I am either writing a musical, or doing my year-end review

in poetic form, one per month. Or both.......

Yah, you know I never did think

My popularity would shrink

For doing the maid on the sink

My love for Maria did not run deep,

Way down inside I think my soul sleeps

It's a bummer trying to sleep in my Hummer

How much of my money will she keep?

Yah, this sure did get messy

I took out my own legacy

By acting like the wrong Kennedy

Now women look at me like I'm a creep

From old friends I don't hear a peep

So Cal-lee-for-nyah goodbye, big deal, I lied

And my love for Maria did not run deep

The public has this bad image of me

I'm just a celluloid entity

Another star without a sense of morality

I don't have time to ponder and rue

production starts soon on True Lies 2

Now, I'm just supposing

because the help I was hosing

From my kids' life I'm frozen

My love for Maria did not run deep,

Way down inside I think my soul sleeps

It's a bummer trying to sleep in a Hummer

How much of my money will she keep

Thanks to the Box Tops for the use of the melody to "Soul Deep"

GUESS THE SONG, pt 2, soon to be a major motion picture

{ People ask me (no, they don't, no one cares) just why I, a prog-lib reddish pinko type, keeps putting down Obama

. You remember the Seinfeld show,? When a performance artist with Jerry had broken up made her whole skit about him?

 Why did she do it? My motivation is different, I am disappointed in his leadership, but I don't miss his kisses}

Got an e-mail just this morning, from President Barack Obama

promising jobs, and higher wages, and eventually nirvana

Better schools and faster airplanes, 

and greener cars that we can ride

But none of it has come to pass because he never really tried. 

He comes on TV, grinnin' and reassuring us all that

we're in trouble now and he's the hero, he just ain't saved us yet

well the younger generation might believe in what he says

But I'm missing the latest CSI, so please just go away

We know we're in a mess, discuss that with the press

I took a cut in wages, and I had to sell my car

Now I drive an antique Geo, I'm the butt of co-workers' jokes

It can barely make it up a hill, and, like me, the heater's broke.

I know that you can't do much, you're just the freakin' President

But it wouldn't hurt none just to tell us where our money went

Some stimulus, what'd it do for us?

Which street really matters to ya, Main or maybe Wall?

It would've been nice to have some say in what you did with our dough

we had to ask, how could you be worse than that dog and Cheney show?

At least Bush had some backbone, whatever he wanted he always got

You play golf with the enemy, And blanks is all you've shot

----------------------

{People ask why I still pick on poor ol' Dubya. I am being nice to the guy, 

he is a traitor, as far as I am concerned, lying us into a war and getting 

his friends off the hook for it}

Dubya's arriving tonight on a plane

I can see him now, passing out nicknames

We see him in line now, very near to the last

He thinks he's cool, but we think he's an ass

He's been called a dunce, he's been called mighty lame

But he doesn't read much, so he doesn't know the family name

took a hit to the gut during his tenure

I swear even Barbara is of his parentage unsure

Oh, George my brother, because you're older than I

Dad's friends gave you the crown, now our debt is sky-high

You fought two wars and couldn't catch one man

Who's dumber, you, or those who voted you in?

Dad, I love my brother, and what's done is done

But why in hell didn't you choose me, or your philandering son

Daddy, you goofed big-time, but your friends say thanks

because they pay less in taxes, and you saved their banks 

 ----------------------------------------

1)___ __ ______ _ _____ 

Inna da park called Zucotti people

were protesting against the man

Inna da park were a lot of people 

who didn't care, didn't give a damn 

 Oh doncha pretend to me, that you understand 

You just wanted some drugs for free 

And some strange poontan-ahn-ang 

in between exa-ah-ah ahh-ahhmmmms!

