What the hell's going on here?

What the hell is going on here? I've been away for months, nay, years and nothing's changed.  Old friends are still around.  The place looks and feels the same.  Am I caught up in some kind of time warp?  Or, is it a chronosynclastic infundibulum?  That's it! It must be! What else could explain Donald Trump?

Sunday sunrise walk in my hometown.

I Hear Them All

A song for our times...

The Coolist Thing You Will See All Day

Post by Siakap Keli.

For Men Only

Those of you who have visited my blog for a while know that now and then Mr. C comes across some information for you men that must be shared.  Sometimes this information is frivolous, just having fun, sometimes not.  This is one of those not frivolous things but information that can change your life, for the better, of course.  So, take heed men and don't say I didn't tell you so.  (Not sure why the dude has to wear a gun for this. Maybe he's spent a lot of time in the "No Go Zone")

Stuff For Eggheads

These are the 10 winners of last year's Bulwer-Lytton contest
(run by the English Dept of San Jose State University),wherein one writes only the first line of a bad novel.

10) "As a scientist, Throckmorton knew that if he were ever to break wind in the echo chamber he would never hear the end of it."

9) "Just beyond the Narrows the river widens."

8) "With a curvaceous figure that Venus would have envied, a tanned, unblemished oval face framed with lustrous thick brown hair, deep azure-blue eyes fringed with long black lashes, perfect teeth that vied for competition, and a small straight nose, Marilee had a beauty that defied description."

7) "Andre, a simple peasant, had only one thing on his mind as he crept along the East wall: 'Andre creep... Andre creep...Andre creep.'"

6) "Stanislaus Smedley, a man always on the cutting edge of narcissism, was about to give his body and soul to a back alley sex-change surgeon to become the woman he loved."

5) "Although Sarah had an abnormal fear of mice, it did not keep her from seeking out a living at a local pet store."

4) "Stanley looked quite bored and somewhat detached, but then penguins often do."

3) "Like an over-ripe beefsteak tomato rimmed with cottage cheese, the corpulent remains of Santa Claus lay dead on the hotel floor."

2) "Mike Hardware was the kind of private eye who didn't know the meaning of the word 'fear'; a man who could laugh in the face of danger and spit in the eye of death -- in short, a moron with suicidal tendencies."

AND THE WINNER IS...

1) "The sun oozed over the horizon, shoved! aside darkness, crept along the greensward, and, with sickly fingers, pushed through the castle window, revealing the pillaged princess, hand at throat, crown asunder, gaping in frenzied horror at the sated, sodden amphibian lying beside her, disbelieving the magnitude of the frog's deception, screaming madly, 'You lied!'"

Casey Kasem's Body Missing... WTF?

Is this whole world bat shit crazy?  Beloved disc jock Casey Kasem, (never could stand the weird little ferret myself)  who kicked the bucket about a month ago, is missing.

My initial reaction... so what?  But then I thought, why the hell would anybody want Casey Kasem's body?  Turns out this whole thing is about the wife hiding the body from the daughter because one wants to bury him the other wants to burn him.  I say burn all three of them and improve the gene pool.

I am 70 years old and am still amazed daily by the depths of depravity and outright... I can't think of a word to describe the unbelievable greed and selfishness that comprises human behavior these days.  Can anyone help me out?

Pretty Much Sums It Up

Too Much Fun!

I feel bad that I've abandoned my blogosphere family... but not that bad, 'cause the reason is, I've just been having too much fun.  It's not right for old folks to be having this much fun, and I don't trust it.  I can smell trouble hidin' just behind that tree.  But I'm going to enjoy it while it lasts.

Got a call from my X a couple of weeks ago (we're still friends) wondering if I would be interested in traveling up to Nashville to catch the Dave Rawlings Machine at the Ryman Theatre.  It took me all of about two minutes to think it through and cry out... hell yes!  Every country boy has to make a pilgrimage to the Ryman at least once in their lifetimes and I can hardly think of a better reason.

On the way up we spent the night at a cozy little Inn in Chattanooga, the Sky View Bavarian Inn, an older, super clean and affordable place about halfway up Lookout Mountain.

Sunrise as seen from our room.  We spent the morning on the mountain checking out Civil War history.  A huge battle was fought for Chattanooga, a vital rail center.  Thousands of men died here.  The very somber feeling of walking on hallowed ground.

That afternoon we moseyed north towards Nashville where we would spend a couple of days with my brother-in-law and see the sights.  Along the way we stopped at a nice little state park, Old Stone Fort, where there were beautiful little waterfalls and wooded trails.  

Mr. Charleston at the Mother Church awaiting the show.  As you can see, we barely made it inside as the show was sold-out.  As it turned out, we were lucky to get padded folding chairs, the rest of the seating is butt-numbing hardwood church pews.  I can't say enough about the quality of the music and the experience.  A sample below.  When the band played Led Zepplin's "Going to California", the crowd finally figured out who the John Paul Jones playing mandolin that was introduced several times during the evening actually was!  Yes!



