Harleys, Cars, Girls & Guitars

Lettuce from the Garden

My lettuce is almost ready to eat. As long as the weather stays cool, I’ll have fresh salad. Myrna taught me to plant lettuce very early. It’s a plant that loves cool weather. Extended periods of hot weather cause it to bolt and turn sour.

I planted three varieties this year: green butter leaf, red oak leaf and red leaf. I’ll pull a few leaves off each of my 16 or so plants to make a salad. No need to kill the plant.

I'm in that strange stage of life... old age, I think they call it... when bad health news is the constant background noise of life. The Karaoke Queen is struggling. My mother just had surgery. When I go out riding the bicycle, I see numerous old folks struggling to jog, bike, walk or otherwise exercise off the decay of advancing age.

The garden is part of my defense system. The workout from gardening helps. Gardening gets me outdoors, which improves my attitude. And, I see positive results.

Next up... green beans.

People of Walmart

This is just too damned funny. I don't have much else to say... except that it's all true. See if you can catch the Dylan parody in the middle of all of this.

Three Great Young Country Women

I’m an old fart, so I’m late to the game when it comes to new music. I only hear new stuff when the musicians I play with bring it to me. I’ve played with a number of country bands in the past months. In the process, I’ve discovered some great new women singers and songwriters. The best, of course, is Taylor Swift, who I’ve written about before.

Carrie Underwood didn’t write Before He Cheats Again, but she knocks the hell out of it. It was written by Chris Tompkins and Josh Kear. Men wrote this song! It’s a female revenge song. You can tell how out of it I am, because this song was named the 2007 single of the year by the Country Music Association. Women beating the hell out of men and breaking the lights in their cars… those are now popular themes in country music!

Sunny Sweeney wrote and sang From a Table Away, another great song. The heroine is sitting in a restaurant watching her married lover having dinner with his wife. Great pedal steel guitar.

Now, I’m really going to show you what an old fart I am! She’s in Love With the Boy by Trisha Yearwood was released in 1991. It was a number one hit, and I heard it for the first time last week. The song was written by Jon Ims. This is a much more traditional, upbeat country song.

The action is all in country right now. Rock is dead or stuck in nostalgia. Or, so it seems to me. The kids are into “screamo” and “shredder” music, whatever in the hell that is. Rap and hip-hop don’t interest me. The videos look (and sound) like exercise drills for a high school cheerleading squad. All the old blues guys are dead.

The country girls and boys are playing rock and roll, and writing songs that deal with the reality of middle class love and life. My Sirius radio is usually tuned to the Outlaw channel. I’m looking for a full time country band to join.

Those Happy Hours We Once Knew

I found this picture of Myrna and Annie, our Springer Spaniel, while I was cleaning my bedroom. Both long gone to the next world. This is not one of Myrna’s glamour pictures. No makeup.

I’m often advised to let go of the past. Probably good advice.  The trouble with advice is that it's easy to give, and not so easy to act upon.  There isn’t a whole lot of future ahead of me. My world is full of ghosts. Late at night, out here in the mountains, I stand outside and try to locate Myrna. The sky is pitch black… no ambient light. She is here.

As my friends have advised me, I’ve tried to move on. I’ve pretty much given up on women. The problem, of course, is me. What’s the point? I will compare every woman to Myrna, and other women don’t stand a chance in hell of measuring up to her.

I’m playing out the string and doing the best I can. Living for the grandchildren yet to be born. Volunteering to help out in the community where I can. Trying to pay my bills and to remain independent. I'm even thinking of getting another doggie.  But, my best days are long gone.

Myrna and I used to sing this Willie Nelson song, “My Heroes Have Always Been Cowboys:”

Cowboys are special with their own brand of misery
From being alone too long
You could die from the cold in the arms of a nightmare,
Knowin' well that your best days are gone
Pickin' up hookers instead of my pen
I let the words of my youth fade away
Old worn-out saddles, and 'old worn-out memories
With no one and no place to stay

My heroes have always been cowboys
And they still are, it seems
Sadly, in search of, but one step in back of
Themselves and their slow-movin' dreams

Sadly, in search of, but one step in back of
Themselves and their slow-movin' dreams

I was so angry with my father when he was old and dying.  I wanted him to keep fighting, to keep trying.  But, at some point he just withdrew into silence and defeat.  And now I understand.  This is the battle that cannot be won.

Dylan Hits 70!

Bring out all the clichés! Teenage idol! Gross old fart! Replay the 60s again! Again! Rerun the civil rights movement so that we can feel all sanctimonious and pure! Again! Greenwich Village! Hipper than thou!

Yes, we Boomers are beginning to exit the scene.

I went through a Dylan phase when I was playing coffee houses… way back when. Didn’t really suit me, but I tried. The girls liked it. So serious. So determined to Change the World. My entire Dylan repertoire has melted away over the years. The only song that stuck was “Everybody Must Get Stoned.”

Saw him play once out at what was then called the Oakland Coliseum. He’s a tiny guy. It was impressive to see him walk out there in front of 20,000 people armed only with an acoustic guitar. He brought down the house. I shook hands once with him at some kind of music affair in Woodstock. Can’t even remember what that was all about, it was so long ago.

I played many times in Woodstock at the old Cafe Espresso, where Dylan and Paul Butterfield and everybody else hanged out.  So, I'm connected

Of course, Woodstock is full of Dylan. Among our musicians/characters, I can count dozens of Dylan hopefuls. Everybody wants to be as rich and famous as Bob. Everybody wants to write the next great civil rights anthem, even if there are no civil rights battles to fight.

Dylan survived his infamous motorcycle accident in Woodstock in 1966.  I'm not sure of the exact spot, but it must have been near Ohayo Mt. Road, where I once lived.

