I was too occupied being occupied this past week, so neglected to comment on Glenn Beck's comment about Geert Wilders. Beck called Wilders a "fascist" for opposing all Islamic immigration into the Netherlands. After all, not all Muslims are terrorists. I believe Charles Krauthammer also voiced some similar naive nonsense.
That about does it for me with regards to Beck. What a schmuck. Wilders opposes Muslim immigration because of their core ideology of violence, hatred and subversion. True, some are less enthusiastic about practicing it than others. Heck, I even know a few Mormons who like to drink. There's hope for everyone.
But facts are facts. A lukewarm Muslim may see the light and become a zealot. Many of them do. Or their kids do. They have this nasty little book called the Qur'an. It tells them to ambush infidels, chop off their heads, rape their women, steal their booty, etc. Apparently, there are some people who think all religion is good, even when it preaches and practices evil.
Would we hold the same immigration standard for millions of practicing Communists? How about practicing cannibals? Head hunters? Practitioners of human sacrifice? Practicing Nazis? After all, not all of them were members of the SS.
No, of course not.
Should these nasty folk wish to come to America (or the Netherlands) and kill us, they will first need to establish their ideology as a religion. Then it will be okay and even tax-exempt. Just ask Glenn Beck.
I went into work today expecting it would be my last day, but then I found a paycheck in my inbox. It was for a decent amount, too, just in time to pay the mortgage.
Apparently, there is a new liberal/left movement called "the Coffee Party" that is trying to simultaneously emulate and oppose the Tea Party movement. Of course, the Coffee Party is a pretentious put-on, not a genuine grassroots groundswell like the Tea Parties. To use the proper word, the Coffee Party is astroturf -- fake.
The Democrats' Marxist health care bill is still under heavy bombardment and it is not certain that it will ever pass; but don't assume it will not. We are having a war here in America, one that does not involve violence, except the violence to the Constitution and our economic health. The radical Democrats are using debt to destroy America. It is revolution by bankruptcy, sedition by insolvency.
If you hate American sovereignty, economic prosperity and national security, do indeed join the Coffee Party (also known as "the Commie Party"). Flavor that brew with a little arsenic and you too can be a member of the self-hating, suicidal left -- and with the same result.
Every so often I feel happy, light-hearted and optimistic. I am having such a moment on this glorious, spring-like day in Northern California. California doesn't care what Punxultany Phil has to say about it, California always has spring way early. The fields and hills are velvet green, splashed with a bit of yellow color from wild mustard and bits of orange from wild poppies. My lemon tree is heavy with ripe fruit. The state legislature is heavy with ripe fruitcakes, but that's another story.
I think the subconscious mind often knows things that the conscious mind is not yet privy to. I hope that's what's going on with me today. Maybe I just feel good from getting over the flu this past week; an absence of retching does wonders for the mood.
I've always loved the song embedded below. It describes well how I feel right now.
Years ago I used to watch Red Buttons on black and white television (before there was color) singing "Strange Things Are Happening." Now when something weird comes my way, I think of that song from the misty recesses of the ancient past.
I just finished my fourth week of working for a financial consulting firm, but am yet to see a dime in pay. So on Monday I am turning in my laptop, saying "Sayonara" and walking out the door. The lady who runs the company is just very strange: secretive, manipulative and odd.
So on Monday it will be adios, arriverderci and goodbye.
Yeah, yeah, I know Bro, you warned me. I knew it was a risk, but I did want to get my hands around some complex tax returns and managed to prepare four complicated partnership returns for a venture capitalist and a Subchapter S return for a small company. I have some very recent tax experience to add to my resume, so maybe it will help me get some actual paying work.
My band continues to practice regularly and it is paying off. We feel very comfortable making music together and we have noticed a growing polish to our performance. The latest song we are learning is "Damn Your Eyes" by Etta James. It is embedded below.
Our female soul singer does a very good rendition.
Another development in the Amanda Knox murder conviction has come to light. Amanda Knox is an American university student who was studying in Italy when one of her house mates was murdered. In a very controversial trial, Knox and her boyfriend, Rafael Sollecito, were convicted of taking part in the crime.
