Tuesday, October 17, 2017

Eddie's Auto (Blogophilia 34.10)

Eddie’s is gone. The place where wayward bound gearheads turned wrenches on hoopties. Gone to the whims of commercial development. Oh, it had to happen. After all, Eddie himself passed on to the great car show in the sky a few years ago. And the wives of would be mechanics and racers were relieved. You see, there’s no such thing as fun for the whole family, you know. 
We spent our weekends in friends’ carports, 12 packs and parts scattered next to our rusted out hulks. We pounded and cussed at cranky bolts. Screamed when flames erupted out of throttles. Car virgins getting their first hot oil baths were always good for laughs. It was a simpler time. There were no OBD codes to figure out. Engine bays had room to work. A universal joint elbow was rarely required to get to a key bolt. Stuff was done out of pure obsessiveness, some cosmetic, most mechanical. It was how you got to the top of the street pecking order cruisin’ down Roswell Road.
A lot of us got our start in one of Eddie’s six bays. He wasn’t much older than us, but he had track experience and enough smarts to know just how far to go. Some of us just wanted our beasts to run. Others wanted to run from the cops. The cops took notice, too. Soon Eddie had the contract for the North County precinct. And he kept it after the city incorporated, too. Multiple generations of Ford Interceptors and Dodge Monacos littered the parking lot, most too broken to resurrect. 
This guy:

Would have been right at home. 
If this sounds like a requiem mass...well it is. A eulogy to a youth well spent sucking up gasoline and exhaust. A remembrance of the small block Malibu with the two speed Powerglide, The rusted Olds 98 with the propeller in the trailer hitch, the Volvo 144 that would puke its innards every six months like clockwork and all the other four wheel conveyances that got me from point A to Point B. They never were sports cars. I was too practical minded for those. But I enjoyed working on them.
Today’s kids are missing out.
Topic-Dave Coon
Pic-David Schrader
Pic guesses- Hoopties (in blog), Gearhead (in blog), beasts (in blog), cruisin’ (in blog), sports cars (in blog), Little Red Corvette, Shiny, Metal Girlfriend, Shake Stand, Detroit Iron, Bat Out of Hell, Checkered Flag. Concours.

Saturday, October 14, 2017


I had a dream last night
A dream of you
Perfect in imperfection
Shelled with your scars 

Bonded, we snaked alongside
Each other
Giving, taking
And giving again.

I wondered if it were mutual
Through the ether
I find you were sleepless  
All night. 

Monday, October 9, 2017

Greater Fools (Blogophilia 33.10_

This is a post about fads and to what extent a fad market can explode. 
There is a show on Cartoon Network called “Rick and Morty, that involves a scientist and his grandson time traveling through history.” I’ve only seen a couple of episodes, but my sons think it is the most brilliant thing ever. Especially my younger one. He is also the entrepreneurial one, always on the latest trend. 
In a recent episode of the show, Rick and Morty transported back to 1998 to attend to a family matter. When he landed, he immediately went to McDonald’s. You see, this is when the movie Mulan was first released and Disney had a merchandising license with the company that included a Szechuan chicken dipping sauce (that also is tasty with duck). Rick called it the best sauce ever made. 
He took a huge number of packets back to his time machine to enjoy in the present time.
The fans of the show took notice. There was already a small collector market for the sauce and prices on Ebay went wild. So wild that McDonald’s re-released a very small batch to take advantage of the interest. My son tried get some to resell for a profit (he needs new tires on his truck), but it had all been spoken for. The company then released this status update: 
It is for the the best. Like all fad markets, the price of Szechuan sauce will continue to rise until the new batch gets released, or the fools find some other shiny bling to spend money on. The ones left holding the hot potato then get burned. It is a disaster that repeats itself over and over again. 
It is our choices that show us who we are. When a food condiment is more important than the victims of [insert your choice of disasters from the last three weeks], we need to take a long look in the mirror.
The image doesn’t look good.
Pic guesses: Duck, An obscene term not involving a duck, Dinner Guest, Gilbert Gottfried, Plucked, Roasted, Daffy in retirement, Marvin’s revenge, Duck Dodgers in the 24 1/2 Century, She doesn’t look Chinese, Pre Paté, Mallard’s rest. Gander,

Monday, October 2, 2017

About Last Night (Blogophilia 32.10)

