Okay, I'm not the kinda person who believes what i'm told. Meaning, i just don't take your word for it. Normally, I try to see things for myself (if at all possible). And in the middle of an election time everyone needs to try and do that. I try to tune out what EVERYONE else is telling me. I try to push out all the bashing and rhetoric that flies around between the Elephants and the Donkeys. And for you faithful to my blog (and i really do luv ya!), you know that I am not a huge fan of G.W. But I did not vote during his election so I really have no room to complain about how he GOT into office. But from that point forward, I'd hoped that he'd win me over. During the 911 attacks I think his response was adequate. I believe he acted in the best interests. But anything after that point has rubbed me the wrong way. There are alot of folks (specially in conservative PA) that will latch on to a candidate for one or two reasons that really don't hold a huge impact on the larger reality of the United States and a nation. You hear it..."I'm voting for Bush because he believes in God. I"m not voting for Kerry because he came from a family with a ton of money and couldnt' possible know my poor-ass plight. I'm not voting for Bush because he was a coke head. Kerry is liberal wussbag...I'm voting for Bush because my family is Republican and always will be (that one is my favorite ignorant response of all time...its kinda like saying "hey, i don't want to be a trash man but my daddy was one so i'm diving onto the back of that stinkin' truck blindly.")
But the bigger picture isn't so much focus on one issue to sway a vote. I think you, as a voter, as a parent, as a citizen...whatever...its YOUR responsibility to look at the world. Look at where we are right now and ask yourself "okay, who is going to be the man to move us in the right direction? Who will take us down the better path through the next four years? Who is going to pick up the flag and dust it off (because its dirty, ladies and germs...its been stepped on alot lately whether you like it or not)?
I don't want to get into bashing Bush because he can certainly do a well-enough job for himself. And to tell you the truth, I was more of a fan of Kerry because he was the alternative to Bush.
That was until last night when I heard him speak at the Democratic Convention.
What I saw up there at the podium was not someone stumbling through lines on a teleprompter. I didn't see someone scrambling to win over your vote. I saw a man who (to me) seemed genuinely concerned for the United States. Concerned for the idea BEHIND the United States. Concerned for the people that make up the United States. Concerned about how the rest of the world SEES the United States. John Kerry came across as a people person last night and that was a very VERY refreshing idea to me.
I'm going off memory here so if I get something wrong please don't ride my arse over it but the truth of the matter is that Kerry is sending a message. The message goes out to the soldiers in Iraq, to the parents working two jobs and still not making ends meet, to the folks who've lost their jobs because the US can out-source them foreign countries for half the cost, to the huge percentage of us that cannot afford medical care, to the folks who have been affected by the recent attempts to TWIST the Constitution. That message is this: Help Is On The Way.
Let me repeat: Help Is On The Way.
One of the biggest things that Kerry hit on that really turned me from an Anti-Bush person voting for anyone BUT Bush to a Kerry fan was this: Kerry said (and again I"m going from memory) that the U.S. should be a country that the world looks up to, not fears. If we want to fight and win a war in Iraq we need to re-align with our allies. And finally we should never fight a war because we WANT to...only, repeat..ONLY, if we need to. Kerry said something that should hit a never to the fathers and mothers and brothers and sisters of military troops. He said "I will never take this country to war unless I can look in a mother's eye and say without doubt that it was something that could not be avoided."
I'm sorry about the whole rattle...his speech just seemed to energize my belief and I hope that before you cast your vote either way, you take the time and watch Kerry's Democratic nomination speech. Watch Bush's speech...don't listen to the commercials or the radio or what anyone else forces into your head. Make your opinion and, for the love of your children and the better of your country, vote! If you're one of those people (like I was) who says "what difference can I make?" and does not vote, you're condemning yourself and the folks around you to an additude that breeds apathy. You're basically giving up your right to be heard.
