Status: Single
City: No Man’s Land
State: California
Country: US
Signup Date: 7/22/2008
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Wednesday, June 17, 2009
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Current mood:  aggravated
This from our pard up in them Montana regions:
"So the National Folk Festival is coming up in Butte next month. At the radio station where I work, I had our DJs talking about this event at the Folk Fest, which is a lying contest. I found a quote on the AP story from the organizers saying "the event is for amateur liars only: No lawyers, politicians, patent medicine salesmen or motivational speakers need apply." Obviously, it's a fucking joke.
"Apparently, some local douchebag who happens to be a lawyer hears it on my station, calls the local planning committee and THREATENS TO SUE THE FOLK FEST. I should add, the Folk Fest is non-profit. This fucking prick threatened to sue a festival that's funded entirely on donations made by local people and businesses because of a joke that bruised his precious little ego."
Yup. Reminds me of that there joke that sez "Whatter ya got when's there's 1,000 lawyers at the bottom of that there ocean? A good start."
Haw haw... 'course, there are them diamonds in the rough. The lawyer that done did my divorce, she wuz a right fantastic human being... but my ex-wife's paralegal-aunt-who-thinks-she's-a-lawyer is somethin' else all tergether...
 | Currently listening:
Black Sabbath
By Black Sabbath
Release date: 1990-10-25 |
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Saturday, June 13, 2009
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Current mood:  cantankerous
 his here ain't no lie. On Wednesday night after makin' some music with the Stringmeister on our weekly coffee shop jaunt I done went ter Del Taco fer dinner. Now, I's a Taco Bell kinder feller, but somehow Del Taco just seemed like a better idea at that there time. Anyhow, I done go in there an' order a small drink, a spicy jack cheese quesadilla, an' this special they is advertisin' where I can get two classic macho combo burritos fer five bucks (I wuz hungry, doggone it). Well, that there feller at the counter punches my order inter the register an' my total comes up as bein' $14.92. Whoa Nelly, I sez, that's way too darn much fer what I just ordered! Well, the feller done goes through the order an' keeps insistin' that that there is the total. Understandably, I done gets a little aggravated an' try to explain to this feller that there ain't no way on God's green earth that this total could be correct. Look, I tells him, them there burritos is 5 bucks, an' that there quesadilla is a $1.79, an' that there small drink is a $1.49. If'n you adds them up, that's eight dollars an' change. So where'd $14.92 come from? Well, he wrinkles up his face in an exhibition of difficult thought an' then smiles brightly an' tells me that that there rest is tax! Of course I's rightly indignified an' I tells that there sumbitch that even if'n you figgered tax at 10%, that's still less'n a dollar and the total ought not ter be more'n nine dollars an' change! Now, I sez, you can rightly figger out what's goin' on here or I's can leave, but I ain't payin' no $14.92 fer what I ordered. Hell, considerin' that there number is commemorative o' Columbus bumpin' inter the Western hemisphere, I don't wanner be associated with it anyways. Ter make an already too long story a lil shorter, that there feller at the register done calls over a manager an' they's figger the mess out an' I gots ter eat my dinner fer the price I were supposed ter pay fer it. But situations like that are what done makes me fear fer the future. It also reminds me of a funny email someone done sent me once. It goes sumthin' like this: Fifty Years of Math in the USA 1959-20091. Teachin' Math in the 1950s A logger sells a truckload of lumber fer $100. His cost of production is 4/5 of the price. What is his profit? 2. Teachin' Math in the 1960s A logger sells a truckload of lumber fer $100. His cost of production is 4/5 of the price, or $80. What is his profit? 3. Teachin' Math in them 1970s A logger sells a truckload of lumber fer $100. His cost of production is $80. Did he make a profit? 4. Teachin' Math in the 1980s A logger sells a truckload of lumber fer $100. His cost of production is $80 and his profit is $20. Your assignment: Underline that there number 20. 5. Teachin' Math in them there 1990s A logger cuts down a beautiful forest cuz he is selfish an' inconsiderate an' cares nuthin' fer the habitat of animals or the preservation of them woodlands. He duz this so's he can make a profit of $20. What do you think of his way of makin' a livin'? Topic for class participation after answering the question: How did them birds an' squirrels feel as that there logger done cut down their homes? (There ain't no wrong answers, an' if you feel like cryin', it's okay) 6. Teachin' Math in 2009 Un hechero vende una carretada de maderapara $100. El costo de la producciones es $80. Cuantro dinero ha hecho? Er whatever... -Squeezebox Sam
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Wednesday, June 10, 2009
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Current mood:  awake
 | Currently reading:
Cygnet
By Patricia A. McKillip |
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Sunday, June 07, 2009
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Current mood: awake
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Saturday, June 06, 2009
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Current mood:  cold
"Then said his wife unto him, Dost thou still retain thine integrity? curse God, and die. But he said unto her, Thou speakest as one of the foolish women
speaketh. What? shall we receive good at the hand of God, and shall we
not receive evil?"