--------------------

2)_______________ __________

Wake up Mama, this policeman has something to say to you

It's late November, And I guess I shouldn't have skipped home school

But I'm tired of the abuse, and I study but it's no use

All you want me to learn is chemistry

You keep me out of school, and I do obey your rules

Manufacture meth, a kilo at once or more

All I wanted was a normal happy childhood

But you married a loser and mother what a loser

We had to leave town

Mostly he just messed with our heads, but when you caught him in my bed

Oh Mama there wasn't enough left to bury in a can

And so we had to leave our flat, but I gave him one more stab

You try not talking about it, when you own a meth lab 

---------------

3)

Votin' for a girl with brains under her hair
Votin' for a girl who has money everywhere
She says Obama's not from here.
I'm voting for a republican girl

Voting for a girl who's new to politics
voting for a girl who's into term limits
we hate seniorities
So we vote for republican girls

Votin' for a girl who doesn't really care
for the poor and their lucrative welfare
Her wind billows gucci underwear
Voting for a republican girl

Voting for a girl who used to be a witch
Hoping that she wins us a demographic niche
The other party really hates this bitch
She polls higher than democrat girls

Voting for a girl one fine election night
most precincts reporting not even a close fight
Less than half the voters got it right
Better luck next time, republican girl.

http://townhall.com/tipsheet/guybenson/2011/11/08/gross_hair_and_body_lice_outbreak_at_occupy_portland

Transcript portion from the nightly news at WEAK-TV

....And well have More of the latest Herman Cain news at eleven. 

Now, we turn to the unfolding story on Wall St., where the occupiers have still not issued their demands, but their numbers grow every day. For the story, we go to Clu Lesley, Clu, has there been any change in the situation since 5:15?

Clu: Uh, No, Morava, there has not. But tempers are rising, as the occupiers' numbers grow ever larger. The crowd on the streets of....on Wall Street is becoming restive, demanding action. I have here one Ted "Bozoman" Bozeman. Ted, can you you tell us what the demands might be, and when we might hear something?

Ted: {scratching self} Dude! You're the news guy, you tell me. They just keep itching and crawling and they won't stop, man! I need to blaze a bud, dude, outta here.

Clu: Head and Body Lice. They are making their presence known on Wall st. home of many banks whose questionable practices led to the spontaneous demonstrations by students from all over the country. Head Lice. Body Lice. Reviled by many, understood by few. They live on the bodies of warm-blooded animals, feeding on the bood of their hosts, and laying their eggs on the hair follicles of the host. When the eggs hatch the cycle is complete.

 Clu:But, What do they Really want? Why are they occupying the heads and, of course, the bodies of these innocent youngsters? And what to make of the allegations by fringe elements that the people so                infested brought it themselves, through the practice known as 'poor hygiene'? And night falls, Again without bringing any new answers, the lice feed and lay their eggs, the kids scratch and curse. And so the mystery remains.......unhh, a mystery! Now back to you, Morova.

Thank you, Clu, doing a great job out there. That wraps up the six o'clock hour, I'm Morova Lissner, reminding you to stay tuned for "So You Think You've Been Sexually Harassed By Herman Cain."

 

SONG FRAGMENTS

I'm an old cowhand, I-Pad in my hand
I find lost calves with my search engine
I'm a cowboy who knows his way around the web
my start-up went public, and I bought this spread
It didn't cost me a sixth of the bread
That I got from my IPO

--------------------------------

Did anyone here see that wing- nut Rick Perry?

High as a kite, he carried on

He's sure not to be the front runner

'less he gets off what he's on

Anybody here see Herman Cain take a tumble

when one gal claimed he done her wrong?

Cain says that he merely stumbled

When his hand slid into her thong

-----------------------

BIGGER FRAGMENTS

They're strugglin' in France and Germany's funds are low

And there's no chance that Italy's premier won't go

When the pound is going down

and no dollars can be found

well, whaddya know?

it's China we owe

And it's all because your money's no good

And you gotten rid of your gold

Your nickels are wooden and

the dollars' sunk mighty low

There no use Greecin' palms

and if you're seeking alms , just wherdyago

Not Portugal!