PS: If you'd like to watch Kerry's speech online or read a transcript please go to this link:
http://www.dems2004.org/site/apps/nl/content3.asp?c=luI2LaPYG&b=125934&ct=158807
Its double-post Wednesday folks...and if you act now I'll throw in this handy gopher carcass that I accidentally swerved to hit on the way to work. Hurry...supplies are running out.
So I'm standing on stage with the Nelsons. NO, not the long-haired 80's Nelson twins. Willie Nelson and Nelson Mandela. And we're racing through a ripping rendition of Bruce's "Darkness on the Edge of Town." I'd been having a little trouble with monitor feedback so I decided to put one of those big puffy sweatbands (a.k.a. the Loverboy Sweat Stopper...EVERYBODIES WORKIN' FOR THE WEEKEND!!!) and pull it down over my ears. Fashion-sense withstanding, that seemed to work pretty well.
Just about that time I look over and Willie is throwing me sign language. At first I thought he was just flipping me off in some hillbilly hand-jive fashion. Then I realize that he's pointing to his shoes, which in better times were hand-crafted leather moccasins. But now they were nothing but a ball of flames. Seems that in his failed attempt to light a big fatty, he accidentally dropped the match onto his tonto slippers. The stain in the leather, proving to be highly flammable and not as environmentally safe as one would expect from an american-indian product, went off like Michael Jackson's gerry curl at a low-level fireworks display.
Mandela, a well know Thunderbird Malt Liquor aficionado, notices Willies burning piggies and is suddenly torn. Douse the burning honky's feet with his favorite budget-gourmet alcoholic beverage or Bogart the bottle for himself. Well by this time, Willie is jumping up and down and screaming and hollering. The teenage hippies in the front row of the concert all catch wind and start to mimic him. This, in-turn, leads the venue medical staff to bum rush the front of the stage thinking that the teenagers have just OD'd on some sort of magic mushrooms or peyote or jello pudding pop. The crowd thinks the medical staff is harassing the flailing hippy love children and start a riot all their own.
Nelson, the Mandela, not the Willie, rushes over to the burning country balladeer and pours his Thunderbird directly onto Willie's fireball feet. Now its a well-known fact that Thunderbird has a high alcohol content...but not high enough to burn. Tell that to the Thunderbird (and Willie's feet!). As soon as the alcohol makes contact with the toe flames, a fiery blue ball rockets out from Willie's shoes. Willie begins to scream and cry and flap his skinny arms. All i could think was "First the IRS and now this!!!"
The crowd, thinking this is a staged routine, erupts into cheers and hoots. And that's when it happened. First off, what are the odds of a black man being at a Willie Nelson "Save My Broke Ass" Benefit Concert. The odds of that are phenomenal enough. But even further unbelievable is the sheer and utter accidental timing that fell into place.
Have you ever been in a conversation in a loud room and you're talking loud enough for your partner to hear but not loud enough (you think) for the rest of the room to hear. And then all the sudden the room goes dead and you're screaming out something like "and the itch was so bad I had to go to the doctors to get a shot......*crickets chirp*" Its happened to me...quit laughing.
At that very instant...just as the crowd was at a heightened level of frenzy from the pyrotechnics and Willie's near break-dancing routine, our african american concert goer opened his mouth in a moment that I actually thought was funny and yelled "We gonna have ourselves a bar b que!!!" But right as the words rose on his lips the crowd went silent. It was the scariest goddamned thing i'd ever heard.
And for a moment everything stopped.
Willie stopped screaming
Nelson stopped drinkin'
The mushroom eatin' hemp-wearin' dilated pupiled love children all fell on the ground thanks to the tranquilizers administered by the now-trampled venue medical staff.
And i'm standing there with my puffy loverboy sweat-band on my head and i'm looking at the smoldering moccasins and the spilt Thunderbird and I'm thinking "this is the last time I'm playing a Bruce Springsteen song on stage with Willie and Nelson. Next time it will be Van Morrison."
Then my alarm went off.
Rain Rain and more rain...holy hell its verging on biblical proportions (did I just preface that religious reference with "holy hell"?). Luckily I live on a hill. All the torential flow pours down into my neighbors yard. Hopefully it will wash away their kids...
