Friday, December 21, 2007
Monday, December 17, 2007
Friday, December 14, 2007
Thursday, December 13, 2007
So there was this old Scotsman, we'll call him Tonto MacTavish, who had been drinking and carrying on at an old fashioned Ceilidh in his village. Being a Scot, he had had a wee too many drops of the Crater, and at a certain point in the evening, felt the need to lay down somewhere and rest his weary bones. He heads back to his home, but in his inebriated state only makes it to a big Oak tree along-side the road. He lay down and falls asleep aginst the tree, legs akimbo, kilt half-hiked up, a drunken mess.
Soon, along comes two bonney Lasses leaving the party, on their way home and in a fine festive mood. They approach the sodden Scot, and one says to the other, 'I wonder, Bridgett, is it true what they say about a Scotsman going bare under his kilt'. Unable to qwell their curiosity, the girls lift up the Scots festive Mackenzie Plaid kilt and find that sure enough, only the man's dingus to be home there underneath. So amused by the sight one of the girls took the blue ribbon from her hair and tied to the kilted man's member as a prank. Then they sally forth on their way.
Next morning, the hung-over man awakes to natures call, rises fom his rest and goes sloppily to the bush to relieve himself. When he lifts his kilt to take a leak, he sees his shaft festooned with the blue ribbon left there as a present. Incredulous, he looks left, he looks right, then down again to his mini-Mac. He then says,
(wait for it)
'Me'lad, I doon't know wheeere ya beeen, or what ya beeeen doooin', but sur'n I'm mighty proud that you won fuuurst prize'!!!!
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Now, I've never been accused of being the most politically savvey guy in the world. As a matter of fact, until recently I thought the term Fatowa referred to the Bounty Hunter on Star Wars that captured Han Solo (turns out that's Bobo Fet). Still, as I've always said, it doesn't take a genius to tell the difference between chicken shit and chicken salad. In that spirit, the staff here at SBL#178 have compiled and spun the top five news stories of the week, and presented them here using small words that are easy to understand. Truth is certainly better than fiction, and that axiom is never more true than when one reads the daily news. In no particular order, we present:
'Army Intelligence' as Oxymoron
In a report this last week, the CIA reported on the status of Iran's nuclear weapons program. It had been consistently maintained over the last five years by the US government that the rogue terrorist state of Iran posed a terror threat as a result of their nuclear enrichment program and potential nuclear weapon arsenal. Turns out in last week's report, however, that Iran had abandoned their nuclear program as far back as 2002. An embarressed state department maintained that Iran was still dangerous, 'just on general principles', but sheepishly admitted their now unilateral sanctions against Iran lacked any real credibility with US allies. The State Dept. also, just in the nick of time, reporedy recanted sanctions against USSR for their missiles in Cuba, their sanctions against the Southern States for their practice of enslaving Blacks, and sanctions against Germany for invading Poland. A high level spokesman for Britain's Prime Minister was quoted as saying, 'yeah, us too'.
Stop, Chavez Time...
In a bold and imaginitive move this week, Venezualan strong man and perrenial US administrative irritant, Hugo Chavez declared that Venezuala be declared another time zone. Nobody seems to know why. We guess it had just been a few days since he had been in the news. In either case, Venzuala, like our neighbor to the north Newfoundland, is a half-hour off the rest of the world. A distraught MC Hammer, when reached for comment claimed Chavez had stolen his idea, and if anybody deserved his own time zone it was the 'Hammer'. Please Hammer, don't hurt 'em.
Oprah Winfied, America's most beloved pompopus winbag (no wait, that's Al Gore) came out and endorsed Democratic hopeful Barack Obama this week. In this stagnant Democratic race for Iowa, nearly a year before America should even be caring about the election at all, it is a pretty desparate sign indeed that this srory is even news. It is, however, and Obama said 'I'll take it'. Oprah's declaration of allegience to the young senator from Illinois securely locked down the middle-aged white women's vote in Iowa, if not the Black vote. Also, reportedly, Oprah gave the entire state of Iowa a Caddilac if they voted for Barack. An obviously upset Hillary Clinted was quoted as saying, 'Oh no you Di'int'!!!!
