Time and Places

I've just listened to Malcolm Gladwell's book The Outliers for the second time. In statistics, an outlier is an observation that is numerically distant from the rest of the data (Wikipedia). Like an individual that achieves way above his/her peers. This is what the book is about. It explains that our culture's high value on individuality may be out of sync with an important reality: where you live, and when you were born have a very large effect on who/what you become.

The Outliers takes us on a trip exploring how early circumstances gave several very unique individuals (and one Rock and Roll Band) the stage to become famous world-changers. But I don't want to talk about them.

'Had a look at the Civil Rights Museum in Memphis over the weekend, and as expected, from previous studies, a hard look at what shameful behavior men are capable of doing to each other and themselves. So, bringing in the conclusions of the Gladwell book; where you live and when you live (along with who you are) can take you to great heights, or great depths.

One personal exercise is to think about what was available to you as you grew up. Any special opportunities to improve or degrade yourself? Did you take advantage of them (or them of you)?

Given their view of the world, those southern sheriffs were responding to demands for black equality the correct (and only) way. And appalling as it was, they showed us that (despite everything), we could be them (had we been born in their town, at that time, etc.).

The Holocaust Museum performs the same service. From the comfort of 70 years later, we look at the displays and think "how could the Nazis do such things?" Oh my friend, don't fool yourself, if we'd been born at that place at that time with all the social and political incentives, we might be right there with them in the middle of it.

'Would love to hear what special opportunities you took advantage of in your part of the world, and what temptations were also present. Did you use them or they use you? I'll share mine soon.

Miss USA: The Question

Not "What is your dream for the world, but "do you think every state should legalize gay marriage?" Even though this is SO LAST WEEK, I pondered for a minute how many ways this whole Miss USA controversy is SO WRONG. I'm only thinking out loud, and this will just take a minute, so hang in there.

1. The Miss USA pageant. Are they still doing this? Why? (Lurkers, this is your call to come out and comment).

2. Apparently, Miss California responded that in his best selling book, (can't think of the title right now, Google it) God commands all states to only recognize marriage between "a man and his woman". Elected officials have verified this with cries of: "if we let a man marry a man, then women will demand to marry their vibrators!"

3. Miss California seemed to be respectful in answering the question in her own voice, NOT pandering to Mr. "Hilton", yet is called I believe it was "A stupid bitch" by him. Discuss among yourselves.

4. About the Bible; who actually is the publisher? Where do they send the royalty checks?

Weigh in mighty readers, I will respond to your observations with the wisdom of king Midas.

Walkin' In Memphis

An obvious title for the weekend ('sorry about that). Spousal Unit, me and our couple-friends went to see the city while attending a regional church leadership conference. Now back, and digesting the highlights. First, Memphis is lovely in April. I know, what place isn't lovely in April? You got me there... but if you go, I would suggest April or May.

First, you know it's a Music town; one that I suspect will one day change it's name to Elvisville. It's not only about Elvis, but if the town were a mall, E would be the Macy's.
Wisely, they promote their other historical figures, WC Handy, and all the fellas recording in Sun Studios along with the soul men of Stax Records, etc. As I write I'm thinking of all the places we did not get to in our few days (We did have to put time in at the conference).

I'll talk about the conference separate from this post... 'just talk about the town here.

It does have that Southern city atmosphere you get in Atlanta, Jackson, etc. It comes down to the history of the way people relate to each other; they're more polite to start with. Local cuisine I give an A+. Really, southern cooking is what my Grannie fed me as a tiny cubil, I was right at home there.

First off, 'saw the Peabody Ducks make their appearance in the lobby and march to the fountain. 'Been wanting to see that for many years, and was not disappointed. Since I seem to be rambling, I'll condense this: We took the City Tour where they brought us by for a once-over of the highlights-

The (empty) Pyramid
Mud Island (NEW THIS YEAR: LESS MUD!)
St Jude Hospital (Please don't pose with the sick kids)

GRACELAND (see below)
Sun Studio (nifty)

Gibson Guitar (cool, but next visit)
The Rock and Soul Museum (ditto)
Beal Street (must do, day or night)
Stax Museum (next visit)

And that was just the beginning. You need a solid week to soak it up. The first two items on the list I was not familiar with. The Pyramid is much like our Astrodome; a big empty white elephant. 'Used to have basketball games and concerts in it. I'm not an acoustician (oh wait, yes I am 'just can't spell) but I'm thinking a pyramid would be a nightmare place to hear a concert. Don't know what the other problems were, but they ditched it after 10 years of use for a regular arena venue.

