Sunday, August 31, 2008

A Look at My Mules Past

David Gray Music Review

Review First Published March 15 2005 (2 days before St.Patricks)

I was forced to write this one on the run and it shows but you know how demanding Amazon can be. They dont give a damn about the art of a review, they just want words and thats what I gave them and demanded my check!How does the saying go? You can give an infinite number of Sea monkeys an infinite number of word processors and eventually one of them will write a review of White Ladder. The spine is the white ladder by the way. 9/6/05 JW

White Ladder ~ David Gray
Price: $10.99
Availability: Usually ships in 24 hours

48 used from $5.00

20 of 26 people found the following review helpful:
Wales in Eire, March 15, 2005

Buy the CD its first class and pays homage to Van Morrison so enough said and please stop reading if you dont trust my previous assessment. I visited Ireland in 1999 with my divorced buddies club and one not divorced nor married guy with his girlfriend. We rented two compact cars (six of us) and took off for hostels unknown. We ended up staying at a hostel near Mt. Erigal and climbed the mountain simply because it was there, plus it was not really technical so took little preparation other than finding a parking spot where we would not cause an accident. We left our one buddy back at base camp, he was to hung over to climb so he ended up renting a broken down horse and rode it around a lake infested with some sort of fly that bit first and asked questions later, the questions and answers were found in the pints of Bass or Guinness at the pub across from the hostel where we were staying. We made it up the mountain in a record time for us and took some photos, lounged around soaking up the view and then ambled back down to drive back to the hostel and sit on the back porch listing to the caretakers jam box, after several errands to the pub we had just enough pints to make ourselves artistically receptive. We noticed how cool the music was on the jam box and asked the caretaker who it was (the cassette was just a copy and bore no name) he said I think its David Gray he's from Wales, I wrote it down with the intent of finding a copy later. We had split up as a group and agreed to meet in a town whose name I cannot recall just south of Galway.On the way to our meeting our fly bitten buddy, lets call him Patrick grew bored since he was not allowed to drive, finished what beer was in the car and decided to climb out the rear window and into the sunroof. He did this a few times and the novelty wore off so he stripped naked and attempted it again, only this time he got his head stuck between the seat and the shifter, they were driving down the road with a nude man sticking out of the sunroof upside down. As fate would have it they drove through Galway and the Arts festival was going on and David Gray was playing that night, so they found us in the unknown town and we all went back to Galway and managed to find one room, no matter, we had beer. The concert was perfect and we all slept like the innocent children that we were. I woke up early and decided to find some food and a record store to buy a CD of his, my buddy lets call him Tom came along. We ate at a small restaurant across the street from a record store ate and then walked over and by gosh ole Mr. Gray and band were the in the "Flesh" to sigh CD's the line was to long with teeny boppers for a man of my dignity to stand so I just found a couple of CD's and was ready to leave and by this time the line had subsided , I had Dave and the band sign my CD's , nice guys great trip buy the CD we need more bands like this in the world, help feed them.


Alternative Fuel

I'm no Ed Beagly but I do think we should look at some alternative fuels in this time of crisis. Doing my part I just purchased this alternative fuel car from my local Caddy dealer. I discovered after it was to late that I was the alternative fuel! Not only that but the thing was not air-conditioned as promised and the power steering, again that was left to me... I was the power! Geez, snake oil never really goes out of fashion, it just changes clothes. Had I only knowed. Buyer beware. JW


Saturday, August 30, 2008

History once again repeats itself once again and...