A single beam of light found it’s away through the blinds and into her eye. Slowly, she stirred. Where was she? Legs cramping, the bed creaked as she shifted into a more comfortable position...
I wrote this log line yesterday as a story builder. I didn’t know the character’s name, how she got into this bed, or whether she was alone. I’ve handled characters like her before. Naive and vulnerable, it may have been her first time waking up in a strange place. The start of an adventure, either good or bad.
Opening the news feed this morning gave me a similar feeling. Where am I? Have I really fallen through the looking glass into a warped vision of humanity? Did one of my very darkest scenarios of all time actually come to pass? 
It’s 9:17 AM EST and the powder fog is lifting a bit. A man decided to declare war against his fellow man. The motives for his actions are unknown and honestly, do not matter. Early reports show he was a local of some means, well known in the casino community. No police contacts as far as anyone can tell. He used his Significant Other’s information to check into the Mandalay Bay Thursday afternoon without her knowledge (she was out of the country). Hotel management wasn’t concerned, since he was a regular customer that spent money. They gave him a room on the 32nd floor facing the open lot across Las Vegas Boulevard he requested. It gave him strategic advantage. 
He spent the next several days gathering the material for death, putting in time in the casino from time to time to keep the management happy and unaware. The motives for his actions are unknown. And now we wake to the aftermath of his party. There are at least 150 casualties, with 50 or so dead.
This isn’t the first time we’ve woken up in this bed. I doubt it will be the last. 
Forward, backward, inward, outward 
Come and join the chase!
Nothing could be drier 
Than a jolly caucus-race

Pic Guesses: Bon Bon, Lips, Oral fixation, Vulnerable, Ghost face. Three strands, Bejeweled,

Tuesday, September 26, 2017

Taking the Knee.

Everyone is in an uproar over sports "stars" kneeling during the National Anthem opening. It's the same as a Hooker saluting your flag before she sucks your wallet dry.

Only the NFL does it without lube or protection.

Monday, September 25, 2017

Dahlia's Game (Blogophilia 31.10)

Given the topics is Vintage Lies, Dahlia’s five truths game will work. The “vintage” part is most of these events take place before I got married (and boring).
  1. I was in a bar on a random Wednesday night. It was kind of slow, so I was able to get a seat next to this bald fellow chatting up a lady. Just after I gave my order, the lady excused herself and the man turned to me and asked for a light. It was Telly Savalas.
  2. After attending a club show, I was accosted by two blind men begging for money, one of them playing a banjo. It was Steve Martin and Martin Mull. The lambs looked out of place, but the street scene finds focus in their face.
  3. I took a college class with Jeff Foxworthy. He’s a lot smarter than he makes out.
  4. If you are familiar with the book “Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil”, I was acquainted with both Danny Hansford and his killer, Jim Williams at different times in my life.
  5. I played chess with Mark David Chapman. He was high every time we met and he smelled like clove cigarettes.
  6. I literally ran into Elton John and David Koresh in the frozen food aisle at Publix.
And that is it. The vile lie will be revealed on Saturday.
Topic-Dave Coon
Pic guesses: Sailing, Breath of Beauty, Columbus Day, Ketch, Mist, Ariel’s Revenge, Seascape, Above the Surf.

Monday, September 18, 2017

No Internet Blues (Blogophilia 30.10)

Hit it
This ain't no disco
It ain't no country club, either
This is the ATL

“All I want to do is watch a show before I die”
Says the man next to me out of nowhere
It's apropos of nothing
He says is name is Tyler, but I'm sure
He's Michael or Thom or Dave.
He's not even real to me
And I wonder if he's ever watched TV in his entire life.
We're drinking beer at four on a Sunday
In a dive in the Bible Belt South across from the fishin' pond
The good people heading to evening prayer
After Sunday dinner naps
Ready to sleep some more as the preacher drones
On whether marriage is the grave and tomb of wit
While they squirm in the hard pews,
Wishin' they were in the eternal flame.
After they go back to the blank screens
Where Xfinity and Uverse cut the cable
After the storm.

All I wanna do is watch TV
And all I see is a blank screen
Things I have seen
I can't see no more.
All I wanna do is watch TV
Until the sun comes up
Over Peachtree Industrial Boulevard

Pic Guesses: Crystal Flame, Eternal Flame, Fire and Ice, Frozen fire, Candle in the Wind, No light, Waxed,

Thursday, September 14, 2017

Escape to Spencer (Blogophilia 29.10)