Paying it Backwards
It was reported from Greensboro North Carolina on Monday that a Starbuck's coffeeshop drive-thru customer offered to pay for the order of the next car in line behind them. The next customer in line, in turn, payed for the order of the next car, and so on for the next car, paying it bacwards, as it were. This human chain of kindness lasted an amazing 100 cars before the chain was broken. The low down dirt bag who reportedly broke the cahin was a mister Ivan Zweiback of nearby Raleigh, who in his spare time skips straight to the 'good bread' leaving his wife the heel, leaves a teaspoon of coffee in the pot at work so he won't have to make a fresh pot, and never, ever puts a new roll of paper towels out when he uses the last one. He is reportedly also a Yankees fan.
Say it Ain't so Barry
The sporting world stands transfixed today as they await tomorrow's 2pm release of the 'Mitchell Report'. The report commission, headed by no other than ace diplomat and erstwhile Mainer George Mitchell, is sure to name names and point fingers about which major-league baseball players took steroids. Stars speculated as being outed include Barry Bonds, Mark McGuire and Jose Cansenco. Now there's a shocker for you: Steroids in Baseball!? Next you're going to tell me Barry Bonds hit all those Home-runs on steroids. Let me see. One year, Bonds is a lithe, light hitting, base stealing threat. The next year, his head is as big as a picnic ham and his testicles are the size of a Hamster's. Probably coicidence. That one year Sammy Sosa and Mark McGuire broke Roger Maris' single season Home-run record, you're now going to tell me they did that on steroids? Say it ain't so. You know my honest opinion is tha that nobody gives a rat's ass. If Barry Bonds hits a Home-run so hard that it actually rips both of his arms from the sockets, that's still good for baseball. Chicks dig the long ball. That's just the way we roll. What next, George? Are you going to tell us that Professional Wrestling is fixed? No you Di'in't!!
Well there you go, this weeks top stories, ripped straight from the headlines. Happy Holidays from your friends at Sufferin' Batsards Local #178. Remember, Jesus loves you....but he likes me best.
The editorial staf of SBL#178 apologizes for BFC incessant use of the word Erstwhile. He doesn't really know what it means. He thinks it sounds 'smart'.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Just in time for Christamas, or maybe Ramaden, or is it Kwaanza, theres a new tape from Terrorist mastermind and shameless self-promoter Osama Bin Laden. In the recently released greatest hits issue, he dishes out his usual diatribe of extremist rap, this time directed at America's NATO allies in Europe. According to SkyNews, the new audio message from the testy turbaned tyrant seeks to 'persuade Washington's NATO allies that the fight for Afghanistan is a losing proposition'. Not exactly a news flash, but none-the-less that's what he said. "The American tide is ebbing, so it is best for you to press your leaders to change their policies," said the the Jivin' Jihadist, sternly admonishing naughty Europeans. As per usual, the CIA and other intelligence agencies are working to verify that the speaker is indeed the fugitive al-Qaida figurehead. One thing the CIA does know is that the new release comes with an extra DVD fully loaded with lots of extra features, including director's comments, interviews, and a completely interactive animated 'Where's Osama' game. 'It makes a perfect stocking stuffer', said the diabolical desert-dwelling despot.
Why in Whoville They Say...
It's no news that our illustrious Vice-President Dick Cheney has had a history of heart problems. To be honest I always felt the evil bastard, who has deftly played Senator Palpatine to Nixon, Reagan and Bush's Darth Vader, never had a heart to begin with. Evidentally, though, he has, and it is out of rhythm frequently. So it was no news the other day that ol' Iron Dick was checked into Bethesda Navel Hospital, to have his heart defibbed a lil' bit. It turns out, though, according to his physician, Dr. Ivan Zwieback, that the Vice-president's heart was not actually out of rhythm, rather it was three sizes too small. The restorative procedure, unfortunately, was a complete success and Cheney was released later that day. Describing the touch and go moments on the operating room table, his doctor was quoted as saying, 'then what happened next, why in Whoville they say, Dick Cheney's heart grew three sizes that day'... Leaving Bethesda, escorted by security, the plucky politician was heard muttering, 'it came without ribbons, it came without tags, it came without packages, boxes or bags'...