Early music review from 1/05

People found this review helpful , maybe the musical side of the brain is more open to my style of review. I made some fat cash off of this one and print it without permission from Amazon since they purchased "full rights" but you know I have developed callous's on my nose from thumbing my nose at "the man". JW

Sackcloth 'n' Ashes ~ 16 Horsepower
Price: $12.98
Availability: Usually ships in 24 hours

14 used from $5.58

16 of 17 people found the following review helpful:
Bandoneon?, January 16, 2005

I think I'd have to look up the spelling which I wont since this is a music review and not a written' review. Anyway a Band0neon is like an accordian but different in ways I dont understand, they feature this instument on a number of cuts with very haunting results.The lyrics are haunting as well, its a Flannery O'Connor mood crossed with all the greats of bluegrass ghosts, it creates a unique sound you would be a fool not to enjoy. It reminds me of the times as a child we visited old man Ritz's house deep in the woods behind our house, Mr. Ritz worked for Nasa and seldom visited his family farm getaway, so we ran amok on his property,never at ease mind you, but amok we ran. He was a scary figure who we never met and never expected to meet until one day I landed a job picking up rocks in a freshly plowed field, we would ride on a trailer behind a tractor and every so often the tractor would stop and we would hop off and pick up the rocks and throw them on the trailer. I suggested to Uncle Leon (the farmer who farmed Mr Ritz's property for him) that we just paint all the rocks red and have the migrant workers pick them up thinking they were tomatoes, he didnt think to much of this suggestion so we continued with our work. The next day we were picken' up rocks when a man walks up to Leon and told him we should paint the rocks red and tell the migrant workers they was tomatoes...This album reminds me of my first and only meeting with old man Ritz.Buy the album.

The History of My Mule

First posted in 05 and I am proud to state that I have not edited or corrected any and all of the errors in my writing, kinda like Kerouac...Other than the talent and the diet pills, this is just good ole stream of Conscience writing.
Truly this is not the history of My Mule but it is a taste of its origins.
I promise you, I did not imagine any part of this account, these are just the facts, reported by a man who is fond of the truth and so here it is and so it shall be, from this day until I loose interest in the truth.

So without any further ado this is a true account of my past, as recounted three years ago...