Our topic this week is "Lost and Found". When said, most people think of this

Where bags go to die
Another way to think of it is what has been lost to society as time has progressed or regressed.
My wife Kathryn and I took a trip to the highlands of East Central Tennessee this past week and Fall Creek Falls State Park to escape the madness of the city. The original intent was to camp out and hike the falls. But further research discovered the Mountaineer Folk Festival, a large craft show, was being held two weeks earlier than we had originally planned. Kathryn wanted to go, so I moved our departure two weeks earlier to accommodate her (after all, if the wife isn't happy, no one is).
Because of the event, I found the park to be completely booked up for the weekend. The lady on the phone was great. She referred me to a local RV park called Mountain Glen. A couple of quick calls to the proprietor, Joyce, we were set to go.
The trip up was uneventful except for one thing. At least half of the plates going north with me on Wednesday on I-75 were the first wave of evacuees. As I looked at the Counties: Collier, Monroe, Lee, Dade... Hurricane Irma was cruising in the Caribbean and bearing down on Florida and folks were taking the storm seriously. Prayers for their save travels were silently raised. Many of them would be seeing loss in the coming days. 
It had been awhile since I had last visited this area north of Chattanooga. The mountains here are a bit different from the Appalachians further east. Instead of sharp peaks and narrow ravines going in all directions, there are parallel ridge lines a thousand feet or so high going north east to south west with wide green valleys between them. Within these are beautiful small farms and small towns to service them. 
About twenty miles before our destination, the road crossed one of the ridges. It was an engineering marvel, road bed cut out of the ancient granite bedrock, shear walls banking either side. As my car chugged slowly up the incline, we passed a sign saying ...

OK, I'll watch for that. Rock slides happen around here. Not 200 yards along was another sign...

You mean, like right now? As the thought passed, a pebble hit the roof of my car. I don't think I want to ride this road every day.
We got to the top.
The Campground was interesting. Sitting between two large pastures filled with horses, cattle, and sheep, it was originally designed for large RV's and trailers. The owner later added the tent sites, laying them along a small stock pond down the hill, giving us privacy from the big rigs.

Just another day at the office.
Instead of YouTube and Facebook, the night was filled with the call and response of crickets and frogs. The hoots of several types of owls echoed in the distance. Crows were our alarm clock. The only thing unpleasant was the occasional whiff of livestock (yeah, I know. The smell of money). Cellphone service was limited to the Wifi in the facilities' game room, where I thrashed everyone on the air hockey table. We'd get storm updates in the morning and evening, then go about the day. No other politics or world events intruded on this paradise. (What do you mean Equifax gave away my personal information to Russian hackers?!)
The weather was a little cooler than expected. The Wife spent most nights dressed up like an Eskimo and complaining of being cold. It didn't bother me at all. Isn't that what campfires are for? 
I was by myself the next day, since the wife doesn't hike. As I drove to the trail head (about 2 miles in from the park entrance), the forest changed from a fairly recent second growth with no under-story to a ancient spruce and cedar thicket blocking out the sun. A perfect place for witches and faeries. A fawn fed at the roadside near the parking lot, but scuttled off before I could get the picture. 
A steep, rocky trail leads down a shear slope to the base. The falls were magnificent. Quarried looking cliff faces, the result of millennia of water flow ran in a semi-circle around a small pool. Of course I had to go down there.

I have to climb back up?
Another trail in the other direction went behind the falls and ended on an tall narrow outcrop. The view was even better there, except I needed an extra dose of ibuprofen after I finished.
We returned the park the next day together to attend the fair. The craft vendors were all local and most very talented. A couple of things wanted to come home with me, but I resisted. I'm trying to reduce my clutter, even though they were cute. 
A real plus of our location was we were adjacent to a Mennonite community. It was a treat to see them in their bicycles and carriages.

White, simple two story houses dot the landscape. All were in good repair with neat yards. At one place, the proprietor was cutting brush using a drag cutter and draft horses. We stopped at several of their businesses to see their craftsmanship. There was a large nursery, a sorghum press and several metal working shops. The community center was a produce stand where fair faced women beamed from under bonnets, happy to see you. All seemed well in their world.
We passed one young man in his Sunday best walking down the road carrying a large flowering branch, maybe a rhododendron. Kathryn asked why he had the cutting. After thinking about it for a moment, it occurred to me the flower was for the girl (or her mother) he was courting. Beats bad pick up lines in the Ladies Room line, right?
Maybe that is what we have lost. A simpler time with simpler rules. For all of our rebelling and wanting "freedom" on the world on the far side of the fence, deep down we want to be the sheep in the pasture. We want to leave the horribleness of the world to a kindly shepherd who protects us, while we graze and wait for our time at the shearers and the slaughter, giving our all for the world at large.
Pic guesses-escape (in blog), far side of the fence (in blog), toxic, fear, private property, forgive my trespasses, smoke, On the fence, chain link, scaling

Monday, September 4, 2017

Summer (Blogophilia 28.10)