So, Dylan is an old man. Happens to us all. Can’t say I’m a fan. But, I understand the impact. The Band is long gone. Rick Danko is just a memory.

All things must pass.

Seventeen Mile Bicycle Ride Around the Loop

Yesterday, I rode the entire loop of Route 212 and Wittenberg Road, a distance of about 17 miles. The rain almost caught up with me a few times. It’s a great ride through the mountains, with plenty of steep climbs and downhill coasting. By the time I reached home, my butt ached and I was beat... in a good way.

I passed this burned out house on Wittenberg/Mt. Tremper Road. I was called out for Rescue Squad duty on the Saturday before Easter at about 3 a.m. for this fire. Second house fire that I’ve been called for in a year. In both cases, the houses were totaled. This house burned down quickly. The fire alarm sounded about 3 a.m. and by the time I arrivd at 3:30 a.m., only the corner posts were left standing.

I was determined to take advantage of the brief window of decent weather. The sun tried to show through, but mostly failed. The creek alongside Route 212 that is normally almost dry has become a river with rapids.

This is the map of the loop I rode. I think that this will become a standard route for me. I really burned off some fat.

Woodstock Sculptures

The rain finally stopped for a few hours this afternoon, so I hopped on my bicycle and rode into Woodstock via Cooper Lake. Straight downhill into town. Toughest part is braking. The road around Cooper Lake is rough gravel. If you go out of control, you could take a nasty spill.

Passed by this sculpture in front of TD Bank branch in Woodstock. The sculpture represents a baseball cap, and is titled “Hear Comes Summer” by the sculptor, Z. Willy Neumann.  You might be interested in knowing that the Director of TD Ameritrade, Tom Ricketts, owns the Cubs.

I stopped at the Sunfrost Farms for a strawberry banana smoothie. Just as the Karaoke Queen says, their prices are outrageous. But, the smoothie sure tasted good. Of course, I could have made a week’s worth of smoothies for the same price if I shopped for the fruit in the Korean market in Jersey.

On the way back up the mountains, I rode past this sculpture. The abstract keyboard at the top is hung between the metal frames of two pianos. I thought that this sculpture was particularly clever in combining two Woodstock obsessions… music and sculpture.

The ride back up the hill is about a 700 foot ascent. Tough ride! I sweated my ass off, which was the point.

World Ending Saturday!

Yes, it’s finally here… the end of the world!  And, not a moment too soon!  Harold Camping, of Family Radio Worldwide, has determined through diligent study of the Bible that Saturday is our last day. Of course, Mr. Camping also predicted the end of the world in 1994.

Damned if I know if Camping is right. I’m hoping to get to Sunday alive, because that will be the first day without rain in over a week. My tomatoes need some sunshine.

[Judgment day is] going to be a wonderful, wonderful day," Camping told a San Francisco Chronicle reporter last June.

Live Science has a nice article on doomsday psychology. Doomsday cults have been pretty popular in Woodstock and San Francisco, both places where I’ve lived. The failure of this world to be a Utopia really grates on some people.

I tried reading Camping’s explanation for why Saturday is the correct date for the end of the world, but I couldn’t make heads or tails out of it. If you can figure it out, let me know.

Robert Fitzpatrick, a retired MTA engineer who lives in Staten Island, has poured his entire life savings of $140,000 into publicizing Camping’s end of the world prophesy. Fitzpatrick had better hope he’s right. If not, he’d better get ready to eat hot dogs and pork and beans for the next 20 years.

I wish I knew.  If I could be completely assured that Saturday was The Rapture, I would have dinner at the most expensive hotel in New York City, then visit the most plush whorehouse on the Upper East Side.  Why bother to save for retirement?  Might as well blow it all on one big binge!

Great Opportunity! Work for Nothing!

Times are bad. I’m not telling you anything you don’t know. Kids just out of college are pretty screwed. A sign of the times… the “please work for us for free” ads in craigslist.

These work for free ads are invariably stated as macho challenges. You aren’t just a 9 to 5-er, are you, dude? You can’t possibly be worried about something like getting paid, can you?

People generally start new businesses out of desperation. They can’t find a job. This is particularly true in Woodstock. New arrivals buy a house with their New York City money before discovering that there really is no local economy. After a couple years of three hour bus rides in each direction to keep their city job, they decide to plunge their life savings into a business.

Bankruptcy, divorce and loss of that house quickly follow. These people become “Woodstuck.” Impossible to move on. No money to go somewhere else.

The good news is that my future son-in-law just landed a good job that will probably be secure for life. He’s going to be a locomotive mechanic.

I’m on my way out of the workforce, barely hanging on as I try to squeeze out of few more years of income before retiring. Working for nothing won’t help me.

Dental Care Holiday in the Philippines

Over 60 years old?  Those old crowns and bridges in your mouth are probably decaying and need replacing. The cost is staggering… up to $10,000 for a tooth implant. Why not take a Dental Implant Holiday in the Philippines?

Last time I was in Cebu, dental care cost about 10% of similar care in the U.S. You have to be very careful in choosing a dentist. Don’t go to an office in the shantytowns or you may not emerge from your appointment alive. But, in the downtown and university neighborhoods, you will find very good care. That implant will only cost you $1,000.  (Caveat... you must haggle over prices.  No prices are fixed in the Philippines.)  So, take that other $9,000 and have a great vacation in a tropical paradise.

Airfare to Cebu from Newark International is about $2,000. That leaves you with $7,000 for a first class vacation. You could spend a few of months in a nice resort. Boracay Island is particularly beautiful.

Escape that awful U.S. winter and visit in January, during the Sinulog Festival, held to honor the Baby Jesus. The girls will be dressed in beautiful folk costumes, and they’ll all be as beautiful as the girl in the picture above. Guaranteed.