A long time ago I started riding dirt bikes, a long,
long time, yet like most exciting events I am left
with vivid memories, better and more accurate than
what I had for breakfast this morning.I am reminded of
me mum telling the story of how she had lost a gas cap
to something? her car? a lawn mower? Something in the
internal combustion family. Her being a college
educated woman she stuck a potato in the gas hole and
fixed the problem. We all laughed at this story and to
tell you the truth I knew that if I ever lost a gas
cap the first thing I would do would be to riffle
through the potato cabinet for such a elegant
solution. As luck would have it I was riding my Yamaha
60cc Mini enduro and one day I noticed my gas cap was
missing, I swear I did not pull this stunt on myself
its just one of those be careful what you wish for
things. Well my brother Charles Chadwick was keen on
the idea of the potato solution and me not being very
mechanically inclined enlisted his help. We found a
fine potato but had to whittle it into a taper to fit
the hole proper, I found it would not stay put when we
raced so we took some duct tape and taped it over the
gas hole and this worked until the potato shrank or I
ran out of gas and had to un-tape my potato. Again
fate came a knockin' and we found a gas cap that fit
the bike but it was a little over sized so it looked
like I had a pot pie pan on my gas tank, no problems
it worked better than the potato. I need to call my
mum and find out what sort of gas hole a potato works
on, I'm just not ready to take this one out of my bag
of tricks.
This was back in the late sixties early seventies
when motocross was in its infancy and Evil Knievel was
the image of motorcycling. I moved to a town called
Lizton in Indiana and lived on 9 acres of land, my
folks,brother and eventually my sister (first girl of
European decent born on the Beagly dump Road) joined
me which was pretty cool since I was only seven and
had no real education or trade I could support myself
with so my folks house and money came in handy. At the
time of the move me Da bought me a Sears mini bike,
basically a lawn mower engine bolted into a rigid
frame, later I grew into the 60cc mini enduro and that
was when things really began to gel. My brother
Charles Chadwick and myself quickly befriended all the
other kids nearby that had dirt bikes and spent most
of our free time laying out in our back field a state
of the art moto cross course, we had access to two
Ford tractors both with grader boxes and disks and
other homemade trail groomers and soon had a motocross
course and a respectable oval flat track. We had about
three other neighbors who had natural terrain courses
set up, some trail, some European style motocross.
This was pre "Pong " technology so we made our own
fun. Sometime during all this my dad traded a guy he
found in a newspaper ad his 25 caliber pistol for a
1955 Packard, they guys wife protested claiming her
husband was just going to shoot himself and not to
trade him, but the car was pretty sweet so spit and a
handshake and the deal was done. My dad proclaimed it
was my car and gave me the keys, I was around 11 and
was pretty proud to be have given the responsibility
of owning a car. Seems my ownership also meant he
could drive the thing? Anyway one day my brother and
our friends and fellow moto freaks the Leak boys
decided it would be fun to drive the old Packard
around our track, when my turn finally arrived I hit a
wide sweeper at such momentum that the battery came
loose and tumbled across the engine block, the car
stopped dead in its tracks mid slide. Being more
mechanically minded than myself I let my brother and
Big John tow my car off the track to work on, they
could not get it running so naturally they removed the
hood and pulled it behind the tractor as a sled. For
some reason my dad seemed a little perturbed, he
apparently was not as impressed by our resourcefulness
as we were, as winter set in he grumbled even more as
the bare engine sat open to the winter elements and we
whooped and hollered riding around on the Packard hood
behind the tractor, the snow was the best for land
sledding. He got over it eventually and I forgive him
his pouting.
I remember when my Da had a guy that did dirt work
for him bring his bulldozer out one weekend to help
build some jumps on our Moto-Cross course. I also
remember thinking a few years ago he probably lied
about the guy doing it for a six pack, I don’t think
you can run a bulldozer for two days for a six pack, I
think he made this story up just to appease me Ma.
Two days of bulldozer work cost more than he probably
wanted to admit so he did what was necessary, he just
outright lied. As the old saying goes you should only
lie to two people your boss and your wife,
unfortunately I’m my own boss and I’m not married so I
suffer an emptiness that could only be fulfilled by
having someone I could honestly lie to. This
bulldozer guy built some nice jumps and a mighty fine
mud/water hole for us to jump over. We caught a carp
and put it in the mud/water hole. We think the thing
died.I remember my sis Cait was awful fond of that
pond, and still to this day maintains that we jumped
over her on our bikes while she was playing in the
pond.(She likes to call it a pond and I don’t blame
her I’d hate to tell people that I used to play in a
mud hole with a dead carp) We found an old bathtub and
built a wooden ramp out of about 4 -2’ x 6"s nailed
side by side and propped up against the empty tub, we
used it to jump the mud hole, good fun was had by all,
even my sister (who was never in any danger).
I reckon I was a pretty talented rider since I
could beat around 75 to 80% of our neighbors racing so
I got serious and went to my first sanctioned race in
Red Springs North Carolina, there were three people in
my class and I finished 2nd. Not to bad if you think
about it right, my brother I cant remember how he did
but he did win the jumping contest, I think he won
around $25.00 , however he doesn’t brag about this
much since after the race we watched some kid on a
bicycle out jump his best effort. Back home in Indy I
was on a roll so being my da was heavy into flat
tracking we entered ourselves in a classic flat track
race, my brother again I dont know what he was riding
nor how he finished but I pinned my mini enduro full
throttle and ran the mile course with out so much as
braking, the officials waved me in and told my dad
that I needed to sign up for the mini bike class,
which we reluctantly did, they set up our course on
the front stretch a tiny little oval as I recall I
finished 3rd out of 9 riders! I think I won a first
place trophy somewhere but cant be sure where or when
since your not my boss or wife.
Skip forward a few years and I’m on a 1978 Husky
WR250 oh so very very sweet! I had come to the
conclusion after catapulting myself into the ground
numerous times that moto-cross and even hare scramble
forced me to exit the envelope and beat the living
hell out of myself. So when I had a chance at enduro I
thought cool I can ride my own race, I’m not out to
win I just love to ride trails. Upland Indiana
November 1981, having no idea what time keeping was
and really no interest, sporting my original tires,
chain, rings etc. I may have put a new plug in the
bike and cleaned the air cleaner,bark buster I dont
need no stinking bark buster! What’s a bark buster? I
should have been better prepared, would have been
better prepared but I lost my sponsor me da finally
came to his sense’s. I set off on what would be one of
the coldest, longest most miserable days of my life.
Mud, wet leather gloves steaming as I rotated hands,
the lucky one got to steam on the engine until I
regained feeling which was pain, trees that were to
stubborn to move, bark busters I think I see the
wisdom now, I lost my shifter towards the end of the
ride, putting along in 2nd gear wondering when this
thing would end…eventually it did and well I finished,
did not hour out no less! It beat me up, I know now
what the hood of that Packard covered with
hillbillies drug around behind a tractor all day must
have felt like. I was hooked, I knew enduros and
trail riding was where I belonged.
Twenty eight years after my last trophy in moto cross I
trophied again 5th place in an enduro by god and that
my friend is pretty damn good!