A few things I wanted to say before I dart off to Wendy's for a Heart Attack Happy Meal...
First, before you make your decision on voting please do yourself a favor. Read the newspapers, watch the news...make your own judgement. Don't just believe the headlines. Don't follow a candidate because the like church or don't like Nuclear arms or they think that poodles should be outlawed. GET THE FACTS. Also, check out Michael Moore's film Fahrenheit 911. The biggest argument I hear from folks is that its one man's opinion on the current administration. Half true. But there are a ton of facts strewn in for flavor and all natural goodness. And being the grand provider of information...The High Poobah of ListMofo, I have provided a link that gives you the facts in his movie. But you really should see the movie because its good. Even if you're a Bush fan or a Nader fan or even a Dudley Moore fan its something worth checking out.
here's the joy:
http://www.michaelmoore.com/warroom/f911notes/
Another entertaining media item that will require you to actually pick up a book and *gulp* turn the pages: The new book by SemiSonic Drummer, Jake Slichter, "So You Wanna Be A Rock And Roll Star." Is getting huge revies. For those of you who wallow in awe at the rock stars of today and yesteryear, here is a true account that will bring you back down to earth. Turn off VH1 Behind the Music, toss a brick through American Idol...this book is funny, and fast and full of wit (not me, by the way...i got cut from chapter 4).
Here ya go:
http://www.semisonic.com/jake/default.asp
Okay, my stomach is starting to devour the rest of my body. I'm going to grab some food and if I survive the delicious cholesterol, maybe i'll post something later today. Word to your mom. Number one in the hood, G.
If you've read the Blog of the past week or so, you know that I took it upon myself to attempt to eradicate the weeds and bushes and brush from my tiny back yard. My yard, which is probably 30 foot by 30 foot (with a shed in the middle of that tiny plot). Out of that tiny square of grass we removed a total 12 bags of yard ruffage.
But do not be fooled for a second. Nature has an intense hatred of man. It will do anything it can to strike you down when you least expect it. Now you're asking yourself "what the hell is this fool tawkin' bout?"
Well let me tell ya!
Around tuesday or wednesday I notices that i had two tiny dime-sized blotches of what appeared to be poison ivy on my left shin. No big deal, I thought. I've had it before and it usually is pretty easy to take care of. I've always made it a point to not scratch poison ivy because the words of my grandmother would always scream in my ear. "DON"T SCRATCH IT OR IT WILL SPREAD." So i washed it off with warm soapy water, put some calamine lotion on it and went about my business.
Around 8 or so that night the rash had grown considerably. The two little blotches at the top and bottom of my shin were attempting to merge into one ugly, blistery rash. The lower blotch was angry and swollen (it cussed at me a couple times...thats how I knew). I also noticed that now I had a small patch on the calf of my right leg as well.
By thursday morning the rash on my left leg began to turn a dark red/purple color and was itching like all holy hell! I proceeded to soak my legs in hot water and constantly reapplying the lotion.
I woke up friday to a swollen right eye...aparently now the poison decided it wasn't happy enough to make my leg look like a science project...the poison ivy wanted top billing. It wanted to let everyone know that I was its bitch. So of coursse i had everyone asking me the typical "what the hell happened to you" questions.
Did yer girlfriend lay down the law?
Do you have pink eye???
Did you tie on a big one last night? (that one was my favorite because I had no clue what a "big one" might be or where I would tie it to).
So I decided to give up the ghost and go to the doctors. I called friday afternoon and the nurse informed me that there were no appointments til saturday. "I think it might be infected," I said. "Cant I come in and get some antibiotics?"
"Put some Calamine lotion on it and call us if it gets worse," she sighed and hung up the phone. I gazed down at my crusty pink legs that were literally spackled with layer upon layer of this seeminly useless concoction. My leg looked like mexican stucco. I rolled my eye, hung up the phone and had a brief urge to take a cheese grater to my leg and remove the rash myself.