 Nashville is one of my favorite American cities.  A really fun and pretty city.  On the way home we over-nighted in Atlanta to catch an old friend, Seth Walker, at the infamous Eddie's Attic.  Seth killed it to a sold-out house.





If you ever go to Atlanta, a must do is the Atlanta Botanical Gardens.  Fabulous.  Spent twice as much time there than we had planned.

Finally, 4th of July (Independence Day) weekend and my musical partner in crime and I played our first public performance.  Had a blast and the (very biased) audience (mostly my family) seemed to like it just fine.

All-in-all, a pretty darned good vacation/holiday break.  Now you know what's been keeping me busy lately.

To Friend or Not To Friend

I frequently get friend requests on Facebook from people I don't know. Of course, we have 6 degrees of friends in common but still, I've never personally met this person that I can remember, and see no reason to clutter my wall with their stuff and could care less about playing "he who has the most friends wins" and have always somewhat looked down on those who play that game.

(The blog game is played the same way and when I initially got into blogging the object was to go out and "follow" as many people as possible because, obviously, the larger your following the better your blog, right?)

But, then I noticed that I have 143 Facebook "friends" and I asked myself, do you really know that many people? How many of these friends actually know you by name when they see you? So, I decided to wade through them to find out and was somewhat surprised to see that all but about 6-8 of my friends I know personally, by name. Throw in all of the people in my life who are not Facebook friends and wow, you've got a village, and I don't think of myself as a particularly popular guy. 

Don't really know where this is going except to observe that knowing this many people is a dynamic new to human kind and I wonder about the ramifications.

So You Think You're Smart

Think you're smart?  OK, explain this.

Post by haberinbizden.com.

But Miss, I Hardly Know You

Last week I went to my local bank ATM to get a little cash and when I entered my PIN a message flashed on the screen... "Happy Birthday Charleston."  I have to say that I was taken aback, and somewhat miffed, that I would get such a personal message from a machine that I hardly knew.

Of course, I know that it's Mr. Fargo's way of trying to make my banking experience pleasant and to let me know that I'm a person and not just a number.  And I also know that the bank has more information about me than the government but somehow, I couldn't shake the feeling that my privacy has been invaded and visions of Big Brother swam through my head.  Orwell was right, just a half-century too soon.

What's next?  "Mr. Charleston, your account is $0.34 from being overdrawn.  Please make a deposit (cash) or you are in danger of being charged a $38.13 overdraft fee, $2.00 processing fee, and 29.9% interest.  We hope you enjoy your Wells Fargo banking experience."  I'm already receiving obnoxious texts from AT&T reminding me that my account is about to be charged $42 for my phone and to please be sure there is enough cash to cover it.

The troubling thing is, this whole rush to "personalize" your e-experience has become the biggest driver of the dumbing-down of America.  Anywhere you go on the internet you are bombarded with ads from web sites you have recently visited, inane trash-TV proliferates, and organizations like Fox News learned long ago that it is far more profitable to pay raving lunatics like Glen Beck a million bucks to say what people want to hear than to operate a legitimate news organization.

The net result is, in this Information Age, where we have access to more knowledge and information than anyone, anytime in history, we are being enclosed by fewer and fewer choices and the focus has become so narrow and self-centered that people lead encapsulated lives to the point of being unaware and unconcerned about what happens outside of their personal little media bubbles.

It's a trap difficult to escape and particularly so for our youth, who have become so addicted that some believe carrying a gun to school and killing people is just another reality game.

I don't know the answer, but I fear for the future.

To Too or Not To Tatt

Mostly, I don't like tattoos.  They're ugly at any age and butt-ugly in old age.  I kinda like the discreet little butterfly type in hidden places but even most of those have the artistic value of a slug.  Now, along comes a new age of tattoo art that might, might I say, make me change my mind.

Of course, then there are those that are beautiful on every level.  A breast cancer survivor.

And, like everything else, there are those that go too far.

I guess it takes all kinds of folks to make up this world.  Thank goodness no one is posting pictures of me!

There But For Fortune

I've been on a house cleaning kick lately.  Not my domicile, but my computer.  I've got thousands of images that I tucked away for that "someday" when I'll take them all out, dust them off and create the world's next great photo exhibit.

I've been ruthless, slashing and burning my way through them, after all, I have worked as a press photographer and know that, at best, only one image in ten is worth keeping, and that was in the film days.  With digital, probably one image in one hundred.

But, once in a while, I run across one that stops me in my tracks and makes me think.

One of those "gotta do something" kind of posts

It was so easy to be absent.  To be in a place where I didn't think about "maintaining" a blog.  But now that I have begun to post again, I again find that one begets another until one sits in front of me for so long that it begins nagging me for attention.