As appalling as Mud Island sounds, it seemed like a cool place to spend an afternoon. A park on the Mississippi river where the family can hang out a do park things. Cool feature: you ride a monorail to the island. AND it is not just mud, it is green and nice looking.

Let's cut to the Queen Momma of all: Graceland!!!

After pining to see Big E's home, I finally arrived. "The Platinum Tour Please". Sounds pricey, and it is a little. But this is the real reason to come to Memphis so you don't care. The airplanes are right out front so you know this is going to be cool! I don't want to critique it or give much away, just to say (Hoping I'm not the only one reading this that hasn't already been there) if you have not been, GO!

Alright, so I was 10 before I realized Elvis was not an actual member of our family, but we are talking the King of Rock and Roll here. So Go.

The Psychedelic Chapter

This section isn't named just to make me look better than I was; I did inhale. I did drop acid. I tried speed a couple of times. I'm not going to use the term "experimented with drugs" (as if I walked around a laboratory in a white lab coat). But compared to most of my fellow (drug) travelers, I only skimmed the edges of the drug life. By that I mean, I was curious, I wanted to know (meaning experience) what the different highs were and how they felt.

One of the final times I tripped, I had an out of body experience. I had thought I died, because isn't that what happens when you die? You leave your body! Later I was told it is called Astral Projection and heavy mystics can do it, but it took LSD to trigger it in me.

I hear people put that down as if the fact that it was chemically induced negates the spiritual experience. Sorry, I'm here to shoot down that theory.

I got home very late from the Electric Theater, went to my basement room and puttered around a while. I finally laid down to go to sleep, but as I lay down (I was on my side facing the wall), I saw the wall begin to move like it was going down. In actuality I was floating up! I got as high as the ceiling and hung out there a while thinking about what my plans might be now that I was dead. At some point it occurred to me that I might have another chance to go back, maybe I was not permanently dead. I decided that yes, I would go back but now would be the time to make some changes for the better. A list appeared before my eyes with 2 columns: one was empty, one had faults and bad habits listed. Oddly enough, the columns reminded me of the type you see on game shows.

As I reviewed each of the entries, I had to consider what the change should be or solution to the problem. As I figured it out, the negative moved over to the empty column expressed as a resolution (for lack of a better word). This was more than 40 years ago, so I don't remember what all was on the list, it ran from the sublime to the ridiculous. The only item I recall now was smoking cigarettes. The resolution was obviously to stop (I did). Another thing I thought was odd was that the last thing I did before I laid down in that bed was look at the clock. It said 3am exactly. Well, after my experience was through and I slowly drifted back down into my body, I jumped up and looked at the clock. It was exactly 6am.

During the process, time had no meaning, I don't know that it lasted exactly 3 hours meant anything, but it seemed significant at the time. I told all my friends I had "died" and what happened, their reactions were all over the place: "Far out", "that happened to me man", "that happens to everybody, man, etc. But I could tell they didn't have the experience I had because it changes you, and they were pretty much the same nose pickers they always were.

I also had a house call from Jesus around this time. Now remember, I'd been living in a house with active ghosts for years, so I wasn't all that impressed. We had a chat, well, I talked at him for a while (he didn't answer back) then we just ignored each other. What did I say to JC? Just that I'd been expecting him, I understood he came around to most of the acid heads (probably not the Jews), and that it was just my turn. I related what I was probably suppose to get out of the siting, repent, get more religious, whatever, but I believed him to be a projection from my sub-conscience and
becoming a Jesus Freak was not on my list of things to do.
Then the awkward silence, having to step around him to go to the bathroom, etc. After a while I forgot about him, and when I checked, sure enough, he was gone (probably to drop in on Howie. Oops, forgot he was Jewish).