Wednesday, August 13, 2008

Toilets Birthday and Roscoe is Feeling Better

Where do I begin? I visited Roscoe this evening and he is off the tubes and although tired and in for a long trek to recovery, remains his witty good natured self.He had a real tacky blinking trinket which had the Pope, (one of them) sitting beside his bed in the ICU, he was happy with it because he likes that kinda stuff. Well it turns out his niece bought it for him when she was visiting Italy, she bought it at a truck stop. His buddy Dale laughed and told me he did not think much of it at first until he found out it was from an Italian truck stop and he declared,"that just goes to prove, truck drivers are the same all around the world." Roscoe who is not Catholic said, "hey if it works I'm not throwing it out."
This was the first time I have seen Roscoe without all the tubes and drugs for someone given only a 20% of living a week ago Wednesday, he is on the mend, I cannot express what an honor it is to know someone with the courage and strength that he has, if life were the Olympics he would have bankrupted the world with all the gold medals he is due.

Onto Chuck (aka Toilets) its his birthday today August 13th. I called him a few days ago and told him I did not get him anything and that in exchange when my birthday came around he did not have to get me anything. He said OK, but then a day later he told me he had a gift for me, I told him that the best gift I could give him was my guilt for not sending him a gift. He seem satisfied with this but then I sweetened the pie, I told him the book Narrow Dog to Indian River, which I bought for my father for fathers day. I had to read it real fast before I gave it to him, when my mother is finished I promised I would send it to Chuck. This seemed to make him happy. I also promised him a shirt that I printed with a broad sharpie back in 2000 that has " I seen the dummy" written in my scrawl across the front into the armpit. The "I seen the dummy" is a whole different story, which I posted a year or more ago on this site.
The white T Shirt I bought to create this one of a kind shirt, is to big for me. I have washed it in hot water, gained weight, lost weight, it just does not fit. I feel so unpolished wearing a shirt that hangs on me, so for my brothers birthday he will receive a hand made shirt custom inscribed by me "I seen the dummy" that does not fit me and a book that most of my family have already read.
Its the thought that counts and for one that does not have counting skills this is a huge gesture. Happy Birthday Chuck and get busy fixing yourself Roscoe.

Monday, August 11, 2008

Great Exaggerations

I collaborated with the Bard and we cobbled this together, nice guy that fella.

To Thine Own Self Be True

Yet here, Laertes! Aboard, aboard for shame!
The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail,
And you are stay'd for.
There ... my blessing with thee!
And these few precepts in thy memory
Look thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue,
Nor any unproportion'd thought his act.
Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar.
Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,
Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel;
But do not dull thy palm with entertainment
Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg’d comrade. Beware
Of entrance to a quarrel but, being in,
Bear't that th' opposed may beware of thee.
Give every man thy ear, but few thy voice;
Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgement.
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,
But not express'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy;
For the apparel oft proclaims the man;
And they in France of the best rank and station
Are of a most select and generous chief in that.
Neither a borrower, nor a lender be;
For loan oft loses both itself and friend,
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.
This above all: to thine own self be true,
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.
Farewell; my blessing season this in thee!