Rudy Guede is the man who raped the murder victim. He was convicted of the murder of Meredith Kercher based on strong evidence: his semen in Kercher, his bloody fingerprints all over the crime scene, and his confession at trial.
A cellmate of Rudy Guede says Guede told him that Knox was not present when Guede murdered Kercher. He also stated that Rafael Sollecito, Knox's boyfriend, was not present either. The Italian prosecutor theorized that Knox and Sollecito were present and participated in a "sex game gone wrong."
The Italian prosecutor in the trial, one Giuliano Mignini, has been subsequently convicted himself, of prosecutorial irregularities in a different murder trial. This adds credence to charges that Mignini was both ruthless and dishonest in the trial of Amanda Knox.
A lot of observers have noted that the evidence against Knox and Sollecito was dubious at best, and that their convictions were based more on the prosecutor's speculations rather than hard evidence. She and Sollecito are appealing their convictions.
Yesterday, a nut named John Patrick Bedell walked up to two police officers at an entrance to the Pentagon, drew a pistol and opened fire. He wounded the two police officers but they killed him with return fire. Now the mainstream media is trying to connect Bedell with the Tea Party movement and/or "right wing extremists" (what else is new?).
You see, it is a belief in limited government, low taxes and adherence to the constitutional basis of America's founding that causes such behavior. This is why the Founding Fathers were all Wing Nuts, Christian zealots and racists sporting Saturday Night specials that they bought at Gun-O-Rama. It's why they often walked up to British guards and opened fire with their flintlock pistols. There is something about personal responsibility and human freedom that drives men mad. It's why the public should fear with great dread, the Tea Party movement, and any and all resistance to Obama's socialist initiatives. Thank you so much, MSM, for pointing all of this out.
I was surprised that John Patrick Bedell and I have so much in common. He and I both live (or in his case, lived) in Hollister, California. He was a graduate student at San Jose State University and I graduated from San Jose State. The connection is pretty clear: either living in Hollister or attending San Jose State drives men to acts of irrational violence. Don't be judgmental. Have you ever BEEN to Hollister? Have you SEEN the girls at San Jose State? I rest my case.
Bedell received his B.A. degree from U.C. Santa Cruz and so did my youngest son. David Horowitz has called U.C. Santa Cruz the most left wing university campus in the country. He isn't far wrong.
Yes, I too am a Wing Nut, and proud of it. I think Obama is a flaming commie, that he ought to make his birth certificate public, that 9/11 was NOT an inside job, that Oswald killed Kennedy all by himself, and that states have the right to secede from the union. I believe in gun ownership, disbelieve in anthropogenic global warming, believe in drilling for oil off our coasts until they bleed, love driving gas guzzlers, wearing Stetson hats and smoking big cigars. Ah ha ha ha! (It's difficult to express a truly wicked laugh in text. Use your imagination.)
The only problem is that we Wing Nuts love the military. We'd never fire on the Pentagon. We believe that peace protesters who lie down in front of trucks or tanks should be flattened like toad frogs on the Bayshore Freeway.
Oh, and one more thing, we don't register as Democrats. John Patrick Bedell was just another left wing loonie, a Moonbat, not a Wing Nut...and a registered Democrat!
In other words, he was one of YOURS, lefties. You lose. Again.
However, I suspect it isn't politics that makes someone crazy. They choose the politics that is most in line with their predilections. Paranoid, angry people will often become conspiracy theorists and hate certain authority figures while identifying with others. Bedell's politics were a product of his psyche, not the other way around.
Update 1: Left Coast Rebel posted the voter record that gives Bedell's address in Hollister. I hopped in my car, punched the address into my GPS and tried to go over to his house. However, my GPS led me to the Ridgemark Golf & Country Club, where Bedell lived in a gated community (complete with a guard shack), so I couldn't complete my journey. In any case, it appears Bedell wasn't economically depressed. Update 1a : I put Bedell's address into Google Maps and saw his house from both an aerial and street view. The house is huge and has a pool and spa in the back yard.
Update 2: Here's an interesting article about Bedell. Apparently, Bedell was a 9/11 truther, hated the government and had mental problems. You have to feel for his family and what they are going through right now. Both his mother and his father are pillars of the Hollister community.