I mentioned the first several times I smoked pot, I didn't get high (for whatever reason), and began to think it was all a scam. To be fair, M.J. was very weak back then, you had to smoke yourself half to death to get a buzz, and I was more a social smoker, hand me a joint I would take a hit and pass it on.

One vivid memory was of dropping speed at school one afternoon. Suddenly I had focus like never before! It was almost like tripping without the hallucinations. My English teacher was on semantics, and I had not heard of it before, totally fascinated me. Speed had the opposite effect on me, I slowed down, 'even drove the car under the speed limit, became more polite, no wonder people get hooked on this stuff! The deadly side effect was this bizarre jaw twitch, it made me resemble a serial killer. That may be what caused me to never take it again.
The drug days were over for good after a few sessions with Clifford Royce (aka Mr Psychic). He used post-hypnotic suggestion to quell any thoughts of putting any kind of pill into my mouth. And I mean it worked (for a long time). It was 1974 before I took an unauthorized drug (for a headache). The act of doing that gave me a bout of blindness (calm, not hysterical). It was very strange, and I'm sure left a weird vibe on my future bandmates. They laid me down in the back of the club until I returned to normal.

4-20-09

Since this has become our national day of pot smoking awareness, I would like to say this about that: Legalize the stuff!! Tax it, regulate it, and (like prohibition) before long the idea of buying MJ from someone on the street will be as silly as buying a bottle of gin that way.


* * * *

On the Radio. . .

Lately I've been thinking about radio. I'm enjoying the HD radio I had installed in my van, listening to commercial-free music of a higher quality than I'm used to brought me back to the late 60's and early 70's. That is when they weaned us away from the AM band.

Make some noise if you remember the AM radio!!!

The DJ's didn't talk to you, they kind of yelled at you, and talked in their special radio DJ voices. Dead air was punishable by death, so there was lots of filler. Oh hey, that sounds like FM today...

At one time FM was the "Cool People" band. Everybody on it was hip and simply talked like they were having a conversation with YOU. They played the l o n g versions of tunes instead of the 3 minute cuts for Top 40 radio.

Well, if you're too young to remember this, here is your chance to experience it now.

1. buy an HD radio.

2. turn it to the stations you normally are forced to listen to.

3. check out their HD offerings.

It is much like the internet radio, but portable.

Dig it while you can, in a few years it will sound just like the crap we've grown accustomed to...

...With Your Host, Cubil...

The Time: 4am, first Sunday, January 1976

The Place: My apartment, my bed

(Telephone rings) "Hello Bill? It's your mom. I'm not waking you up am I?"

Me: mumble mumble (in state of total fog, may have been seriously drunk that night)

JC: I'm stuck here in Beaumont and I won't be able to make it back for my radio show in the morning, I need you to fill in for me. Be there at 8 am. Don't worry, you won't have to do anything, I have psychics lined up to call in with their predictions for the coming year.

Me: mumble mumble OK, goodbye.

- 3 hours later -

(Telephone Rings) "Hello Bil? It's your Mom. Do you remember I called last night?

Me: Oh no! It wasn't a bad dream?

JC: I need you down at KPFT in 30 minutes, don't worry, everything will be fine. (hangs up)

There is only one thing that would make my mother blow off her radio show, and I'd bet my bottom dollar he was a smooth talker. I never asked, and she never offered an explanation, so that cinches it.

JC had been on the air at KPFT for several years, many of those years were during it's crazy period where people locked themselves in the studio, others would blow up it's transmitter, you know, stuff like that. As I mention those things, I realize how easily JC fit in.

The weekly program was called "The Esoteric Side of Life". She talked about metaphysics and had guests, and people called in. The theme song was a tune I had written and recorded called "You Bring Out The Best In Me", a catchy disco number that people seemed to like, but had no real connection with the shows theme.

I had listened to the program enough to get through the first 3 minutes, then I was at the mercy of the people she had "lined up" to call in with their predictions. Having been around psychics a number of years, this worried me the most. Most of the psychics I knew were better at telling you the major events they predicted after they had happened.

My prediction was the first to come true: nobody called.

On the air, I begged people to call in and make predictions whether they were psychic or not, and a few did. Finally my mother called from Beaumont. Never at a loss for words, she did about 20 minutes. This got us through 2/3 of the hour, we just need another 20 minutes to fill up...