-- William Shakespeare


Sunday, August 10, 2008

Sundays Advice

Todays advice is never to mix Bourbon with alcohol.


Saturday, August 09, 2008

Visit my Link to Roscoe

Well my good friend Roscoe who I remember first meeting in third grade when I moved to a new school, we were strangers to this school but my brother toilets made friends quickly and we ended up hanging out with Roscoe's family. I remember vividly meeting this family along with Roscoe, we have been good friends for 40 years. Roscoe and his twin brother on my first visit to their home taught me how to make a triple decker peanut butter and jelly sandwich.The sandwich was awful but the friendship endured.
Today I visited Roscoe in the hospital and he opened his eyes once, he has a number of health issues and at this moment has tubes up his nose and down his throat, he was given a 20% chance of surviving on Wednesday. He is doing better, "Critical Stability" is how the nurse described his condition.
Roscoe is what every person should strive to be, he has not whined or complained since I have met him, but every card dealt seems to offer him a bad hand.
I have a framed review of his book review in Racer X (Thanks Sleekpelt for recognizing his brilliance) which I have been carrying around for months and now that I take my head out of me arse I realize I should have dropped it off earlier.I copied and pasted a excerpt from Travels with Roscoe from his blog site.
He has been in and out of the hospital the last few weeks and it really is heartbreaking to see such a good man suffer so much. So visit his site, do not whine about your life (I include myself) and keep him in your favorites.A rare man with more than enough character to share with a city approaching the size of NY.
I may have already lost the reader by now its just me venting, I am tormented by hearing of his health decline and to see him today I feel ashamed of my own selfishness, I know I would not survive what he has, but he is Roscoe and he may bounce back and amaze us once again.
So I suppose the gist of this post is stop whining, read some Roscoe and wish him the best, because he is not in the least bit comfortable.

Excerpt from Travels with Roscoe:

Stood still on a highway. I saw a woman by the side of the road with a face that I knew like my own, reflected in my window. Well she walked up to my quarter light and she bent down real slow. A fearful pressure paralyzed me in my shadow. She said, "Son, what are you doing here... My fear for you has turned me in my grave." I said "Mama I come to the valley of the rich... Myself to sell." She said, "Son, this is the road to Hell. " - Chris Rea

The road with a chimpanzee and a 300-pound carnival ride operator, conversation of an intellectual nature expired 400 miles earlier. Tater shakes the TV Guide and points to Larry King who will interview Janet Reno. Freak Show's response is enthusiastically oppositional. The Man Show will host a Wet T-shirt contest. When we bivouac for the night and align the satellite dish, I'll cast the deciding vote. Prey we spy Janet Reno in a wet T-shirt contest.

Strange and amazing places like Bald Knob, Beaver, Dogpatch and Toad Suck are called home in Arkansas and thrill my traveling companions. The two-story out house at the Booger Hollow Trading Post, along Scenic 7 Byway, in Dover creates quite a splash. (Rivaled by Bell Plaine, Minnesota; Gays, Illinois; and Phelps, NY all home to the world's one and only.) At Fouke/ Texarkana, you hear the tail of the Boggy Creek Monster. My pilgrimage follows Robert Johnson, master of the blues. Written in song and legend, we make for the junction of 49 & 61 near Helena. "It is the Crossroads to Eternity." accounts Willie Coffee, Johnson's life long friend.