Former Saturday Night Live entertainer Victoria Jackson is a conservative. She sings a song to Obama, "There's a Communist Living in the White House," and the video is embedded below.
I heard about the video from Brian Sussman of KSFO radio, 560 AM, out of San Francisco. Enjoy!
MSNBC and CNN pundits have a simple strategy to derail the Tea Party movement: continuous, nonstop slander, fake charges of "racism" and "extremism." Their strategy is transparent and by now we are all well aware of Saul Alinsky's "Rules for Radicals." To energize your base and put your opposition on the defensive, paint them as thoroughly dark and evil.
A rather incompetent student of Alinksy's tactics is one Dylan Ratigan (pronounced "Rat Again"), a midmorning program host of the far-left MSNBC. Yesterday he invited Tea Party Express organizer Mark Williams to appear on his show. There, Williams was the target of Ratigan's vicious invective, accusing him (and the Tea Party movement) of being anti-black and anti-Jew, and in bed with Nazis.
Ratigan is an extreme caricature of a leftwing crackpot. He continually yelled at Williams, demanding that he answer Rat Again's ridiculous accusations, but without giving him a chance to do so. Williams countered by answering Rat Again's accusations, talking over Rat's nonstop harangue, which really annoyed Rat Again.
Since I am working in Menlo Park this week, I went by the site of Butterfield's Nightclub on the way home. It's the club where the Vince Guaraldi Trio played its last gig on February 6, 1976. Guaraldi died between sets in his room at the Red Cottage Inn, right next door to the club, ostensibly of a heart attack.
I visited the site a year ago and posted my thoughts at this link. At that time, Gaylord's Indian Restaurant had just closed business at the site and the place was beginning to look shabby. Today, however, I noticed that no other business has used the site in the past year: Gaylord's sign is still on the awning, and now all the windows and doors have been boarded up.
I have added three pictures I took late this afternoon. The boards over the windows and doors are pretty obvious. This is not a good sign...will the old Butterfield's site be torn down?
With the terrible economy and California's extreme anti-business policies, it would be an uphill battle to get this old building renovated and back to productive use. One can only hope.
UPDATE: You can view the site of Butterfield's Nightclub using Google Earth or Google Maps. Go to Google Maps and enter the address of Butterfield's, 1706 El Camino Real, Menlo Park, CA. You can view Butterfield's (Gaylord's India Restaurant in its latest incarnation) from an aerial view or also from a street view. The street view can be manipulated so you can see all sides of the building and how it relates to the Red Coach Inn.
Bottom photo: This was the front entrance, under an awning, to Butterfield's.
UPDATE 2: I googled the street address of the building and found mention of it at the Menlo Park website. Apparently, the owners of the building intend to demolish it and replace it with a two-story medical office building. Read it here.
The Winter Olympics are now in their closing ceremonies and the world says goodbye to lovely Vancouver, British Columbia. My wife and I have been there three times, once to attend Stogie Jr.'s wedding to his Vancouver bride, once to attend a California CPA convention, and once just for fun. We were blown away by the beauty of Vancouver and of Canada. British Columbia is one of the most beautiful spots on earth. Think whales and totem poles, spectacular forests and a beautiful, blue coastline. Think flower gardens, friendly people and a world-class city, clean and almost devoid of litter or graffiti.
At the CPA convention back in the 1980's, we were actually bused to Whistler, where the 2010 Winter Olympics were just held. It was June when we visited, however, and there was no snow, but lots of greenery.
It was a little disappointing for the USA hockey team to lose the gold medal to Canada, but let's face it, it was more important for Canada to win it. Losing the gold on their home ice would have been a real downer, one that would have tarnished the Olympics for them. For that reason, I do not begrudge them the win.
Wife and I went to see my son and his family yesterday. I really enjoyed playing with my grandkids.
