Friday, September 30, 2005

Just How Toddling a Town IS Chicago?

href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/15728053@N00/47601654/" title="Photo Sharing">Andy MartelloGonna be gone for a LONG weekend. I'll be posting again around next Wednesday, I should imagine. Going to Chicago for Cathy's Birthday Andy Martello of Andyland will meet us after we see











BlueManGroup Blue Man Group and will show us around his favorite zoo the following day. I'm gonna see if he can juggle something unusual. Like cotton candy. Or Bison turds.

Speaking of wild life. I no sooner posted my squid inspired lyric (see yesterday's post) and a news story broke with pictures of the first LIVE giant squid ever photographed. Maybe I should have written a straight out squid song.








Giant Blue Squid


She said, You have the id of a squid
About that I do not kid
Hey, put that thing away
Before I carve a new filet


Uh, never mind.

Anybody else out there within a day trip of Chicago? Love to meet up. Leave a cell number on my Contact link.

UPDTE--REGARDING THE EMERGENCY POST JUST BELOW THIS ONE. THE BOY HAS BEEN FOUND!.

posted by Bud @ 5:04 AM
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Thursday, September 29, 2005

EMERGENCY!!

Jordan Child Missing!


Please go to Kim's blog right now and read it for details. Post the link to everybody you know. Click here.

posted by Bud @ 5:44 PM
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Wednesday, September 28, 2005

The Id of Squid

GiantSquid1
I'm just guessing. I'm no biologist. I do believe in the Darwin theory. And it leads me to believe that female giant squid set up the ultimate test of whether or not a potential mate is worthy of breeding. This tends to propagate the strongest of the species. It boggles the mind to imagine what the human gene pool would be like if it were more difficult to mate. If no-contact insemination with the force of a fire hose is no guarantee of fertilization, what would humans do to score? None of this makes any sense unless you click that giant squid link above.

And look, if you're a religious spammer and you're reading this, just go away. Or I'll put out a contract on you with a horny giant squid. And they are proven to have no preference as to your sexual orientation or concern for your homophobia. I am unsavable. My readers will seek their own salvation. So just please go pray for somebody who gives a flying, uh, fish.

Once again, there will be no lyric coming from this thought that is in any way recognizable as a squids having sex song. I'm hunting for love themes here, not an x-rated Wild Kingdom theme song. This story of untouchable love that can be misdirected lends itself to several themes, I guess. And although "squid schlong" may rhyme with "big thong, I'm not going there. I think the simplest way to go is the Hard To Get theme. So I'd start there until a better idea comes along:

Hard To Get
I could burst and pour myself all over you
But I can't get near you, you won't let me touch
I thirst and roar, spread myself out for you
You churn away and say "What's the rush?"

Chorus:
You're not just hard to get, you're elusive
You glide away and you hide
But your behavior is inconclusive
'Cause you wide-eyed me every time I tried
You're hard to get, but I'll get you yet
Don't be so hard to get



I actually started writing the music for this last night. So It won't be that long before I can put it up. For now, isn't it amazing what a few kinky squid can inspire?

posted by Bud @ 5:13 AM
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Monday, September 26, 2005

Maybe With Some Fava Beans?

I used to be a much pickier eater than I am now. And I used to eat a lot more stuff than I eat now too. I've had my various gastronomic eras. I'm also a binge eater. Never had to worry about anorexia, though. I've written about my aversion to fish as well as my bad experience with Japanese food. I don't mean to criticize what others find appetizing. I think it's as amusing as cultural, racial and sexual differences. It's fun to laugh at our selves and each other. I totally support black people laughing at various aspects white culture. One of the funniest bits in comedy is to see the black reaction to white people trying to be black. There should be more of that kind of thing minus the hate. It's funny when republicans make Ted Kennedy jokes. The president is a treasure trove of comic material all by himself. People need to just laugh it off. But that is a long digression brought on by some over sensitivity I've seen in Blog lately and some hate mongering. I want to talk food here.