Now the Chinese say

 that today they'd rather buy the yen

They claim the USA

was a much better place back then

bankers were more human

And the only worthless bucks were Indian

And it's all because

you're off the gold standard

and you spend like a drunk intends

You save your christmas cards 

but your money you think won't ever end

I warned you, friend

--------------------

Get your Tercel started

back out of your driveway

Don't go past the Stop sign

Until you've looked both ways

Yeah I gotta go earn a living

10 per cent to the IRA

put some in the son's fund for college

Sure hope he keeps up his grades

But all that crap's forgotten

when the overpass I'm under

and some jerk slows down and blocks me

He should pay me for that blunder

If I wasn't so short and skinny

I'd be right there on his chrome

I'd follow him and then I'd kick him

Make him wish he'd stayed at home

I'd thrash him real good

If only I really could

I'd bruise him to the bone

if weighed more

Than nine stone

I've got a mean inner child

Please don't get me riled

-------------------

 

I cross the Bailey Bridge almost every, but it was not until recently that I took advantage of the excellent views from the old bridge that still stands beside it, and is used as a fishing pier.

 

From the south end of Bailey Bridge, looking west into the setting sun

Regular readers, you two should recognize the Escher Museum, on the waterfront in Mobile, Alabama

The Bulk Terminal, in Eastern New Orleans, is a popular model of mine. good thing, because the weather will keep us here for several days.

 

These guys let me get closer than usual, I think because I had the sun behind me.

But when I took one more step......

There are some beautiful spots still left unspoiled in Bay County, and if you obey the signs and stay on the trail, you will never see them

If the Park Ranger sees me off the Trail, I will run up to him, crying, "Thank God, you found me!

You Have lost Your Way, Lindsay (to the tune do you know the way to San Jose)

What the hell is wrong with you, Lindsay?
You started out so hot, then somehow, you went astray
I ask you again, double-u tee eff, Lindsay?
Rare is the day we don’t hear about some dumb escapade

Lindsay you should wear a bracelet,
one that reads What Would The Judges Say?
In a week or two you won’t have to ask
the weeks inside are slow to pass
And you will find, hope you don’t mind
There’s other ways to show your ass

You aren’t bad, but you’re no Meryl Streep, either
Downey was welcomed back because he can act, that’s a fact
Nice mug shot, Lindsay! Congrats, you over achiever!
You’re supposed to wait until you’re great to become a diva

Lindsay you can’t go on this way
wrecking cars and trashing bars
Even though it’s true what they say
That when you dare to misbehave
and wear no undies to premieres,
if you live, you’ll get more pay

You have lots of friends, Lindsay
Will they be there at the end, Lindsay
Stop acting like your Dad, Lindsay
(fade out)
apologies extended to Burt Bacharach

ODE TO A WALL-STREET OCCUPIER*

There's turmoil on Wall Street
lots of people getting beat
and that's just the fights
about who gets to hold the signs

And the ones who spur you on
wear suits made in Hong Kong
and watch you scream and bleed
on their suite's wideass-screen Samsung

When they tell you to jump you say sirs just how far
There aren't ten of you who know what you're here for
You toke and grin at the scene all around
Pick up a brick and throw
Like a yippie in Chicago
And just like in '68, you know
You've screwed the dems again

It sounded like a real good plan
Take the fight right to the man
get in his face in front of his very own bank

And the men who did us wrong
should be in jail before too long
And we, the unwashed, will be heroes of the first rank 

But the guys in the suites misread the nation's mood now
They were wrong, but its you being carted to the hoosegow
Daddy, help! Where are you?
Sonny bit off more than he could chew
We need enough for Jenny's bail too
The lefties screwed the dems again.

Reporters are trying to keep the protest alive
they ordered pizza for one thousand and five
They fill their papers with lie after lie
The readers are hypnotized and don't mind

It's been a month, and you're kicked out of school now
A week since you bathed, combed, brushed, or wiped now
Stand downwind, you smell like a dead cow
You and your friends made quite a scene
Go home now and get clean, no Obama in '13,
You've screwed the dems, Again!