An Inconvenient Pain in the AssIt's the perfect storm of a news story. Al Gore is an insufferable blowhard who has claimed authorship of everything cool in pop culture from the Internet to the Mohito. He has about as much charisma as a big box of paper clips and just can't seem to keep his ever expanding fat ass out of the news, teasing obsequeous liberal democrats with the tantalizing thought of another Gore presidential run in '08. Now with him as a Nobel Laureate, why he's just intolerable, really. Then we have our current Executive, GeorgeII, and sorry all you patriotic Americans, the guy's a Doofus. He's got all of Nixon's nepotism and Reagan's dogma, only without all those brainy ideas and big words to get in the way. The guy couldn't grab his own ass using both hands, gosh!...Anyhow, I don't have a gag for this story, but the thought of those knuckleheads shaking hands in front of cameras for the first time since the 'Hanging Chad' days, holding up the Nobel Prize is just comedy gold. This was the best Presidential photo-op since Japan's Prime Minister Koizumi visited the White House last year and did his Elvis impersonation. George, just shut up and give him his prize; Al, do your part for the environment and close your greenhouse gas emmiting pie-hole.
Don Izzle Back up in Here DizzleErstwhile aging shock jock and irrelevent relic to anyone under fifty, Don Imus returned this week from ignomy, and took to the airwaves on WABC Talk Radio in New York. You'll remember that last year the I-Man made some lighthearted, careless, some would say racist comments about some 'nappy-headed' memebers of the Rutger's Woman Basketball Team. In the ensuing grease-fire, he was pretty much ran out of the media on a rail without mercy, led by none other than Reverend Al Sharpton, who's head is a bit nappy his'self, I must say. Anyway, somehow Imus is making a comeback, and in an effort to drum up publicity and gain ground with the young black audience he likely alienated with his comments, he is going to change his radio image to 'Gangsta' during his new morning radio show. Inside sources say the program is going to be called " Don Izzle, your Main Nizzle, All Around the Hood and up in the Hizzle". Somewhere in Gotham, Rev. Al prepares to get up on his high horse.
Must the Show Go on?
The theaters of the great Broadway in New York apparently will come back alight this week as the long standing stagehand's strike comes to a merciful end. An 11th hour agreement between the theater owners and reps of the Union last night hammered out the details of an agreement, which evidentally had been hung up on the Union's demand for skim milk only for their scheduled hourly Latte breaks. The lights of New York's famous entertainment district had been darkened for weeks as a result of the strike, but now thankfully the good citizens and visitors of the most obnoxious city in the world can once again pay $200 per ticket to see people dancing around dressed as gay cats (not that there's anything wrong with that). Now, personally, I'd rather repeatedly poke myself in the right nipple with a bobby-pin than pay for and sit through a big Broadway show, but I am glad the strike is over and everything can get back to 'normal'. The sooner all those flamboyanly dressed,dancin', show-tune singin' mooks are off the streets, out of the bars and gainfully employed, the safer the streets of the Big Apple will be. Fabuuuuulllooouuuusss!!
Anyway, there they are, our top news stories of the week. As you can see, we're definitely living in complicated times. As I say to myself all the time,'... Where the hell am I going anyway...and why am I in this hand-basket'.
Smoke 'em if you got 'em.
Managing Executive Editor and Wine-Taster-BFC
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Q- What did the Buddhist Monk say to the Hot Dog vendor?
(waiiiit for it)
A- Make me one with everything.....
Get it?... ONE with everything!....
HA...well, I thought it was good. Anyway, remember this holiday season: When life hands you lemons, get some Tequilla and some salt. Hooowwwaaaa!
Monday, November 26, 2007
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
oriental art form is the erstwhile Yankee skipper
and all around great guy.
I just got fired today
And I'm takin' A-rod
Monday, November 12, 2007
A Mormon was seated next to an Irishman on a flight from London. After the plane was airborne, drink orders were taken. The Irishman asked for a whiskey, which was promptly brought and placed before him. The flight attendant then asked the Mormon if he would like a drink. He replied in disgust, 'I'd rather be savagely raped by a dozen whores than let liquor touch my lips.' The Irishman then handed his drink back to the attendant and said, 'Me too. I didn't know we had a choice.'
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Thursday, October 11, 2007
College kids on cells phones, free downloaded ring-tones,
They run out of minutes, well their parents buy 'em more.
Fresh faced Co-ed Nubies, Frat boys smokin' dubies,
Dude, dude, dude right outside my front door.
Dude walks by the other day, in a trench-coat dressed in black,
Is that a Mullet or is it a Mohawk Dude, Do-do-do-do-dude?!