When I walked into the doctors office the nurse who I spoke to on the phone literally yelped when she saw my legs which were now fierce and oozing. "You have an infection!!!"
"No shit," I thought. They should put your fat ass on CSI or ER or one of those other abbreviated medical shows.
Turns out that ontop of the poison ivy i'd been bitten by a spider or a racoon or a tasmanian devil or something, which amplified the effects of the rash. They put me on a myriad of both antibiotics, cortizone, and some sort of balm that had an amazing healing effect.
I am now terrified to go into my yard to do the yard work. Check mate, back yard...touche'!
The time has come, ladies and germs....oh yes...it has. Its time once again for....
THE CHRONICLES OF BUBBA
As most of you know, Bubba has been my friend since before time as I know it began to roll forward. We met in second grade and from there on it was a series of hilarious, death-defying scenarios that we somehow managed to survive. But one thing is for sure...Bubba had my back and i had his.
No matter what happened, whether we were fighting or arguing or running from the law, we always managed to end up laughing. One of my earliest memories of Bubba was his ability to get the merry-go-round on the elementary school spinning at a blinding speed. He would sit on the edge of the thing on one knee and push it with his free leg. The thing would be spinning so damn fast that it look like a blurry UFO. I would watch with a sick sort of amusement as he would get that thing moving like a centerfuge and kids would try to jump on. The would hit the whirling merry-go-round and literally bounce off into the ball field. The site of them wandering around in the grass with a drunken-dazed look still brings laughter.
Another elementary school past time tether ball. Anyone remember tether ball? WHO in the HELL invented this sick ass game? I mean really?? Hmmm...i think i'll tie a ball to a string. HEY, this is a lot of fun but I bet if we tied the other end of the rope to a pole it might be even MORE fun. Now all we need are two kids to hurl the rope ball around the pole until they get bored or (in my case) one of them gets the shit knocked out of them.
Yep, I got the shit knocked out of me. On one sunny morning out at recess, Bubba wound up and fired that bright-yellow tether ball. It swung around like a rubber comet and clocked me. RIGHT...IN...THE...FACE. Now, getting hit in the face pretty much sucks squirrel balls. We all know that. But if you are a kid with glasses it sucks dead squirrel balls. If you're a kid with glasses you pretty much don't want any thing coming within a 2-mile radius of your face. For behind every kid with broken glasses was a mom with a roll of duct tape waiting to patch them up. Growing up, I dont' think there was a 2 week stretch where my glasses didn't have some sort of bonding agent...tape, superglue, bubble gum...WHATEVER WORKED. But walking around with a hardware store on your face wasn't the worst thing. It was listening to your parents flip their lids when you told them you broke your glasses. By the time I was twelve it was pretty much a common thing between my mom and I...the yelling stopped. It was like "hey mom, broke my glasses again..." "*yaaawnnn* go get the duct tape, son." But in second grade, I was still breaking her in to the idea of broken glasses and I was damn sure afraid of telling her.
So anyway, Bubba fires the tetherball right into my gob...glasses go crunch...i get mad and lose it for a split second and *Crack* smack Bubba right in the face. After some creative cussing between the two of us and the threat of second grade ass whoopins' (which probably would've amounted to hair pulling and "your momma" jokes) we made our apologies and everything was cool.
All except for the demolished spectacles.
Back in those days my mom helped manage my Grandfather's store, The New Holland Cut Rate. It was back before the threat of child abductions and pedafiles and all that beautiful stuff we as parents today worry about. So on a normal day I'd walk home from school and watch TV or torment my younger sister until my mom got home. My older sister was supposed to be watching us but most times she was up in her room drinking Tab and listening to Leif Garrett records. She was a huge supporter of Shawn Cassidy too...She was the girl that would find a song she liked and play it over and over and over until I felt my brain drooling from my ears. But instead of walking home that day, I coerced Bubba into coming to The Cut Rate to break the news to my mom about my glasses. I figured that she couldn't beat me if there were witnesses.