Growing up in Philly, I learned to love a couple of things besides cheese steaks. Things that might wrinkle the nose of anybody outside of the greater Philadelphia area. One is Scrapple and the other is Snapper Turtle soup. Scrapple is a loaf flavored with corneal and sage and spices but primarily consists of the meaty parts of hog heads, hearts, some liver, and other scraps. Had I known this as a child, there is no way it would have found it's way off the end of my fork and into my mouth. But it smells so good frying. Yeah you fry the snot out of it. Crispy browned slices. Strangely, the only thing that keeps me from eating it now is geography and my professed no fat diet. I consume less than 25 grams of fat on any day. It is rarely animal fat. The stuff tastes good. The knowledge of its ingredients is disturbing. I understand that there is a similar thing in the Ohio/Northern Kentucky region called Goetta.

Snapper Turtle soup isn't as repugnant idea unless you've spent lot of time playing with those cute little green turtles they're always trying to sell kids in the pet stores. I don't remember how I came to taste it. It smelled good. It was good and I swear it came out of a Campbell's can. I haven't ever had a craving for it but I remember thinking it was okay as a kid. Nowadays, i stop my car to move enormous turtles out of the road. That's Florida for you. Maybe the crackers eat 'em but I drive them home.

Even before I understood the function of the liver in a mammal, I was resolved to not eat it. Yes I was forced to try it. Nothing like throwing up on the dinner table to convince your parents that it's not such a good idea to employ the sit-there-'til-you-clean-your-plate routine. The smell was so nasty even with fried onions. Years later, when I did learn what the liver actually does, it was no surprise to me that it tasted like, well, shit. "What else could a shit screen taste like?" was my first clear thought.

morgan
But nobody ever expected me to eat liver again. Until I went to England and stayed with some dear friends. I love England. Been there twice. I love the people. I love to listen to them speak. I admire most of their culture as long as it has nothing to do with the Royals, repressed sex or the shoddy engineering in Jaguars and some other autos. I once owned a Morgan that never passed inspection because turning on the turn signal made everything blink. EVERYthing. But the style was killer. I'm sure my Brit friends won't take it personally if I say that their food, with the possible exception of Cornish pasties and Beef Wellington, sends me scrambling across town in a taxi looking for any Indian restaurant that is open.







Haggis Recipe









Haggis balls
Back in the nineties, Cathy and I were in England. Devon to be precise. We were guests at the friend of our dear friends for this "marvelous traditional meal." Even if they had not told us what haggis is, I would have known it involved liver from the smell. I won't take up any more words for the ingredients. Here is a recipe and a picture of this traditional Scottish treat. By "bag" they mean bladder. THAT kind of bag. Yum, huh? I'm told I was eating the Welsh version. Which is no different except harder to pronounce, I guess.

I remember being polite and extraordinarily brave. I tried it. Swallowed it only to get it the hell away from my taste buds. Covered it with pepper and tried again. I can't remember what else I said besides, "Pass the bread, please." I may have had a Monty Python moment and uttered something like, "Oh, I couldn't eat another bite, I just had an entire plate of bull's testicles before I came over here." I'm sure I was a polite as I could be. But I did not have a third bite. I consider myself a survivor but there are limits. If I had to survive on something like haggis, life clearly would not, for me, be worth living.

Then I came across this news item about a haggis eating contest. It was from Bethlehem, PA. Not for from Philly. Scrapple country. I'm proud of my Philly heritage except for a few things. Like the time the crowd at Veteran Stadium booed Santa Claus at an Eagles game. And this tendency to eat anything. Like haggis. But, I'm not kidding, scrapple at least tastes very good.

No song from this as it would not be polite to make fun of one's eating habits. At least no song I'd sign my name to. Anybody out there need one for hire under a pseudonym?


LATE ADDITION: How about a haggis limerick? Limericks are traditionally about naughty or disgusting things, right?

One liver lover tried haggis
Asked the hostess what a bag is
She said, "What's the matter.
You never ate bladder?"
And he hurled up all that bad biz

posted by Bud @ 5:28 AM
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Friday, September 23, 2005

The Hurricane Within

If you read me regularly or have endured my comments, you know I'm no fan of TV. I prefer to wait a year and rent it if I think it might be good. So far I've only rented HBO series, And the first couple of seasons of 24 which got tedious. And Seinfeld, of course. A little of Friends. So I'm well versed in the goings on at The Sopranos, Sex and the City, The English version of The Office, Larry David's series, Curb Your Enthusiasm and my favorite has been Six Feet Under. I'm watching season three of that now and the recurring theme about creativity and discovering yourself is weighing heavy on me.