Sung to the tune of Won't Get Fooled Again, by Pete Townshend

The @godfatherofgreenbay tagged me as part of a xanga chain-letter type thingie, wherein the taggees relate 7 interesting things about themselves, and tag 7 others to do the same. Well, I was tagged, that makes me It, I gotta do it. Go on dawgs, I'll get witcha later:

1) I will take this opportunity to tell you all that I am one of the Lesser-Known Poets of the early 21st Century, an achievement that would not have been possible in the late 20th century because I wasn't writing poetry then, and it wasn't the 21st century yet, Duh!

2)There is a vein on my heart that gets squeezed shut every time my heart beats. It doesn't need to be open at that time, so it does not affect me. Should it ever stay shut, about 30% of the blood flow to my pump would be cut off, and I would feel some pain and dizziness. so they say. Then we would have to cut daddy's chest open. This is officially an interesting thing about me, because my doctor sent a dvd of the phenomenon to the Mayo clinic and Emory University. Last time I checked, you could get a copy at Wal-Mart, look in the $1.98 bin.

3)I can mimic five different regional cajun dialects; Dulac, Venice, Opelousas, the West Bank, and Gentilly, but they only sound different to me.

4)I own a gun that was used to shoot a guy. That's all I'm sayin'

5)My cousin by marriage was implicated in the murder of Professor Backwards. Supposedly, his last words were "Pleh! Pleh!"

7)I have trouble keeping things in numerical order, a relic of my anarchic activity in my teens.

8)I am throwing in an extra fact, because this just seemed to end too soon: I have NEVER, ever been in a fight. it isn't cowardice; I have jumped into the middle of a fight between crew members to break it up, and I have stared down a couple of deckhands who got in my face over orders I had given them. But I am a fast talker, a faster runner(maybe some cowardice, but he was mean for a little guy), and I weigh 215 lbs and stand 6'4", so I can loom when looming is called for. Plus, I don't give a rat's ass if FSU sucks or not, if you look at my girl, or that you think all libs are faggots, so that eliminates most opportunities for physical confrontation.

Re: #5- All right, all right! My Dad sold a canoe to a guy in Key West back in the late seventies, and Max shorted Dad $20 bucks. Max bought a bottle with the twenty, and drank it with Dad after the sale, so why it mattered so much is a bit of a mystery, chalk it up to the wonders of alcohol, I guess. Dad said that twenty mattered more with each sip of whisky, and he got vocal about it. Max threatened to kick his ass, and he was a big guy, and a bully, there was some weight to the threat. So Dad got his .22 rifle, and ordered Max out of his house. Naturally, when faced with a drunk holding a gun on him, Max charged Dad, who shot him in the shoulder. They were crying and telling each other they were sorry when the cops came in response to Mrs. Max' call. Dad spent the night in jail, but Max refused to press charges. He did, however, file a lawsuit, which Dad lost, and I ended up with no inheritance other than a set of bongos, a giant wooden spoon and fork, the aforementioned .22, and a slide rule.

Here is my list of victims:

@jsolberg
@roscoes_farm
@gvnuphope
@joiwinds
@gnostic1
@chromepoet
@doahsdeer

The Water Management district here held an open house for the Pitt Springs recreation area, which has been closed for a year and a half now so that 'improvements coiuld be made to Mother nature's work. I give them a 'C'  minus.

This was the spring before the shutdown....

...and this is how it looks now, the retaining wall has been removed and native vegetation
has been planted to hold the banks in place.

 The trails have been replaced with walkways, as if that will keep me from taking off
 into the woods like a scofflaw.

Back at work, I tried to take pictures of a very un-cooperative porpoise

And on the way to work, I spotted this crop of Ringless Honey Mushrooms.
Very few shrooms have a flavor worth mentioning, but these guys are flat-out delicious!
They have a nutty taste, and a slightly chewy texture; an excellent side dish, or sauteed with any meat.

This old man in the hall, is he asleep?

Outside Mother’s room, against the wall,

Black feet and head book-ending a white sheet?

What does he see up on the ceiling?

Is his soul now before God, kneeling?