New season and another chance to suck at guessing...
But, that’s okay.
It’s all made up and the points don’t matter. Right?
Anyway, you want to know about my summer. I will say, compared to last year, it was complete snooze. No surgeries, cardiac scares or major job relocations were involved. I did start with a very rainy camping trip to the Pisgah National Forest in North Carolina, where I did get a couple of miles slogging through flooded trails between storms. But the campsite had a top notch shelter which kept the worst of the wet off us and the equipment. Mostly, Kathryn and I spent our days playing cards and hanging out. 
While we were up there, we stopped in Cherokee and spent a couple of hours in Harrah’s. You know those commercials that show the happy 30-somethings partying and winning? About that...All I saw were escapees from the nursing home puttering around on their mobility scooters, pulling the oxygen tubes away from their noses for “one last drag as they approached the stand.” I even heard one of them tell a croupier to sue him if he played too long. Yeah, I guess will be free and be who they want to be. 
The rest of the summer was just one day after another. No beach trips (she doesn’t like sand), or water sports. I did get several new trails under my belt. And that is better than the hospital any day.
But the fall kicks off with a trip up to Tennessee, where we will hit a couple of crafts fairs and at least one 10 mile hike. There is a slight chance we’ll slide up to Nashville for a day, but we’ll see. 
Looking forward to the next segment of the season.

Hard Prompt-In Honor of Walter Becker, A Steely Dan Lyric from Deacon Blues (One last drag as I approach the stand...)
Easy prompt- Cardiac
Pic Guesses- Habitiat, Water Park, path, lake life, on the water, obstacle course, beach, energy drain,

Wednesday, August 30, 2017

Pastorale (Blogophilia 27.10)

Steeds graze contently,
Watching us ride our race
Switching saddles in the diaphanous light
Filtering through leaves of gray
Crossroads of beginning and end.

Love is a temple, a higher law.
Did I disappoint you?
Bitter taste left in your mouth?
Or is the halter pulling
As I taste sweet hay?

Nay, a stallion I am not.
Just a plow horse furrowing the field
Sometimes, I wish to share a yoke
And a stall at vespers yield.

You see far pastures greener
Never more than a season, love
Share my hay and hold my foal
Let us receive the bounty from above.

Pic guesses: Steed (in blog), Plow (in blog), Saddle (in blog) race (in blog), gorgeous, mane, Stallion (in blog), happy
Lyric paraphrase is from One.

Wednesday, August 23, 2017

How to Win at the Lottery....

Read this...

Why It Is A Fools Game

Then fold up your money and put it back in your wallet.

You are now $2 ahead.

Simple, right?

Petty Revenge Division (Blogophilia 26.10)

In a nondescript office outside Minneapolis....
Good evening and thanks for choosing Devil’s Quill. My name is Nimrod. How may I help you? Your neighbor bought a new car and you are jealous? Yes, Sir, we have a number of petty revenge options, but may I ask why you are so upset about a car? Oh...I see. He invited your wife to ride, but not you...and you saw them get out a motel and you couldn’t resist looking in the window?... Acting like monkeys?... I see...I understand you are upset and want payback. But may I ask why you using our petty division and not one the stronger menus? Oh, the price. Yes, your immortal soul does sound rather dear. You are in luck, we have a name your price option for every one of our services. For example, we can raid their trysts with a gloomy conga of glum looking beauties, so ugly it will turn off the horniest of people... Then we have the “touch of grey” options that turns the couple old before their eyes. What’s that? you want to do what to them with a bunch of bananas? Oh, myyyy....Sir. pasty fruit sounds tempting even for me, but I’m not sure if I can find 30,000 lbs of them...I do need to let you know special orders do cost a first born son...He’s worthless, too? It looks like we have plan. Let me look at the schedule...Did you want to witness this or go with plausible deniability? The latter? Certainly. Besides the son, what do you think this is worth? The right arm? That does sound reasonable. As a bonus, you are eligible for our Gomorrah special, turning your wife into a pillar of salt for looking at no extra charge. I am so glad we could help you and good luck pursuing the underage redhead...Oh, we know ALL, Sir. Have a good night.

Wednesday, August 16, 2017

Charlottesville (Blogophilia 25.10)

What a field-day for the heat 
A thousand people in the street 
Singing songs and carrying signs 
Mostly say, hooray for our side -Stephen Stills 1966

I didn’t think I would live to see history repeat itself, but here we are. In 1968, we had the Chicago Democratic Convention riots, where the protestors (my older brothers and sisters) exerting their disgust over perceived corruption of the democratic process, meeting a shielded blue line designed, hopefully, to protect those in power. Over time, those in power proved they did indeed have clay feet and fell to the scorn of all.
This past weekend we had the next generation of those protestors come up against the latest iteration of the White Power movement, who ironically are angry over what THEY perceive is the corruption of the democratic process. One had a temper like the other’s jealousy, producing confrontation as Thesis met Antithesis and reacted. One decided to go to war, taking twenty or so casualties. As the reaction is still brewing, it will be a while before we learn the synthesis. Although, I expect it will cause more erosion in White Power’s very limited power base. 
Reaction is ugly. It shows the worst of people. The base desires on violent display as they grasp for resources and perceived power over others. The energy is misguided, since the ones with the power and resources are not the ones the other side is facing. The ones with the gold and power are thousands of miles away, playing a chess game and these groups are pawns. 
Me? I sit on the sidelines, refusing to be pulled down the rabbit hole. My energy is much too valuable to waste on those arguments. When I’m gone, the next generation will do the same thing. It is like a perpetual motion clock. Confrontation and enmity are elephants who never forget. 
But I can divert it with some puppy love, right?