Claire Fisher
All the characters seem to be struggling with discovering who they really are. My favorite is the character Claire who gets advice from her art professor. In essence, he tells her that good art, true art, is unpredictable because it comes in the artist's own language and it comes from deep within. It should resemble nothing else.

I think I'm doing that with my music until somebody tells me I remind them of somebody else. I appreciate the complements, I really do. It's damn near impossible to be successful in this business without subscribing to a formula. Nashville is built on that notion note for note. That's not a criticism of country music. It's a documented fact. Read Billboard. The same is true throughout the genres to the same or lesser extent. Every once in a while a record company acquires the nerve to promote something original. If it's successful, it is copied and the cycle of formula starts anew.

So it becomes meaningless in music to try to claim any real originality. It comes down to whether people like to listen to it. Or not. Still my goal is to speak in my own language in my own way of things that touch me deeply. If it comes out sounding like the Dylans or anybody else I've been compared to, that's fine. I'm sure they wouldn't agree.

I recognize that to sell your music when you are unknown, you have to fall back on comparisons of known artists to explain yourself to people. That's just the way it works. Nothing wrong with that. Irritating as it can become. But for now, I'm fine with that.


The back story of how I came to write the song Jacob's Hurricane has been told here many times. Lately, I've been shying away from singing it at gigs. Somebody told me last time I did it that they loved the song but the words were too scary or something. What do you folks think, in light of what's been going on and what's about to happen again? Should I be singing this song?

posted by Bud @ 5:27 AM
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Thursday, September 22, 2005

A Moral Test Before the Hurricane

As we watch Rita bearing down on Texas, we all hold our breath and hope these people come out of this better than those in Alabama, Mississippi and Louisiana.

I don't know the origin of the following but got it as an e-mail today and I'm sure you'll want to consider it:
Rita2


This test only has one question, but it's a very important one. By giving an honest answer, you will discover where you stand morally. The test features an unlikely, completely fictional situation in which you will have to make a decision.

Remember that your answer needs to be honest, yet spontaneous. Please scroll down slowly and give due consideration to each line.

===============================================

THE SITUATION

You are in Florida, Miami to be specific. There is chaos all around you caused by a hurricane with severe flooding. This is a flood of biblical proportions. You are a photojournalist working for a major newspaper, and you're caught in the middle of this epic disaster.

The situation is nearly hopeless. You're trying to shoot career-making photos. There are houses and people swirling around you, some disappearing under the water.

Nature is unleashing all of its destructive fury.

===============================================

THE TEST

Suddenly you see a man in the water. He is fighting for his life,

trying not to be taken down with the debris. You move closer. Somehow, the man looks familiar. You suddenly realize who it is. It's George W.
Bush!

At the same time you notice that the raging waters are about to take him under forever. You have two options--you can save the life of George W. Bush, or you can shoot a dramatic Pulitzer Prize-winning photo, documenting the death of one of the world's most powerful politicians.

===============================================

THE QUESTION

Here's the question, and please give an honest answer:

Would you select high contrast color film, or would you go with the classic simplicity of black and white?

posted by Bud @ 12:49 PM
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Wednesday, September 21, 2005

Minority Report

I hate admitting my age. Only because of the knee jerk reaction many younger people have to anyone older than them. I took this online test twice. The first time I tested out as 26. The second time I regressed to 23. I've mentioned this to some of the young ladies I used to teach and add teasingly that pretty soon they could date me. Their reaction is a laugh, a smile, a wink. But not an EWWWWWW. It's reassuring only because it confirms that their parents brought them up to be polite. But I hate admitting my actual age to younger people because they are not always as polite as these kids.

I've been a minority in several ways most of my life but I never consciously acted like I thought I was one. Usually among the five shortest in the class, I challenged others to get over it. The few fist fights I had as a preteen were always with much bigger guys. I won too. When I played football, I made sure that the big guys holding the blocking dummy noticed I hit harder than the bigger guys. When I came home from Catholic school, most of the kids in the neighborhood I wanted to hang out with were not Catholic. That suited me fine. I just had to curse more than the rest of them at first to help them get over it.