Night fell and time to eat. To make up for the TV show commotion, Freak Show wanted to treat us to dinner. He knew of a great truck stop. We topped a hill in the full moon light to come upon the Moldy Dumpster Slop & Fuel. On a good day it could be described as a roach house - a shack with a half operational neon sign buzzing and popping away in the parking lot. Freak Show rubbed his hands together and assured us that it would be great. As we entered the fly covered screen door, Freak was welcomed with hardy handshakes and pats on the back. "Come on in, we're monkey friendly!." Show commented on how the area had changed. They replied, "When they closed down the slaughterhouse, the neighborhood turned to crap."

After a nice visit and a Chili Bucket with Mushrooms, it was time to hit the road. Show offered to take over my driving duties.

It might have been 20 minutes later. Who knows? An odor wretched from the belly of Hell enveloped the camper in a green/yellow mist. My vision blurred as the caravan shook violently. I yelled to our pilot, "Be careful! You're going off the road!" He responded, "Which side!" Within the cyclone, I felt like I would purge my gut. We stopped and as I extricated myself from under the dashboard, I looked at Freak Show. His eyes blazed ruby red. His beard moved, entwined by reptiles. In a voice unheard before he growled, "Your soul to become the best rider of all."

I'll pass. I'll shoot for mediocrity and take my chances. Besides that, the chili was lousy. Quit screwing around!" The demon looked past me to the chimp. "How about you?" Tater convulsed.A horrific screech burst forth, the wind swirled. . . silence.

Help support this years ISDE Team USA and buy your self some cool collectibles at the same time. The ISDE is like the Olympics for off road riding.

Shop here on Ebay for this stuff

Friday, August 08, 2008

Trolls and a Fine Article About Their Habits

Copy and paste this link for the troll story.

Trolls I suppose have been the victims of bullies so they naturally become bullies in their own world. The problem is who really likes a bully?
I suspect the trolls suffer from the same inferiority complex that real world bullies suffer from.
Bullies are cowards, and truth be told do not get laid that much, unless of course they are "holding their own" in the love department.
The article rings true, the troll is just lashing out and not really accepting accountability. Trolls have earned their name, just ignore them and soon they will pay attention to their "special purpose" and forget why they targeted you in the first place.
Never respond to a troll, never email a troll, if we all follow this method it will send them into a self abusing frenzy that can only end with them being caught by their parents earning the hairy palms and near sighted road they have chosen.
A public service post which you do not dare respond to because the trolls may be hunched over their keyboard and ready to...whatever they are ready to do, they are trolls and who in history has ever respected or romanticized the true definition of a troll. Cartoons do not count, bullies and trolls both posses the undeniable stench of a coward.


Monday, August 04, 2008

Another Amazon Review by JWW

Much to William Douglas Littles chagrin I have posted a review of his book on Amazon.As my long time reader knows I am a well respected and highly paid Amazon book reviewer. I only review books that I think are real good...I changed accounts about a year ago so my doppelganger has most of my reviews to my credit? Something like that, but at least I know I do not have a split personality, I just forget passwords and canceled credit cards that were suspect of fraud, so I must change Amazon accounts, by accident but I suppose if my legacy as a pro-reviewer I need to fly under the radar. So here goes with Williams latest...OH! If you want to read the best book ever written just visit the link at the side of my page, read Travels with Roscoe...

I read this book and it reminds me of my youth my experiences and then I think the author may not think this as much of a review but more of a tangent.You know what is life but a tangent? So with out celebration, with out goading, with out praise other than the author of Mexican Bowl Fishing etc. I have to admit, the title alone is worth framing, so this is what his book has inspired.

Tales of Life, we all have them and if well told a joy to read. Mr. Littles Book is a joy to read...Now my tangent...

A story of my own true life, and at sometimes probably false, memory fails but my heart really does attempt to be faithful. A great read Mexican Bowl Fishing is my review, so if you are bored read the rest of my screed.Then buy the book, it truly is the real deal.