The plan was fool-proof. We'd walk in, my mom would see I wasn't wearing my glasses. She'd be pissed but with Bubba there she wouldn't lose it completely because she didn't want Bubba to think she was that crazy parent we all see from time to time that just goes ape shit on their kid in public (honestly I think i've been that parent once or twice...). Great plan...mmmhmm.
So we reach the Cut Rate and pause outside the entrance to go over. If we'd have been on a football field it would've been described as a huddle.
"okay, I'll walk in and get my mom's attention and i'll just let it fly that my glasses got broke before she can flip out," I said
"What should I do?" Bubba inquired, the fear starting to blossom in his eyes.
"All you have to do is come in with me. Just walk in there and don't say anything," I instructed.
The plan probably would've worked, had my mother not been trained in the guerilla warfare art of parenting. We made it five steps in the door and before I even lay eyes on my mom she's on me. I don't know if she was hiding in the magazine rack or under the floor tiles or what, but there she was looming over us both, now feeling very much like the little second graders we were.
"WHERE ARE YOUR GLASSES?"
This, however, was a rhetorical question. Before I could answer, she grabbed onto my arm and started dragging me back towards the Cut Rate's back office.
The back office!!!! No customers to calm her flaring anger. Oh shit, I thought. If I get pulled into that cavern of doom I'm screwed. Game over...thats all she wrote. My one saving grace in all of this was Bubba. If he was there it might deflect some of the wrath.
But as I looked over my shoulder to call for Bubba's help, my stomach sank into my feet. I saw Bubba, alright. Not walking...not jogging....SPRINTING out the front door. Our brave hero was literally knocking old ladies over to get as far away from the blast zone as possible.
I dont remember much after that...i think i either blanked it out or blacked out from fear...hahah (my mom isn't that scary...dramatic license here). All I know is I showed up for school the next day with half a roll of duct tape on my glasses and an urge to kick Bubba square in the ass.
GUEST BLOG - Jaime
Hi all.. Wit put the call out for guest bloggers so I thought.."hey, why not?"
First off, I broke my foot last week so I have some time on my hands so to speak.. I have brittle bones disease so when I knocked a big ol fan over it was el snappo.. yeah that sucks..
Wit mentioned yesterday that another area band was throwing in the towel.. he is correct. Seventh Hour IS bringing an end to their long run up here in Schuylkill County. It seems that 3 of the 4 members are simply getting burned out and looking to devote their time to different areas in their lives.. some permanently, some just taking a break, with the exception of my brother Ed, who is the drummer, he plans to take up with a new 'project' and just go from there.. I wish them all the best of luck and was really sad to hear this, cause I have years of memories with this band.
Now I come to the part where I guess I start 'blogging'. I was telling my friend about the end of this band and commenting on that I wasnt really thrilled to hear this.. and she said.."well, whatever.. its just a band"
Ok. True. To alot of people, its just a band, but what I dont understand is, why do people have to be so intolerant of something that "isnt their thing"? To the people in a band, its NOT just a band.. this particular band has put out several original songs, had air play on the radio, been in the studio making a cd twice, created quite a loyal following, done charity events, been through the good, the bad, the ugly together, I could go on and on.. and anyone affiliated with just about ANY band could say just about the same things.. I might sound CORNY to some of you.. but I think a band .. well is a really beautiful thing.. its really been something supporting my brother for this many years. Im sure he'll move on to other things and have a blast and be great, but hell, I even met my husband through this band! I cant help but feel like Im not expressing myself the way I need to, and I hope someone out there can get what I mean.
I hate to see a band break up, especially this one for my own reasons, and yes I am sad.. Im sorry if some people think thats silly, or childish.. its kind of like saying goodbye to your highschool pals when highschool is all over and you know theyre moving on in another direction.I guess its like when people say "all good things at some point come to an end" Im gonna miss the good times, and to anyone that has played or is playing in a band, broken up or not.. consider the fact that your fans love and appreciate you far more than youll ever realize.
Support local music...