If you ask for my opinion, they're wasting their tuition,
Dude, dude, dude looking out my front door.
Hippies. freaks and Liberals all beating on their drums,
Won't you take a ride on my hikin' boot, do-do-do-do-dude?!
Dresse up like Madonna, listenning to Jane Fonda,
Dude, dude, dude, looking out my front door.
Smoke 'em if you got 'em.
Thursday, October 04, 2007
Wednesday, October 03, 2007
Friday, September 28, 2007
Monday, September 17, 2007
Anyway, kudos, Big Dog...
The cockiest,dirtiest, most irresponsibe group of athletes in the world. Will do anything just to be able to tell his teammate a great story in the locker room. Live the dream until they are 35 and then realize they never made it. Ladies love us, guys want to be us, we are the soul of the universe.
You lace up the skates, strap on the helmet, put on the gloves, and walk on to the ice and nothing else matters. It doesn't matter that you failed a test, your girl is being a bitch, or that you got a ticket on the way there.... your world is absolutely perfect for the next couple hours.
So heres to face-offs, goals, assists, breakaways, going top corner, going 5-hole,overtime, cold rinks, early mornings, late nights,on the road, new skates, practice, puking, thousands of dollars, dangling D-men, end to end rushes,big hits, broken twigs, packing bombs, dropping the mitts, wheelin' broads,coaches, adding the letter "y" to the end of everyones last name,the word "fuck", pick up, tape to tape,let downs, miracles, and most of all-the game of Hockey.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
'Just last month, he pronounced, for the first time, the word seven. "We were working on some really interesting things," Pepperberg said'.
Norman Hsu is a naughty boy. We all know this. As Larry Craig, soon to be erstwhile Idaho Senator and men's room densison, would say, he's a naughty, bad, nasty boy. Hong Kong born, later US naturalized, Hsu has had a questionable record during his meteoric rise to riches. He has been linked several times with organized crime, and even worse, has donated tens of thousands of his dirty dollars to Democratic political campaigns, notably Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama. News of Hsu's sketchy, though lucrative endorsements, leaked recently, causing mad scrambling and rapid distancing from parties involved. Hsu was dropped like a smoking hot plate of fried rice and all the money given to the respective campaign coffers were promptly and sanctimoniously donated to charity. A spokesman for the Bush administration almost was reached for comment, but then remembered the 2001 Inauguration, when standing behind the president, a'smilin' and a'wavin', was Ken Lay and Jeff Skilling, who donated 100 grand or so themselves. I don't remember which charity that $ was donated to.
Deja Vu All Over Again
It was 1978. Baseball's All-Star break had just come to an end, and the Red Hot Red Sox had a seemingly insurmountable 14-1/2 game lead over the uber-evil New York Yankees. Confidence was at an all time high in Beantown. But alas, in September, after an horrific July and August, the Red Sox found themselves at a virtual tie with the Evil Empire. Because of a schedule anomoly, it came down to a one-game play off between Boston and New York to see which team would go on to the playoffs, and the World Series. In the end, it was a diminutive shortstop, named Bucky Fucking Dent who did the Sox in, homering over the Green Monster after being served up a pumpkin-sized Mike Torrez curve ball. Sox fans would have to wait another 8 long years before having their hearts ripped out in the playoffs, a la Buckner, 1986 and Mookie Fucking Wilson.
Today, the Red Sox find themselves 5 games ahead of the contemptible clouters from Gotham. Only the Tampa Bay Devil Rays stand between Boston and a 3 game series against the Yanks. Please, does anyone know the Heimlich Maneuver?!
Friday, August 31, 2007
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
The show began promptly at 8 with Birmingham's own Dan Sartain...at least that 's what the papers reported, as Daddy was across the street pregaming it at Brian Boru's. I did manage to stagger in for the final moments of his act and enjoyed his sounds tremendously.
I know there are a few here who do not enjoy the raw, stripped-down,bare-bones, white-knuckled, teeth clenched, head-bobbin', ummmmmm fist-pumpin' sounds that the kids from Detroit bring, but damned if you can convince me they don't put on one hell of a show.