I began to jabber some kind of stream-of-conscience-incoherent-babble, 'took a couple of calls, and before I knew it, it was time to play the theme song again and get out of there!

I was an On-Air Personality!

Revenge Served...

Boys and girls, just to show I am not the Good Guy in all my stories, I have a tale today where Uncle Cubil is definitely not the Good Guy.


In the Chicago school system, you stay in elementary school through 8th grade, then transfer into high school for 4 years. Did I mention I did 5 years of high school in 4 years? Oh yeah, well let's move on.

I had gone from being teachers pet, to teachers pet python, not student enemy #1, just a guy who wanted to do what he wanted to do. Mainly victimless rule breaking. These crimes included going to school in an unapproved route, and jay walking.


There was a boy who lived across the street from me that was a patrol boy (like a crossing guard), and he took his role seriously. Gary Cooper seriously. He never failed to report me and my friends when he saw us break a rule. This made for many a weekend of "writing sentences"... much like Bart Simpson but on paper:

I will obey school rules (X 1000)

Side note: Thomas Jefferson must've had to do this because he invented a device for duplicating what he wrote on a second piece of paper. Or was it Ben Franklin?

I had a heart to heart with this boy several times that he needed to be less observant, but he only displayed more conviction. This, in turn caused more agitation with my friends and myself.

As the school year came to a close, we began to plot our revenge.

He always walked home the same way, at the same time, so we plotted a way to water balloon him on the last day of school. The plan was flawless, he was going down (or at least getting wet).

What we didn't count on was his reaction: he was completely spooked. 'Must've thought we were going to beat him up or at least kill him because I had never seen any boy run that fast. He passed the cars on Central avenue!

We got one balloon off before he got away and made for a zone of safety (Max's corner store).

My friends and I laughed so hard our sides hurt. We considered it over, and it was.

By happenstance, I saw the boy one more time after that; I was waiting for a friend to get out at summer school, and I heard him leaving in conversation with another student. Get this: they were talking about popular students, and he was arguing for me! That I was more popular than the guy his friend was touting! I'm still amazed at that.


As he came out, I thanked him for his support. He looked shocked (to see me), but I just grinned, then he grinned and a contest of Wills was officially over.

Born to Run: The Greatest Rock Recording of All Time

Rolling Stone publishes lists of the top 100 'This' and 'That' every month or so. These lists do what they were intended to do: piss people off. Marketers know a pissed-off person will tell 7 people of their ire, while a satisfied person will tell 3 (or no one at all).

When the magazine did their list of the 100 greatest rock songs of all time, it is little wonder they picked Bob Dylan's Like a Rolling Stone as #1; after all, they named their magazine after it.
While I agree L.A.R.S. is one of the greatest songs of all time, it is closer to a jam session than a masterpiece.

Born to Run just came on the radio this morning and it brought tears to my eyes for perhaps the 139th time. I've been listening to this song for about than 35 years - surely I should be immune to it by now.

But I'm not, and here's why: The song embodies everything

youth
rebellion
dreams
hope and
triumph

is about.

BTW, these things are exactly what Rock and Roll is about.

From the explosive first chord to the last, the music makes it clear; there will be no compromise, this is do or die trying. If there were no words to the song, the music would make you believe you were at the start of a race that IS your life.

Then you've got Springsteen's vocal: OMG! This kid is singing like his life depends on it. There is a desperation, not just to survive, but to come out on top. He is passionately singing HIS story and (many of) our stories at once.

The making of this tune and the album were well documented and is a must for any fan. Born To Run was the first song for the album and it alone took 6 months of extraordinarily long days and nights to finish. Then the trick was to make the rest of the album to that standard. ha!
Amazingly enough, they did. That was one hell of a learning curve.

Some connected with the project say Bruce Springsteen went temporarily insane while doing this work. That would put him in the company of other artists, some who, unfortunately did not find their way back. Thank Everything, The Boss did.