Being shorter and looking younger than most did not prevent me from becoming class president for the first two years in high school. I dated girls my height because it was easier to kiss them, not because I had to settle for anything. This photo is around tenth grade of me and my pal Maria. Her hair makes her look almost as tall as me. We're still pals. Bud and Maria in HS033In college I was again a minority for my political views but that didn't keep me from writing a weekly column in the campus newspaper. I really put it out there. Kept me off the deans list. Those Franciscan monks and their employees were very unforgiving. This group shot from college makes me look taller than the rest but I think the intention was to make me look like a standout radical in a Catholic college.















college034 When I became an elementary school teacher, I was often the only man within shouting distance. I don't think any of my blog buddies are contemporaries. I refuse to act my age. Although I don't take it personally, I see and hear age prejudice on a daily basis. Where I live, it's not usually directed at me because I don't look like I fit in with my contemporaries. Also I retired young compared to most of these people.

Cathy, in one of her inexplicable intuitive bursts brought a video home called The Station Agent. It was about a dwarf played by

















peter  dinklage Peter Dinklage I love this movie. There's a dude who has endured more than any minority I've ever been in contact with. He learned to ignore it but welcomed the solitude of living on his own in an abandoned train station. I like how he doesn't seek acceptance from normal sized people. Instead he is very choosy about who he accepted. He only had one drunken scene where he admitted his vulnerability. He also admitted his bitterness over a failed love relationship with a normal sized girl. This makes him totally normal in my eyes. This dude is my hero. No, I'm not a dwarf. If I was, this is the way I'd handle it, though.

I always wanted to write a song about embracing our differences. I guess it's hard not to sound like "It's a Small World After All." So I never gave it much of a shot. My late great older brother, Jack Buckley, had a close friend named Sonny. Sonny is a black dude. I loved to listen to them carry on with each other making outrageous racial insults. We all laughed our asses off and that's the way I wish it could be all the time. Our differences are interesting and amusing and we should make fun of ourselves while poking fun at others.

We're all gonna get bald or gray, wrinkled, paunchy and slow. Our ears and noses are gonna keep growing. Chewing could be a problem too. I'll hold that process off as long as I can but when it happens, I'm gonna find something about it to laugh at. Hell, I'm looking back at my twenties with enormous amusement. They could produce a daytime drama about me called "The Young and the Stupid."

Today's sermon brought to you by the Lighten Up Society Enterprise or LUSE.

posted by Bud @ 5:16 AM
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Monday, September 19, 2005

Pirates, Killer Storms and Boobs

Pirate chick

It may be Talk Like A Pirate Day (TLPD) but I'm a tad preoccupied at the moment to learn a new dialect. What I know is so cliche' it's hardly worth the trouble to weave into a sentence. For those of you so inclined, however, here's a very useful site. Amusing if you are so inclined. I don't think I'll be talking like a pirate in yoga class this morning, however. Arrr instead of Om? Have you ever been the focus of wrathful stares from thirty older ladies in leotards? No i didn't think so. I'm not willing to risk it either.


One thing I've learned to do in Florida from June until November is check on storm activity. Every six hours. I'm watching three approach us now as we watch Hurricane Ophelia swing her booty into the north Atlantic. We have a Hurricane Philippe heading toward Bermuda and of no concern to us in south west Florida. And we have a Hurricane Rita in the Bahamas right now and steaming toward the Keys. It should then go right into the gulf where it will most likely become a monster and head directly toward Texas. Should be interesting to contrast the president's response to that, huh? And we have still another excuse for gas prices to skyrocket. Just watch. Nobody has explained to me yet how a storm changes the price of the gasoline already in your underground storage tanks down at the corner Mobile on the Run.

So my routine is to check this site every six hours to see if a storm is developing. It's not loaded with detail but it's the earliest warning system I know of. If you look you can see that there is a possible storm number 19 brewing just below Rita. We got used to combination punches last summer when we had four hurricanes in about 6 weeks. None of them did much to my town. Fifteen miles a way, however, was wiped out. They're still picking up the mess. And yet people here are collecting money for Katrina. Not that they've stopped helping out with Hurricane Charlie victims.

Rita Next I check this excellent site to see where the storm is and where they think it's going over the next five days. Why do I check it every 6 hours? To see if it's changed course. Because they often do. Philippe and Rita and the other fetal storm are south of me so I'm concerned. When they get north of me, I start worrying about everybody else.

