Guy's Old Guy's Song

Guy Clark wrote this song as a young man. It gets better as we both get older. I like the line "I got a pretty good friend who's seen me at my worst" and he glances over at little Verlon Thompson, who's been standing just off to his right side for 30 years, maybe longer. A righthand man in way that I understand. Then there's "I gotta woman I love....I have a tattoo with her name right through my soul". It's a lightweight, throw away line if he met her a week ago, or even two years ago. She painted the picture of the "old blue shirt" on the record jacket of Old No. 1 forty years ago. This is a life song in a way that only old school men of the world understand. Sorry pups, this one ain't for you. Yet.

This song is from One Track Mind. If you are interested in this type of music, Old No.1 is the best collection of song writing on any record I've ever heard.

Here's a freebee for ya. A bad song - just so's ya can hear what his guitars sound like. Though Verlon's rings suspiciously like a C.F. Martin.

Later I pushed a few buttons on the computer and found that Verlon is sponsored by Guild Guitars. That is not any typical Guild model he is playing. He might be cheating a little, maybe playing one of his partner's creations.

Hemingway's Whiskey

Earlier I mentioned that Willie Deville reminded me of my friend Phil. Phil was smart, always interesting to talk to, and he could make things with his hands. He delivered wonderfully quotable lines, most of which are not repeatable in mixed company. He made things as diverse as motorcycles, jewelry and guns. The guns varied everywhere from Civil War cannons, muzzle loaders, to Colt revolver replicas. When I say he made them, I mean he made them. They weren't put together from kits, they were made from round bars and blocks of raw tool steel. His weapons were always amazing. He made things. One day I was admiring his leather shirt. It was a perfect fit. The seams were laced with matching dark leather and it had horn buttons. "Damn Phil, that's a great looking shirt!" Big smile, he said, "Thanks, I made it. People say they make things, but they usually just finish 'em. I made the gun, cast the bullets, shot the deer, tanned the hide with the brains, laced the shirt together and made the buttons from the antlers. I made it." Phil died of an aneurysm about 15 years ago, maybe longer. The time and friends slip away.

I thought of Phil when I saw this Guy Clark. He built his own guitar, read the books and drank the whiskey so we didn't have to, weighed the whiskey against the writing ....... then wrote it down and sang about it in this song. He made it. This is about as good as "country" music gets. Enjoy:

Enjoy your father if you still can.

Ukulele

These are for Addy, the Ukulele Girl; her mentor, Walter Gies; and her cousin Marissa, Uke 2 Kes.

And for Debb, who thinks these things are toys.

Everybody knows Iz, the big guy. He had to die to become famous, but I'm certain it was worth the price.

Jake is a world better, but I don't think he sings, at least not in public.

Red Dwarf...I'm all alone, more or less

Red Dwarf is a BBC series of the ilk that makes Lorna leave the room to read in peace somewhere else in the house. If there is anyone in my world that isn't familiar with the plot set up, the main characters are Dave Lister, the last known human alive, and Arnold Rimmer, a hologram of Lister's dead bunkmate. The other regular characters are Cat, a lifeform that evolved from Lister's pet cat; Holly, Red Dwarf's computer; and my favorite, Kryton, a service mechanoid. (per Wiki ...more or less)
I love the music and my affection tends to grow as we plunger deeper into the frigid abyss of Winter.

Per 1410 Company Position Policy D3-b, I am forbidden to defend that opinion.

It's cold outside, there's no kind of atmosphere
I'm all alone, more or less
Let me fly far away from here
Fun, fun, fun in the sun, sun, sun

I want to lie shipwrecked and comatose
Drinking fresh mango juice
Goldfish shoals nibbling at my toes
Fun, fun, fun in the sun, sun, sun
Fun, fun, fun in the sun, sun, sun

Old Guys Just Pickin'

Billy Steward

I think there is Outsider Music just as there is Outsider Art. Just when I become jaded, I've heard it all, there ain't nothing left, Cheri Register gives me the gift of the late Billy Steward singing Summertime. Thanks a bunch.

N.C.Berg

I was getting ready for Winter, cleaning out the old gene pool and came upon something interesting in the bottom of the pool. My grandfather and namesake, Neil C. Berg came from Denmark at the age of 16. He went to back to school, learned English (no accent), and volunteered when WW I broke out. He returned a shell-shocked Gunnery Sargeant. Then it gets a little fuzzy. I know he went to school, probably the Moody Bible Institute in Chicago, before marrying Grandma in 1920. He also worked in California somewhere along the line, but I'm not certain of the timing of things. I do have records that indicate he was also ordained as a Baptist minister in 1920, the same year as he got married and took his first church out in Nebraska. The report card below and a diploma indicate that he graduated later from Des Moines University in Spring of 1928. He had nice neat consistent cards, even picked up the bonus points for Chapel Attendance!