So you all can call me Mr. Green Jeans cause I'm one HELL of a gardener. I spent about 3 hours after work yesterday working in my yard. Just to clarify, my yard is roughly the size of most people's living room. So now you're asking yourself...three hours? How in the hell did you spend three hours in your yard. First, let me say, I spent three hours and i'm not near done. Second, I HATE YARD WORK. And to make matters worse, I have this strange feeling that Martha Stewart or some flower-crazy bitch lived in my house before. There are so many things growing in my backyard that I feel like yelling JUMANJI everytime i'm back there. To the point where if I don't spend 30 minutes a day out there pulling weeds, my house will get devoured by the Little Yard Of Horrors...So I decided to take action. Rose bushes, Tulips, Chinese lanterns, climbing vines, weeds...I mowed the hell over all of them. It was a push-mower eradication and I felt like the Hitler of plants. If you're not grass, you're gone! If I could've mowed the hedges down, I would've...thats how crazy I got. So now my tiny back yard is FULL of giant piles of brush. Twelve piles of plant carnage. I found myself standing triumphantly over the severed limbs and wanting to yell "LET THAT BE A MESSAGE TO YOU ALL!!!!"
I have no idea how my yard accumulated that much brush (or how much more I'll accumulate before i'm done). About the time I get the yard cleaned up, i'll move. Maybe next time I'll just move into the middle of a rain forrest...that might not be as bad as far as yard work is concerned.
What is it about Mondays that make people just a tad bit dumber (present company included). I can literally feel myself moving slower from the control center all the way down to those little sweat-shop-like bones in my toes. Could it be the left over haze of a Saturday-Night party. Could it be the dred of walking into work for another round of monday morning "i'm so damn happy to be here that I just fired a golden egg out of my ass" syndrome? Or could it be that fact that we're all just running on auto-pilot in hopes that our brain and feet will fall into the groove and meet-up somewhere around lunch time? Either way, Monday morning is a rough sonova bitch.
Now put all that Monday morning slouchiness into the mix of a morning commuter and what do you have? You have the potential for great driving entertainment...or a fender bender if you're in the wrong place at the wrong time.
This weekend must've been hard-core party weekend for everyone because my drive to work seemed more like a stroll on the BumperCar Expressway. Cars were bouncing off each other and swerving in and out of lanes. I passed one lovely gentleman on Rt 222 who I could've sworn was snoring...HONESTLY...his mouth was hangin wide open and he looked about as concious as a drunk on the Jack Daniel's factory tour. It was freaking me out...the zombie commute!
I just got wind of another area band that decided to throw in the towel. I haven't gotten all the info but I heard that Seventh Hour decided to call it quits. Bummer...if any of you know anymore info, please let me know.
Hello Fancy Pants,
Its been quite a while since my last official post...so if you're wondering, the only reason why I stopped writing for a while is basically because I had nothing worthwhile to say. SERIOUSLY...i just went dry. And that is an oddity for a person like myself...BUHLEE DAT, Yo!
Anyway, after the urging of a select few friends...Teresa was leading the pack on this one I believe...i decided to start writing again just to see what comes out.
I'd like to get some feedback from youin's if you're up for it. The blog started getting really political for a while there. Was that a good thing or a bad thing? What do you think. Everyone loved the Bubba stories. Even Bubba! I'm going to try and put a few more up there. Don't count on daily posts. I'm just sticking my feet in the water to see if my toes get bitten off by the sharks.
Its been four months since Drives Like Fire closed its doors and liquidated all its assets. For me it seems a lot longer. For those of you who have followed the musical careers of both myself and my comrad in arms (bob), there is some light in the tunnel. Not a very bright one, mind you. Probably more like one of those little green glow sticks but at least something is burning. I'm not going to elaborate on any musical projects at this point because as soon as I do, we'll go down in flames like Steve Wonder piloting a 747 over the Rockies.
Glad to be back...glad yer here....glad that all my organs are still functioning (if only on minimum capacity).
If you're bored, go visit the Union Avenue comic strip page and find out what's shakin....
www.michaelwitmer.com
PS: Still accepting guest blogs....feel frisky?