John and Megan take the stage and deliver the welcome descending-note open of "Dead Leaves" and for the remainder of the show, even though I have great seats . . . I am on my feet. John and Megan continue their high energy assault with rockin versions of "Jolene" "Effect and Cause""Hotel Yorba" and "Little Cream Soda" oh well! By the time they broke into "Slowly Turning Into You" I had already forsaken Mrs. Daddy and swore my allegiance to Megan, John's older and somewhat more endowed sister. About halfway through the performance John turns the stage over to Sis for her signature piece de la resistance.... "In The Cold Cold Night. Now many of you who have heard the recorded version of this song are with me when I tell you the entire audience all held our collective breath as Megan began her moment in the spotlight.
We need not have worried. She nailed the fucker.
Capping off an incredible set with an awesome rendition of "Icky Thump" we slapped our hands together until they came out and played seven more songs for us including . . ."Blue Orchid""The Denial Twist""Sugar Never Tasted So Good"
As the show wound down and I sobered up I realized I had probably better stick it out with Mrs. Daddy and keep Megan on the proverbial "back-burner" in case things ever got dicey with my babies mama. I hollered to my dear friend John "Great show man! Come back and see us in Maine again real soon!" John hollered back...
"Who the fuck are you?"
Spice Girls under pressure to double comeback tour dates The Spice Girls reunion tour is all set to turn into a bigger extravaganza than what was planned before, for talks are on for adding 25 more dates to the tour's itinerary, following fan's requests for tickets.Tags: Spice Girls Spice Girls
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Monday, July 09, 2007
Sometimes getting old sneaks up on you, like carbon monoxide from a bad furnace you should have had checked out months ago. You just get kind of tired, kind of woozy, then surprise, it's on you like a Duck on a June Bug. Other times it whacks you in the friggin' head like an open closet door in the middle of the night, when you get up to have a pee. It's like,"Whapo', up-side the head. 'Jeez, that really hurt'. How the hell did that happen? I'm old.
Well, it happened the other day that old age hit me up-side the head like it does. I was at our family camp up in the woods, and I was thumbing through an old issue of AARP magazine ( for those of you who don't know, that's the literary arm of American Assoc. of Retired Persons). Okay, it wasn't mine, first of all, it was a friend's. Anyhow, whom did I see on the front cover but sexy and sullen film-star and director Kevin Costner. Now, I'll be the first one to admit that I'm not a really big Costner fan. I mean, there IS Bull Durham, and who didn't love his futuristic masterpiece Waterworld. But aside from th... oh yes, I forgot Dances With Wolves. I liked that one. But aside from that.... Jeez, maybe I AM a Costner fan.... ANYway... In GENERAL, I never thought Costner could have acted his way out of a speeding ticket. As a matter of fact, in a Thespian battle of Wits, I don't even think he could eat Keanu Reeves' dust. But in any case, that'a not the point, is it? The fact that Kevin Costner would be on the cover of a Rag for retired old people made me feel a little unsettled. Then I'm told by my father-in-law that somehow when he was 49, he started mysteriously getting AARP magazine in the mail. It's like they just were waiting for him: 'Hey, you're old. Welcome to the club. Here's your magazine'. It made me wonder how many of my adolescent heroes are now reading through AARP. How about Iggy Pop thumbing through August's issue about what cruise ships give you the best value. Or Keith Richard reading about the changes made in prescription drug policy that may affect him. Or Harvey Keitel comparing the anti-oxident levels in Pomegranite and Gobi juice. Very concerning. Again, let me re-iterate that I'm not a really big Kevin Costner fan, and never have been. It's just an example, a microcosm of what it's like to be fuckin' old. It's like the other day, me and my family are driving into Boston, doing our regular thing at the Museum of Science or Aquarium or whatever. Me and my lovely wife are having a conversation and admiring the skyline of the Olde Towne, and I'm regaling her with stories of how I used to work in this Towne in the Aulde Construction Days, and how I worked on this building and on that one, how I saw this band or that one at a club that no longer exists. It suddenly occured to me that I've told her these stories at least a dozen times already. She was much too polite to tell me, but I know it to be true. I'm spent. I have nothing new to add to the dialog. That's what it's like to be old. As a matter of fact on the way home that night , after a full day in the city, we actually had this conversation: whether Weed Whacker or Weed Whipper was a more appropriate name for the handy and popular yard toolwe use every week (by the way, it's Weed Whacker; you'd have to be insane to call it a Weed Whipper). That's what it's like. Sometimes, it sneaks up on you like a Tele-Market-er when you're expecting an important call, and sometimes it jumps up in your grill, like a Jehovah Witness at the door when you're ten minutes late for work (Wow, excessive use of Simile). Anyhow, I digress. All the fuckin' time....Wait a minute, my Wine is gone. I'll be right back......