And when illustrations aren't enough to satisfy my curiosity and wonder,I take a look at the satellite photos on this link.


TyraBanks And finally today, I want to tip my, uh hat, to Tyra Banks who proved to the world that her boobs are the real deal by showing them on national TV. Sort of. I don't care for boob implants. I think they look rather obvious. I like small boobs and I think it's a shame that some woman feel they have to have large knockers to get attention. Sadder yet that they are right. Depending on whose attention you feel the need to get. I'm not gonna try to tell anybody that I will avert my eyes if you show them to me but I'd look and enjoy regardless of the size.

So there you have it, readers. Pirates, killer storms and boobs. All in one entry. Now that's variety. Happy Monday.

posted by Bud @ 6:39 AM
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Saturday, September 17, 2005

Is Weekend Blogging a Sign of an Empty Life?

Blogging on the weekend is not something I'm likely to do on a regular basis. I feel anything I put up for the weekend doesn't even get read. As it is, if I want to be sure everybody who reads me gets to read me, I have to leave posts up for two days. But If I post on Friday, about half my people won't read it at all if I post again on Monday.

Can somebody out there explain to me about regular readers who hardly ever comment? None of us can comment every day with all the Blog we read. Some Bloggers, however, are clearly missing the idea of what we do with comments here in Blogland. I've read several entries from the busiest among you who regularly trim your blogrolls by eliminating non commenters. I've done that. But I give people a lot of opportunity to catch up and a lot of hints by commenting on their sites. I would love to hear some thoughts on that but this is a weekend. So it's not too likely. Huh?

So If I quit posting on weekends altogether, you know why. Look at your stats. Besides, I'm gigging on weekends and it's exhausting.

posted by Bud @ 6:57 AM
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Thursday, September 15, 2005

Tell You What...

It's astounding to me that there are so many students spending up to $40,000 a year to big name colleges and they haven't a clue what they want to do with their lives. I didn't know either when I got there but I visited the guidance office midway into semester one and took an extremely useful test. One might call it a prophesy it was so accurate. It was called a Kudor Preference Test. It set me on a course that was so on the money, it's scary. I was no fan of my college which will go nameless here. It was hypocritically conservative and punished those who thought independently. But at least I studied the right stuff.

Teaching a stiff to read in Ybor City

The test emphatically recommended a career where I could get to tell people things. It pointed specifically to journalism and teaching. Since there was no education major, I majored in journalism. But I became a teacher. Catholic schools would hire anybody so they didn't care what I majored in to teach fifth grade. I learned to be a teacher on the job and went to graduate school to get my teaching credentials. Writing and doing my own publicity in the local papers was an easy routine. I submitted press releases about field trips that made a trip to the park seem like the Lewis and Clark Expedition. Local weeklies printed every word.

I loved teaching, got a few advanced degrees in education and became a clinical professor at a state college that trained student teachers. I kept those press releases coming too. Eventually I moved to public school and became a PR guy for our teachers union. Published a monthly newsletter for years. Kicked ass too. I loved advocacy journalism. I said whatever I wanted. Administrators gave me a very wide
berth.

The move to singer/songwriter/blogger was seamless for me. I'm still doing what I was always intended to do. And loving it. The bronze dude in the picture with me is a famous Tampa journalist named Ronald Manteiga "a legend in his own time" and human rights champion. I like this picture because I naturally associate with writers and because I appear to be telling him about something on the page. Something he probably wrote. I'm telling him anyway.

If you have kids, I'm telling YOU, get them tested to see what they are cut out to do. If you are in a career funk yourself. They have adult versions as well. Google "career guidance testing service" or Kudor Preference Test. What ever you spend is cheap compared to wasting a college tuition or a chunk of your life doing the wrong thing.

Reminders:
You can directly help the Katrina Relief fund by buying my CD from CDBaby.com. This is good only for the month of September. Listen to the songs by clicking the banner at the top of this page. Click here to go to CDBaby.

A working tape of my song that seems to go with Hunter S. Thompson's suicide note can be heard hereFrozenShadows4.2MP3.mp3

posted by Bud @ 5:47 AM
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Tuesday, September 13, 2005

Your Body's a Wonderland

Last Thursday, Cathy decided we needed a break and a cultural excursion. Cathy's amazing orderly accountant-like mind is a wonder at planning such events. She has a uniquely intuitive sense of what it is we will see, however, whether it be a cruise, a trip to where ever or to a movie. She is often as surprised as I am by the DVD's she brings home. I've learned not to expect a clear answer to, "What's this film about, anyway?" So I didn't ask many questions about this Bodies Exhibit she was taking me to in Tampa last week.