Is eyes-open just the way he sleeps,

or is this sleep of his for keeps?

What is he doing on that gurney,

outside the room where mom is learning

that she needs to curb her yearning

for meats that are too red?

Where is his nurse, his doctor,

should he be left unattended?

I’m just a kid, is he alive or is he dead?

Did I see him try to blink his eyes?

Did his chest just fall, or did it rise?

Did a pulse just bulge under eggplant-colored skin?

Or is a boy of ten seeing how his life will end?

No one passes as we stare, me at him, and him at the air.

If I touched him, would his moving, or his not, give me the biggest scare?

It matters not, I didn’t dare, I wished that I'd been braver

And to this day I wonder, was he asleep or a cadaver?

My neighbor knocked on my door at 2:30am this morning. Can you believe
that…. 2:30am?! Lucky for him I was still up playing my drums.
===============
I sat on the train this morning opposite a stunning Thai girl. I kept
thinking to myself, please don't get an erection, please don't get an
erection...but she did.
=============
Did you hear about the fat alcoholic transvestite? All he wanted to do was
eat, drink and be Mary.
==============
Man calls 911 and says "I think my wife is dead" The operator says how do
you know? He says "The sex is the same but the ironing is building up!
============
I was in bed with a blind girl last night and she said that I had the
biggest willy she had ever laid her hands on. I said "You're pulling my leg"
=============
I saw a poor old lady fall over today on the ice!! At least I presume she
was poor - she only had $5 in her purse.
===============
My girlfriend thinks that I'm a stalker. Well, she's not exactly my
girlfriend yet.

What's the difference between Iron Man and Iron Woman? One's a superhero and
the other is an instruction.
================

An old lady is being examined by the Doctor. He asks “Have you ever been
bedridden?”
She says, “Yes I have, and I've been table ended and backskuttled a few
times too!”
================

Went for my routine check up today and everything seemed to be going fine
until he stuck his index finger up my bum! Do you think I should change
dentists?
================

A wife says to her husband you're always pushing me around and talking
behind my back.
He says “What do you expect? You're in a wheel chair.”
=================

Doctors have just identified a food that can cause grief and suffering years
after it's been eaten. It's called a wedding cake.
=================

I was in the pub with my wife last night and I said “I love you.”
She said, “Is that you or the beer talking?”
I replied, “It's me talking to the beer.”
==================

The wife has been missing a week now. Police said to prepare for the worst.
So I have been to the charity shop to get all her clothes back.
===================

 

IMPROPER FOOTWEAR FOR THE WOODCHOPPER'S BALL
                                or, a lesson I should not have needed

I was done chopping firewood for the day, and I swung the axe hard,
bringing it down on trunk of the 70-year old pine. The blade bounced
off the hard wood and followed a path that brought it in contact with
my right foot. A nasty bruise and a 1-inch cut is all I got out of what
could have been much, much worse.
 

 

As clunky and unstylish as steel-toed boots may be, don't count on having my luck, I'm not going to.

 

The first three pictures are for the benefit of a friend with an interest in bridge design..

 
The Huey Long Bridge, which crosses the Mississippi River just north of New
 Orleans, is being widened. No longer will there be just two narrow lanes for
traffic in either direction... 

 

...there will be 3 lanes, 11-ft. wide, plus an 8-ft. wide, pedestrian and bike lane
on each side.

 

Widening the bridge supports, built in the 1930's, was the first order of business

 
In Florida, we build a new bridge, and use the old bridge fer fishin'...

 
...or for early-morning picture-taking

Meanwhile, back at the ramp...
 
A storm is brewing over Meaher State park in Alabama

Edible boletes in N. Florida 

Wildflowers after a hard rain
 

 

 
The wild persimmons are ripe now. MMmmmmm, good!

"Sweet Revenge", said Satan as he offered me the brightly-colored bag full of lost souls. "Stewed in their own bitter bile, imbued with hatred over perceived slights, and smothered with a desire to get even, no matter the cost. Of course, they complain about the cost as they are being dumped in the bag."