Born To Run

In the day we sweat it out in the streets of a runaway American dream

At night we ride through mansions of glory in suicide machines

Sprung from cages out on highway 9,Chrome wheeled,

fuel injected and steppin' out over the line

Baby this town rips the bones from your back It's a death trap, it's a suicide rap

We gotta get out while we're young

'Cause tramps like us, baby we were born to run

Wendy let me in I wanna be your friend

I want to guard your dreams and visions

Just wrap your legs 'round these velvet rims

and strap your hands across my engines

Together we could break this trap

We'll run till we drop, baby we'll never go back

Will you walk with me out on the wire

'Cause baby I'm just a scared and lonely rider

But I gotta find out how it feels

I want to know if love is wild girl

I want to know if love is real

Beyond the Palace hemi-powered drones scream down the boulevard

The girls comb their hair in rearview mirrors

And the boys try to look so hard

The amusement park rises bold and stark

Kids are huddled on the beach in a mist

I wanna die with you Wendy on the streets tonight

In an everlasting kiss

The highway's jammed with broken heroes on a last chance power drive

Everybody's out on the run tonight

but there's no place left to hide

Together Wendy we'll live with the sadness

I'll love you with all the madness in my soul

Someday girl I don't know when

we're gonna get to that place

Where we really want to go

and we'll walk in the sun

But till then tramps like us

baby we were born to run

One of the better live versions of the song:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8rGFfO5fUvE

Giving the Finger

"How'd you lose the tip of your finger?"

Kids are always much more open and up front with that sort of question. It also gives you a clue at how we're being sized up by them when first met.

Well... I was 5 years old... (I'm reporting facts as I remember them).

"I was showing off and I grabbed a bicycle chain." Eweeeuuu!

That usually ends the inquiry, but like always, the Devil is in the details.

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My family was living in the second of the 11 places we lived as I was growing up. It was a habitat I was fond of: There was a school across the street (where I attended first grade), and down the block was one of Chicago's large city parks, La Follette Park.

There was a church with a steeple that chimed on the hour, and I liked that. The steeple was lit at night and when I got up I would look out the window and check on it. If the lights on it were out, that meant it was really late, and not just late. But, back to the finger...

I was allowed to go to the park and hang out, climb trees, etc. and I would take my 16 inch "starter" bike over there every time I could get permission to go. Starter bikes in those days, had a direct drive chain and sprocket. That means, you did not coast with them, if the back wheel was turning, so were the pedals.

This is really a classic tale, one with a good guy, bad guy, sweet girl, and bumbling old man. It may have been made into a Scooby Do episode. Guess which role I played?
It's better all around if I give you the program now:

Billy 1 - Me (the good guy)

Billy 2 - The kid next door (the bad guy)

Sweet Polly - The little girl we both were trying to impress

Old Man - A passing pedestrian (well meaning, but not all that helpful)

Now that we've got that out of the way, on with the story.

I'm up in my favorite tree, just hanging alone on this particular afternoon, when Billy 2 comes along with Sweet Polly. Seeing an opportunity to win points with the young girl, Billy 2 takes my little bicycle and turns it upside down so it's on it's seat and handlebars. His next move is to crank the pedals really fast and critique it's lack of real speed.

At THAT insult, I jump down from my tree and and with an "Oh yeah?" grab the chain (with the idea that nothing impresses a girl like super strength) and immediately stop the spinning pedals by inserting my finger into the sprocket.

OK, I wasn't that stupid. I HAD impulsively grabbed the chain with both hands. It took only a millionth of a second to realize that was a bad idea. This is why I only lost the one finger: I had pulled my hands out so fast, pointer finger, which should have been first on the guillotine, was out of the way, and the tip of middle finger got the shaft. er, sprocket.

They were both impressed alright, blood shooting out of my hand like a bad horror movie. Billy 2 shouted "eeewwuuu!!! let's get out of here!" and he and Sweet Polly ran away as fast as they could.
Blood shooting out of any part of your body is a crying and wailing occasion, no matter what age you are, let alone age 5. And let alone I was. I began to walk briskly, the half-block back to my house when...

enters
Old Man: What happen to your hand?

Billy 1: Waaaahhh !!!

Old Man: Where do you live sonny?
Billy 1: (points at house in the middle of the block)

Old Man: I'd better walk you there

Billy 1: (wailing continues)

20 minutes later...