It sounded a bit creepy but I knew I would either find it interesting or highly amusing to watch her reaction if it was a complete gross out.

B-Ball Body027

Briefly, this is an educational exhibit of actual human bodies completely eviscerated. That is, skinned and opened up for our viewing pleasure. By a special process, the live tissue is largely replaced with a plastic material. So it's like a rubberized fossil. Just when I thought I knew everything I needed about my body, I was flooded with more useful information get close enough to touch but nobody actually does. The little signs telling you not to are hardly necessary. Unless you have some strange compulsion to dive into innards. Unlike certain rides at Disney, there were no barf bags present. But it was quite a roller coaster ride of wonder and emotion. After about three bodies (there are 20 of them as well as 260 organs) I had a very clear understanding of what I was made of and I resolved to take better care of it. So I stayed on the periphery to do some people watching. Cathy said it was more fun to listen to them but, predictably, she couldn't come up with any usable quotes for me. Except from some health care college students who were there in a large group, dressed in scrubs. The student was lamenting that they hadn't had this exhibit when they were struggling to learn anatomy. These students were in awe at what they could have learned before the exam, I guess, and what they were learning this day.



















soccer body028

The first several rooms had only male bodies with genitalia fully exposed but skinned. They were often in athletic poses. Dribbling a basketball, kicking a soccer ball, conducting an orchestra. There was one skeleton playing ring around the rosy with it's own filleted body. That was clever even without the music. It was highly amusing to watch the reaction of kids to this. There were at least a few young men who made everyone else suffer with their terminal cases of arrested development. The avoidance techniques varied. There was the looking at everything but the crotch technique. There were those who went to great conversational lengths to discuss every other muscle organ and tendon in the upper half of the body or something below the knee. An eleven year old ( I know them on sight having spent most of my adult life with them) moved toward the soccer playing corpse with an uncontrollable grin and laugh, finger pointing and nearly shouting, "Hey look at his..." Here there was a cringing expectation in the room as he adjusted his pointer and finished with, "...nose." It was like Beavis and Butthead get polite.

woman030

Others made jokes about everything else. Many went into long esoteric discussion about everything they could easily read on the very well done displays. The body language of the viewers got looser from room to room. Crossed arms and clenched fists and jaws relaxed. Until we hit the females section on reproduction. Then all the behaviors replayed themselves again.




























lungs029

No way I'm gonna write a song about the bodies. Organs and muscles don't rhyme well after you're done with heart and ass. A lyric coming out of this would have to be about people looking in forbidden places or people gaining more knowledge about themselves than they want. Kind of an assault on denial. Many of the lungs we saw were nearly black, for instance. How you go out in the parking lot after that and light up, I don't know. That has to be the full embrace of denial as a life force. But I'm not writing a song for the surgeon general either. This is one of those things that will percolate for a long time. Creep it's way into various lyrics as time goes by. Kind of like the way various toxins come to rest in our organs, turning them different colors. I hope the song is more pleasing than a tumor, however.

posted by Bud @ 5:39 AM
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Friday, September 09, 2005

My Song About Hunter S. Thompson?

UPDATE: Here is the song mentioned below. Click to listen FrozenShadows4.2MP3.mp3


The news that Hunter S. Thomnpson left the following suicide note shocked me quite a bit. This according to Reuters:

The brief message, scrawled in black marker and titled "Football Season Is Over" (an apparent reference to the end of the NFL season he avidly followed as fan), reads as follows:

"No More Games. No More bombs. No More Walking. No More Fun. No More Swimming. 67. That is 17 years past 50. 17 more than I needed or wanted. Boring. I am always bitchy. No Fun -- for anybody. 67. You are getting Greedy. Act your old age. Relax -- This won't hurt."