While we were there a movie came on television called "Napoleon Dynamite." I asked my son, what the heck was that all about. He started laughing and told me it was a cult film, one of those films that grows on its own to great popularity over the years. Previous cult films include "Little Shop of Horrors" and "Office Space." Son and daughter-in-law told me that when they first watched "Napoleon Dynamite," they didn't get it. They thought the film was odd, unfunny and pointless. But they felt they had to watch it again, and did so. They began to enjoy it and see the humor they had missed the first time around.
Cult films are quirky, a bit crazy and a bit weird. They are also very funny. I told my son "play the movie!" He did. I enjoyed it immensely.
Napoleon Dynamite is a nerd, a student in high school in Idaho. He's not only a nerd, he brings nerdism to a new level of absurdity. He is the renaissance of nerds. Napoleon has very curly, blond hair, wears glasses and bears an eternal expression of irritation. His bottom lip always droops. He has the physique of an anorexic.
Napoleon has a Walter Mitty view of the world, always creating fantasies to displace his dull reality. He tells classmates he spent the summer in Alaska hunting wolverines. They ask him how many he shot. He says "Fifty." They ask, "What kind of gun did you use?" Looking exasperated at such stupid questions, Napoleon replies irritably, "A 12 gauge, of course!"
Napoleon makes friends with a new kid in school, a new immigrant from Mexico named Pedro. Pedro is a nice guy, soft spoken and accepts all of Napoleon's exaggerations at face value. Pedro, like Napoleon, does not understand the cliques and castes of high school, so asks Summer Wheatly (the most popular girl in school) to the prom. She says no. So he asks another girl, a nerdy outcast named Deb who has a crush on Napoleon, and she says yes. Napoleon gets a pity date when a mother forces her daughter to accept his invitation to the prom. Napoleon's date ditches him at the dance but Pedro allows him to dance with Deb, and their budding romance takes root.
Other interesting characters in the film are Napoleon's Uncle Rico, a weird guy who drives a van and sells Tupperware for a living, continually dreaming of 1982 in high school, where he blew the big football game, losing the state championship. He buys a time machine off of E-Bay to go back and win the big game. The device fails to work properly, rendering serious electric shock to the groin area. Napoleon tries it with the same result.
Then there's Napoleon's brother Kip, who dreams of being a martial arts champion, has a girlfriend that he met online and has never seen, and is an assistant to Uncle Ric in the Tupperware business. One day Kip's online girlfriend catches a bus from Detroit and shows up on his doorstep, a tall, beautiful black woman named Lafawnduh. Strangely enough, she's crazy about Kip, who starts wearing head scarfs and fashion from the hood.
Lafawnduh thinks Napoleon could benefit from some hot music, so gives him a tape of her favorite songs. He likes them so much that he spends hours practicing dancing to the music.
The defining moment of the film comes when Pedro decides to run for class president. Opposing him is the snobbish blond, Summer, who refused his invitation to the prom. Napoleon becomes Pedro's campaign manager, making posters by hand urging students to "vote for Pedro." He even gets a T shirt that has "Vote for Pedro" printed on the front. You may have seen replicas of this T shirt, since they are popular with college and high school kids.
As part of the campaign, each candidate must give a speech to the assembled student body, followed by a skit. Pedro and Napoleon didn't know about the skit. Pedro has stage fright and gives a very short speech. Since no skit was prepared, Napoleon has to immediately improvise. The principal then announces Pedro's skit, and the stage curtains open to reveal....Napoleon, wearing his "Vote for Pedro" T shirt. Lafawnduh's music is played at Napoleons' request, and he goes into a wild dance that is surprisingly coordinated if not actually good. The audience erupts in applause, and Pedro's election chances are seriously improved. I won't spoil it for you if you haven't seen the film.
Update: I found the original dance routine on YouTube. It is embedded below.
After not blogging for a week (due to a new job), I feel hopeless at catching up with current events. However, here are some items of interest:
1. College kids in San Diego are having a racial brouhaha. Perhaps mimicking their parents of the 1960's, the students took over the Chancellor's office for several hours to protest a noose someone hung in the library. Apparently, the Black Student Union had recently made 32 demands of the University, including such 1960-ish items as requiring students to take courses in "African-American, ethnic and gender studies." Black students are less than 2% of the campus population. The demands resulted in automatic, slavish support from the self-hating, liberal left. However, they also caused resentment from many other students, leading to the idiotic hanging of a noose, reminiscent of the bad-old days of racial lynching. A female student admitted to hanging the noose and has been suspended.