Abandon all hope ye who enters these paragraphs. I have a tale from the sea so terrible that upon first reading you would beg to have your most personal uncharted parts dry shaven daily with the splintered skull cap of Blackbeard himself for all eternity, rather than reading the tale again!
The story, based on fact but rendered inaccurate ,hobbled by my memory, I think it happened a long time ago. I may remember it as a tale of my courage and grace under fire, that is how my memory best serves me.
Memory I have found is not a servant called upon to dutifully reply to my every need but a jester that makes me look silly and the fool without effort, without fail and without thanks.
Around 1975 myself ( a man of uncommon courage) Roscoe , Roscoes twin brother Joe, my brother known as Chuckles and Roscoes big brother known as big John. Ventured fourth on the devils waters of Eagle Creek Reservoir on a small 14 ft. pontoon boat, an experience that would change us all, even my memory. We borrowed the boat from my dad and it was not in the best of shape, powered by a10 horse unreliable aka “Johnson” motor. In today’s dollars I would guess he paid around $2.00 large for the entire vessel.
We somehow launched the boat and went to Crappie cove as I will call it because we were going to catch some Crappie. I was sitting at the head of the boat, the front part not fenced in, sitting in a aluminum chair cushioned with nylon straps next to “Joe” he sat proud and ready to pitch in and help with the lines if need be, an able seaman if ever one lived. We were jointly in charge of watching for stumps and such and I also had the highly esteemed job of anchor boy. Not a small responsibility when you consider that an anchor can keep a boat from falling off the edge of the earth and such. Never mind that it was a small mushroom shaped anchor which even in my young mind I considered to be of little prestige but I was still in charge of something, my peeps trusted me!
Again I sat at the head of the boat, huge tackle box at my side saddled with duties and responsibilities, I was proud and maybe a little cocky. My brother “Chuckles” was at the helm, or holding onto the outboards tired and trembling arm. “Roscoe” was in his chair and “Big John” was sitting beside him in his chair I have to think it was not made of aluminum and nylon because even at 16/17 the boy was not suited for a mere mortals chairs, hence the name “Big John”.
We anchored off a likely spot for crappies, bass, krakens god knows what else but there was structure and anyone worth their salt knows that where lie structure there lies fish. I tried every lure in my arsenal and nothing, not a soul on the boat got a byte so I was given the order , pull anchor and lets “move on up away”. I did so with much theatrics , a determined look in my eye, a certainty of purpose , feigned muscle strain and finally laid the anchor beside my chair calm on the exterior but barely able to contain my excitement about the coming order to drop anchor.
Brother Chuckles had the old Johnson wound out and we had to be doing nearly 7 knots when all the world became confusing. The boat began to dive nose first into the water, my legs were wet all the way to me bum, I looked behind me and first saw the Johnson’s propeller spinning in dead air, I could count the spin of the blades , my brother looked very confused trying to shut down the power, “Roscoe” was holding tight to his pith helmet with both hands and his brother “Big” was holding on to Roscoe with one hand and the side rail with the other.
Funny thing about big brothers they can treat you like hell your whole life and all at once in time of need they are protecting you from plunging into the depths of the devils waters…God this is a long story! GAW!
Here is what happened . Ole Anchor boy set the anchor to close to the edge of the boat and it fell off while we were speeding down the cove, the wimpy mushroom anchor gained a tight purchase on something and almost made us end over end the 14’ pontoon boat. My tackle box was swamped with water, I lost a hula popper out of my tackle box, the boys would not help me fetch it as it drifted into the stumplands, and to this day I curse their names. I lost some other priceless items but will refuse to hold a grudge, I think the boys where just frightened , an emotion I am unfamiliar with. However I did recognize the look in my friends eyes.
We figured out what happened, I was chastised for no good reason and then we went back to the ramp and loaded the boat, most of the crew a little shaken, as I remember I was calming them with cheerful words and distractions. Since Chuckles and Big John were around 16/17 we went to Shakeys Pizza afterwards. The elders ordered a couple of their famous pizza pies, with black olives and a couple of pitchers of beers, the youngin’s (13/14) snuck sips of the beer when the help was not looking. We may have even sang along to the “If you knew Suzy” follow the bouncing ball prompter on big projection screen. All of us changed one way or another, all of us trying to forget or make light of our brush with death, all the while I tried to distract my friends and sibling so as not leave their psyche’s damaged for life, I needed them to grow up normal and responsible, hell one of them might need to bail me out of jail sometime, keep em sane was my thinking, no need to molly coddle the poor bastards just keep them sane.
Consider this tale of the sea and tell me it does not rival, if I may be so bold the “Flying Dutchman” ? Dare ye counter? I thought not.
It is said even to this day that if you venture onto Crappies cove late in the afternoon, you can hear a ghostly popping sound, said to be my lost hula popper searching for a safe purchase in my beloved tackle box. Copyright Josh Williams 2009