New York Snow Storm The photo is a typical NY snow storm from my old home in Rhinebeck, NY. I wrote the following words to my song "Frozen Shadows" right around that time and reflected in the first line on the absense of football that I noticed depressing some of my northerly friends. He could have added this lyric to his note, I think. If they do a movie, I'm submitting this song. I'll put the music up here as soon as I can recover it from my audio drive:

Frozen Shadows
Copyright 2005 by Bud Buckley


Deep winter bruises after all the games, no flames distract me from my fear
No warm passion and delicious hopes have simply disappeared
Crunch of frozen mud under my boots, tires spraying salty sand
You're too far gone to come on home, frozen shadows cross the land

CHORUS:
Frozen shadows invade my soul
Frozen shadows make harsh demand
Frozen shadows rot my heart so old
Frozen shadows cross the land Frozen shadows cross the land

You don't even remember where home is, not even on your map
You're off hunting loathsome alien game, I'm bloody and dying in your trap
You could thrash and stumble right over me, step right on my hand
Not even know I'm suffering so, under your frozen shadow 'cross the land

(Chorus)

How much longer can this last, before the sun gives me mercy?
How much cold and loneliness is considered perverse and heresy?
Isn't everything on earth supposed to come again to every man?
It's just so damn hard to smile and love with your frozen shadow 'cross the land
(Chorus)

posted by Bud @ 5:09 AM
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Wednesday, September 07, 2005

Limerick Contest Winners

I'm thoroughly entertained by the entries to the Rude Towns in Britain Limerick Contest. My favorite isn't printable in this space as I have some young readers. Some I'm related to an some I used to teach. But if your Mommy says it's okay, go see Dawn's entry at Tiny Voices In My Head. It's a scream and I'm sending Dawn a CD for making me laugh so hard.

Deni Bonet at Last Girl on Earth already bought my CD but she must have liked it so much she had to win another. And she did for this bit of brilliance with a Brooklyn accent, no less:

There once was a girl from BLADDA
Who couldn't possibly feel any sadda
She prayed to ST. MELLONS
That she'd meet Ferdinand Magellan
And all the mean people would scatta


You might not get that if you are from the midwest, where you do strange things with the letter a sound. Or those from foreign countries might not get that. Trust me, it's highly amusing.


Speaking of foreign countries, D-Man at DManz Bites Dog wins another CD (even though he bought one) with this marginally tasteless entry. I decided to print it because I hear kids using the word in question all the time in public. And hopefully D-man will use his extra copy to launch my New Zealand tour.

There once was a girl from Titty Ho
With titties so big, they hung so low
They gave lots of joy
To the Juggs Close boys
But in winter they dragged through the snow.


Karen, the Rugdesigner at The Shoes Keep Dropping , stretched the rules just a bit but since they could be interpreted to mean two limericks with one Rude Town each, I've decided to award her with a CD:

There once was a wife in Crotch Crescent
For supper she needed a pheasant
Poor husband he tried
But then soon realized
Wrong bush, wrong bird, but oh so pleasant!

A couple came down from Lickers Lane
Named Lorenzo and Sweet Mary Jane
They started to run
Tripped over their tongues
Now they spend all their days in great pain.


I used to teach limericks to fifth graders to get them aware of syllabication. They weren't allowed to to be rude, however. They seemed to be hooked on the "There once was a girl from..." thing. I remember there were some inventive rhymes for the surrounding towns of Hyde Park, Staatsburg, Rhinebeck, Red Hook and New York but when it came to Poughkeepsie, they were stumped. Hyde Park, NY is the home of Franklin D. Roosevelt and is actually a suburb of Poughkeepsie, home of Vassar College. And IBM started there. So make all the jokes you want. Here's one I remember, sort of, but not the author. It was probably some kid's father, anyway.

A gentle young man from Poughkeepsie
Reads poems and knows when he sips tea
The chicks up at Vassar
Think there's nothing the matter
And they gang up and won't let his lips free


If there's anything funnier than fifth graders writing limericks and staying clean, it's their parents trying to run a homework scam past me. I miss a lot of that stuff.

I'll be gone for a few days and should return with an interesting story and some Cathy photos.

posted by Bud @ 5:49 AM
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Sunday, September 04, 2005

Free CD Limerick Contest Extended to Wednesday

So am I seeing that people with regular jobs apparently only blog at work? There is nearly NO blogging activity on the weekends, I'll tell you that much.

