Truthfully, I'll be glad when this election is over and I can think about something besides politics. It will be cool to have a president with superpowers though. Here we see Obama facing down the evil criminal mastermind Lex Luthor. Careful Obama, Mr. Mxyzptlk may be lurking in the background.
Joe Martinez is a real plumber. He has a plumber's license and he's a union member. He's voting for Obama.
As far as I'm concerned, Princess Sparkle Pony is one of the superstars of the internet. God bless her sparkly combable mane and tail.
"What I keep getting from these rallies is We are the stupid and we're better than you. God, it's all so galling. "She's reg'lar folk." WhatEVER. I mean, I grew up in Tucson, Arizona, and I'm not proud to be ignorant because I'm not ignorant. I worked really hard, studied hard, had shit jobs for over a decade... and that makes me... what? An East Coast Liberal Elitist? I'm middle class, just like they are. Sarah Palin says these are the "real Americans." All the rest of us are, what, holograms? Not Americans? Get an education and talk in complete sentences with words longer than two syllables and you're un-American? Move to the city and you're un-American? Fuck these morons! Fuck them with their lipstick and their pit bulls and their idiotic slogans scrawled with elementary school tempera paint on Walmart poster board. Fuck Joe the fake plumber. And a hearty fuck you to Sarah motherfucking Palin, fake middle class Jezebel whore coopted by Bill Kristol and his cynical "she's our new project" evil neocon think tank.
I'm so glad these people are losing."
In keeping with today's sobriety theme: I was offered any number of opportunities to shut down, stop thinking and stay a dangerous cowardly thoughtless asshole. By the grace of God (I have no other explanation) I couldn't settle for that. Man, am I grateful.
Rather than post some of Levi Stubb's music, I thought I'd post this appreciation of his work from Billy Bragg. "When the world falls apart some things stay in place."
I'm sure any number of other websites will be posting Four Tops songs. Listen to them. They are as close to timeless as pop music can ever be.
Coincidentally, when I was locked up in the psych ward, the staff was trying to inject some life into a ward full of deeply depressed people. They played us music, oldies but goodies and encouraged us to move. I was so depressed I didn't care. I would fall asleep in the middle of a sentence because I just wanted to go away. They put on something Motown. I wish I could tell you it was the Four Tops, but I don't remember. I remember this much. I got up and I danced.
I'm pretty sure I was siting in a chair, but I might as well have been the man on the bed.
So, 16 years ago last night I had my last drink. I didn't even wake up with a hangover 16 years ago today. I was too depressed to get drunk. In fact, I poured out half of my last drink while thinking, "Oh what's the use?" and went to bed.
I sure am grateful for alcohol. I'm certain it kept me glued together for many years. When alcohol stopped working I sure did come unglued.
There was a little violence, my girlfriend hit me and I hit her back. There's a couple of days there that I don't really remember. The next clear moment comes when I found myself locked in the bedroom, sitting on the bed reading a book. I looked next to me and noticed that I had a rifle, a shotgun and a couple of hundred rounds of ammunition laid out on the bed. I'd been thinking about killing myself for weeks. I guess I was worried that I'd miss.
Somehow, my girlfriend talked me into taking a ride over to the county psych ward. The next thing I knew, I was locked up. 51-50ed as we say in California. It was not a pleasant place to be. There were bars on the windows and a couple of stout psych techs at the door. My roommate was real quiet, but he sure did fart a lot.
My first thought was, "I've gotta start talking some shit and get myself out of here."
And then I heard a voice, it might have been my voice, but it wasn't something I'd ever heard myself say before: "You've been lying your whole life. You lied your way in here and nothing but the truth is going to get you out."
A couple of days later I was introduced to the fellowship of Alcoholics Anonymous. I was "twelfth stepped" by one of the psych techs. He was a two tour Viet Nam vet and nine years sober. I've never been able to find him and thank him, so I have to show my gratitude by helping other drunks. He loaned me a copy of the AA Big Book and arranged an interview with one of the nurses, who happened to be in Alanon.
I was full of three things, bullshit, doubt and fear. I had a feeling they weren't going to get me very far in life. Even though it flew in the face of everything I thought I knew about self sufficiency, I let my new friends talk me into going to an AA meeting.
I'll admit that I have been reading some books on aging, retirement, dropping dead in an untimely fashion etc. I'll have to say that Dr. Andrew Weil's book on the subject is pretty useful; especially if you want to know about all of those early symptoms of decline type stuff: losing your balance, forgetting shit, having heart attacks, forgetting why you used to worry about sex all of the time, that kind of stuff.
Meltzer left behind an academic career to become, arguably, the first professional rock critic. Unlike so many who followed in his footsteps, he is not an asshole or an idiot. In addition to his rock writing he has been a lyricist for Blue Oyster Cult and an inspiration and Grandpa figure to the Dictators. He started one of the first LA punk bands, Vom, and, in so doing, inspired The Angry Samoans. His only peers are Nick Tosches and Lester Bangs. Just like me, half his peers are dead.