More people than San Diego U students are tired of these racial games, wherein people of special color are considered a protected class whose paranoia, racism, selfishness and eternal victimhood must be honored, feted and catered to, beyond all reason. The noose was hateful, intolerable and asinine, but the 32 demands were an exercise in Saul Alinsky and contemptible. If you want to be accepted or just tolerated, try fitting in to the larger society around you. Endlessly underscoring your differences with stupid demands and self-pitying victimhood does not help.
2. Climate fraudsters (sometimes erroneously referred to as "scientists") announced that January was the warmest ever, in spite of record snowfalls and blizzards worldwide. In my opinion, anyone who dares utter a belief in man-made global warming should be immediately tarred and feathered and chained to a lamp post in the town square for public derision. People could then use the tarred offender as a place to deposit used chewing gum.
3. The Republicans acted like Republicans...for a change. Many have reported satisfaction with the Republican performance at Obama's "Health Summit," held at the Blair House (next to the White House). Rush Limbaugh had previously advised Republican lawmakers to stay away from the summit, but admitted he had been wrong. The Republicans put up a pretty good debate and were united in opposition to Obamacare. Nevertheless, many observers say the summit was pointless, political theater whose major purpose was propaganda, not results. Obama wants to be seen as "reaching out to Republicans" just before he uses the "Nuclear Option" of budget reconciliation to ram Obamacare through to passage.
4. Hawaii, Alaska and California are under Tsunami watch. A huge earthquake in Chile may cause tidal waves. Hawaii, Alaska and California are considered at risk. Of course, California has already been hit by a Tsunami of debt, resulting from years of Democrat control and "progressive" politics.
Progressivism, in case you didn't know, means spending far more money than you will ever make in this lifetime, resulting in state insolvency. If you want to be a progressive politician, carefully figure out what is just, logical, sustainable and responsible. Then do the opposite.
5. A lady whale trainer in Orlando, Florida was killed by an Orca, better known as a killer whale, when it grabbed her and dragged her under water. She drowned. The whale is known as "Tillie" and is now responsible for three deaths. Some folks think Tillie should be a source of sushi for the Japanese restaurant trade, i.e., killed. I don't agree.
Whales don't understand homicide. Killing Tillie would accomplish nothing. However, people who play with Orcas, like lion and tiger tamers, take big risks. What part of "killer" whale do they not understand?
My eldest song is a very good writer. Here is his latest piece.
THE TEST
by Stogie Jr.
Oh yes the test!
Do you remember walking into 8th grade history class, the bell would ring and the teacher would tell everyone to calm down, and then with a sh*t-eating grin she would say, "POP Quiz!" and you knew you're screwed because you stayed up late the night before watching Happy days, or Laverne and Shirley? If your parents were really cool you were up late watching Three's Company. ...that Janet...WOOOOWWW!!! Any Who that's another story. As the quiz was passed back, the smell of fresh ink, you started trying to remember what the hell the teacher was yakking about the last few days, because you can't remember what you had for breakfast, and you can't get that damn Montrose song out of your head.
Life throws tests at you all the time. I have seen it happen more and more as I grow older. God, Karma, they like to mess with ya. I was out riding my scoot two summers ago. I had just finished putting my Dyna back together and I was headed to Bellingham to see a buddy. I am headed past Lake Samish and there is this kid standing on the side of the road next to GSXR 750. He is on his cell phone and gesturing to the bike, as if the person on the other end of the phone could see him pointing at it. He was obviously a college kid from Western Washington University. Bellingham is a big college town in the Northwest. I was gonna pass him, but I said, what the hell. I pulled up next to his ride and he came running over to me. I said, "What happened?" He says, "It stopped running!" Well that's obvious. I looked down at the fuel petcock and it was on run. I reached down and turned it to reserve. "Crank IT!" I yelled at him. He hit the start button and after several seconds the bike kicked over. "You gotta keep gas in it Professor!" He gave me a big smile and I took off. I never even got off my scoot!