Old Man is taking credit for "finding" me and getting me home with my mother.
Somebody is always trying to impress somebody.
They took me to St Annes hospital where I heard my father deny (for the first time) he was a Catholic. I thought about correcting him, but then figured he was working some angle.

Good things about Giving the Finger

Beside the obvious; giving the finger to people under the guise that you're just showing them your injury, there was also this:

Years later on reflection, I realized another good thing that came from the accident. One of them was over the next few months, my father spent time (about an hour) every night with me running hot water over it. He would also wrap a huge bandage around it until it looked like the finger mummy.*

This was quite possibly the peak of our relationship.

* the finger mummy would sometimes attack my toy plastic soldiers when I got tired of them attacking each other.

Superman's Job Interview

On becoming a young adult, Superman realizes there is no future in Smallville, so he heads to the big city to find a life. After getting a room at the YMCA, the next stop is a career counseling outfit. He attends a 2pm appointment with Counselor Edwina Cranston

Edwina: So Mr Kent, I see you have the basic educational background, what special skills do you have that might help us place you in a job?

Clark Kent: (a bit nervous) Well, I can bend steel with my bare hands, I don't do it much...

Edwina: That might be handy in a steel mill, I'll make a note of it. Anything else?

Clark Kent: I can leap tall buildings in a single bound if I have to.

Edwina: You were a frat boy weren't you? Let's not mention that again. We have lots of openings for public school teachers, how does that sound?

Clark: hmmm, did I mention I'm more powerful than a locomotive?

Edwina: That's a good trait for a P.E. Instructor! Let me make a few calls and I'll get back to you tomorrow.

C.K. I'm also bullet-proof...

Edwina: An inner-city high school, perfect! 'Call you tomorrow...

Double Lake

March 31, 2009


Hanging out at one of our favorite places, Double Lake in East Texas. We've been coming here as a family since day one as I recall. More than 30 years of camping at this location has loads of memories of times with our kids when they were little, cousins, friends, and the many times it was just Rita and me.

Back in the early 80's, we were living in a house off 59 north (the East-Tex Freeway). 'Just getting the piano business started, our office was in the bedroom of the small house we rented. The only way to get a break was to leave the house. Double Lake was a one hour drive, and we packed the tent and came up here lots in those days. The tent camping was $5 a night, and everybody loved coming here.

This is the closest I'll ever get to Walden Pond. I hope to get to visit W.P. so I can find out if
the two are as alike as I think they are. To hear Henry David go on, you might think it is a paradise, but I'm told it's nice, but nothing earth-shaking.

That description could fit Double Lake, a golden colored pond more or less, surrounded by pines, oaks, and small wildlife. There's a small beach, and the swimming is good in the summer, the water runs warm with cold spots in the deep end. Bike trails were added some years ago and running them is a favorite pastime of mine. That, along with hiking. Maybe not earth-shaking, but the best nature get-away anywhere near Houston.

Last Summer we went out on the Lone Star Trail and got lost on the way back. The trail we were returning on just quit. Thinking we would pick it up 50 feet over, we forced our way through the thick brush without finding it. This area is thick brush much of it dead, but still with thorny brambles. We fought (by fought, I mean every step was earned) through it for a couple of hours before finding another trail. This one also came to an end. The Thicket is very weird where we were... there is no sign of life, no birds, frogs, very erie.

At that point I called the park on my cell phone. The nice fellow tried to help us find our way, but he was not sure where we were either. When trails change direction, it's easy to lose track of where you actually are. Since our bodies were not discovered and you're reading this, you know we made it back. An adventure, but not one I want to do again soon.

At this moment I have a very nervous dog pacing the campsite as we all listen to a coyotes or a pack of wild dogs howling in the distance. Brandi is not wanting to meet whatever is making that crazy noise. Well, I don't want to meet them either, but it sounds far off, so I think we're OK. . .

One morning when we were tent camping, we were listening to the birds and other morning sounds in the tent. We heard something not quite familiar... it sounded like weird talking. On leaving the tent we discovered a parrot hanging out in our camp. We made every attempt to rescue it, but it always flew just out of reach. I'm guessing that parrot lived a shorter life, out in the National Forest, But if I were him, I would think it was definitely worth it.