I've been whining about it in private, but I should send out some thanks in public. Today is my birthday. Double nickels on the dime. I am 55. That seems old to me. I am prepared to age, to change and even to die someday, but I'm not prepared to be 55. I've only had 55 years to prepare for this, give me some more time.
There are two alarming facts connected with my 55th birthday. First, if I manage to make it all of the way to the American statistical average, I've only got 19 more years. I can remember when 19 years seemed like an awfully long time, but that was an awfully long time ago. Second, if I'm 55, then punk rock really is music for old people. You can't do this to me! These young whippersnappers coming up today don't know the first thing about being young rebels. They've got it all wrong. Besides, I still own the franchise on being a young rebel. Actually let me check the papers on that, I might have let them expire.
Really, I need to take the time to thank some lovely people. I especially need to thank my friend Dear Kitty. Kitty has got to be one of the most prolific bloggers on Earth. I've known her since the days of my long defunct blog, The Weblog of Wonders. Kitty recently gave me "Brillante Award". I don't know what it means, but I've got to take it as a compliment. Kitty is so thoroughly anonymous in her postings that I'm not really sure she's a woman. I do know she's a poet a naturalist and a friend of justice. I also know that her band once opened for Crass, back in the long ago and the far away. Pretty cool.
I also need to thank my friend Jack from Lake County, the pipe bomb capital of California. Jack is one of the few people I know in real life who also reads this blog regularly. He never comments, but he calls me up at odd hours and refers to things that he's read here. Always a pleasure to hear from you Jack.
Also, I can't thank Ib from SiblingShot on the Bleachers enough. Ib is always friendly, always offers encouragement and is always appreciative of every little effort on my part. I am very pleased that Ib wrote me a poem for my birthday. What a great guy.
Finally I need to thank John McCain for reminding me of my old friend, Neil Sealy. Neil was a pal, a drinking buddy and a co-conspirator back in Indiana. Of my closest friends from those days, Neil is the only one left alive. What does Neil have to do with John McCain? Well, Neil has gone on to be the Arkansas organizer for Acorn, a "terrorist" organization that does things like register poor people to vote and get them organized into unions. Good work brother, keep up the "terrorism".
That's just the folks I want to thank on the internet. Stay tuned tomorrow for a giant gratitude fest. I'll be so choked up I might forget my little blog persona and forget to say "fuck".
In the meantime, let's have some more Merle Travis.
Indiana Amalgamated Transit Union member discuss the Obama campaign.
I know it doesn't make any difference, but I'm gonna put it in writing. I intend to vote for Barack Obama. I have refused to vote many times in the past. I entertain no illusions. Obama and McCain represent two slightly different wings of the ruling class. Any crumbs they may toss us are designed to shut us up. I also know that politics is basically all about killing people and stealing their shit.
Having said that, I've gotta say that John McCain is a real life monster. Scary, with dripping fangs. Obama is just a creepy political animal. If I still knew any ultra-leftists, I would encourage them to jeer at me. Yes, I'm voting for the lesser of two evils because the lesser evil is much less evil.
Second. I'm voting for Obama specifically because he's Black. His upbringing is about as Black as mine, but when he tries to hail a cab, or when a cop sees him driving, he's Black. Truthfully, I would vote for Colin Powell, just because he's Black. I'm old enough to remember the remnants of legal segregation. I grew up being told that a person of color could never ever hope to be president. I've watched the living standard of Black people being driven lower and lower for my entire adult life. The sectors of the economy that employed the Black middle class have been under attack for the last 35 years. Since the Reagan administration, I've watched outright white supremacist politics come out in the open in ways I never would have dreamed possible. Enough of this horseshit. We need a person of color in the White House. Not in the cabinet, but calling the fuckin' shots. I only wish Cynthia McKinney was his Vice Presidential candidate.
Third, I'm voting for Obama because he's worked with Reverend Wright and Bill Ayers. Call it innocence by association. At least he's met and collaborated with some decent people. Maybe something rubbed off.
Finally, I'm voting for Obama because I'm a public sector union member. Yep, I'm a member of a special interest group. At least Obama's willing to talk to my special interest group. I should hope so, we've given him enough money and people. He owes us a few sit downs once he's in the White House.
Well, there you have it. I promise I will continue to vent my spleen. I am not going to be nice to the guy. He doesn't need me to be nice to him. He can take care of himself. The whole business of money and power continues to disgust me. Unfortunately, I'm in it deep enough to have a little blood on my pants cuffs, and I probably shouldn't lie about that.
Here's some music from back when times were worse, but the struggle was better.
"To me, Obama's friendship with Ayers and Dohrn means that once he rubbed shoulders with amateur bombers, but now pines for the Real Fucking Deal. As president, Obama will have access to weapons that ancient radicals could only imagine while tripping. Better, he's free to use them, hell, expected to use them, and I have complete confidence that Obama will do just that. Instead of mailing cryptic messages to the media, he'll announce his murderous intentions on international television and all over the Web. So Obama palled around with people who blew up parts of empty buildings. If you desire to be the imperial manager, you gotta start somewhere...
John McCain. He's killed before, and he'll kill again." -Dennis Perrin