Pic guesses: Grotto, Swimming Hole, Hideaway, afternoon off, striped, skinny dip, cooling off.

Thursday, August 10, 2017

A Vulgar and Accurate Analysis.

This Analysis breaks down the current missile situation well. Two rich boys showing off their boners and threatening to fuck the world without lube.

Don't expect to cum before they do.

I heard him referred to as Dolt .45 today. I can accept that. 

Tuesday, August 8, 2017

Urban Hiking (Blogophilia 24.10)

I was looking at the prompts this week and I thought about doing a WOFT segment, with Harry doing a Surf Music retrospective with the Ventures. But Christine Wichman, beat me to the punch. And really, there wasn’t anything Harry hadn’t covered before out there to work with. 
I briefly considered a Devil’s Quill bit, using the “devil’s music” to draw the suckers in, but that didn’t really fly, either. 
Then it occurred to me, Walk, Don’t Run perfectly sums up my fitness protocol. Due to a minor electrical/valve defect, I can’t run more than half a mile before my heart hits 200 beats per minute. But if I keep the speed to less than 4 mph (a good power walk pace), I can go all day long. And for us...uh, older...folks, it is much less stressful on the joints. 
Do I do this in a gym? No. Those are meet markets down the street, where the boys and girls watch each other eat, when they only want to watch each other sleep. I’d like my scenery to change as I go. Hence my hobby of Urban Hiking. For the cost of the occasional park fee, I get a wide variety of views. 
Atlanta has many options for the hiker. From more traditional forest hikes, (Chattahoochee River Trails, Kennesaw Mountain), to Historic Civil Rights trips (The King Center and The Carter Center are about 2 miles apart), to architecture sightings, the combination of hills, ground and pavement will keep you interested. 
Last week, I tried a new place, South Peachtree Creek trail. At 2.2 miles, it is a moderate level trail running along both sides of a rail right-away near the Emory University campus, not far from my house. It has only been open about a year or so. The trail head was next to a set of tennis courts where a guy was channeling his inner John McEnroe, which made the first 1/4 mile kind of annoying.

A large part of the trail uses boardwalk due to the terrain and in some areas, it appears you are walking along the treetops looking down at the under-story along the creek.

There is a side trail where an abandoned pump house has been tagged by “artists”.

The remains of their tagging party was sadly apparent. Often, I carry a garbage bag to pack out trash, but I didn’t have one with me on this trip. It’s part of being a trail angel and the karma is often returned. 
As with most trails here in town, you run into random art. It makes for a nice touch.

I will be returning to this trail again in the near future. There are a couple of more side trails needing to be looked at. 
So, how about you? How do you get your exercise in? Are you a goal achiever or do you prefer to smell the roses as you go along?
Pic Guesses: In the Clouds, Alone, Lonely Boy, Apart, Distance, Solo,

Tuesday, August 1, 2017

Window Shopping (Blogophilia 23.10)

All legs, no chin
Limp locks dripping on thin shoulders
Gazing through the glass
At the blue frock
Trying faces
Some of satin, some of steel

Thin lips reflect her doubt
Damp wings bent
Out of the chrysalis
Is she ready to fly?

Not a person yet
A stranger comes along
Waiting to take her into the wildfire
Of life.
Pic guesses: Bent (in blog) Damp Wings (in blog) Earthbound Misfit, Fallen angel, Flightless, Chrysalis (in blog), Fly Away.

Tuesday, July 25, 2017

Trouble at The Big Dog Garage (Blogophilia 22.10)

It is a rainy morning at the Big Dog Garage. Jay is at his desk in the shop, looking troubled. Revenue is down and hard decisions are being made...
"Oh, yeah. Oldsmobile Toranado. Roll on in here."
"You need to do something about that suspension. Anyway, the reason I called you here is I've run into a little bit of a money problem and it is causing me to look at my cars."
"YouTube channel ratings are down and CNBC might be dropping us. Times change, you know. It sucks. Mavis and I, we're aren’t getting any younger and I lost one of the mechanics last year. All of us the garage sat down and we had a long discussion over you guys."
[Water begins to leak from the washer]
"You figured it out, huh? It isn't that you haven't been a fun ride over the years. You're comfortable and stylish and you love the night life. We had a blast when we first finished you. you, running hard over the hills in Malibu. Then you had that trouble in town...
You’re keeping your demons down with that big assed engine we put in. Antics like that don’t project the image Big Dog Garage needs right now. As much as I hate it, we are laying you off." 
[Water is now flowing freely across the windshield]
"Paul! Can you bring a squeegee?"
[A detailing crew cleans up the mess]
"Don't be afraid. Our fate can't be taken from us. Anyway, A flatbed will be coming in about an hour. Put your manuals in the trunk and be ready for it."
"Look, I know you're upset. Maybe if I throw in a case of beer?"
"Wait... Don't take this so..."