Sunday, August 03, 2008

Pack it in Pack it Out

If you study the photos above these are what certain parks require backpackers to carry with them so they can pack out their solid waste. I have been on a number of camping trips, some of them backpacking. One thing I am sure of that without proper rifling I am ashamed to admit that I would be hard pressed to hit the target bullseye. I fear there would be some collateral damage or without a proper GPS guidance system nothing but collateral damage. What ever happened to carrying a small campers shovel and burying the shit?
On to another similar subject I was speaking with a retired gentleman whose name will not be used, but trust me a reliable source.We were swapping stories about floods and drainage problems a month or so ago after the Midwest received extra heavy rainfall, and the rain possibly part of the flooding issue.
Well this gent managed a fast food burger restaurant in the 70's one which we as children would frequent. He told me how the place had a horrible drainage problem and that when the storm sewers where full not only would the toilets not flush but the drains would back up, flooding the back portion of the eatery. The back portion being behind the registers and where all the food is prepared, he told me how embarrasing it was to be talking to a customer while trying to indiscretly kick a chunk of solid human waste back out of view.
A funny story but kinda gross I suppose and really touchs home because I used to frequent this restuarant back in the day, rain or shine. Thats it, no politics or religion just good old fashion shit talking, come to think of it? I stand corrected.


Diet and Exercise

Exercise through independent study requires a good deal of goofing off, laying around combine this with a frenzied search for your remote is sufficient exercise for a day. To much of this can lead to muscle pain, headaches insomnia and also chronic halitosis.

Diet all you have to remember is the four food groups. CNAB


Stick with this plan and I can guarantee you results! Stray from this plan and all bets are off. Kind Regards JW

A Sunday public service post.


Saturday, August 02, 2008

Once again Wikipedia is wrong

Well as the fool did tell me this is how it was and he was so right and wikipedia was so wrong.
Official 8/2/08 definition of a corporate republic defined by wikipedia. I am not one to place tin foil on my head to stop the voices, but this is what we are living in and to tell you the truth unless we we wake up, well we can ignore this "hypothesis" and so it goes...On the other hand, being a good machine has its rewards, which I have not discovered but what the hell if I marry right I may become one of the few.
I will try to ad a humorous photo to this post to not make it so gloomy, I am an optimist but I also live in present and to tell you the truth we have been a corporate republic for years and years and...Well maybe I will go to the market an buy some foil with cash and make myself a nice safe reality cap.

A corporate republic is a theoretical form of government occasionally hypothesized in works of science fiction, though some historical nations such as medieval Florence might be said to have been governed as corporate republics. While retaining some semblance of republican government, a corporate republic would be run primarily like a business, involving a board of directors and executives. Utilities, including hospitals, schools, the army, and the police force, would be privatized. The social welfare function carried out by the state is instead carried out by corporations in the form of benefits to employees. Although corporate republics do not exist officially in the modern world, they are often used in works of fiction or political commentary as a warning of the perceived dangers of unbridled capitalism. In such works, they usually arise when a single, vastly powerful corporation deposes a weak government, over time or in a coup d'état.