Dropping out electronically

I like Democrats, really do, am one myself.  In my family we's all Democrats except for my stoopid brother.
This past week I got a notice from ATT, which handles all my commo stuff, my computer blather like this, my internet TV, everthang.  What it said was that I was nearing my limit of kilobytes or somethin.  Burnin up my time on the internet, in short.  And every extra 50 kb or so would cost me $10.

So I got to looking and realized that half of my incoming mail was from the Democrats wanting more $ so they could continue to battle the Repugnicans.  Well, really, what with the spying an all, I figure they's all on the same side anyway, that is, the OTHER side of the one I'm on, whatever that may be.

Then, of course I also got mail from upworthy, newsmax, the list is practically endless.
So I began to go through the list of messages and unsubscribe from everybody.

Now, this morning, I find that I am not getting any messages asking me for $3 so Barack can continue being everything he said he was not going to be and everything he is not that he said he was going to be, or so that some Congressman hopeful from Boogaloo County in Louisiana can compete in a primary so he can compete in an election in Boogaloo County, a county that has been 99% Repugnican for the last 40 years.

I still donate to Alan Grayson, but I do that without getting any kb usage; they just call once a month or so and if I have a few bucks I give it to them.
If you notice that you're getting a lot of stuff from the Democrats (or Republicans, depending on your faith), I not so humbly suggest that you disassociate yourself from it all.
It's calm here this morning.  
panama

Fluffy Guy Shows Up At the Katterij

Fluffy Guy Shows Up At the Katterij

Rockvale TN, Sometime in Mid-June: Lord, you shoulda seen him. Christ! Where did this cat come from here in Rockvale that whoever has let him deteriorate to this state?

Big disgusting mats of fur hangin offa him, poor guy. Ticks. Fleas. Took weeks to get his trust, calm him down, get a few snips with the scissors before the growling set in.

Gradually, though, he's been coming around to a more civilized viewpoint. Now, don't get me wrong: I don't hold with no tryin to civilize a cat that wants to be feral. And if Fluff decides he's ready to take off, that'll be fine. He'll just do it having been repaired.

It is amazing to me how flat-out mean and irresponsible people can be when it comes to other critters. Then bitch about how many feral critters there are. However I've been flat-out mean and irresponsible myself. But anyway, lately he's been enduring the wire brush getting alla that undercoat out – it is amazing how much fur keeps coming off in the brush. Winter hair that he shoulda been able to do himself. But I can only surmise that he didn't spend enough time with his mommy, because she woulda taught him better. Most of em do, anyhow.

Anyway, as time has gone on and he's lived in a community of cats who do not fight but instead have a close-knit tribal relationship thing goin on, he's begun to exhibit traits of civilized behaviour. Been starting to come out of “in there” and take calmer notice of his surroundings. Still got too many parasites on him to gain complete entrance to the Inner Sanctum, but he knows it's a good place.

When he first came we fed him on the patio table – (up high, pretty easy to leap and run any direction) – by putting the plate of food on the table and then completely ignoring him.

But it's been about a month now and the cats have their own access to the house, which he's recently found out about, and so he's been coming in to take his dinner on the floor (separate plates) with the natives.

So he's kind of been trying to be a good kitty lately, whatever that is, is my point, and startin to be political. He is starting to think he might like it here, and he's workin it. He's a hoot. Been sneakin into the house whenever he can. 'Course he doesn't realize what's in store for him, go or stay. A little snip. Et viola! Yet another social problem solved by the Lone Pensioner.

What's time to a planet?

What's time to a planet

with no one to measure it?

Still got them ants

Still got them spiders

Got a lot to work with here

And all the time in the world.

These people they so big

For the little good they are

All they do is replicate

Real carbon copies they are.

Started down a path that led

to a million possibilities

And ended up at nuclear.

Still doin caveman stuff

Still bangin rocks together.

What's time to a planet?

There is nothing so expensive as free eggs

.  I buy 'em from my neighbor Anne down the road.  This early winter past she lost all hers to....wildcat? incredibly irritated hawk?.... the list of suspects is usual.  So we been gettin ours from Aldi.  Called her on the way to Cullman the other night,,,says her new'uns are only about five months old so gonna be another month before the girls ramp up production.   I am so lookin forward to them brown shell, sometimes there used to be  a aracauna egg in there as well. 

The wife bought some olive oil by the case and along with it she got the most wonderful egg pan, unbelievably flippable, expecially with the olive oil.  Lately I've been typing expecially so much that it no longer looks weird.  It would seem not to have any connection at all to especially, so probly some hillbilly thang.  Ex meaning outside, but still es seems to mean to set aside.  You with degrees or even an opinion please contribute linguistic thoughts. 

Anyway, love them eggs. 

panama

i think i want one a them steven hawking computers.  I hate this finger stuff.  i wonder if steven hawking's computer understands HIM or if he has to depend on the vocoder he uses to talk to bags of meat.

TUXEDO IN LOVE

TUXEDO IN LOVE

It's nearly March here in Rockvale. I have a gig on March 1st, at Berkeley Bob's Coffee House, down in Cullman, Alabama. This is what's on my mind.

My little cat Tuxedo has other considerations. It's almost spring, and his thoughts have turned to his unrequited love for his cousin, YumYum.

Now all the cats have been neutralized around my house, but don't let anybody convince you that the boy-girl paradigm goes away with a snip and a stitch.

Tux has always been a little backward, bewildered, even, by the stuff going on around him. He’s a little, slow, I guess. But nothing gets in the way of his ardor, his unflagging affection for YumYum, who wouldn’t give him the time of day, if cats cared about that stuff. She growls as soon as she sees him, letting him know how despicable she finds him to be. But he loves her.

I try when occasion seems to warrant to dispense worldly advice to my critters, sit ‘em down and try to explain to them how the earth moves and life is fleeting and alla that, but really, I’m no Billy Joe Shaver. I’m just an old guy with some cats and a dog. So that even if I could explain and Tux could understand, the problems of a young tomcat and a old guy couldn't be made to amount to much.

It's almost spring and Friday night I'll be playing my stuff, hell, maybe for the last time, I don't know.

But Tuxedo. Tux is in love.

BIG GAME HUNTING IN ROCKVALE

BIG GAME HUNTING IN ROCKVALE

Rockvale, TN Feb 1, 2013 –

“POW!” sounded like nothing so much as a transformer blowing.

“What's that?” Patty asks.

“POW!” once again.

“I don't know. I'll go look,” I say, opening the sticking kitchen door.

“Put on your jacket.”

“No time, I'm out the door already.”

I step off the deck in my T-shirt and slant across the yard, by the pickup and around it and look across the field. There is a kid (okay, in his twenties, but when you're as old as me...) standing under the large carport at the neighboring church. He is holding what appears to be a small-bore rifle, but judging by the report it's a shotgun.

“What are you shootin' at?” I ask.

“That skunk there,” the kid replies, indicating the roadside in front of the church and my house. There is a small black critter convulsing feebly beside the road. Two shots, I think to myself, and this little guy is still alive.

“Why?” I ask.

“Uh...because he was sprayin' the church.”

Looks to me more like the skunk was walking down the road and this kid drives by in his pickup with his shotgun, sees it and decides, I got a gun; shit, I'm gonna murder somethin'. Then swings his pickup into the church parking lot and slams it into park, jumps out and aims (poorly) at the harmless member of the mephitidae persuasion, blasts away with his thunder stick. I see this situation, make these deductions, but remember that this little asshole is armed and don't divulge what I've figured out.

“Well, you might want to go over there close enough to hit him this time and put him out of his misery,” I say.

“Well, you're welcome to get closer to him if you want, but I don't want the stink on me,” Billy the Kid replies. And it's true: I can smell, wafting across the frozen field, the

unmistakable odor of fresh skunk.

“I think he's squirted his last,” I say, and walk over to where the critter has now somewhat regained his feet and is crawling across the road. But he's crawling in circles.

I put my foot down and turn him toward the other side of the road. Each time he makes a right, I nudge him with my foot back to the left and toward the other side.

The kid is watching me, but has nothing to say.

I shepherd the little guy to the side of the road across from the church and onto the shoulder. He rolls down the shoulder, gets up again and starts crawling along the ditch.

He's a goner, fersure.

I say nothing that comes to my head regarding the kid's humanity, or his marksmanship, and I turn back across the road and go into my house. I wish I had a pistol to put the skunk out of it, but I don't. I have killed bigger, smarter, more dangerous creatures and have put that stuff behind me. I know that death will soon come to the little guy and he will welcome it.

**********

When we get ready to go shopping this morning I go to get the mail from the mailbox across the road. I look to my left, where I had last seen the skunk. There, about thirty yards down, I see that he has dropped his body, for it lies, unmoving, in the fresh snow.

                                                               -30-

Panama makes it into the Top Ten

hey, i made it into the reverbnation top ten blues artists for rockvale. this is really great because there aren't ten blues artists IN rockvale. but it's been a long hard struggle, and thank you fer puttin me over the top.

Andy Lakeland, Michaela Purcell and 2 others like this.

Vid Mars John Lee would say: "boogie chill'yun"!

2 hours ago · Like

Norine Mungo I am still hearing Popeye The Sailor Man in my head, so when you talk Blues, I'm like, really? LOL. But hey, your picking will take you anywhere my friend. Still, I cry every single time you do that song!!! Dang, now it's in my head again. LOL. Enjoy your Blues success, I will still hear your incredible Cat Stevens like song rendering in my dreams. It inspires me to write even better every time I start a song! Always, Norine.

about an hour ago · Like

Danny Finley Norine: Yeah. Basically I think 'blues' and 'bluegrass' are the flavors of the moment. But since you know my repertoire, then you know that I'm not any one of those or other genres. I just write what comes down through the fog. I'm not even folk, except once in a while. For a while I thought I might be Americana, since that implied some sort of American-ness, but lately even that has seemed to elude me. I could go on and on, and perhaps will. I do appreciate the favorable comparison to Cat Stevens. See you in Tampa/St Pete in March/April, I hope?

This genre business has been a thorn in my side since we're talkin fifty years of forever. Too country for rocknroll, too rocknroll for country. Too blues for folk, too folk for blues. Sometimes I write in a style that prompted one old black jazz club owner I met in the psych ward at VA to say I reminded him of Hoagie Carmichael. Hell, I floated on that for days. Invariably there will be disappointed audience members, club owners, presenters, critics. Sometimes I wonder if it's all been a waste of time, if perhaps a light plane crash will increase the desirability of my catalogue so that my heirs at least can benefit from the privations I've put them through.
Then I get a note from some sweet person like Norine. And the sun comes out.