"At least one is dead and multiple cars destroyed are in a freak accident at the Big Dog Garage in Burbank today. KTLA 5 is on the scene gathering details and we'll have full report at 11."

Wednesday, July 12, 2017

The Amaryllis (Blogophilia 20.10)

Amaryllis in crystal vase
A box of the finest chocolates
Secret admirer thinks he’s being clever

It isn’t 1920
A girl must always be on guard
A couple of clicks I see it is him.

He thinks he’s the knight in shining armor,
A vassal attached to a kingly land.
All I see is a mousy coward.
Not worthy of my feet, much less my hand.

Oh, I suppose it is rather sweet.
And, Lord knows I’m no fair lass.
But this is third time this week
My sail isn’t going up the mast.

Pic guesses: Beatrix Potter, Fluffy, lop ears, bugs, furball, Fatal Attraction,

Saturday, July 8, 2017

Another Drunk Entertainment Type

Another Drunk Entertainment Type.

So, today's clay feet belong to Shia LeBoeuf.

Old Beefy got marinated on River Street in Savannah and managed to make enough of an ass out of himself to get checked into jail.

Sadly this isn't his first rodeo. Reality is slapping him hard this time, though.

I hope he wakes up.

But, if he doesn't, Bonaventure Cemetery has a plot waiting. 

Tuesday, July 4, 2017

Cy Timmons - Nowhere

We're on the Soul Train (Blogophilia 20.10)

Hey, Heidy and Howdy! Harry Handy, is back on the air! So, how are you, Geritol Generation? Get that iron up, cause we're going to get down here at The Fart. I'm channeling Don Cornelius this week and giving proper respect to those artists rocking our world.

That's right we are discovering the soul of SOUL. Put the daisy chains and hibiscus in your hair (the purple offsets the gray wonderfully), and enjoy the ride.

I can say without a doubt, if it hadn't been for that music, I'd never be on the radio. Most kids my age listened to the ball games. I listened to the likes of Alley Pat and Night Train Lane. And the music they played! I got caught with the earphone through my shirt because I kept dancing in my seat. And I watch Soul Train over American Bandstand because Don was cool and Dick was not. Since I could play or sing, I played the ones who could and the rest is history.

You can't start a show like this without going to the deepest roots of the music.

Ms. Holiday is not normally thought of as a Soul Singer. But most top notch artists borrowed heavily from her style. The world was always on fire and she was going to go up with the flames. You want to join her in that cocktail and hope things would get better (which they usually wouldn't)

It wasn't long before others picked up the mantle (and wore it).

And shout about it.

The Summer of Love kept the party rolling, expanding the sound all over the world. 

Hit after another hit, we kept listen (and hopefully, learning)

In the 1970's, the songs evolved, but they were still about chasing (and winning) the ladies...

I wonder how many children were conceived to that?

Some took it in a different direction:

The influence began seep over into mainstream music

And so on. Even today, in the homogenized world of mainstream music, Soul still is sampled as an ingredient in your daily recommended dose of sound.

But it isn't the same as the real thing...

For our sponsors Geritol and Ben Gay, this is Harry Handy signing off.


Topic (Discovering Soul) Jay Sole

Pic-Christine Wichman

Pic guesses: Primrose Path, Arbor, Shady Lane, Wisteria,  Garden, Tunnel of love,

Tuesday, June 27, 2017

Black Satin (Blogophilia 18.10)

It is in all caps
Not the first, not the last
Not my monkey or hers
Knowing our own darkness
Faded memories of demons long past,
Still haunt

Tattooed Alice falling
Into a Dali landscape
Where up is left
And down leads to another dimension.

Blood is its avatar, its seal
Scarlet stains upon the face
A solid mass of contusions
Pale, faded roses on the black satin bier

Screen shout drawing the usual suspects
The “heroes”, The vampires
Agendas working against each other
Struggling against another iteration
Of power and subjugation
In a tango where both lead.
Poe paraphrase: Blood was its Avatar and its seal -- the redness and the horror of blood. There were sharp pains, and sudden dizziness, and then profuse bleeding at the pores, with dissolution. The scarlet stains upon the body and especially upon the face of the victim, -Masque of the Red Death
Pic Guesses: Pale Rose (in blog), Black satin (in blog), Faded, Mourning, Vampire (in blog), pastel,

Wednesday, June 21, 2017

Girl (Blogophilia 17.10)