So, here I sit, keyboard in hand, without a damned thing to say.  Oh, I've run across some interesting things over the past few days but none of them cried out to be shared with the world or, if they did, they were shared on Facebook which seems to be my communication of preference lately.  It didn't begin that way.  It began with the entirely practical way of communicating with fellow musicians whilst constructing a St. Patrick's Day performance across three states.

We could create a "group" and message each other everything from lyrics, chords and set lists to audio file links.  What a tremendously useful tool.  But now that the gig is over it has become a way to keep in touch with friends and happenings and what they had for breakfast, political opinions, lost dogs, right here, right now, family photos and God knows what other useless information.

So the blog languishes.  It isn't "immediate" enough.  It doesn't communicate with personal friends but with friends flung far and wide, most of whom I will never meet.  But still, it beckons, the last stale post staring out at me.  Shaming me.  So here I am blathering about nothing.

But, before you start off on your own rant about Facebook let me hasten to say that, were it not for Facebook, I wouldn't have known about or attended one of the most magical events of my recent life, a house concert in Palm Valley, Florida with Mamajowali.  Soft Florida summer night, palm trees, Live oaks, Spanish moss, full moon, wonderful people and vibes and music that put a smile on my face for weeks.

Yeah, I think life is good.

That's me in the blue shirt jamming with friends and the great Joe Craven (in the hat).

 

OK, I'll bite. What the hell is Food Shaming?

Has this world gone totally crazy?  Or, maybe I have become a crotchety old man with no imagination.  Either way, it's ugly.

While typing this it occurred to me that maybe a lot of this sophomoric cultural nonsense that seems to be as pervasive as dirt these days is happening because, finally, we really have seen and done it all and the only thing unique left to explore is to drill down to the lowest level of human thought and maybe when these "artists" and their pop-culture media lemmings finally reach rock bottom it'll turn around and we can once again pursue and celebrate mankind's highest achievements.

Anyhow, what started all of this was an article I read of an artist who illustrates the phenomenon of food shaming, whatever the hell that is.  Here's the link:  Food Shaming 

Eastern Culture on the Skids

The Japanese are at it again.  First, masturbation contests and now this.

This about says it all

This about says it all about what I've been doing lately.  The old man staying out of trouble on a rainy Saturday morning.

I'm Not Dead Yet

My humblest apologies for being absent without leave.  Been really busy with my musical friends putting a band together.  I'll be back.

 

Old Goats and Wooden Boats

I believe I'm allergic to South Florida.  Every time I'm down there it doesn't take long for me to start itching to get the heck out of there.  This past weekend I figured out what it is that starts me to itching.  It's because every single person there... looks like me!

It truly is God's waiting room, especially this time of year when all of the snow birds are still there.  Oh, the people are pleasant enough.  Almost too pleasant.  I find that's a trait that I myself have become guilty of lately.  Well, maybe not, at least not to that degree.  But you know, at least some of you know how it goes when you reach an age to where you truly don't give a damn about the petty troubles of this world because you have finally come to a point to where you realize that there ain't one dang thing you can do about any of it and there aren't enough years left to do it anyway.  So... why worry?  Be happy.

What got this started was a weekend get-a-way down to Tavares, Florida to meet my old buddy Punch and a visit to the Sunnyland Antique Boat Show.  It seemed as good an excuse as any for getting out of town for a weekend adventure.

Found a nice old-Florida motel.  Pretty dog-eared but clean and operated by (who else?) an Indian couple named (what else?) Patel.  Suited our retro-weekend perfectly.  Although, I do wish they could find bath towels larger than diapers.

Saturday dawned cool and rainy but we got to the show before it really opened up later that afternoon.  I was really intrigued by these hand-made canoes and outboard boats.  They were beautiful but one of these babies, bare bones, will set you back about $3,600.  I suppose that's not so bad, all things considered.

Lots of beautiful old woody's.  They really are grand.

Did I mention there were boats?  Lots of boats.  Old boats...

... and new boats...

.. and whew boats...

... and rhythm and blues boats...

... and places to party...

...and stuff to look at...

... and stuff to buy...

...and a geezer orchestra on Friday night that laid down some fine big band swing.

... and a geezer rock band the next night that laid down some fine boogy and one of the best cover's of Sweet Etta's "At Last" that I have ever heard...

... and an old steam train that carries old people around in a big circle.  These folks were patiently waiting for the next train, scheduled to arrive in one hour.  See what I mean?

All-in-all a pretty fine weekend and well recommended.  As a plus, the nearby town of Mt. Dora is really a beautiful little tourist destination with all of the accompanying restaurants, boutiques and antique malls you would expect.

However, be that as it may, by Sunday morning I began to itch, and headed north to the comfortable confines of Baja Georgia.  I was so pleased to see a youngster that I didn't even mind that he gave me the finger in traffic.  How sweet it is.

The Geezers are Coming, the Geezers are Coming