Smashup... on the Highway

The special cell phone ring I have for Rita sounds a bit like a 60's sit-com theme song. Why? beats me, it's just what I picked so I know when she's calling.

It's playing now, about 10 seconds after the van and trailer have been smashed to a halt into the concrete barrier on hwy 249. I knew I was ok, despite bumping my head on the roof and the mess 5 cars and an 18 wheeler make when there is major smash-up.

I opened the phone and explained the situation. "Should I come over?" "Yes" I replied, "I haven't gotten out of the van yet, but we may be able to tow the trailer away." The highway was shutdown about an hour, so it took a while for her to make it through. The vehicals involved were totaled (except the big truck) - the people involved were ok, except the woman driving the Mini van (the bowling ball to our bowling pins). She was taken away in an ambulance. 'Don't know who she was or what caused her to completely lose control, but I'm hoping she's alright.
I admit I had the urge to gripe, but suppressed it. Any wreck you walk away from is a good wreck, no?

But here's the real deal:

You never know what life has in store for you, do you? Like the man sez: "Tomorrow is not promised to anyone, so you better make something you do today a good memory for someone.

Oh Bury Me Now On the Lone Prairie...

The natural process of death has not been something visited on me or my family very often. Not sure why, but some folks I know seen to attend a funeral every couple of months.

I HAVE dealt with the passing of my mother last year, and had an active role in that funeral service, and last week attended the visitation for a friend that suddenly died. The two funeral home experiences have convinced me of this: I don’t want one.

‘Don’t mean I want everyone to just forget me, what I don’t want is an open casket funeral. Both the people I just mentioned were in their final years, and disease had had it’s way with their physical form. The individual in the box was not even a close approximation of the person I will always remember.

Just to show I’m not being self-effacing or introvert or whatever, I’m all for a token for friends and family to remember me; build me a statue about 120% life size (I’ve always wanted to be over 6 feet tall) in some kind of heroic pose – maybe with an electric guitar in my hand. The plaque might say “Five chords and a dream”. That will make strangers wonder, ‘might make everybody wonder.

Buggy Whip Makers

Back in the 60's, A grade school friend's father was an adding machine repairman.

Unless your my age or older you have no idea what I'm talking about. The mechanical adding machine was the precursor to the calculator. An interesting, but clumsy device that added and subtracted numbers. This is what was used by number crunchers for decades before the digital calculator showed up and blew them all away. What would cause that?

The adding machine weighed a ton
The adding machine needed maintenance
The adding machine was expensive

So, almost overnight, the adding machine went away.

I feel a lot like that friend's father. His name was Vern (by the way) the same as Elvis's daddy. My father sold Vern a Cadillac that cracked a block when winter hit. I guess he didn't check the antifreeze. I don't know what happened to Vern, my mind has made up a story that he died of seroses of the liver. Enough about Vern, back to me...The piano has been largely usurped by the digital keyboard. A device that is lighter, cheaper, and needs virtually no maintenance.

I have been closely watching this transformation for a good many years. 'First becoming alarmed over 20 years ago. The technology was transforming rapidly, I figured I would be out of a livelihood within a few years. I checked with friends in concert production. One, a well-regarded owner of a large sound/light company told me MIDI technicians were in demand. Most musicians didn't understand the full power of Musical Instrument Digital Interface.

That same man, a little later called me for a Little Richard show where they needed a piano equipped with MIDI. I was able to supply that. My life in concert piano supply began and I have not looked back since.

The Other Side

When I was a young adult, (c 1970) I was on the other side of this paradigm: A small Chicago commercial typesetting firm I worked for was using a computer to set advertising type while everyone else was using equipment that had been standard for about 100 years. We called them buggy whip makers. Railroads no doubt scoffed at the early airline industry; "wait 'til a few of them fall out of the sky". A strong Union governed the industry, and they were ready to fight change tooth and nail to keep the status quo.

1992, Lesson learned: Neither one is around, both replace by users doing it themselves on their own computer.

I made a joke with my doctor, just today when he fantasized about taking guitar lessons that he might become a hippie folk singer. "You need a backup plan" I offered.
"I think I'll keep my day job" he replied.