Not really attractive
Mom hips, no tits
Bottle blonde
Over coke bottle glasses
Too much make up
Hiding broken promises
Scars real and not

Selling again
Never say never
Something lasting
Bull to her Bud
Riding into the sunset

Topic (Never say never)-Kim Herndon
Pic guesses-Intertwined (in blog), Hearts in the sky, sky writing, Interlocking, Blue sky, Proposal, Love,

Wednesday, June 14, 2017

Oz in Wonderland (Blogophilia 16.10)

A woman in ruby red shoes
Out of place on the porch
Blue smock and white pinafore
Clutching a rabbits foot
Older than the hills, younger than a baby
Her story is to behold

Long ago In a wheat field
The storm blew, lifting her gingham skirts
High above the rainbow
A yellow brick road in the distance

But it was not to be
The slide formed
Past the pot o'gold she went.

Landing with a bump
On top of a blonde haired girl.

"Oh, excuse me.
She said, lending a hand
Who are you?"
Brushing the dust
"Alice. " She replied
"I'm hunting rabbit
And, you?"
I'm running from an old maid."

Alice frowned
"Well, before you rudely dropped in
Honey Bunny went left."
Curious, Dorothy asked
"Is it true what they say?"
Alice smirked
"Much more to the story
Than officially told.
I wasn't so innocent
I was so bold.
Peeking in the looking glass, I saw the tail
I had to have him
Leaning in, I fell like a second story man
Down the tunnel I went
Out in the field
Soon I caught him,
But he turned the tables on me.
Tea and smoke
Donning fezzes from the hatter like Zoroastrian holy men
We found ourselves praying to Mazda on top of the Jabberwock
Nibbling on out bits until I saw spots.
We sang in joy
As the crowd looked on
Fez and fuzz became one as sleep came
When I came to
He was gone.
I was so blue"

As Alice finished, Dorothy smiled
She knew just what to do.
Pulling the blonde close, she found the Fez
Alice, she found the shoes
The rest was a blur
Fuzz and fez came apart
Replaced by courage, heart and brains
And a new rainbow raising them home

Dorothy smiles at the memory
It was the best night of their lives
She looks now over the Kansas prairie
While Alice cooks rabbit stew.

Pic guesses: Second story man (in blog), Looked on (in blog), Peeping toms, Peekaboo, Long drink of water, wildlife, spotted, Leaning in (in blog), Peeking (in blog), Zoo,

Friday, June 9, 2017

Road Trip (Blogophilia 15.10)