Job 2:9-10
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Friday, June 05, 2009
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Current mood: indignant
 up. The ole Stringmeister done cancelled our Starbucks meetin’ last night. Somethin’ ‘bout havin’ diarrhea an’ not wantin’ ter have no accidents. Haw haw! So’s I done come back on home an’ wuz plannin’ on writin’ this here blog, but I done popped a coupler ibuprofen, an ativan, sucked down a coupla shots a whiskey, an’ then sat through Return O’ the Jedi with a few Hornsbys as company. Somewheres in there Krystal called me on that there phone an’ I had ter pause it on some frame where Princess Leia were done showin’ off in all her brass bikini glory. Weren’t a bad place ter have ter pause it. Kinda made me feel like I wuz twelve again, haw haw!
Anyhow, I done wanner bitch some more. This here is a life story bitch. In 1999 I done took a job wit the LAUSD as an Educational Aide. I done took care of orchestratin’ what wuz then called the Accelerated Reader program at a high school in the San Fernando Valley. Well, I done worked at that there job fer about four years or so, an’ then a few teachers at that there high school done determined they’s wanted me in the classroom ‘stead o’ wastin’ away as the forgotten employee in the back room of the library. I must say that there is some benefit ter bein’ a forgotten employee in some back room somewheres where no one knows exactly what it is that yer job entails an’ how long its supposed ter take, but takin’ up in a classroom would rightly pay me triple (allowin’ me ter quit drivin’ nights fer Pizza Hut, haw haw), so’s I decided there were worse things I could do in life than ter stand in front of a buncha adolescents an’ try an’ convince ‘em I rightly had somethin’ beneficial ter offer them in the knowledge department.
Well, the primary intention ‘mongst them teachers pushin’ fer me ter educate were that I wuz gonner teach English. I wuz, after all, supervisor of a readin’ program. But the head of that there Art Department also knew that my undergrad had all been in Art, so she were pushin’ fer me ter get inter teachin’ within the confines of what she perceived as a beleaguered arts program. But the principal done told me, he sez he’ll hire me on the basis of a University Intern Credential (that’s where the district done issues you a temporary credential an’ allows you ter teach as long as you finish yer credential classes at the University within the span of two years), but the trick is that there Intern Credential gotter be fer teachin’ English, not Art. This is cuz he done needs an English teacher but not a Art teacher (‘sides, accordin’ ter him, he couldn’t get away with hirin’ a University Intern under the terms of an Art Credential cuz there are so many must-place Art teachers floatin’ around within LAUSD without teachin’ positions).
There’s a catch, though. Ain’t there always a catch? Well, this here catch is that I ain’t got a single unit of Upper Division English courses from my undergrad days, so I can’t qualify fer no sorts a waivers on the basis of my schoolin’. So, in order ter start workin’ on a credential in English, I gots ter pass the California Single Subject Examination fer Teachers in English. This is some test that, if you pass it, supposedly determines that you gots the knowledge about English that you woulder acquired by takin’ a four year University major in said subject matter. So’s I pass it. Accordin’ ter this here test I’s highly qualified in the subject of English (that includes grammar, history, theory, literature, etc.) an’ I can go on ter studyin’ fer a credential without gettin’ a degree in the subject. Yeeee-effin’-hawww, right?
So’s I rightly start workin’ on my credential in English at the University an’ the principal done hires me as an English teacher on the basis of a University Intern. But in our interview, I done tell him that my ultimate goal is ter teach Art an’ that I am gonner work on acquirin’ my Art Credential at the same time. Well, he sez that he’s gonner have me teach English, an’ that due ter my undergrad studies I qualify ter teach a few art classes in addition ter the English an’ that he’s gonner use me ter pick up the slack for the time bein’, but that it is his intention, that when the opportunity presents itself, he’ll let me take up full time art.
That there sounds like a fine deal, yup? Anyhows, I done work fer the next two years on acquirin’ my English and Art credentials. Then I’s keep right on workin’ at that there school site, just doin’ what they ask me. I does 9th grade English, 10th grade English, 11th grade English, 9th and 10th grade Developing Readers an’ Writers, an’ I’s teach a lil Drawing an’ Film Production on the side when they ask me to.
Well, last schoolyear (that’d be the 2007-2008 schoolyear) that there Art Department Chair rightly declares she is retirin’. Well hell, I figger this is my big chance, right? They’s gonner let me take up full time Art, or at least more Art classes an’ take up the slack in English rather than that there other way around. But that there principal an’ administration done tell me an’ the other two Art teachers (who is eagerly anticipatin’ me takin’ up full time Art teachin’, by the way) that they don’t plan on fillin’ the retired position. They sez that the school population is droppin’ an’ that they can’t have three Art teachers. So they is gonner just leave the Art Department at two heads an’ leave me ter keep on teachin’ English an’ pickin’ up that there Art slack.
However, come September, there’s a new Art teacher on the roster. ‘Course, while this seems ter be a lil bit fishy seein’ as how they’s said they weren’t gonner fill that position, I just cool my heels cuz I figger that the administration an’ that there principal knows what theys doin’, right? Over time, though, some strange indications done start ter rear their ugly head. Turns out that there new Art teacher (in addition ter bein’ young an’ attractive, albeit sorta whiny… course, who am I ter talk ‘bout someone bein’ whiny, right? Haw haw) has been hired under the auspices of a University Intern Credential in Art… the exact situation that there principal refused ter do fer me a few years earlier. It also comes out, as time drags on, that this here new Art teacher is a best friend with the daughters of both the principal and the office manager. What a coincidence, eh?
Nonetheless, I don’t think much about it… ‘til last Monday when I is handed a displacement notice. Apparently I is low on the totem pole in the English Department, and due ter a projected decrease in student population this comin’ school year I is bein’ shuffled from the school site I done inhabited fer the better part of ten years.
I can unnerstand bein’ displaced on the basis of my English credential. But what about that there fact that I’s got a full operative credential in Art an’ that there new teacher is just operatin’ on a University Internship? An’ it just so happens that there teacher is on the schedule fer the comin’ year, teachin’ full time Art? Well, comes about that my displacement is determined by the fact that I been teachin’ principally English fer the past six semesters. My Art credential don’t even count fer nuthin’ cuz it ain’t been in full time use anytime recently. And apparently I could bump someone from another department with a second credential when displaced due ter my primary credential, but in order ter do so I gotter have ten years of district seniority… which I o’ course ain’t got.
So’s I figger things could be worse. I still have a job with the district at least, but I don’t know where’s I is gonner end up next semester. LAUSD is just gonner use me as a cork fer whatever hole it is they gotter plug up. I’s could end up workin’ in Santee er South gate er Torrance er some such bullshit.
But it still chaps my hide. In lookin’ back at what’s done gone an’ happened, I figger that the big conspiracy is in the fact that they hired that there new Art teacher at all. When the Art Department Chair done retired, they oughtter have made me full time Art an’ hired a new English teacher ter eventually get displaced. But that there nepotistic act of hirin’ the friend of a friend of a friend done cost me my position an’ has rendered my ten years of contribution ter that there school site inter a whole whoppin’ load of nuthin’.
An’ as if enuff weren’t enuff, that there new teacher is rightly teachin’ five sections of “Intro to Art”. Hell, Intro ter Art ain’t got no place on a High School campus. That there is stuff students should be learnin’ in elementary an’ middle school. There ain’t no cognitive challenge er processin’ involved with Intro ter Art! It’s a course offerin’ that is a right antithetic travesty ter the high level of academic rigor expected from them students at the High School level.
It’s like I done explained ter a co-worker this past week. I sez, “Y’know, when ya walk inter my Film Production course, them students is learnin’ about Aristotle an’ Catharsis Theory an’ Willing Suspension of Disbelief… those is hefty, difficult sorts a cognitive challenges… you’s walk inter Intro ter Art an’ what is them kids doin’? They’s damn well finger paintin’!”
What a doggone slap in the face.
-Squeezebox Sam
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Friday, June 05, 2009
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Current mood: bummed
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Wednesday, June 03, 2009
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Current mood: bummed
 ell, as if'n things 'round these parts ain't been cowpucky 'nuff I also been lamentin' the news that our pard Jimmy Lugosi (of Drop Dead Beats notoriety) is resignin' from his role in GRIT. 'Tween bein' a new daddy an' workin' ten hour days six days a week ter make ends meet fer the man he done just decided that two bands is just too much ter be tryin' ter juggle. We's gonner rightly miss ole Lugosi's rendition of Dylan's "Wagon Wheel" as well as all them fine originals he brought ter the table, includin' "21 Days", "Old Number 7", an' "Theolacy" as well as ever' thing else he done had up his sleeve fer the future. Prolly ain't never gonner admit that ole Lugosi ain't part of GRIT. That's just too hard a reality ter come ter terms with. But I guess we can't be expectin' him ter be appearin' with us on stage anytime soon. And believe me, that there presence done gonner be right missed. Maybe we's can get him ter let hisself be dragged inter the spotlight now an' then. Nonetheless, this don't excuse none of yous from goin' out an' supportin' them Drop Dead Beats ever chance ya get, nosirree! -Squeezebox Sam
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Tuesday, June 02, 2009
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Current mood:  depressed
Dead in Time
You're dead already
What's a little bit more time got to do
with it
So you're dead
So the Living Loathe the Dead,
themselves -
(from the 169th Chorus)
- Kerouac Mexico City Blues 242 Choruses
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Sunday, May 31, 2009
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Current mood: vehement
 ebbe it’s the weather, or maybe somethin’s in that there water as of late, but this past week I done had some run-ins an’ experiences with a long string o’ disagreeable folks, yup. I think it all started on Saturday mornin’ in Santa Maria. On our way ter the West Coast Kustoms Cruisin’ Nationals show at the fairgrounds, the Omen an’ I right stopped at McDonalds fer a bite to eat. Well, we wuz sittin’ at a window seat with the Thunderbird parked right outside so’s we could keep an eye on it an’ wouldn’t you believe it but this here 80-somethin’ spam can done careens inter the space next to the ‘Bird, parkin’ more crooked than Satan’s forked tongue. Then that there driver flings open his driver side door like he was lookin’ fer some kinda medal in a momentum contest. Yup, you guessed it. That there super-powered door smacked right inter the passenger side of my car leavin’ a nice nick right down ter the metal, not to mention the accompanying sheet metal impression (read: dent).
As you can expect, I was right hoppin’ mad an’ as that fool got out of his car and looked guiltily ‘round ter check if anyone had witnessed his handiwork he done spied me behind the glass givin’ him the royal middle finger salute. Well, as if it weren’t enough that he done perpetrated this here careless act, this idiot done comes inter the restaurant an’ comes up ter our table tellin’ me he were right sorry but assured that nuthin’ happened ter my car. Hell if nuthin’ happened ter my car! I could see the dadblamed dent and scratch from where I wuz sittin’, doggone it! Forgive me fer bein’ so pissed ‘bout somethin’ so temporal, but I done told that feller ter get lost before I really got upset. I guess he done believed me cuz he went back out ter his car an’ left without even ordering any vittles.
Anyhow, the rest of that there trip went alright, an’ the Omen an’ I done returned ter the good ole San Fernando Valley on Sunday afternoon. But that there damage ter the side o’ my car was rightly chafing my hide. That might be the reason that I got so doggone unglued when, sittin’ at a red light next ter the left turn lane, a dadblamed gardener truck done near sideswiped the driver’s side of my heap. My arm wuz hangin’ out the window an’ as that there truck loaded down with yard-trimmin’ hardware right whizzed inter the turn lane I done felt that vehicle’s cold metal skin on the hairs o’ my forearm. That’s how close that there sumbitch right cut it.
Well, as can be expected, I done saluted that dumb sumbitch as I went by at the green signal, clearly adding a phonetic explanation of “Dumbass!” The bewilderment on that there countenance would be laughable if’n I weren’t so damn pissed off ‘bout the total lack of accountability fer actions that seemed ter be mountin’ up ‘round this here Memorial Day weekend.
Them next couple a days wuz relatively uneventful… possibly cuz I right slept through most of Monday, haw haw. But come Wednesday there wuz a right tidal wave of ill-behavior swirlin’ ‘bout my unobtrusive existence. The first sign that things were downwards spiralin’ again wuz when I pulled out of my apartment buildin’s parking lot and into traffic on my way ter meet the Stringmeister fer our weekly rendezvous at Starbucks. I’s rightly movin’ along at a fair an’ safe speed with the rest of the traffic when, in my rearview mirror, I sight this feller in an SUV travellin’ at a horrendous speed, weavin’ in an’ out of the tightly packed traffic. Well, this here fool done rides right up on the ass of my Thunderbird, swervin’ inter a tiny open space in the next lane a split-second ‘fore becomin’ part of my tailfeathers. He done roared by, yakkin’ on that there cell phone of his, oblivious ter the fact that he mighta done gone an’ made anybody reasonably nervous by his questionable drivin’ practices.
As fate would have it, however, his Indy 500 drivin’ technique simply got him ter the next red light a little before the rest of us. Bein’ able ter pull up next ter him while the signal delayed his forward progress done gave me the opportunity to show him what I thought about his racecar drivin’ by extendin’ my middle digit in a right resepectful manner. He, of course, done reacted with one of them “what did I do?” looks that you’d like ter so often slap off a face.
Up ‘til this point it seemed ter me that I had been encounterin’ these irritatin’ individuals on the basis of about one a day. I figgered I wuz done, at least fer that 24 hour period. But nope, there wuz more ter come. Soon’s I done walked inter Starbucks to partake in my small contribution ter the consumerist demise of civilization I witnessed another dastardly human being at work. The broad at the pick-up counter wuz downright berating the barista fer apparently makin’ her fancy, whipped cream topped coffee treat the wrong way. Well, the barista rightly apologizes profusely an’ offers ter remake it fer the customer.
“Ferget it!” screams this displeased lady. “I’ve waited too long already. I’ll just take it like it is!!”
An’ with that, she done stormed outter the store leavin’ the barista standin’ there, hopelessly embarrassed at her asinine behavior that done reflected so bad on him.
So then I’m standin’ in line like the rest of the customers, an’ this lady who is in front of me done orders somethin’ that the barista done gotta percolate in its own special lil’ pot. I don’t rightly know what this here specialty drink wuz, but apparently when it’s done percolatin’ an’ poured out inter a large size cup there’s still some left in the pot. Well, this here lady orderin’ this here beverage tells the barista:
“And when yer done fillin’ the venti, pour the rest out into a smaller cup. If I have to pay for it all, I may as well be able to drink it all!”
Believe me, they wuz words said with no jovialness whatsoever. An’ when her libation were ready she done snatched it with the kinder impatient air you’d have expected from her already sour disposition. All I could do wuz meekly smile at the barista an’ shrug my shoulders when I got ter the counter.
Well, anyone who’s anyone an’ some who ain’t nobody know that the Stringmeister an’ I meet at Starbucks ever Wednesday an’ sit outside gettin’ in some well needed instrument exercisin’. We ain’t never had no problems with anybody bein’ offended or put off an’ the employees done always welcome us an’ whatnot. This particular night it weren’t to be, however, cuz there wuz a big group of fellers sittin’ outside puffin’ away on some big fat cigars who apparently didn’t like our cacophonous tune-makin’. One of them went right inside an’ done complained ‘bout us so’s the Starbucks man had ter come outside an’ ask us ter move around the corner so’s we wouldn’t be botherin’ them fellers while they smoked their stogies an’ argued loudly ‘bout the economy. But we bowed out obediently an’ done moved our operation ‘round ter the side of the buildin’. But we did put in our sophomoric jab by gettin’ a mite louder in our aural production. Haw haw.
But this here story goes on ter one more day! The next mornin’ durin’ my mornin’ break, I done walked over ter Las Fuentes, a nice lil Mexican restaurant nearby my place o’ employment. There wuz some folks standin’ in line when I got there so I just took up my spot an’ wuz waitin’. Well, the older married couple that wuz at the register wuz talkin’ with the server in Spanish an’ askin’ a lot of questions about that there menu an’ whatnot. They wuz obviously laughin’ an’ jokin’ an’ havin’ a good time with their inquiries an’ indecision.
The feller behind them, an’ consequently in front of me, didn’t find it so amusing, though. He wuz huffin’ an’ puffin’ an’ makin’ all sortsa exasperated sounds. Well, I done eyed him a lil bit an’ it rightly came to me that he were an unfortunate feller who wuz obviously a few sandwiches shy of a picnic. In short, he wuz mentally retarded, a point emphasized by his giant rucksack an’ pants waistband pulled up ‘round his chest. ‘Bout the time I done taken note of him, however, he turns ter me an sez somethin’ along the lines of: “I can’t believe they’re takin’ so long! What’s with that?”
Then he turned an’ continued his heavy, irritated breathin’. Sometimes ya just gotter smile an’ nod wit some of the situations done pushed yer way in this here life, ya know?
Well, eventually them folks finished orderin’ an’ Mr. Impatient done got his turn at the register. As fate would have it, he was right meticulous an’ exacting ‘bout his order, takin’ almost as long ter get it straight with the server as them folks who wuz ahead of him. As he is finishin’, however, he turns ter me again an’ sez: “At least I didn’t take as long as those people in front of me! I didn’t ask 20 questions!”
Once again it’s just a matter of smilin’ an’ noddin’ sometimes. Heh.
So then I’m sittin’ there in the restaurant eatin’ my huevos rancheros an’ the mentally disabled feller is sittin’ at a table across from mine with a pard of his who apparently came ter eat with him. Well, this feller is talkin’ on his cellphone while his pard sits there with him, an’ while he ain’t yellin’ or nuthin’ one can pretty clearly hear most of his one sided conversation an’ he is repeatedly tellin’ the person on the other end of the line that “Well, that really pisses me off” and “That would have pissed me off even more.”
Anyhow, at the table next ter mine is another older couple, maybe in their 50s or 60s, an’ this feller, he keeps tellin’ his wife the whole time they’s eatin’ that “This is really spicy. Is yours really spicy? I can’t believe how spicy this is. I didn’t order it spicy. You’re sure yours isn’t spicy? Why is mine so spicy?”
Finally, about half way through my breakfast, this feller who has been complainin’ about his spicy food gets up an’ storms over ter the handicapped feller on the phone an’ shakes his fist at him, shoutin’ “YOU are ruining my meal. And I don’t use the word PISS!”
Then the guy storms off and goes ter the counter of the restaurant ter complain about the mentally disabled feller an’ his use of foul language while on the phone. Meantime, the disabled feller is quite dumbfounded about what has transpired an’ he starts to inquire of his friend, “What did I do? Is piss a swear word?” His friend, in a very friendly way, assured him that he weren’t doin’ no wrong an’ not ter worry none ‘bout it.
Well, perty soon Mister Spicy done come back ter collect his wife an’ they’s is movin’ ter leave. As they are headin’ down the aisle, the mentally disabled feller, he done stops them an’ sez, “I’m sorry. And I don’t think that piss is a swear word.”
At this, Mister Spicy done just reeled about an’ began ter shout at the feller.
“Coming from your mouth it most definitely is a swear word, sir! Everything that comes out of your mouth is the exact antithesis of civilized, acceptable conversation! Shut up and eat your food!” he yells.
Then Mister Spicy an’ his wife done stormed outter the restaurant, leaving Mister Pissed Off an’ his pard right speechless.
Now, this here wuz a right innerestin’ situation cuz that there mentally disabled feller had riled me up a lil with his antics in the line earlier, but here I sorta felt that them tables had done turned. I means, it were right obvious that feller weren’t yer average bear, so Mister Spicy couldn’t a not known he wuz layin’ inter someone who didn’t have the mental faculties ter go a ‘round with him in the verbal ring. Did it somehow make that feller feel better about hisself, to have put down some oblivious guy who prolly has trouble gettin’ his shoes on the right feet in the mornin’?
Nonetheless, I hold firm that somethin’ has been goin’ ‘round these past few weeks. There’s just been too much of this kinda stuff accumulatin’ ter deny it. I’s figgerin’ it might be a sign them end times is upon us. Yup.
-Squeezebox Sam
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