There, that's better. Now where was I? Oh yeah, I remember. The other day I was driving home from my hideous, soul sucking job. I see this fat old dude ambling down the road, walking this ridiculous Toy Poodle on a leash. The poor old dude was about 90, and his wife must have sent him out to take Muffy for a walk just to get his tired old ass out of the house. Totally de-masculating. At least I'm not that guy. I may be old, but at least I'm not walking a fucking Toy Poodle. Or a Pekinese. Or a Pomeranian. And I never will. That is my solemn vow. I may be the perverbial Sufferin' Bastard who secretly thumbs through AARP magazine to read about Gene Simmons of Kiss and his favoritre recipes for veal. I may repeat stories about the Glory days to anyone who'll listen to me. But at least I'll never walk a Poodle. A man has to know his limitations, as Clint Eastwood used to say. It's like the Billy Joel song, 'Keeping the Faith': 'the good old days weren't always good, tomorrow's not as bad as it seems'.....Sweet gentle Jesus, take me home, I'm quoting Billy Joel. All Right, this time the Wine's all gone. I'm done. And remember what I said about getting old. Kevin Costner be my witness. Non Illegitimi Corrundum.
Thursday, July 05, 2007
Friday, June 29, 2007
A young family moved into a house, next to a vacant lot. One day, a construction crew turned up to start building a house on the empty lot. The young family's 5-year-old daughter naturally took an interest in all the activity going on next-door and spent much of each day observing the workers. Eventually the construction crew, all of them "gems-in-the-rough," more or less, adopted her as a kind of project mascot. They chatted with her, let her sit with them while they had coffee and lunch breaks, and gave her little jobs to do here and there to make her feel important. At the end of the first week, they even presented her with a pay envelope containing ten dollars. The little girl took this home to her mother who suggested that she take her ten dollars "pay" she'd received to the bank the next day to start a savings account. When the girl and her mom got to the bank, the teller was equally impressed and asked the little girl how she had come by her very own pay check at such a young age. The little girl proudly replied, "I worked last week with a real construction crew building the new house next door to us." "Oh my goodness gracious," said the teller, "and will you be working on the house again this week, too?" The little girl replied, "I will, if those assholes at Home Depot ever deliver the fuckin' sheet rock..."
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Monday, May 21, 2007
Monday, May 14, 2007
I read a lot of your stuff recently and you seem to go on and on a lot about 'Fly-Fishing'. What is so great about Fly Fishing anyway? Is it so much different than just plain fishing, you know just sitting in a boat drowning worms? I tried it a couple of times with some buddies, but it was about as exiting as watching latex paint dry. What gives? Are there some hidden lessons in it about life or something? I seem to be missing the point. You're usually on the money, so I'd really appreciate some clarification.
Befuddled in Bedford
Well, firstly, the main distinction between fly-fishing and 'normal' fishing, my neophyte friend, is that usually 'regular' fisherman are likely to actually catch a fish. Well if that's all you care about, you worm dragging, 'meat-fisherman', you might as well pick another hobby like watching the WWE, because you probably won't get it. I might as well explain why to play golf, why to go watch a baseball game, or why to smoke a $10 cigar. It just doesn't make sense, unless it makes sense. Savey? But if you are willing to open yourself up to the subtle nuances of the finer art form of fly fishing, and aren't too hung up on that 'fish catching' thing, there are indeed some lessons you could learn and apply to your every day life.