“Mommy. Are we there, yet?” The voice had just a bit of a whine to it.
“Not yet. We still have a little bit to go.”
Kathy reached into the bag at her feet. Out came a bottle of water. She offered it to Emily.
Brushing a fly off the pale arm, the little girl replied, “No, thanks.”
Kathy opened it up and took a swallow, then offered it to Jimmy behind the wheel, who finished it in one long glug.
Emily looked out the window. These country roads were boring. Miles and miles of grass fields with cows here and there. Some of them had ponies, but even then they just stood and ate. They probably pooped, too. But the car was moving too fast to see that. It also meant they couldn’t smell it, either. Good. She remembered the school field trip to the zoo. It stunk bad. Cows and ponies probably smell bad, too.
Around a curve, an abandoned log cabin stood next to the road. The windows were all broken and the door was missing, which made it look like had a face. It looked so cool. It felt like it was talking to her.
“Ooh, look at that old house, Daddy. Can we stop and see it?”
Jimmy was irritated. “No, Honey.” He said. “Aunt Pam is fixing dinner and we don’t want to be late.”
“Oh, O.K.” She knew not to say anything else.
What was the house’s story, she wondered? Everything had one. You just had to look to see what it was. Was it like the Gingerbread House where the old witch was waiting for kids to turn into sweets? She liked sweets, but she didn’t want to be one. Or was it like Red Riding Hood’s Granma’s house, with a wolf to eat you up? That would hurt. She thought about asking again to go back, but that would only make Daddy mad.
On the seat next to hers was a lined tablet. There was a piece of sticky tape on the top of it and Mommy put a pencil there. Drawing was fun when there was nothing else to do. A sketch of a house with a hole in the roof soon appeared. She added a cow, a horse and a stick girl at the door. She couldn’t put in the red hair, though. The crayons were packed in trunk for when they got to Aunt Pam’s. Coloring would have to wait until they got there. The eyes became so heavy.
The pony’s fiery mane matched her own. The green t-shirt and polka dot short was replaced by a long white dress, like a princess would wear. Galloping across the golden meadow, the old cabin was perched on the ridge above her. It looked lonely and lost. With a light tug, the pony stopped at the steps of the porch. Standing still for a moment, a smile grew from ear to ear for she could hear the spirit breathing inside. With a turn, she dismounted and came up to the first stair.
“Mr. House, may I please come in?”
There was a faint rumble, wind in the broken glass.
“Who wishes to disturb my slumber?”
She stepped back, almost tripping over the hem of her skirt.
“My name is Emily. I saw you from across the field and wondered what your story was.”
A chuckle like sound came from the doorway.
“My story? Little girl, a few times I have been around that track. I have no story. A man built me some moons ago. It took him a season and a phase to finish. The spirits of six trees make my walls and floors. All of them cut from across the field from which you came. The Man took care to form me and make me tight against the rain. After he was finished, he brought a wife and they raised three red haired little girls.
This revelation delighted her.
“Like me?”
The porch almost smiled.
“Yes, very much like you. It is serendipity you have arrived and blessed me with your company. They were such sweet things, playing games here on my porch, then following their Mommy down into the field to feed the cows. And, yes, they do poop. But I never thought it was that bad. It kept the grass fed.”
The little girl giggled.
“In time they each grew to be as beautiful as the wife. Younger men came and claimed them for their wives one by one, and I would weep at their leaving. I kept hope they would bring their own children to play on my porch. But, alas, they never did return. It wasn’t long after the youngest left the Man and Wife took ill and died. Do you know what died means, Little One?”
Emily became thoughtful and silent for a moment.
“Kind of like when Granny, my Daddy’s mommy, went away?”
“Yes, like that. I have been alone since. Some of the neighbors say the Man and Wife are still in here in spirit, as ghosts. How I wish. Even when they fussed, it was a lovely sound. It’s lonely here. A few people have come by. But only to be mean by scratching my walls and breaking my walls. You don’t look like that kind.”
“No. My Mommy and Daddy told me to be kind to everyone, even they aren’t kind to you. They said it was a seed that would grow as long as you tended it.”
“That is a good lesson. Remember it...”
“Sweetie, wake up. We’re here.” Daddy kissed her forehead. “Was it a nice nap?
Emily rubbed her eyes.
“Yes, Daddy. It was. The Old House did have a story. It was built long ago...”
“Hold on to that thought, Honey, and you can tell me after we eat. I can smell the barbecue from here.
Topic (Country Roads)-Kim Herndon
Pic guesses: Golden meadow (in blog), field (in blog), lost (in blog), roll in the hay, grass (in blog), harvest, homestead, house

Thursday, June 1, 2017

Atlanta Traffic (Blogophilia 14.10)

The topic this week is “So many road blocks
OK, that naturally bleeds into one of favorite topics, Atlanta roads. Oh, this town is special. Not many places can claim their expressways catch fire and burn to the ground.

Add one homeless dude, a rolling molotov cocktail and improperly stored pipe and this is what you get.
This is just the latest of the fun. 
3 major interstates intersect just south of the state capitol,and they are under construction, all of the time, 24/7. Orange barrels and “temporary” barriers as far as the eye can see. And not just inside the city, but for a 50 mile radius. Because of this experience in constant concrete, the road above was rebuilt in 44 days (the cost hasn’t been fully revealed). You spend your commute time staring at the bumper before you and hope the one behind is paying attention. Nothing worse than being part of the four car insurance seminar blocking traffic.
Then you have I-285 (also known as the Perimeter), which acts as the de facto castle wall to area. 8-12 lanes of asphalt with two speeds, parking lot and 100 mph. Places are described as “Inside” (ITP) or “Outside” (OTP), depending on which side of the wall you are on. You can guess where the snobs are. 
There isn’t neatly laid out street grid, like other cities. That would have been too easy. The road network is best described as a spiderweb laid out by Dali and painted by Picasso. The spider as an artist has never been employed, really. Roads, originally Native trading trails, radiate out from an intersection known as “Five Points” following hill ridge lines, with very little cross connection. Street names change with no rhyme or reason and dead end at railroad tracks. Panhandlers are at every corner, tapping tin cans to get your attention. 
The best known joke about the city is Peachtree. Yes, there ARE 28 different streets with the word in the name. Some of them run parallel, while others are cross streets. They go north, south, east and west. It’s better to use the Waffle House method to give directions (go to the corner with the WH and turn left, then pass two more and turn right...). Or, if you are in the Northwest suburbs, use this to guide you.
The only chicken you can see from space.
(Maybe we should be called “The Chicken City”. You can have your chicken sandwich Political (Chik-Fil-A), Historical (Paschal’s), Old Fashioned (The Colonnade), or just normal (Zaxby’s), the whole town runs on fast food and soft drinks.)
You would think this chaos would drive people away. But people seem to make money here.
And in this world, it is what counts.

Topic-Dahlia Ramone
Pic guesses: Dali (in blog), on the wall, Sound of Silence, Cartoon, Warhol, surreal, contrast,