He pointed to a row of candy boxes with plastic-covered cut-outs so one could see the contents, which in this case were terrified faces, many familiar to readers.  "Bitter Ends, Hitler in the bunker, Saddam on the gallows, Al Capone crazed by veneral disease, a pit-bull fighter killed by his own dogs. Hard Feelings, wife abusers, interrogators who use torture, pederast priests and others who abused children's trust. A hard exterior that cracks under pressure, revealing a weak, jelly-like center."

His laughter echoed through the mountains of Pakistan, where we had both come to oversee the transfer of a particularly evil soul unto the Devil's realm. Satan was there to welcome the odious fellow, I was there to ensure that the new arrival wasn't coddled by his new landlord, given a supervisory job in an air conditioned office, taking body shots off Lucretia Borgia, that sort of thing. It wasn't happening on my watch, and it is ALWAYS my watch.

The miserable little soul for whom we had convened was being shown the results of his evil actions, forced to feel the sadness and loss of the survivors, and the pain of each victim. My angels would be dropping him off soon.

Satan was miffed at the delay. "I thought you were perfect, that you knew everything." He made a point of looking at his watch, an old-fashioned variety with a face and hands. The current face was that of  Nazi scientist Mengele, the hands once belonged to Jeffrey Dahmer. Each sweep of the hour and minute across the Doctor's visage left another trail of blood and rent flesh. "It's a Slimex, takes the sickening to keep it ticking." he cackled.

"I am, and I do." I replied, "But my posse isn't. I could do it all, but then the angels would feel useless, the cherubs would hassle the incoming out of sheer boredom, St. Peter would just get in the way."

"I get that, and by its nature, the pool of middle-management candidates I get to choose from is far less stellar then yours. Excuse me, I must attend to a paying customer." Satan had assumed the guise of a merchant in a bazaar in Abbottabad. The figure to which he pointed was a Taliban fighter, shopping for cell-phones, which can be used to trigger IED's. He and the Proprieter exchanged greetings and wished the blessings of Allah upon one another.

Allah is only one of my many nicknames, but I did not care for it being sullied by someone who had killed women and children in villages not sufficiently anti-infidel. As he left Satan's kiosk, I dialed his new phone, and when he answered, I ignited the plastique in his backpack.

Satan blew the dust and debris off his display table. "Still got that wrathful Old Testament thing going on, I see. At least you waited until he paid."

"It was his time."

"Right, Time to spontaneously explode. You are all-powerful, but you haven't written it all out. The broad strokes, maybe, but not every action." Then he added, "I can read you like a book."

"Like the book you quote, the one you pervert to your own ends?"

Just then, through the smoke and debris, came the angels charged with collecting and transferring the damned soul, who did not stand so tall, now that the weight of the misery he had caused was strapped to his naked shoulders. A gaping hole opened in the ground in front of the stand, out of which poured yellow and gray smokes, black puffs of oily mist, and shimmering fumes. A trio of black dogs leapt out of the noxous maw, and with their powerful jaws seized the figure by various sensitive points of the body. My angels rose into the air as Osama Bin Laden plummeted into the depths of Hell.

Satan leaned over the hole, one hand cupped to his ear, and listened to the screams as the hole disappeared. "That's gonna sound right tasty on my new Koss headphones."

"So we're done here," I said, fashioning a chair out of a passing cloud.

"Stick around, have a glass of Delicious Irony with me, pureed and filtered...."

"I have been in your presence long enough that your smell lingers in my garment."

My vessel completed, I sat down and started off in direction of the still-pristine Himalayas. His voice faded as the distance between us grew.

"Well I guess I can eat both of these Hot Grudge Sundays by myself, done it before...." 

*I've committed this particular sacrilege before, here, and here

What do you lose when an old friend dies? Your memories of him don't die, they may in fact become more vivid, as if grief works like a restorer of old paintings, carefully brushing and washing each ridge, each whorl, each dash of color, to reveal subtleties and nuances of depth and light, qualities that had been obscured for years, even decades, adding so much to the potrait. Death puts the signature on the canvas. No more adding to the scene, all you can do look at what you have.