I have two limerick entries for the free CD. One is SO filthy, I can't risk printing it and still remain normal in the eyes of a few of my younger former students. But it is a highly skilled piece of limerick writing. So there are still plenty of chances to win. Slide down to yesterday or the day before to see the post about the Rude British Town Names and to see an example of a limerick. Check out this link to get the full list of 100 Rude British Town Names. Write a Limerick using two or more of them. I'll award my free CD to the best three limericks.

Deadline is now Tuesday at Midnight (or 12 am Wednesday Eastern Daylight Time). Send entries to Bud@BudBuckley.com. Or use the Contact link on the left side of this page.

But here's the formula anyway:
Five lines.
Lines 1, 2 and 5 must rhyme with each other on the last word AND they have only 9 syllables each.
Lines 2 and 3 must rhyme with each other but not with the other lines. They must have exactly 5 syllables each.

Here's another example:

There once was a lass from Upperthong
Wore it so tight she ate her supper wrong
Her bloke from Crapstone
Wouldn't leave her alone
So she removed it and said, "Get along"

You can usually get away with a one syllable overage as in the second line above. And if it comes out too filthy for printing in this "family entertainment" blog, you can still win but you'll have to print it on YOUR site.

Thanks for your response so far to my Hurricane Katrina Relief Effort. Again, you can slide down to the last post. Or click here. All my CD sales this month go directly to the American Red Cross relief effort. CDBaby sales only, however, since they are coordinating this.

posted by Bud @ 6:18 AM
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Friday, September 02, 2005

Something to Laugh About, Something to Cry About, Something To Do About It

If you thought I was kidding about the weird juxtaposition of the Jesus billboards and the We Bare All billboards here in Florida, get a load of THIS!


Please consider helping out with Hurricane Katrina relief. There are many ways and I'm offering still another by donating my CD profits. If that is at all appealing to you, scroll down to yesterday or click here.

You can also win a free CD with my hysterical limerick contest. Slide down two days or click here.

posted by Bud @ 5:10 AM
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Thursday, September 01, 2005

Hurricane Relief

Taking time out from yesterday's announcement of the Limerick Contest, I am donating my entire profit from CD Sales to this fund if you purchase it from CDBaby. For the Month of September.

Click here to purchase my CD, Feel My Love, All profits will automatically go directly to the Hurricane Katrina Relief Fund of the American Red Cross.

You can still enter the limerick contest outlined yesterday (scroll down) and if you win a free CD you can use it as a gift. If you already own my CD, perhaps you would like to buy another one for a gift.

The feature song is Jacob's Hurricane which you can download free by clicking the banner at the top of the page. You can also hear samples of the other songs there.

I wrote Jacob's Hurricane while watching Hurricane Charlie bear down on us here in South West Florida. We were in an area that looked like it would get brushed as it made it's way up to Tampa. This is one of those rare times I watched TV as we kept an eye on the Weather Channel. When it was still a day away, I called my pal Davis Turner up in North East Florida, to where the storm was expected to cross over. I had sent Davis the tracks to my CD and as we had prearranged, he was to record lead guitar tracks and send them back to me. About six weeks had gone by with no word from him. So I chose that day to call.

I was stunned to learn that his wife, Pam, also our dear friend, was diagnosed with an incurable and debilitating heart/lung disease called primary pulmonary hypertension. Davis sounded like a ghost. In a long conversation I did my best to offer my support and tell him to forget the tracks. I was saying my good-bye and added, "Hey, Davis, are you getting prepared to hunker down for this hurricane?" He kind of stammered, "What hurricane?" He clearly had bigger things on his mind.

So this song was written that day as I watched it coming closer and eventually missing us by 15 miles as it destroyed several towns to the south and east of us. The lyric was fleshed out after hearing survivors say things like, "At least we have our lives."

I don't diminish the horrible losses people have endured in this state and now Alabama, Mississippi and Louisiana over the past two seasons. I'm pretty sure I'll have to deal with storm related losses on some level eventually. I've been too damn lucky my entire life. I'm just happy to have a life. I know there are survivors who feel exactly that way. And still others that can't even think about this disaster as they have problems that, to them, are much bigger.

I hope you'll help me lend financial support to this relief effort. If buying a CD is the way you choose to do it, $10 will go to the fund. CDBaby gets the rest. I'll swallow the production expenses. I'll link back to this post every day throughout the month.

posted by Bud @ 5:33 AM
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