, “If you can’t fly, then run, if you can’t run, then walk, if you can’t walk, then crawl, but whatever you do you have to keep moving forward.”

I have a dream that one day my own Little Scamp will not have to wake early every Monday, but just have to be on time Tuesday. Don’t be afraid to join the TB movement for more holidays! Just build “a dike of courage to hold back the flood of fear.” And remember, “the hope of a secure and livable world lies with disciplined non-conformists who are dedicated to justice, peace,” and long weekend road trips.

Whew, pretty much all of the above is a digression. All I really wanted to say was, we pretty much have MLK, Lincoln and Washington, and Columbus as the only humans sired by a mortal in all of recorded history who are honored by a holiday. I submit for your discussion a few more worthy options to get us nearer the utopian world of the permanent three-day weekend:

  • Day of The Dude–Everybody just wears an old robe all day and walks around staring incredulously at whoever is dressed normally, whatever that is. The truly devout display a holiday rug, to really bring some room together.
  • John Boehner Day–I think the cause of mental health in this country could really be helped if once a year, on a Monday, we all just stayed home, got drunk and wept, just for the hell of it. And then had to watch ourselves on video.
  • Barack Obama’s Birthday–On this day, we’ll all agree not to believe the data on one another’s birth certificates (there is no way I was born as far back as 1970). Also, husbands get to take credit for things like reducing leakage from the bathtub seals 40 percent while everyone appears to ignore the continuing rot and mildew coming out the other side of the wall. Wives all get together for afternoon tea.
  • Pete Rose Day–Every talk radio show in the nation can debate whether he belongs in the Hall of Fame on a February Monday after the Super Bowl. If the subject is raised at any other time, by anyone, anywhere, it will be a crime punishable by being made to watch 24 hours of Sarah Palin video without crying on the next scheduled John Boehner Day.
  • Willie Nelson’s Birthday–Because too many musicians give dying young a bad name. We’ll contemplate the heights to which an old dude like Willie has risen. We’ll celebrate mountains, clouds, and Redwood trees in Willie’s name. We’ll say “hi” to everyone we meet or just flash’em a thumbs up if they’re grinnin’ wide enough. We’ll sing Willie-carols like John Prine’s Illegal Smile and Cross Canadian Ragweed’s “The Boys from Oklahoma” and Afroman and Snoop songs and we’ll wear bracelets that ask the eternal question, “what would willie do?” and we’ll all eat Twinkies for dinner and oh, man, Willie Nelson Day has unlimited potential.
  • Buford T. Justice Day–we get to cuss all we want. In fact it will be considered socially unacceptable if you don’t drop an F-bomb or violate the relevant commandment in at least every third sentence. Diablo sandwiches and Dr. Peppers for everyone, but there will be no time for hush puppies.

Time to quit. I got things to do. Gotta make up for having yesterday off. Ya’ll help me with the forty-plus Mondays still unaccounted for.

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She Talks to Angels?

Posted on January 13, 2011 by travellinbaen

Quote of the Day:

“She talks to angels. Says they call her out by her name.” –Black Crowes

It’s Thursday and time for the Thursday Pickin’ Playoff results, but ol’ TB made the dang game so complicated its gonna take me awhile to tally up the scores. In the meantime, I thought I’d pass along an account of a strange conversation I had yesterday with the Little Scamp.

We were sitting in a parking lot waiting for the doctor’s office to reopen for lunch. The Scamp was perched in her seat munchin’ on some crackers and apples and I was up front reading Twitter, catchin’ up on the previous night’s “flashoflight” excitement. Just before I cut off my phone, I saw a new tweet saying “everyone’s gonna be talking about this article.” Almost never do I follow Tweet links, just because that would take up more hours than are in a day, but this time I did. Here’s the article. The rest of this story won’t make much sense if you don’t scan through it. It’s about the unspeakable commonality between SEC basketball coaches Billy Donovan, John Pelphrey and Anthony Grant of losing children when they were all on the same staff.

I was reading the article, dispassionately at first, but as I became more and more absorbed by the story I found it difficult to stop tears welling up behind my eyes. Reading the details of the day a man lost his child–it’s not something I can easily contemplate. As the story moved on to all the good things these men are doing in the never-ending wake of their losses, I was entranced. I was oblivious to the Scamp in the back seat. She’d been sitting quietly for several minutes while I read. There were no cars around us, nothing in our vision in fact except the non-descript office in front of us.

Suddenly the Scamp spoke up. “Did you see the baby Daddy?” It broke the spell and released me from the sad grip of the story. “What baby, Sweetheart?”

“The BABY,” she said.

“I don’t know what baby you are talking about Scamp.”

“You didn’t see the baby,” she asked?

“No. Did you see a baby?”

“Yes.”

“Was there a baby at school today?”

“No, Daddy, babies don’t go to school. Silly.” I looked all around. Still no one in sight.

“Scamp,” I felt a little silly, in fact, for what I was about to ask. “Did you see a baby in the car?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Well, what was she doing?”

“She was just smiling. She was happy.”

“What’s she doing now?”

“She had to go back home.”

I dropped it there. Three-going-on-four year olds like to talk about babies and, mine in particular, is the master of the non-sequiter.

If you reside in the TBU you know how I feel about internet religiosity. So I’m not suggesting anything as a conclusion to my little story. Truth is, I don’t even have a conclusion. Could’ve been pure coincidence. Could’ve been some kind of telekinetic connection between Father and Daughter and she sensed what I was feeling at the moment. Could it have been a little angel among us?

The only thing I know for sure is it’ll be dang hard for me to keep from rooting for Donovan and his two former assistants from now on.

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The Last Eccentric

Posted on January 6, 2011 by travellinbaen

Quote of the Day:

  • Sweet:  “…..I had to go chase down Henry first and then…”
  • TB:  “wait a minute, who’s Henry?”
  • Sweet:  “I didn’t tell you about Henry? That’s my dog.”
  • TB:  “What kind of dog did you get?”
  • Sweet:  “Aww, I don’t know, man.”
  • TB:  “Whaddaya mean you don’t know.”
  • Sweet:  “I just don’t know. He was here when I moved in.”

Got a call from Sweet the other day. The above exchange was part of the conversation. I told him I was making a note and that scene would be in the book I’ve been contemplating and trying to get off the ground. I’ve got this character in mind that, coincidentally, has a lot in common with Sweet, you see. Smily too for that matter. He’s fictional to be sure, and Sweet’s already given me permission to use his stories and I ain’t even askin’ Smily–he doesn’t mind, and there’s little bit made up and a lot more borrowed from my other asshole runnin’ buddies planned too. They’re a pretty messed up bunch, lot’s to work with. There’s a little nod to Zeek in the last paragraph below, by the way.

This project is ultimately about the ongoing struggle between the forces of convention and order vs those of chaos and freedom. It’s gonna be a caper-comedy, I think. I’ve actually gotten further with outlining it and nailing down the conflict and climax than with anything else I’ve so far abortively tried. So, we’ll see where it goes, if anywhere. In the meantime, I thought you might enjoy this excerpt from Chapter One of “The Last Eccentric.” It’s just an introductory scene that doesn’t push the actual plot. A few of you will recall the real story that was the inspiration for the fictional version. For the record, TB wasn’t really there that day. Thankfully.

———————————————

In eleventh grade we skipped school one day in the spring and went to Gulf Shores to lie on the beach with our whole gang. We made it home that evening before Billy’s parents came in from work. He was fallin’ down drunk and I had to help him into the house. He begged me to show him to the shower. I dragged him in there even though he purposely allowed more dead weight than he had to, and I got him down to his shorts and, thankfully, he said he could handle it from there so I shoved him in his Mom’s bathtub and went to watch TV on the hard wooden floor in his bedroom and sober up. I guess I dozed off, and it only seemed like for a minute, but suddenly I felt a powerful urge to pee. Waking with a start, I realized my hand was in a shallow, rapidly spreading puddle of warm water. I looked down the hall and saw it was coming from the bathroom.

How in the hell that boy managed to get the door locked and why is a question I cannot to this day answer. After a few minutes calling for him to find out why water was pouring out of the bathroom and a few more minutes deliberating, after receiving no reply, I finally decided to kick the damn thing in, taking the frame out in the process. Wish now I’d have felt above the door for the key, but I was in a tough spot and a little over-served myself and ill prepared for a crisis of this sort. Water was everywhere. The shower curtain was open. Billy sat below the nozzle with a shit-eatin’ grin on his face and his eyes mostly shut and with his boxers, thankfully, still on as the water crashed over and around him unrelentingly. His right ass cheek had formed a perfect seal on the drain while the water ran and he was flooding the whole damn house.

I turned off the shower and stood back for a minute, a bit in shock. The water had penetrated my shoes, soaking the socks within and I hate that so I went back in Billy’s room and pulled them off and stuck them up on the shelf in his closet. Back to the bathroom and Billy’s drunk ass hadn’t moved and his expression was unchanged. “Hey man,” he slurred, “why you wanna come stormin’ in here like you some kinda…..Han Solo or sumpin’ and turn off my water?” His grin broadened, pleased with his analogy I guess. The water was up to his chest. “You flooded the whole damn house you imbecile!” I castigated he and his lineage mercilessly as I lifted his carcass off the drain, threw a towel over his shoulders and set him astride the commode. We didn’t have much time before the big Mamoo came home and I ordered Billy off the toilet, to grab some towels and start helping me sop everything up. He just grinned up at me and said, “That was the best shower ever. I can’t believe you ruined it for me Whitey.” That’s what he calls me. Whitey. Don’t think it’s ever registered with him that I’ve always  disliked that handle.

That’s the part of the story I like to remember. It was fun, mostly fun I guess re-telling it all these years. At any rate, just so you know, I got the place all dried up before Mamoo came in, even had Billy asleep in his bed, but she couldn’t help but notice the busted door frame so the jig was up. We boys had a code to never “eat the cheese”, so I didn’t say anything, just played dumb while Mamoo went off. Billy slept through it all, and I slipped out of the house when Mamoo wasn’t looking. Billy lost his driving privileges for a month but he didn’t care. Told us it was two months, in fact. He was the only high school kid in history that hated driving. I should’ve known he’d only get weirder with age; hell, he didn’t even like riding shotgun.


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Winter Sojourning in Vermont

Posted on January 4, 2011 by travellinbaen

Quote of the Day:

“Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one’s lifetime.” –Mark Twain, Innocents Abroad

There was a time in TB’s life when, thanks no less to ignorance inflicted than ignorance inborn, you could not have convinced me via the most highly skilled nor logically pristine argument that I could–forget would–love places like Oregon or Montana, especially Vermont. But here I am, forty, and I while away my days pining for these places ineffectually, dreaming of a life without offices and sedans.

Vermont wasn’t our first choice for this year’s winter trip, nor even our second. But circumstances were such that it fell into place as the perfect choice nonetheless. I had confidence it would work out that way thanks to a single pleasurable afternoon spent there on an impromptu side trip from the Adirondacks several years back. Still, the place exceeded my high adult expectations, and blew away any remaining vestiges of the ridiculous assumptions of this Northeastern Kingdom from my younger days.

Vermont is quiet. Not because it’s small or because it’s mostly rural. It isn’t the gentle snows that drift in and out in workmanlike fashion or the protective mountains that discretely screen off the mega-metropolises to the south. In fact, the state isn’t quiet due to anything audible at all. It took me a few days to finally realize what makes the place so peaceful and subdued. Vermont is quiet, serene, because of what you see–family farms with freshly painted red barns and white wooden fences, a hibernating tire swing at the wooded edge of a snow-white meadow, and the steady, clear brook curving alongside, street signs signifying a bear or moose crossing or a ski path. Even more, it is quiet for what you do not see–billboards, hurried drivers, nor golden arches or their innumerable cousins.

There was a village, just like the ones we used to put atop our TV set at Christmas when I was a child, with a general store and a white-painted church and a towering steeple overlooking all. There were two salty guys building a house in the country near our rental. They framed the place up in three days, working in temperatures around zero once, in snow the next, and on a balmy sunny day of thirty degrees on the last. Seven year old locals with black eyes and scratched helmets maneuvered deftly on the black diamond runs beneath the ski lifts filled with New Yorkers and Bostonians and  a few southerners seeking adventure on the crowded and safe blues to the side. There was a sign made from half a wooden canoe standing upright on one road before a cleared driveway framed by a six-foot pile of muddy snow and two big shovels leaning against the nearest wall. It read, “Justice of Peace, Notary Public, Free Advice.” There were two foxes high-steppin’ across a snowy field, in search of breakfast I suppose, as usual.

So much to see, yet it is all so clutter-free and tranquil that it pacifies the brain, eases the soul, and, come to think of it, I don’t recall seeing a scrap of clutter along the roads in Vermont. Yes, peaceful, pastoral, beautiful, and tough, that’s Vermont.

Northeast Yankee liberal, ivory towered, effeminate, elitist, anti-capitalist pansies? That’s what a lot of people around these parts think of Vermont and Vermonters. I can’t blame ’em too much I guess. When I was young I was ignorant and misinformed myself…… Then I started travellin’……..I’d sure love to spend a month in Montana about now…..just to see what it’s like…..

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The Weather is Beautiful

Posted on December 30, 2010 by travellinbaen

Wish you were here.
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TBU at Stowe VT

Posted on December 28, 2010 by travellinbaen

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For the Twelfth and Eleventh Rants of Christmas, TB Gave to Me…

Posted on December 24, 2010 by travellinbaen

Quote of the Day:

Heap on the wood! – the wind is chill;
But let it whistle as it will,
We’ll keep our Christmas merry still

–Sir Walter Scott

ELEVEN pieces missin’.

Ok, China, that’s how its gonna be? Twenty-four holes and nineteen screws. Worked around it and went to the next toy. Eight bolts but just five nuts. Better come back to that. I’ll move on to the table and chairs, something simple. Only three legs? Are you serious? I’ll just hook up the video games–“There’s supposed to be two more cables so we can use either the computer monitor or portable DVD, babe…..whaddaya mean you haven’t seen ’em!?”

Look, TB don’t build, erect, design or tinker. I ain’t handy. My tool box only holds about five things, two of ’em are hammers and I’m not even sure where the damn thing is. “Some assembly required, my ass.” I think the Chinese are doing this on purpose. They are waging a passive aggressive war on American sanity or maybe even Christmas itself! Why can’t they just put it together, ship it in a giant freakin’ box and just let me put some of these damn triple aaa’s in and go? I need to be in a lounge, but I’d even settle for a Christmas party rather than face the pressure of getting everything Santa-ready tonight. Hell I’d rather even WRAP than this. Not a creature was stirrin’, my ass! If I’d just bought gold a little sooner I’d be payin’ somebody to…..THE DAMN SCREWS DON’T EVEN FIT THE HOLES FOR CRYIN’ OUT LOUD–OUCH–that might need stitches–WE’RE TAKIN’ IT BACK! THE SCAMP CAN SIT ON A BEAN BAG!…..jolly old elf, my ass….

TWELVE TB’s Rantin’

Finally. What was I thinkin’. TWELVE Rants? I love me some Christmas for cryin’ out loud! All because I’d been in the mall a little too long and one too many fancy-boys walked by and sneered beneath his rimless specs at me for bein’ in Saks with my third-day worn jeans and faded hole-y t-shirt and unkempt, cowlick-ridden hair-shag.

But you know, on second thought, it was kind of fun. I think trying so hard to gin up things to be angry about all month may have even forced my innate contrarian sub-conscious to cling tightly to positivity and joy. Truth is, with the Scamp’s growing appreciation of the delights of the season, it’s probably been my best Christmas ever. Today and tomorrow are gonna be a real kick….

….ELEVEN Pieces missin’, TEN Gifts a’ wrappin, NINE Bells a’ ringin’, EIGHT pounds a’gainin, SEVEN Christs in Christmas, SIX Xmas Parties, FIVE. GOLD. ADS. FOUR freakin’ stitches, THREE triple AAA’s, TWO billing errors and a Lounge in a Mall ain’t no Lounge.

———————

TB and the girls are leavin’ tomorrow for a Christmas trip to Vermont with Flyin’ J and his gang for a little skiing and sightseeing and sleigh riding. Keep an eye out for short posts and pics this week.

Merry Christmas everybody, hope you have the hap-happiest day of the year!

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Thursday Pickin’ Playoffs, Season III

Posted on December 24, 2010 by travellinbaen

Quote of the Week:

“since when does Sweet make the decisions around here? This must be how Boise State feels.”     –Larry

Ok, here’s how we’re gonna do it:

The playoff contenders are Tiny D, BR, Flyin’ J, BW Buzz, Face, Pitalo, JLou, and Smily J. In the event one of these top eight regular season finishers fails to participate, they will be replaced by the highest ranked finisher who does in the playoff. So Sweet, then Larry are the top two alternates. Everybody needs to make their picks in accordance with the playoff format because there is a bowl pickin’ winner in addition to the overall exalted grand champion. (Sort of like how Nascar has a race winner and a Cup champion at the last race of the year.)

Everybody has to pick the national championship game and include a final score for tiebreaker purposes. This game is worth 20 points for winning and costs 20 for losing. A push nets zero.

Pick the Sugar Bowl, Rose, Orange and Fiesta Bowls for ten points each.

Then, pick four games of your choosing for eight points.

Finally, designate one game from the above three categories as your Pick o’ the Bowls. This game will be worth 20 additional points. It can be any game and the points are cumulative. In other words, if it is the National Championship game you will be risking 40 instead of 20. Or make the Gator Bowl your Pick o’ the bowls and it becomes a 28 point game.

Playlist topics can include either a New Year’s/Celebratory theme, a tribute to the various nicknames utilized in the TBU. Feel free to combine them as a hybrid list. Two overall music winners will get an six point bonus. Voters MUST vote for the best of the top eight. For their second vote, the entire TBU is eligible.

Tiny D gets a 10 point head start, BR 8, Flyin J 6, BW Buzz 5, Face 4, Pitalo 3, JLou 2, SmilyJ 1.  If one of the top eight doesn’t weigh in, the bonus points do not change. If an alternate is bumped up to the playoffs, they get no bonus.

Got it? Unnecessarily complicated? That’s the way TP rolls (blank stare).

Here’s your link to the odds.

My Picks:

National Championship:  Auburn  -3  (Auburn 48 Oregon 35)

Big 4:

  • Oklahoma  -16′
  • Stanford  -3
  • Ohio State  -3′
  • Wisconsin  +3

Four More:

  • Georgia Tech  +2′
  • Iowa  +2′
  • LSU  -1  (pick o’ the bowls)
  • Oklahoma St  -4′

My Tunes:

  • Eyes Without a Face–Billy Idol
  • Fly Me Courageous–Drivin’ and Cryin’
  • Me and Bobby McGee–Kris Kristofferson
  • Jessie’s Girl–Rick Springfield
  • Keep on Smilin’–Wet Willie
  • Harmony in My Head–Buzzcocks
  • Hoochie Coochie Man–New York Dolls

Song o’ the New Year’s/Bowl Season:

Tiny Bubbles–Don Ho

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Phil’s Place (jerk…the 10th and a half rant)

Posted on December 23, 2010 by travellinbaen

TBs smartass neighbors and their fancy-lit-contest-winnin’-we’re so-much-better-than-you-electricity-hoggin’-look-at-me-ain’t-TB’s-little-ol’-wreath-pitiful-Xmas-gluttonist selves.
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For the 10th and 9th Rants of Christmas, TB Gave to Me….

Posted on December 23, 2010 by travellinbaen

Quote of the Day:

“I have never smuggled anything in my life. Why, then, do I feel an uneasy sense of guilt on approaching a customs barrier?”     —John Steinbeck

…..TEN Gifts a’ Wrappin’.

Who’s bright idea was it to start wrapping gifts anyway? I’d like to know because if TB spots him in some lounge the next couple of days, I might have to be restrained. Phil, you know the gold buyin’ guy down the street with the giant nativity scene in his front yard; anyway, his wise men didn’t wrap their gifts so I’m pretty sure it’s un-christian for us to do it. Of course, to put yourself in their sandals, what would be the point of wrapping gifts for eight pound, six-ounce, sweet, tiny all-powerful and all-knowing baby Jesus? Hmmm, I suddenly wonder if baby Jesus needed that myrrh for baby eczema or something? Seems strange because….I digress….

I am the worst gift wrapper in all of history. I also suck at billiards and penmanship but I’m not quite the world’s worst. Second worst cowlick ever, right behind Alfalfa. But gift wrapping–it’s no contest. I’m incredibly incompetent. We’re talkin’ a whole roll of paper, half a package of tape, patches to cover the tears from mishaps around the corners and teardrop-smeared ink on the tags. Bows? Ribbons? I can’t even talk about them. On the upside, you get your money’s worth on the time required to unwrap a TB gift, probably long enough to change the ecstasy of anticipation to simple relief by the time the box shows…..

……NINE bells a’ ringin’.

…Don’t look at me like that! I pitched in a quarter at Best Buy, eight cents at Target and a buck oh four at Walmart already today. I’m out of change and you ain’t gettin’ a twenty! I’m late for an Xmas party, forgot to pick up batteries again and my gut is suddenly affecting the tide schedules so gimme a break! (go see TDW’s latest, “My Gut is So Big)

Hey, TB believes in Christian charity, or any other kind of charity as much as the next guy but enough is enough. I can’t walk in to Kroger for a dozen eggs without getting a hearty welcome; then on the way out, as I gently tread as far to the left of the giant red pot of judgment as space allows I hear the condemning, sarcastic “MERRY CHRISTmas SIR! Oh yeah? Screw you! I can hear the sneer and I know that smile isn’t genuine. The bell ringers never miss a non-giver like me and I freely confess, after about the hundredth bell-ringer of December, I’m finished.

Two suggestions….just let my own conscience and the current weight of my front pockets be the deciding factor on when I pitch in. Keep your eyes straight and your thoughts to yourself when I have to pass. And, I realize this might be a bit controversial, but, speakin’ just for myself, if I gotta see you guys at every store in town, well, I could use more cowbell…..

…….EIGHT pounds a’gainin, SEVEN Christs in Christmas, SIX Xmas Parties, FIVE. GOLD. ADS. FOUR freakin’ stitches, THREE triple AAA’s, TWO billing errors and a Lounge in a Mall ain’t no Lounge.

 

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