Maybe a better metaphor is a tapestry, woven of strands from many sources, but shared by two. The changing dynamic of a relationship can only be hinted at in a painting, a tapestry can bring it to life, by illuminating the pivotal moments, and introducing new elements, athough the old remain, as long as the weaving continues. the survivor is tasked with tying the loose threads together.

Memories of close friends are actually more like tattoos. The images are that personal, the memories so tangible, they are almost a part of you. Some memories were painful in the making, some hurt worse for where the skin was pierced.

What do you lose? That comfortable feeling when you see his car in the driveway, the easy practiced banter, the rituals of preparing beverages, choosing seats and subjects, and the knowledge that what ever is said will stay between each other's ears. The security that comes from a friend who will come to your aid at 3 a.m., armed with enough knowledge to be of assistance. Those magic moments when you both say the same thing simultaneously. And those memories? They are compounded, not doubled, when you are reminiscing with the fellow maker of those memories. Together, you bring out more detail for the painter, more thread for the weaver, more ink to get under your skin.

So many questions will never get answered now, so many incomplete memories will stay that way, or be polluted by cross-images that friends would help filter out. Or they might add errata, in which case you step up and say it wasn't so.

Part of you goes, therefore, when a good friend dies. His memories of you are gone forever.

Dido used to post on xanga; his job gave him many opportunities to photograph the odd loads he carried as a semi-truck driver. He was a good writer, and his letters to the local paper were models of the form. He had a DJ's voice and biceps that were the envy of our whole gang. Dido loved to drive, so semis and he were a natural fit. I would define his politics as 'compassionate libertarianism', as he varied from the platform in his support of unions and national health care.

He could assess a situation accurately, but generally he was assessing a subject that was not under discussion, or did nothing to clarify the point in contention. As an example, the subject of my record collection came up one day. I had then around 1400 albums, I have 1600 now, as I still prefer the sound of an LP to that of other mediums. Dido kiddingly accused me of having as a goal acquiring a copy of every album by every group. "It's like when you drive, you have to be at the head of the line, you can't just ride in the middle. Always have to be first, always have to have the most records."
Well, I mostly collected LP's that weren't big sellers, ones that did not get plays on the radio as much, so I had no interest in any record that garnedred airplay, But he was dead-on in his throwaway assessment of my driving style, and I set about changing it. That was Dido, his best advice was generally unintentional..

I forget how we came to be roommates; it was sometime after we worked together at Burger Chef, a defunct chain that was basically a BK rip-off. We both tried our hands at several occupations in those days, Dido's oddest job was doing a parrot show. He was a natural ham, and the birds worked well with him, so it was a fit for Dido, as I will always remember him.. But I think that was when he went to trucking school on his Dad's dime. See? This is when I will miss him most in the future, when a memory is a little cloudy, and only his input could possibly clear it up.

I have no trouble remembering one night when he sang 'House at Pooh Corner' to his baby daughter, and Holley sang along remembering maybe one word out five.

The night in 1973 that he and Walter were arrested for shooting bottle rockets, we had no idea until they came back home two hours later. Walter's mom has bailed them out; cell-phones were a dream back then, and we had no house phone most of the time. That charge somehow mutated into 'shooting at an officer', and dogged Dido the last few years.

Twice girls that Dido was interested in went out with me instead, and I married his double-ex-wife, after their second split-up. I never found out from him how he felt about those two leaving him for me, but I heard that I hurt his pride. I would have liked to have finally apologized for that, I was young, and there were plenty of other gals around, but I didn't know them. When Cathy and I fell in love, he took it hard, and probably considered it a continuation of my woman-stealing, although it was never like that. Things were difficult for a few years, but we were as close as ever by the beginning of this summer, closer, maybe.

I don't know how to end this piece, I am still dealing with it all. The funeral won't be until at least Saturday, we will drive down the day before, I will say goodbye to my friend, and then back to our slightly dimmer lives.