These dates only came important when I Googled the history of the demise of Des Moines University. I recall him talking about student unrest, but apparently he left as the shit was hitting the fan.

"...things came to a head when board chairman Thomas T. Shields fired the entire faculty on May 11, 1929. A few hours later a riot broke out among the students. Angry students marched on the administration building in the afternoon, and that night 150 students attacked the building where the board of trustees was meeting. They threw eggs and rocks and attempted to break down the door to the room where the board members were hiding. Eventually police drove the students from the building, but not before they had wrecked the front office of the school administration building. The school closed in September 1929."

...and the students look so docile.

Adena, Starjumper

This one from my daughter's blog made me smile really deep inside.

Buffer

The dog's name on the papers was Berg's Buff Orpington - my Father's quirky sense of humor. The Buff Orpington is actually an old chicken breed of the same color. We just called him Buffer. He was a Field Bred Cocker Spaniel, the hunting dog Cockers were before breeders wrecked them by downsizing and citified them. They were the local breed of choice for pheasant hunting, all of the same line of sturdy brush busters, most the same color.

Now people buy "free range" chickens. In the small town 1950s, all the dogs were "free range". The only dogs that were chained or leashed were runners or biters. The dog adopted me as his sidekick. As long as I could remember he was a constant, by the bed when I woke up, with me everywhere I went all day, and up the stairs when I went to bed. When I started school he went with me, did his doggy things all day, and was back waiting for me by the door when I got out. I didn't think of him as a pet. He was more like an extension of myself.

That closeness occasionally got us in trouble. One time we were chasing Mrs. Andrew Hanson's miserable old cat. We came barrel-assing around the corner of her house, the cat running for it's life, the dog trying to end it, and poor little Gunnar just trying to keep up to watch the ensuing fight. The old lady opened the screen door for the cat and slammed it hard. Buffer never missed a stride. He went through the door like it wasn't even there. Hence fore, we were banished from that neighborhood. One more place we couldn't go.

The one that was the worst was the "peanut incident". Two things you should know. One, peanuts were sold in bulk from large burlap bags which sat on the oiled wood floor of the grocery store. Two, it was not unusual for my dog to follow me into the store. Yep, he marked those peanuts really well. Another place we were banished from for life. It seems like a lot of people swore at my dog.

Like most dogs, Buffer was a superb judge of character. He got along with just about everyone, except that old bastard, Alfred Johnson. Now Buffer was oversized for his breed, a substantial animal. Old Alfred was not allowed to pass. He had to cross the street to get by to get uptown and pick up his mail. This may have been a tactical error by Buff. Alfred had a reputation as a dog hater, a poisoner, and probably finished off Buff. At least I blamed him. We found Buff dead under Rhoda Jensen's back porch. My buddy Polecat and I buried him in the backyard. Polecat's father was the preacher, so we marked it with a cross made from a yardstick, assuming he was a Christian dog, and quite likely a Baptist.

Rest in Peace, Buff Orpington Berg.

Towanda!

This is my public apology for calling a certain strong lady "passive aggressive" in an earlier post. Henceforth, in my mind, she will aways be Towanda!

Johnny I Hardy Knew Ye

I probably first heard Bob Dylan's insipid version of this old Irish song. Sometimes a light goes on late in the night back in the corner of my mind. Tweak this a tad and combine it with traditional cowboy poetry and you have Ghost Riders In the Sky. Duh.

Marianne Faithful meets Harold Waymore

I was listening to an author on Public Radio yesterday. He is either a disc jockey or a musicologist or some other kind of "expert". Whatever, he has written a book on the 1000 pop songs you should hear before you die. Among all the rock and pop, one of the songs he discussed and played was Waylon Jennings singing Honky Tonk Heroes. He said that people who think all country songs are about drinking should listen to this because it gives the listener real insight into Waylon's life view, etc B.S. Of course this irked me some because the whole damned album was written by my man, Billy Joe Shaver. But I admit, Waylon certainly delivered Billy Joe's "life view" well. Anyway, I was going to post it, but I digressed...even when talking to myself, I get sidetracked. Concentration. Maybe this is the reason I didn't get more education. I coulda been a contender.



A typical Billy Joe Shaver line, rather than write,"On my gravestone you can chisel...", he says, "Leave word in the dust where I lay...". A nice way with our language for a man with a 8th grade education. This may be my favorite Shaver song. At least for today.