blivetbag

2011-07-28T18:04:00.001-07:00

I think it’s fairly well known by people that know me that I’m not in favor of either major political party In the United States. With that in mind, I want to inspect the latest crisis to hit our country, and though all of our problems seem to stem from an inability of our government to accomplish much of anything, this new money crisis is especially indicative of the seeming broken system we now have in America.

The IMF (International Monetary Fund) has recently criticized our lack of budgetary restraint, more than likely because of the likelihood we won’t be able to give away as much money to other nation members and entities, but we are losing all respect in money matters through the world because we can’t control our money.

Various world credit rating agencies such as Moodys Investor Services as well as Standard’s and Poor have said they expect to lower America’s credit rating due to our inability to control and balance a budget. America, once the world leader in every category conceivable, now is losing one of its last claims to world status because we spend too much more than we have. And it is not as easy as the so-called debate raging now about raising the debt ceiling. Even if the little kids in Washington come to an agreement about the debt ceiling, likely the credit rating bump is going to happen. Our budget this year is a whopping 1.3 trillion dollars in deficit. That means we are spending that much more in just this one year than we have. That figure has increased every year since Bush left office. His last budget had a 300+ billion dollar deficit. The total deficit is now over 14 trillion dollars. That can’t be fixed by tax increases of any kind. We are only paying the interest on our debt, and really we aren’t even doing that.

Raising the debt ceiling will only make it possible to put off the inevitable crash of our system and will not alleviate any of the problems that have caused us to be in that position.

And it has become nothing but a political non-fight as opposed to an actual attempt to solve a problem. Democrats and the President complain the Republicans won’t compromise, and Republicans demand that no new taxes be applied to any sector. And class warfare has become the watch word in all of this. It’s not about that y’all.

For example; if we taxed the top 20 billionaires in America of all their money that would total 643.5 billion dollars. That’s if we take every penny those twenty have right now. Additionally there are 1210 billionaires in the country so if we took an additional 1 billion dollars from each of them that would be 1210 Billion dollars to add in, (though I include the top 20 in that figure, and since we already took all their money we would really be 20 billion short there, but fuck em they were probably lying by at least a billion). Then there are7.8 million millionaires in America, so if we take one million from each of them and add to what we already ripped we have a total of about 2 trillion dollars and a bunch of broke rich people. That doesn’t pay the interest on our debt, so we still would be going backwards. So the argument that we need to tax the rich is really bullshit. We need to tax every single person…all of their money…every single penny to get it to line out.

And when the ratings agencies cause our national interest rate to go up, the scenario becomes even more bleak. Instead of accruing 2. 3 trillion in interest costs it could be as much as 5 trillion this year alone, so instead of the government’s own estimate of a 1.3 trillion dollar deficit in this year’s budget it would be more like 6.3 trillion. And that assumes we don’t raise the ceiling. That’s a mess dudes and Republicans want to cut 4 trillion in expenses over a fifteen year period, the democrats a few billion and no one wants to raise taxes, and the Democrats only want to take away some stupid loop holes for the rich. That does nothing.

At the current rate our debt next year at this time could easily be over 20 trillion, and over 30 in just one more year just because of interest, assuming we do nothing more that costs money. We have the cash to pay all of our bills now, and the debt ceiling has already been breached earlier in the year so that’s really a non-issue. The story from Washington should be how we are going to solve the problem, not get re-elected. And numerous people, Obama being the main one, have threatened that we may not be able to pay out Social Security next week. That is a crock of shit. Do you meant to tell me our government that we elected would rather pay interest to China and banks rather than take care of the people we agreed to hold their money for them? He is fucking lying through his teeth. And don’t get me wrong, the republicans are lying too.

Another scenario to consider is this. Banks are threatening to raise consumer interest rates should America’s credit rating be lowered even though that would have no effect on them at all. In fact a lot of banks would love to raise the rates on our government debt. They will make more all over. And guess what? Its lending us money we gave them. Sounds like collusion to me. We, over the last 4 years, raised 1.4 trillion dollars in bailout money for various banks and big businesses in our two major bailouts. We only gave out about 45 percent of that money to bail outs and economy building programs. Where did the rest of that money go?

I don’t have an answer, but I have recommendations. Shit can the military, and all government agencies…tomorrow. Spend the dough to blow up all our assets in all the foreign countries we have them , and bring all of our troops home, Fire every military contractor we have in every corner of the world. Do this all tomorrow. With those savings we could put that money in circulation to rebuild every highway, every hospital, every school, energy super-structure, and every real government entity we have. We could employ everyone that loses their job and still save a shitload of money. And have a better country that could once again become credit worthy and a world leader.

2011-07-28T18:04:00.000-07:00

Raising the debt ceiling will only make it possible to put off the inevitable crash of our system and will not alleviate any of the problems that have caused us to be in that position.

2011-07-06T17:27:00.000-07:00

He didn't stand up when they called his name,

Wasn't worth what he had.

To stand meant an hour, or maybe two

And that wasn't worth what he had.

They kept calling over the years,

Needing the numbers and the drawings.

The numbers didn't add, and pictures nearly always fall.

What he had wasn't worth what he knew.

Train depots and bus stations

In every lonely city.

From Pensacola to El Paso

To Arcata by the sea

Seen them all through hazy eyes

Smelled the phosphor in his history

A plain and empty bag

All its worth a memory.

When the circle closes, we'll strike a chord

And listen to the shimmer

Its gold and silver shinning lights.

Too small to really see.

Can't get it back, its gone on by

On a road we can't follow now.

The road that ends on Tchoupitoulas

I find a bank of colored clouds

Never will find the way out

Can't grasp the pretty baubles

But the bridge to Elysium spans the mountain

it will take me out of here.

Find my worth in the words

And send my worth to the sea.

Funny Money That's haha funny

2011-06-29T13:22:00.000-07:00

For the first time since the middle of the 19th century California has lost more people than it has gained in the last year. More people have moved out of California than have moved here, and that is unprecedented. A lot of factors are involved I'm sure. I know many businesses have moved operations or shut down, unemployment is at unprecedented levels, and opportunities in other states have become very enticing.

Yet, yesterday our state government whipped up a budget that depends on estimated revenue increases of 4 billion dollars to make it balance. Sounds fishy to me. How will our taxes increase that much when we have less people here and we have less people here earning money? And we have scheduled tax cuts coming, (not really tax cuts, just a return from the "temporary" hikes of the past few years). And I seem to remember a few months ago hearing that tax revenues had already jumped an astonishing 6 billion dollars. That's a 10 billion dollar increase in revenues in a decidedly bad economy, if the other reports are to be believed. What is the truth? We spend less, make less, and have less, but our revenues are increasing that much. I call bullshit.

I don't know the statistics anymore, but at one time auto sales were the biggest source of sales tax revenue in the state, and I think that's probably still the case. Car sales have increased over last year, but projected sales are still way less than many years previous to our current recession. Granted cars are more expensive now, but only marginally more in the past few years. How will an increase in revenue come from that source? Retail stores like grocery stores and department stores have suffered many losses and many buildings that once generated millions in tax revenue are locked and produce nothing now, and to hear it told Mom and Pop stores that generate sales tax are going and in many cases long gone. Wal-mart is still rolling and Target and a few other big retail outfits are still busy, but their sales haven't increased or if they have, it isn't by any huge amount, so they can't be responsible for the increase in revenue. Car registrations are also down, and their cost is slated to return to 2007 levels which are nearly half what they have been, so that revenue will be considerably less.

Unemployment in the state is considerably higher than other states and the number of workers paying income tax has declined in the past few years. Unemployment is not expected to go down for a few years so income tax will not increase. And, though many say corporations don't pay taxes, (they actually do), California corporations expect lackluster sales and revenues for the foreseeable future, so they won't be collecting taxes at the usual rates. They also won't be paying the so-called rich as much money, so that income tax base, (which was the biggest percentage of income tax collected), is going to be less.

Where is the Ten billion dollars coming from? Fuzzy math maybe? I know Governor Brown said he would not sign a bull shit budget and he rejected the last one, but this one seems must be total bullshit. they haven't cut much of anything that they hadn't cut before. And last week we were in dire straights according to everyone involved.

So you tell me how this works please.

Outlaw Cellphones and Only Outlaws Will Call

2009-03-24T12:08:00.000-07:00

Shut Up and Drive

Bernie drives 40 miles to, and then from work through bumper-to-bumper traffic five or sometimes six days a week. He is able to make up for time lost to driving by conducting business talking on his cell phone while he drives to and from work. Sometimes he spends 36 hours in a week commuting, and it is a hardship, as it is for many in this world of freeways, traffic jams, and bluegrass music jams, and has become a serious detriment to Bernie’s career advancement and overall LSQ (Life Satisfaction Quotient). The cell phone has released Bernie, he can work his normal 50 hours a week, plus another 36 getting to and from work, as it can now be productive. And Bernie is very productive. He sells cell phone systems to businesses, so he is easily able to use his experience and success when he gives his sales pitch to prospective buyers. Bernie is very successful, drives a nice new Honda Accord, and lives thirty miles outside of the city, in a development of new upper range homes called Camelot Country Acres. But that’s only thanks to the cell phone he uses to conduct his most successful sales summations, all while driving.

Two weeks ago Bernie was involved in a minor fender-bender traffic accident. Bernie was traveling along I1113 in Poshie County, following the line of cars traveling into the city, nose-to-tail snaking along at a steady 35 miles per hour. When Bernie slowed and stopped as the cars in front had done before, he was struck by a mini-van packed with eight unruly 12 and 13-year-old boys, and driven by a harried soccer mom. Bernie did not panic stop, he was fully aware of the slowing traffic. Mrs. Mini Van, though, resorted to a tried, true, and extremely effective stopping system; she hit the back of Bernie’s Honda, stopping her with no problem. When his car was struck Bernie almost swallowed his Bokia phone when his head hit the headrest. The phone did remove an eyetooth that Bernie was sure to have dental problems with later in life, so the results were not all bad, but he bit his tongue, teeth snapping with the force of a pit bull, releasing a torrent of red crimson blood, gushing into the mouthpiece of the Bokia, shorting out some tiny circuit inside, and terminating the sales call he was engaged with. He had been talking to a client in Japan that was ready to order a system of phones for his worldwide corporation. Bernie had been soliciting this gentleman for over two years and had finally been able to establish a sort of dialog, making use of Bokia’s fine, hand-held, translator phone.

The lady and the kids? They were fine, only a bit banged up, a few cuts, a bruise or three, though the van did lose some teeth in its grill much like Bernie. None of the van fares suffered, and their lives continued as always. Bernie though, lost a tooth, an account, a company phone, as well as a thirty-five hundred dollar bill directed to his insurance company for rear end damage to his Accord. He even lost ten C/Ds in the trunk mounted C/D player that was damaged and could not be opened, swallowing Bernie’s collection of classic sixties rock that he had studiously downloaded on Napster and transferred to C/D.

But Bernie got a ticket for the accident. You see, driving while wrestling with 12-year-old boys is lawful, but selling cell phones while steering is not in New York beginning this year. And Bernie freely admitted, “Yes I was.” That being an answer to the question asked by concerened State Trooper Jeeves, “Were you talking on the phone?”

You see the great state of New York, in their vast wisdom, gained after days of polls and surveys, has outlawed the use of phones while operating a motor vehicle. Brian Kolb, a dissenting Assemblyman in the New York State Assembly said when queried, “We seem to be reacting to polls more than relying on scientific evidence.” But Brian was being interviewed while on his cell phone, and he had yet to experience cell phone induced wrecks.

Another report of entirely dubious origin, tells of a man who is associated with the Friends of Liberty, a grassroots offshoot of the Earth First Gun Owners Association, saying, “If you outlaw phones, then only criminals will call.” The message is clear, but now the government is looking into cell phone records to determine if its citizens are dialing and driving, now known as DAD.

When awakened by reporters, the National Association of Governor’s Highway Safety Representatives cleared their collective throats and replied, “misguided.” The NAGHSR (naygazer) denies any involvement in rational thought, and declines to amend their collective statement.

Bernie sued Mrs. Mini Van, and evidence was procured that said she was surfing the Internet, reading the grocery ads in the newspaper, and pulling on her jeans, all while driving the boys to their soccer match.

Another Assemblyman, Patrick Mannington, said to reporters with his tongue firmly in his mouth,” It’s still legal to use a laptop, read a newspaper, and change pants while driving.” As he turned away from reporters Mr. Mannington failed to negotiate the stairs and tumbled down to the lobby, landing on a news rack at the bottom of the staircase, scattering quarters all over the tiled marble floor.

But there may indeed be good reason for alarm. “Surveys indicate 85 percent of wireless phone owners use them while driving.” And it is common knowledge that 85 percent of anything leaves 15 percent from a solid 100 percent, bringing us to my contention; Americans will answer any poll, and they will dial and drive to their destruction.

Getting to studies, as opposed to the surveys mentioned in the last paragraph, the New England Journal of Medicine says that cell phones are many times used by surviving car accident victims to report accidents, and subsequently response times are quicker in getting emergency crews to accident scenes. They do not, however report survey results for non-surviving accident victim’s calls.

It is said by technology proponents that phones are no more distracting than listening to the radio, eating food, or even gazing at your face in the vanity mirror, and the biggest problem is created when a DAD is fined for cell phone use, and can’t pay his cell phone bill.

The debate rages, aided with fuel brought to he negotiations by press and media hype, the justice system, and other various soothsayers of ill-repute, and it promises to last deep into the night until the proponents, participants, and components fall asleep, closing their collective eyes.

Hope they Do It BetterT

2009-03-24T11:33:00.000-07:00

In my high school years between 1969 and 1972, I was known as a hippie or a freak, those being the opposite of a redneck. In Mississippi you were one or the other. Unless you were black, (now re-named African Americans as if re-naming a race could make up for terrorizing a race for centuries). Freaks had long hair, smoked pot, wrote poetry, befriended blacks, and protested the war in Vietnam. The rednecks, drank beer, played football, drove fast cars, and beat up blacks and hippies.
We hippies, being the new wave revolution, could see that life on Earth was becoming a threat to life on Earth. We were killing people in Nam, on the highways, and at the gallows so to speak, and we were tearing up the land and all of the Earth’s resources. I remember being saddened by the loss of anything in this world, a tree, a bush, or a life. And we stood to be included in the movement of the time to revolutionize America again, and revert to the wise and better ways our American forefathers had envisioned in the eighteenth century.
The freaks talked about revolution and we sided with the militant black groups, the war protesters, and any offbeat group or movement we heard about. In Mississippi we were a decided minority then, and many of us wanted to move to California where the movement was huge and the people were so much more tolerant of our views. We thought.
Mostly I remember talking about the war, and I had a reason to hate it. I would turn eighteen in 1972, and the draft was still in effect. I had known people who had been drafted, and left to fight that war, some coming home, and some not, some without legs or some gone blind. I never admitted it but my main problem with the war was not the killing of people and the destruction of that country, but the fear of my being killed in it someday, or even worse coming back a cripple.
Our revolution didn’t turn out like we envisioned it. There was no armed uprising. We all grew up. Our voices did light a fire for Americans, and the country sickened by the ever-lasting “Police Action” in Southeast Asia, finally forced America to abandon its futile effort to make those citizens of the “Nam” free like us.
We did enjoy some success. Our world began to be more concerned about the planet, the people, and our world. We closed the war in S E Asia. But seems human propensity to destroy is beyond our ability to save, and we are arguably in worse shape than ever.
When did we sell out? Was it when we got our first real jobs and started saving money, buying cars, houses, and gas and food? Were we afraid that we couldn’t continue our fight to be better people because we might have to give up some of the things we had grown accustomed to? Could we have been mistaken in our ideals in the first place? I know we all say we want to save the world, but are we willing to sacrifice so that we may? In 1972 we had been more than willing. We fought on the campuses and at the rallies, speaking our indignant minds, and railing for freedom.
Today the heroes of my generation run businesses, live in expensive homes, burn outrageous amounts of precious fuel in SUVs, and save for retirement. We don’t gather for protests, in fact most of us side on the other side today against those that protest. We don’t expand our minds with poetry, art and abstract ideas. We listen to the music that we have sold ourselves, we watch the news that we make, and we live in the comfort we have designed and marketed. We have conquered so many things, and we have begun to rest on our laurels, not half way to the ends we dreamed of.
Kids today look at us like we looked at our parents, and like our parents looked at theirs; they protest our way of running this world, and they should. We haven’t done so well in many respects.
We were aghast to learn that a president could stoop so low as to break laws and cover his tracks when Nixon resigned the Presidency in 1972, but now we don’t do more than write blogs or rants on Craigslist about the incredibly stupid things we do while we shape and run our world
Those avante garde heroes of the sixties are now Senators and Congressmen, as well as doctors, lawyers, and chiefs of industry and commerce. We run the world, and we live among our best efforts, just trying to stay afloat in a world gone crazy with possessions and comfort. And the few that still stir the muck about the injustices of our world are decidedly outcasts, called, derisively, tree-huggers by the very ones that protested excesses back when we were kids. The best we offer, as the leaders of the world, is an opportunity to vote for, (for the most part), either a so-called liberal Democrat, or a so-called, conservative Republican, neither of which is interested much in the betterment of our world, only the betterment of their personal lives. And in many cases we don’t even vote. And there might even be a strong case for not voting, what difference does it make?
We had high hopes and dreams 40 and 50 years ago, just as our children do now. Hope they do better

So, What is your name?

2005-03-13T09:47:00.000-08:00

Its an identifier linking me or mine to the other parts of the world. At least mine is. Your's, I don't know. But it can be as complicated and as simple as that. It's a name.

I suppose you've noticed that groups have names too. Some are initials; PG & E, IBM, ARSE, and others, some are full-blown-off-the-charts long names; Mothers Against Drunk Drivers, and they are also MADD, and Women Escaping a Violent Environment, (WEAVE), and after you tack on a dot com at the end, wow, that's a lotta name.

Bands have names too, and that's what this little blog is all about. Band names. Think about this; Scorpions...that's fucked-up! Beatles, the "A" means what...seven legs? And, Beach Boys, was it just for the aliteration? But, go ahead, you come up with a band name! See, it's not easy, and what is a "spring chicken," anyway? Oops, kinda got lost, that's for another blog.
Now there's a name. Blog. See all it takes is a word or two artfully placed on paper, or these little TV screens everybody has to show names, and a band name is reality. The Blog. Now it even has some punch. Just adding a little thought at the beginning or the end can change the whole feel of the name. Blog. The Blog. See?

There's another part of the name thing. After-naming is what we will call it. At first the new name sounds strange coming off you lips; "Thank-you, we are the Trelisses." But, after a period of, say, about 66 years, it becomes easier to say aloud, without stumble or bitter shame. Don't get me wrong though, some names just work. "Men at Work." Now there's name with a very low after-naming-ridicule quotient, short, to the point, and definitely bold.

There is a specific reason for this blog. Naming the Amee Chapman Band. There are those that are aware of a mad-dash frenzy of e-mails and in person dialog in recent years to name another band I was in. The Holly Holt Band. Paul Fitzjarrald and I traded names for days!. The only one we agreed on was Holly's Tits. It never, though, became too big with the band-leader.

But, to truly do this right, the band, it's leader, all the personnel, and even type of music needs to be taken in to account for naming purposes. So we are fucked! We thought of the Historics, but we aren't all and Ancients won't work for the same reason. The Halos, now that fits... somewhere. Frequents. That might work. I mean we are overall. Frequent. But, how do you draw that on a poster?

Amee likes Big Finish, I changed that to Big Danish, which got turned into Big Donut, which ended that brain-storming session. It always ends with food. So, why not, Amee Chapman and Oatmeal?

Or, we could take a slightly locale point of view. We're from Sacramento, more or less, so...Oh I know...Amee Chapman and the Ahnulds. It's consise, but groping, pronouncable to Eastern Europeans, and when you say it you can make it sound like a sneeze, so the embarrassment factor is lessened.

Putting all the pieces of a band together is a challenge. You have to first, get a mandolin player. And it pretty much goes downhill from there. And then you have to name it. Turd is not appropriate.

I even had a contest for name for a one-time gig I did with some bluegrass picking buddies. Richard March, taking advantage of a full bullshit brain quadrant,won hands down with Bastards of Bluegrass. B.O.B. No bobdown jokes now. Actually that name lives on. Ken And B.O.B on myspace. I have a picture of Roberta and me there. So, if you were wondering, Berta, why people keep shouting Bob at you...there you have it.

But, it goes on. We can land a man on a moon, we can moon a man on land, a we can commonly catch a cold, but naming the band is just hard! Hope we can be finally finished someday.

What the hell is a Blivet!

2004-12-24T16:17:00.000-08:00

Like I said on the title page of this here blog, a blivet is ten pounds of shit in a five pound bag, or an impossible thing, which that would be I guess. But there is more to the story, and that story would best be worked backwards from the now to the before now. Before now all the way back to the time of humankind standing up on our legs and walking. The first instance of a blivet comes from that time, maybe a million years ago or so.

I know this because Random House Dictionary, while it does define the word, did not define the actual object the word derives from. That's right! The blivet is an object, or, really it is one of three objects all the same and all called blivets. I have one of those three objects, and as far as I can determine I have the only one to be found. My dad found this one.

Because the blivet is so obscure and it's existence is widely unknown, I don't live in fear that I will be conked over the head so that someone else may possess it and learn it's vast secrets. And I have learned a lot from it already, at least enough to know I will continue to derive knowledge from it even if it should again become lost to me and even to humankind. In the million or so years of the blivet's existence on Earth only a handful of people have actually held this remarkable object, and my family has been it's keeper for the last forty years.

What I know of the blivet I have learned from the object itself. Now, the blivet is remarkably only a wood-like cylinder, that is actually two cylinders stuck together, one atop the other, one smaller in circumference and one fatter but shorter. And it looks like wood, but has a perpetual shine, is eerily translucent, and is so hard it has weathered volcanic explosions, nuclear detonations, and burial in the ocean for millenia at a time. It is not of this world.

I have first-hand information of the blivet's existence for the last forty years, and in this particular chapter of the blivet story I will tell that, the chapters that come later will be told from the insights I have learned from the blivet itself. Now as strange as it may seem, this object is truly an impossible thing as the definition describes, but the definition leaves much to the imagination, and your imagination would not comprehend it all, as mine doesn't. This object has told me a story and has imparted knowledge to me from other worlds. I have been reluctant to offer it to the world before for obvious reasons. You might question my sanity, but here in the midst of my life I have decided I can no longer keep this to myself, and I must share what I know and what I am still learning from the blivet. Suffice to say, the creatures who built the blivet were light years ahead of we humans, the technology employed with this object unknown to humans, and far beyond our capabilities even now, and the blivet has been in existence for at least one million years.

On to the first chapter.

My dad was a career NCO in the US Air Force, and as such made my childhood diverse to say the least. We moved a lot. Japan when I was four, five, and six, Denver CO for the next few years, Taiwan in my early teens, then to Mississippi to graduate High School. And we also had yearly or bi-yearly visits to uncles, aunts, and cousins in Central Valley California. The uncles were Jim, Bill, and Bob, and they and my dad, when we visited, would engage in debate on a nightly basis. Theses debates were fueled by the bottle, Jim Beam, I believe, and were and still are the talk of the family. They solved nearly every earthly problem ever identified and even some that were not of Earth.

I could never stay up late enough to listen to the whole thing, and couldn't properly assist with their work anyway, (they wouldn't let me drink). But I have heard this tale of the blivet for years told and re-told, over and over. No one seems to remember who first brought up the blivet in conversation, and only two of the participants in those Earth-shaking debates are still living, but my dad, though his views on blivets were regarded by the others as suspect, did at that time commence a search for proof of what he knew tro be true. Blivets are real, impossible, but real.

And he found it! In Taiwan. Across the sea, in a forest while he was out taking pictures of the countryside. That's where we wound up for a two year stay toward the end of my dad's Air Force career. He had not been actively searching for the blivet when he found it, but the debate had stayed in his head, and he was always on the lookout for it. What is curious, and maybe even a little bit scary is the way he found it.

He told me he was traipsing through the Central Taiwan mountains while on a three day trip he had taken to another Air Base on the island. His work took him to many places all over the world, but he said he felt drawn to the mountains just outside of CCK Air Force Base. As he was wont to do often, he took a day to go take photos of the beautiful country one day while he was on temporary duty there.

While walking along a narrow path through dense forest, (he said the hill was steep and the trail made switchbacks quite often, and he had to bend over frequently to dodge errant tree limbs), he slipped and fell. He started sliding down the path opn his butt, holding his camera in one hand with his camera bag hooked over his head and shoulder on the other arm. He reached out with his loose hand trying to get purchase of something to stop his glide, grasping and missing, and finally grabbing tree branch that held and stopped his descent. He had been moving pretty fast, and when he grabbed the tree limb it swung him around off the trail and into the dense brush alongside.

As he sat there inspecting his scrapes and taking inventory of his camera equipment, he felt a sharp edge slicing slicing into his butt. Now, he was pretty far off the beaten path, this was a small trail that surely didn't get much human traffic, more a game trail than anything, so it seemed an odd site as he looked at what was paining him, and saw an obviously unnatural object half buried in the ground that was the object of his posterior pain. The object looked like a turned piece of wood, but was polished to a very high sheen, and was so translucent he could see through it almost. And it had a glow, he called it a rose tint glow, which was not strong but very visible in the dark jungle floor where he was sitting.

He knew almost at once what the object was. This was the blivet. He had heard, like a lot of people have heard over the years, of the blivet, but my dad, unlike most people, had over the course of his life, developed a quite remarkable amount of knowledge about what most people through the ages had thought was old wives tales and legend. He said it called to him in an almost unheard whisper, "blivet."

He dug the blivet out of the ground and brought it home. It has been in my family since that time almost forty years ago. The next year we were in California on our way to Mississippi to finish out my dad's last station, and he presented the blivet at the first nightly uncle's debate of our visit. He had composed a speech that he asked for everyone's complete undivided attention. He explained what he had learned of the blivet before finding it, which over-all was not much, then imparted the hints he said came from the blivet itself. What he knew, and others couldn't really believe, was the blivet is an object sent here by an ancient other-worldly civilization from a far distant planet. It, along with two other identical objects, were programmed with all the knowledge this far-flung civilization had acquired in its vast history.

My dad was known for his glib tongue, and weird sense of humor, so the story he told was taken as a Billy Burnett Spoof. They all had a great drunken time talking of the blivet. A family tradition was born that night and it was decided that each family in our fairly sizable brood would be allowed to keep the blivet for one year at a time, the intention to glean whatever wisdom it had to impart. At the end of the year it was to be sent or given to another of our family, along with a story, or essay, or something to marks its visit with that family.

It made the rounds for many years, and some of the stories and projects form those individuals that did write with the experience of the blivet are quite remarkable. But, my father was the only one who truly believed this was actually an alien attemt to help humans survive this universe and spread the ancient knowledge it contains. He finally retired from his hoboing, world-traveling days in the early eighties, and eventually told me of all the wonders the blivet had introduced to him. When he died, the family passed the blivet to me for safekeeping until I too cross that shining ocean.

That's how the blivet came to me. How it has passed its knowledge to me, I don't really know. but I know what I am certain are facts about its existence, its long trip to earth, and the history it has recorded since it first landed in a fiery volcano in what would be roughly Northern Europe over one million years ago. Now that's a long story, but it has some parts and parcels that need to be told, and before I do get on my one-way-ship across the sea, I will do my best to relay that story.

Fastest Mandolin in the West

2004-12-20T15:17:00.000-08:00

Actually the title is a bit misleading, because some mandolins have gone faster, I'm sure. Sometimes folks take them on airplanes to go somewhere, and those mandolins are definitely faster than my seventy mile and hour one. But my mandolin was going seventy or so when it hit the pavement of Interstate 580, northbound just coming out of Hayward, CA. Unbeknownst to me or to Roberta, who rode by my side, in her car after a gig we played in Hayward the trunk was not closed securely and my new mandolin had departed the confines of said trunk.

One hundred miles later, crossing the Causeway into Sacramento, Roberta chirped. "Oh Shit! I think the trunk is open!" It was, and when she got back in the car after inspecting, searching, and closing the trunk, her face told me what I feared most; the mandolin was gone.

We backtracked a few miles hoping the open trunk was a recent occurence in this trip, and found no sign that any mandolin had ever been dropped on that part of the freeway. I was devastated. I am a professional musician, and that mandolin was my grip on a career involving playing it. And that grip was lost on a busy Interstate at two o-clock in the morning.

The next day, a career change had developed in my mind by the time I arose from a sleepless night. I would borrow a mandolin to finish up a few gigs I could not bow out of, and I would begin a new career, telemarketing or something that would not involve heart-wrenching disasters such as losing a mandolin.

At practice that next evening, I got a call on my cell phone. I had alerted authorities at various agencies like the California Highway Patrol, and a few Bay Area Music stores, of the loss of my mando, so on the slight chance that someone had news, I answered the phone. It was a friend of mine who happened to be playing at the Fox and Goose, a local pub that I play at frequently. She said that the bartender had received a call from someone professing to have my lost mandolin. Now news does travel fast in this world today, but for the life of me I could not identify any connection that would have included the Fox and Goose in my mandolin story, but I dutifully spoke with the bartender who is a friend of mine also, and he had a telephone number for a man named Mike, who said he had found the mando on the freeway in Hayward.

Mike, it seems is a highway construction worker and had bee on a crew obn I580 the night before. he told me he saw cars dodging soemthing in the middle lane, and he went out and rescued what turned out to be my mandolin. As he was telling me this story, I remembered the entrance to the freeway where we had gotten on after our gig, had sported obligatory cones and signs and detours of the overnight construction zones of the California freeway system.

It dawned on me then that this story was a once in a life time happening. What odds that my music would depart this earth at the very spot where someone would be working on a road that has continual speeding traffic, and he would be in a spot and have the wherewithal to run out on to a busy four laner to retrieve what must have been unrecognizable as anything in particular. The story grew ebven more amazing in the telling.

At the exact time he began telling me how he came to find me, I realized there was nothing in the case that identified me as the proud owner of the little stringed lute; I had never, to my knowledge, put one of my business cards in it, and it being only a month or so old, I was still being careful not to let the case fill up with any detrius. How did he find me!

Mike said there was a picture of a gray-haired, gray-bearded guy, standing in front of the Fox and Goose. I remembered the picture; a friend had taken it some time before and had justgiven it to me, and I had put it in the case just a day or two before. I also remebered that Roberta and I had looked at it at our aforementioned gig, and I had remarked something to the effect that I should get it out of my virgin case. i'm glad I procrastinated that one. Mike had no clue where the Fox and Goose was, but he did have a keen interest in finding it, for he told me that he knew looking at my fine mandolin that somebody was sorely missing that little jewel, and he also said later, when I picked the mando up at his house, that he would have spent a fortune on lessons for himself or one of his kids to learn to play it.

The picture is of me standing in front of the front door of the Fox and Goose with exactly that on a sign that was right behind me. It could have been anybody, anywhere in the world. Mike started calling informatiobns in the Bay Area, and after getting a California directory assistance from Nextel, located the pub, called them, described the picture to the bartender, who told him it must be me.

After I hung up with instructions to Mike's house, and an agreed time to go pick up the mando from him the next day, I wiped the tears from my eyes and relayed the story to my bandmates. i don't eer remeber being as stunned nor as elated as I was right then.

It is a little over one hundred miles from my house to Mike's, and driving there the next day, allowed me to fully appreciate the gravity of the story I'm relating here. What an amazing tale! i couldn't believe my good luck and came to truly believe that this Weber mandolin was blessed by some diety somewhere, somehow. I had gone from throwing in the towel and never playing music again, to a place of divine intervention, a new regard for the world, and its inhabitants, and a renewed vigor for my chosen life.

Mike is a construction worker. He works nights, has a nice little house in a small town by a river, is married to a very nice woman,and has two little kids, probably three and five or so. When I got there the only payment Mike wanted was for me to sing Happy Birthday to one of his sons. When I opened the case and pulled the mando out of its case, I noticed it was not harmed at all, though the case sports some serious road rash, it was even still in tune. I gladly sang, though it was hard to sing through the huge lump in my throat, and even harder to see through the tears that filled my eyes.

I'm sure Mike is a fine human being, and I'm also quite certain he is normal, suffers pain when he hurts, laughs with joy when life is good, bumps his elbow on the occasional door jamb, and loves his life in the bits and pieces we all get to play as we wind through our time here, but I'm also equally sure that when the tickets are taken and the bills are marked, his will be paid in full, and then some.

2004-12-17T13:58:00.000-08:00

Ken at Marilyns
Posted by Hello

Chris-a Thon

2004-12-11T10:12:00.000-08:00

The first annual Chris-a-thon at the Fox and Goose happened last night. Bob Woods said it was the first which indicates a willingness, at least for him, to continue the tradition in future years. That may be a great idea, if we can figure out how to make them all as good as this one was. Of course, I'm hoping Chris won't need the event as he did this one.

I am continually impressed by the willingness of the Sacramento music scene and it's inhabitants to step up to the plate and come to the aid of those in need of help. I have seen, over the numerous year I have been involved in the human race, many people in times of trial, hurt, and pain, and I have witnessed how those trials are treated by the folks that are affected, and this is the only really continually proactive group of people I know of. I am proud to be a part of the scene here!

Chris Ivey has been playing music here in Sacramento and beyond for a lot of years. He is a great steel guitar player, has played with so many, I'm sure the memries are vague at best, and has been a friend and music mate of mine for a couple years. I always love to play a set with him, even if it's out in front of the Fox and Goose on open mic night. And as we all will sooner or later, he has stumbled into new territory of the reaalizattion and aquisition of our mortality. I can only hope he will weather his malady well and sticks around to play many more sets. A malady, they all are the same; cancer, heart disease, aids, the malaise of fatal addiction, all end at one destiny where all people are the same. And Chris plays on, to the delight of many, I'm sure.

That is what the Chris-a-thon was about this year, and I hope next year it will be about all of us continuing along the paths we have taken, and the notes we play, and I can only hope it is half as successful as this year's version.

As for the show itself, I will try to do it justice here, though bear with me, I am always in tune with the music, and my critique abilities are displaced by my love for the tunes and the players.

I started the show, playing three of my bluegrass monstropieces with my favorite guitar picker Brian Burke, the ever beautiful Holly Holt, Paul Fitzjarrald bass player extraordinaire and soon to be back permanently from LA, and Chris Ivey on Dobro. Roberta Chevrette and John Belizia joined me for three Roberta tunes. I have been blessed with numerous great friends and band mates, and am so pleased that I get to take part in the music we make, and the first thirty minutes of this show opened a evening, that would finally end at around 1AM, that may have been one of the great shows in our town.

Next up was Kalli, a crowd favorite always, and another good friend of mine. I have noticed what others seem to tell me; I sure love all of the women I know, and Kalli is no exception. What could be better than playing music with beautiful women and getting, hugs and kisses from them. What a life!

Holly Holt and Will, (sorry Will your last name escaped me) joined Sal Valentino for a couple of tunes, then Brian Burke and I came up and did a rockin two tunes. What else can be said about Sal Valentino? He is a legend here and there is a reason. My newest woman band mate and friend, Amee Chapman, said he "had it," and she had no idea who he was until I told her.

Star Dust Cowboys were up next. What a band! I don't know these people, except Bob Woods and Paul Fitzjarrald, but the music was fabulous swingin' country. Chris joined them as did Dave Wren on steel guitars. Dueling steels! They blew me away.

Vikki Lee's band, Mr. Ivey's regular gig, did a fabulous country rock set. More good stuff! Bob Woods played with them, did some singing, string bending, and added his train fetishes with his normal flash. Bob was on stage for like sixteen hours, and spent the rest of the show hawkng spare car parts.

Jackie Green couldn't make the show, he was sick, and I was disappointe because Jackie is one of our great ones, but the music was so good, I don't think it was a deal breaker for the audience. get better Jackie!

We ended with Billy Harper and the Band of Country Derelicts, Bob Woods guitar, Chris Ivey steel, James Finch Jr stand-up bass, drum professor Steve Price, and me on mando. What a great band! I am honored to be included in Sacramento's all-star band!

Best of all? The crowd! Yeah! I haven't seen that many people in the Fox and Goose. I've heard it used to be that way years ago, but I know how memries are, and they always seem to grow by bleeps and nouns. Everyone seemed to have a great time, they listened to the music, which is a good thing, and they were the reason we played. As it should be. Without some to hear it, did it happen? Thank-you all!

And thanks are in order for the staff at Fox and Goose. Mike and all of the others worked their collective asses off making the night a success. Fox and Goose has been a godsend to me. It is where i met most of the great musicians I know and play with, and I can always go there to see a friendly smiling face, and they were very instrumental in saving my music career, (another blog) helping me get my mando back from the clutches of Interstate 580.