I had a test today that was more than some kid being stupid. It was a test of the heart. The kind of test that God throws at you that really makes you question what kind of man are you. I mean the type of test where you are on one side or the other. You must decide.
I was roaring up I-5 northbound today in a 1983 MINT Olds 98. It's a FREEGIN' Yacht, but it's a really cool Yacht. One of the last of the BIG American cars. I am following this new Audi A4. The Audi is a good football field in front of me when BOOM!! The Audi blows a rear tire. The car starts to go squirmy, and the rear of the car becomes engulfed in white smoke. The driver finally works it to the side of the road and parks it kitty corner on the tarmac and in the mud. I was right behind the Audi so I slowed down, so did everyone behind me. I rolled past the Audi and looked to see who was driving it. A very young woman who was obviously very frantic and scared.
I stepped on the gas and started to pick up speed leaving the Audi in my rear view mirror when all of a sudden it hits you. That sinking feeling in your gut. That little inner voice says. "HEY! ....Asshole...you aren't gonna stop and help that lady?" I was in a hurry. I was late for a computer job and I needed to roll. "Damn IT!" I pulled the car over to the side of the road and looked in my rear view mirror. The Audi was sitting half on the road and half off. It was in a bad spot. It was hard to see on a downgrade and sitting butt high. I was a good 250 yards in front of the Audi and the only way to get to her quick is to go in reverse. I slammed her in gear and stepped on it. I backed up to the nose of the Audi and killed my engine.
I sat and thought for a moment. I am rough looking guy. Most people can be put off by me until they meet me. I wanted to help this lady, not scare her. I opened the door and got out of the Olds. She looked at me through her windshield and she looked very apprehensive, speaking on her cell phone. She was a very pretty petite blond, and very fragile. I walked to the passenger side window and gave her a big toothless smile and said, "Pop your trunk!" After she popped the trunk I guided her back on the pavement and then started to pull her spare from storage space. I snapped all the lugs loose, shoved the jack under car, cranked it up, put the spare on, started my lugs, dropped the car and then torqued the lugs. I put the spare in the trunk and closed the lid. She stood behind me, thanking me the whole time.
There were two cute beagles in the back seat. They wanted to take a bite out of me. I told her to drive slow and to make sure she had the other tire repaired. I started to walk back to my car and she began to follow me. I turned to her and she had some money in her hand. She asked me to take it, and I said, "No charge..Just pass it on!" She looked at me with a puzzled look for just a moment, it taking a second to sink in what I was saying to her. She then gave me a big smile and said, "I will!" I got back in my car and waited for her to pull back into traffic, and then I sped off!
I am in my second week of a new job and I do notice one thing: work interferes with blogging. It also interferes with practicing music. On the upside, it also inteferes with a condition known as poverty.
In any case, blogging will be light for the rest of the week as I get adjusted to my new schedule.
I arrived at Hinton’s Chevrolet in Lynden, WA this morning about 11 am. I could see the 54 Oldsmobile Super 88 sitting under the awning beside the entrance to the repair shop. She was dusty and covered in bugs from the truck ride from California. Her rich light yellow and dark metallic green could still be seen despite the road dust and dead bugs. Her chrome still lit up when the sun shone on her. I parked our shop truck, “Shorty” behind the building and walked up to the repair shop. I spoke with a nice young lady and she sent me to the owner’s office to pick up the keys to the 54. I then picked up a couple of nuts and bolts from the repair shop and put the dealer plate on the rear bumper. I jumped in and started her up.
I walked around the car while it warmed, curious to look at all the damage. I must tell you first that this was not some half baked, “My kid and I restored it in the garage!" type of car. This is a numbers matching, Super Rocket 88 V8 Holiday Special Coupe, and was a frame off restoration by professionals. EVERY thing on this car is new or has been totally refurbished. I mean it even has the original glass bowl fuel filter on it. This car looks liked it just rolled off the assembly line. Right down to the authentic white wall tires and battery. I must tell you this so that you will understand how devastating the damage is.