The first thing I learned from fly-fishing, that has served me well in my real estate endeavors is this: Location is everyting. If you are standing in the right stream, at the right time, with the sun setting just right, a warm can of Milwaukee's Best can taste like a fine Belgian Ale and a Swisher Sweet can taste like that $10 Cuban cigar. Talk about you 'curb appeal'; try Grand Lake Stream the middle of May, when the hatch is good. Another thing I have learned from fly-fishing that has served me well is that I don't really know much of anything. I've been doing this thing a number of years now, both 'living' and fly-fishing, and the main thing I know is that, most of the time, I'm flying by the seat of my pants. Even in the waters I've fished now for 10 to 15 years, on any given day I don't have a clue as to what fly they're biting on. Same in life. Most of the time, for me, it's guess work at best. But mostly, it works out alright. So there you go. Related to that, as little as I know, I find that everyone else knows about the same, maybe less. The more I talk to fisherman I meet along the stream, the more I realise they're full of shit too. And the more they profess to know, the less they actually know. This a very valuable metaphor for everyday life, I find. As a matter of fact, the two main things I learned from fly-fishing is 'know what you know', and 'keep your mouth shut'. For example, even though I said I know I don't know much, at least I know what I do know, you know? Psychologists call that 'meta-cognition', that is, knowing your knowledge and how to use it. But psychologists are also full of shit, I would say, prone to talking to much. Which leads to the main lesson: keep your mouth shut. Ergo, suppose you are slaying Brook Trout, in an unlikely spot, using an unlikely fly, enjoying the hell out the experience. If a fella asks you how's the fishing, keep your mouth shut and say as little as possible, unless you want all the anglers in the local wooded area to be completely up your ass, taking all your fish. Lesson: don't over-share. Less is more. Another lesson in life gained from fly-fishing is to be able to focus. As a guy with a life-long ADHD affliction, I fully realise how hard it is to stay focused. But in dry fly casting, if'n you aren't focused completely on your floating fly, you are sure to miss that magic sound of 'Schluupp' a Salmon makes just before it breaks the surface of the water and sucks down your Caddis. Thus you will never hear the even more magic 'Schluuup, Whhhzzzz, reel, reel, reel, reel, reel sound of bringing in said Salmon. Focus is important for me, at least when I'm motivated by a big enough Salmon. The most important lesson from fly-fishing, though is how to figure out what's important, remember that, and stick with it. For example, I might not be catching anything but a cool buzz form the warm beers in my creel, but that's not the important thing. The important thing is that I'm not at work, I have three more beers in my creel, four more cigars in my front pocket, and did I mention, I'm not at work. As in life, Fly-Fishing is analagous to my favorite myth, the myth of Syssaphys, who was cursed to roll a rock up a hill for eternity, only to have it roll back down when he reached the top. What Syssaphys didn't realise is that it's not whether he ever gets the rock to the top of the hill, it's in the act of rolling the rock. Enjoy the fuck out of rolling the rock, even though you know full well it's a waste of time. Likewise, whether you fill your bag full of fat Rainbows is irrelevent, if you are enjoying the act of not catching fish. Just make sure you have enough beer. It seems to help.
Anyway, there you have it, Befuddled, even though I'm pretty sure you're not going to believe it. But hey, I could be wrong, you metal bait slinging neanderthal fish-killer. In eithe case, be careful out there and keep your Muddler moist.
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Monday, April 16, 2007
Thursday, April 12, 2007
I felt a great disturbance in the force today, as Obi Won used to say to me all the time. I never knew what the hell he meant either. In any case, today, dear readers, I found out in the news that, after complications from a fall at his New York home, beloved author and pivotal influence to my adolescence, Kurt Vonnegut Jr. died. So it goes. Coincidentally, or maybe not, today is also the birthday of erstwhile teen-idol and Partridge David Cassidy. My calculations make him at about 57. I was also reading a concert revue in the Globe the other day, waxing nostalgic about Iggy Pop and a current tour featuring the Igster and some of the original Stooges at the Orpheum in Boston. Turns out ol' Iggy is over 60 years old himself. Jesus fuckin' bejeepers: Iggy Pop over 60! What the hell! When did that happen? And why is he still out there yelling and a'smearing peanut butter on himself, moshing in the mosh-pit, with kids young enough to be his grandchildren, on that bad hip of his? Man, this kind of stuff gets a me to thinking. Thinking about my own mortality. Thinking of what's left to do and what's been left undone. Got me to thinking about the old Salad Days again, and all the great rock shows I've seen over the years and all the great shows that got away. I had a pretty good run for a while there. So since I've already bored the starch out of my wife with these stories at least a hundred times, I guess it's up to you, faithful readers of SBL#178, to absorb the brunt of my nostalgic ruminations. So, here they are: the top 5 rock n" roll highs and rock n" roll lows from the arhives of Bigfoot Chester's pre-dementia memory bank. In no particular order, I offer up the following excerps from Rock History:
High- Only a Lad: Backstage with Oingo Boingo and Squeeze: