Angry Bob

Tonight I was conversing with my wife and mother-in-law. They were talking about how my sister-in-law smacked my brother-in-law with the pan he just ruined.

I was reminded of and I related an old saying about how a good ol’ #10 frying pan upside the head of an errant husband goes a long way to curing his ills. In fact a friend once claimed he had a permanent scar on the back of his head in the shape of the number 10 from having been hit so many times.

All this talk prompted me to rummage through our pots and pans to discover what potential missiles lay at my wife’s disposal.

I produced a cast iron skillet and declared it to be marked with the number 5, to which my wife replied “I guess I’ll have to hit you with it twice then, won’t I?”

Hot diggity damn! The entire run of the hit TV show Dinosaurs is now available in DVD box sets!

“Yuck, little savages. They’ll have to go. Nothing drives down the price of real estate like humans.” – Roy Sinclair

So now I’m listening to the Allman Brothers Band album “Eat a Peach” and I’m reminded of the fact that there are lyrics to “Mountain Jam.”

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“No there isn’t! ” I’ve heard for years, and I was made to feel like an idiot. But in the back of my mind there were ghostly wisps of words trying to be set free. Many of you already know, but it took me years to divine the truth.

“Mountain Jam” is based on a Donovon song from the sixties called “There is a Mountain.” Duh.

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The lock upon my garden gate’s a snail, that’s what it is.
The lock upon my garden gate’s a snail, that’s what it is.
First there is a mountain, then there is no mountain, then there is.
First there is a mountain, then there is no mountain, then there is.

Caterpillar sheds his skin to find the butterfly within.
Caterpillar shed his skin to find the butterfly within.
First there is a mountain, then there is no mountain, then there is.
First there is a mountain, then there is no mountain.

Oh Juanita, oh Juanita, oh Juanita, I call your name.
Oh, the snow will be a blinding sight to see as it lies on yonder hillside.

Lock upon my garden gate’s a snail, that’s what it is.
The lock upon my garden gate’s a snail, that’s what it is.
Caterpillar sheds his skin to find the butterfly within.
Caterpillar shed his skin to find the butterfly within.

First there is a mountain, then there is no mountain, then there is.
First there is a mountain, then there is no mountain, then there is.

First there is a mountain, then there is no mountain, then there is.
First there is a mountain, then there is no mountain, then there is.

(Sorry – Will replace vid locally)

American Girls and American Guys
Will always stand up and salute
We’ll always recognize
When we see Old Glory flyin’
There’s a lot of men dead,
So we can sleep in peace at night
When we lay down our head.

My Daddy served in the Army
Where he lost his right eye
But he flew a flag out in our yard
‘Til the day that he died.
He wanted my Mother, my brother, my sister and me
To grow up and live happy in the land of the free.

Now this Nation that I love has fallen under attack
A mighty sucker-punch came flying in
From somewhere in the back.
As soon as we could see clearly
Through our big black eye
Man, we lit up your world
Like the Fourth of July.

Hey, Uncle Sam put your name at the top of his list
And the Statue of Liberty started shakin’ her fist
And the Eagle will fly and it’s gonna be Hell
When you hear Mother Freedom started ringin’ her bell
And it’ll feel like the whole wide world is rainin’ down on you
Ah, brought to you courtesy of the Red White and Blue.

Oh, Justice will be served
And the battle will rage.
This Big Dog will fight
When you rattle his cage.
You’ll be sorry that you messed with the U.S. of A.
‘Cause we’ll put a boot in your ass
It’s the American way.

Hey, Uncle Sam put your name at the top of his list
And the Statue of Liberty started shakin’ her fist
And the Eagle will fly and it’s gonna be Hell
When you hear Mother Freedom started ringin’ her bell
And it’ll feel like the whole wide world is rainin’ down on you
Ah, brought to you courtesy of the Red White and Blue.

Ahh, ahh… of the Red White and Blue
Ohh, ohh… of my Red White and Blue.

I just listened to Warren Zevon’s album “Bad Luck Streak in Dancing School” and was reminded of a time past. A specific and obscure point where time stands still, but dilates both forward and backward.

This exact moment was captured within the confines of a trailer, in a trailer park. What was unique was that this trailer was truly a trailer. It was short and stubby and ready to be hitched and carried away – not the least like its counterparts residing in the adjoining lots. They were of stouter origin. Wider and longer and proclaiming loudly that they were there to stay.

This trailer was different for another reason. It was my home, for now, for this night. It really wasn’t my home, it belonged to another who really didn’t own it either. But it was her home of last resort when she couldn’t find a real home of her own. And now it was my home for the very same reason. It was a bizarre moment, a place mark in time. And Warren Zevon was my background theme I carried on my hip.

I cannot remember how I got there, although I remember who invited me. She’s dead now due to circumstances both within and without my control. My own weaknesses contributed to her death. Such as not being man enough to tell my mother to shut the fuck up and take in this poor child. Two weeks after my last conversation with the girl she is dead.

Mothers response: “Well, its her own fault.” or something like that. It really doesn’t matter what the exact words were. The heartless feeling is just the same. It is the saddest moment in a son’s life when he is forced to the realization that his own mother can be a worthless lump of flesh.

Dilate past: A soul you meet in life’s journey who is more than a friend, but less than a lover even though those boundaries become confused. A way station, a safe harbor, a port in a storm. You both know you need each other desperately, but only temporarily. The need is sincere, but fleeting. Everything gained in the moment, nothing lost in the long term.

Dilate forward: Caitlin’s pure heart is dead. Years pass and after a small, somewhat intimate concert, I chance to thank Mr. Zevon for a very peculiar moment I’ll not forget. I am bowed in his presence and the best I can say is to thank him for carrying me though a rough time. He nods. His band mates exclaim “Well sure”, “That’s why we do it”, and a simple “Thanks.”

Now Warren Zevon is dead too. I’m left with a signed wristband which I’ve subsequently lost and a memory of a dear friend that will die with me.