The car was originally to be sold at the Russo Steel auction last month in Southern California. The night before the sale, a bad wind storm came through and knocked down the large canvas circus-like tent that all the cars sat under. When the tent went so did all the poles tied to it, and many a hot rod was lost. The 54, as you can see in the picture above, was damaged by such a pole. It looks like it hit and then the pole was dragged by the canvas tent across the top of the roof. There are a few other small dents in the fenders and hood, but nothing as heartbreaking as the roof.
This is not the story I want to tell you, though. I am giving you a little background on this car in order to tell you my encounter with the Scarred Beauty Queen, and how it turned out.
After I let her get nice and warm I pulled her around the corner and pumped in 20 bucks of Premium. Just looking at that car reminded me of the scene in that old Burt Reynolds movie. “Take Ethyl? Sure! What time does she get off work?” What a beauty queen this car is! That creamy yellow and dark green, big whitewalls and the rear tire skirts……….boys this car is PURE Class!!!
I got her back on the road and she stumbled a bit. Her tranny stuck some and she felt plain tired. I knew it was the crappy gas left in the line and that premium would works its way up to the engine in no time. It took me a good 10 minutes of the whole me-getting-to-know-her and her-getting-to-know-me thing, but getting used to a car like that is very easy to do. I had a few miles left on a country road before I hit the freeway, so I rolled down my window and turned the radio on. I tuned it to the local classic rock station and just cruised.
The sun was shining and staring at the chrome dash was just hard to do. The speedometer and all the gauges were original and totally refurbished. The black backgrounds in the gauges were perfect. The glass showed no signs of tint or age. The orange needles were straight and they moved without hesitation. The numbers and indicators were all perfect bone white. It was like driving a part of history, a self contained time machine.
I thought to myself, “I could die today in this car and it would be OK!” It would be better then dying in some bed alone in some hospital. You would be known as the guy that died in a 54 Olds! …Not today!
I pulled her on to the freeway and headed south on I5 to Mt Vernon. Speed Limit was 70 but I kept her at 65 or so at first. I wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to have any issues. So for the first few miles we just bobbed on down the road. By the time I got to Bellingham, north of Mt Vernon, I could tell the car was back to normal. This old Dog wanted to run.
I thought a lot about the life of this car when I was back on that Country Road. The odometer reads 48,889 miles. Was this car a cream Puff before the resto or was it a pile that was driven years before the resto? That I didn’t know. I did know this. She was like new and she had been that way for many years. She had been returned to all of her glory only to be pinned to some wall like a wild butterfly on display. Her life consisted of sitting under covers in dark garages, or in a trailer from one show to the next, a commodity to be bought and sold, or pranced around a show ring like some overpriced pony. Never again to be what she was assembled for, to be just a car.
As that thought raced in my head I let go of the leash on the 88. She chomped down hard on the bit and dug in her heels. The secondary kicked in and she took a long deep breath. I moved her into the fast lane and past slower trucks and cars. The old girl was stretching her legs and people moved aside when they saw her coming. She seemed to do all right on the newer highway, but when we would hit a dip her frame would drop down and flex the suspension and she would float. Whenever this happened I would let off the gas and when she bottomed out I would jab her in the ribs and she would stay down low grabbing the asphalt with her rear tires, and the steering wheel would snap straight like a rattlesnake on the strike. She was a thing of beauty and grace. 4000 pounds of rolling American cold steel, boys…ain’t nothing like it!
I eased her off the freeway in Mount Vernon and drove her to my buddy's shop. I parked her in the wash bay and gunned the engine one more time. She roared right back at me and I swear I could hear her say, “Thank you!” as the engine dropped to idle. I reached up and patted her dash, “My pleasure ol’ Girl, if not again for the rest of your time, at least today you got to be a rocket!”
Photos: Top - The Super 88
Bottom - Stogie Jr, author of this article and eldest son of Stogie
My foray back into the work world has been fun, challenging and tiring. I spent three of the past four work days (Monday being a holiday) doing partnership tax returns for a venture capital firm. The VC firm is on Sand Hill Road in Menlo Park, California, where just about all of the VC firms are located. Why, I don't know. It's like a glittering ghetto for rich people.
We need rich people. They are the ones who invest with venture capital firms. They provide seed money to new companies with new, untried products. If the new product takes off, the investors make money. If the new product is not accepted by the market place, the investors write off their investments. A lot more of these seed-money investments are written off then ever make it big. That's why the investors deserve their profits, when they exist, because they finance new businesses and make innovation possible.
I still have no idea on how I am to be paid -- when and how much. However, right now I am just happy to be doing some actual, high level CPA style work. However, sooner or later the $75 left in my checking account will be used for gas and I will need to get paid.
I will spend next week in Menlo Park again, finishing the partnership tax returns. They won't be finalized until PricewaterhouseCoopers finishes auditing them, just in case there are any changes, but any changes will be easy to make to the tax returns. The client uses Lacerte tax software, an excellent but very expensive program.
If I have some time next week, I will return to the site of Butterfield's nightclub (where Vince Guaraldi was playing on the night of his death) to see how it is faring. A year ago it was sitting idle after an Indian restaurant had closed up shop. If it has reopened, I would like to see the inside of the place.
Last night I saw an episode of "Cold Case," wherein taggers and graffiti artists were the subject matter. I have always thought of graffiti "artists" as human rats who befoul their own nests with meaningless paint splatter and incomprehensible words and symbols. However, the Cold Case episode gave me something of an epiphany: there is more to graffiti than meets the eye.
Most of these "artists" are kids who are invisible to society and want to be seen, to be noticed. So they paint "art" on buildings, bridges, boxcars, billboards and walls. After a while, the really good ones emerge and are respected by the graffiti art "community." Competition is inevitable, as well as bitter rivalries and even violence. As warped as it may seem, graffiti often represents a struggle for meaning and identity in the society of the streets. Many kids see it as their only means of self expression. That, of course, doesn't make it right, but it makes it a bit more understandable. Graffiti is a very human activity.
Bloggers are not dissimilar to the graffiti subculture. We too want to express ourselves and to avoid being invisible. We too strive for recognition. Alliances are formed, friendships made, reputations established, rivalries created. Nevertheless, the point is this: human beings have to express themselves in some way, in order to feel whole. It is all about feeling valued and validated, i.e. that you have somehow contributed to the larger society around you.
If no one sees your street art, or reads your self-published book, or visits your blog or listens to your band, you may feel you have failed. It is a lonely feeling. However, many artists, writers and musicians follow a simple rule on the road to success: please yourself first. Once you are satisfied with your creation, chances are others will find it pleasing too. That rule is certainly working for me in music. My bass playing is unfolding like a flower, and I really am enjoying my art.
Tomorrow I go back to work...I think. The last time I went back to work it only lasted four days, so I am hesitant to write about the "good news" of finding a job.
I will be working for a financial services consulting firm that works in accounting and tax, and my first duties will be to prepare several partnership tax returns for a venture capital firm. How much am I getting paid? I have no idea. Pay will be based on individual productivity, billable hours, bringing in new business and such. Whatever it is, it is more than I am making right now, which is zero. Nevertheless, the position looks challenging.
The only thing I don't like about it is that now I have to get up before 9 AM. Oh well.
Have any tips on on breaking news or stories? Please email any tips, photos, video links, comments, suggestions or requests to Stogie at stogiechomper@gmail.com.
ANWR Exploration House Republicans: 91% Supported House Democrats: 86% Opposed Coal-to-Liquid House Republicans: 97% Supported House Democrats: 78% Opposed Oil Shale Exploration House Republicans: 90% Supported House Democrats: 86% Opposed Outer Continental Shelf (OCS) Exploration House Republicans: 81% Supported House Democrats: 83% Opposed Refinery Increased Capacity House Republicans: 97% Supported House Democrats: 96% Opposed SUMMARY 91% of House Republicans have historically voted to increase the production of American- made oil and gas. 86% of House Democrats have historically voted against increasing the production of American-made oil and gas.
I'm a guy who loves America, life, mellow jazz and fine cigars. I don't care what color you are, if you're straight or gay, religious or atheist. If you are a conservative I count you as a friend. If you are a liberal seriously seeking truth and understanding, I do not necessarily count you as an enemy.
