Firebird Folio II

Extolling the Virtues of Ibuprofen

2012-01-22T13:32:00.004-06:00

As most of you may know, I was hospitalized during December with a cellulitis infection in my right leg. I spent 11 days in an extremely nice room at Rapid City Regional Hospital, being cared for by an excellent and competent staff who were also genuinely nice people.

After returning home, I was prescribed Vicodin (hydrocodone) for pain management, but after refilling those once, I determined that I was going to find something non-narcotic to fill that role, having done the Vicodin addiction thing once, back in 2003.*

I already knew that Tylenol (acetaminophen) wouldn't cut it for me -- that barely helps when I have a headache. So I decided to "shop around" with some of the various non-prescription NSAIDs and other pain relievers. I tried Aleve (naproxen sodium) after quitting Vicodin in 2003, but soon found I was taking as many as 12 a day; the dosage instructions say to take one every 12 hours. One of my nephrologists said that it was likely that this was what destroyed my kidneys.

I decided that I would begin with Ibuprofen. Much to my surprise, I believe that I hit the jackpot the first time. Taking three Ibuprofen in the morning and again around dinnertime seems to keep the pain at bay, perhaps even better than the Vicodin did, and without the goofiness that the Vicodin brought on. This is in keeping with the dosage instructions as well, which say not to exceed six Ibuprofen in a 24-hour period.

*If you haven't heard this story, a cautionary tale: After my catastrophic head-on car wreck in December 2002, I spent seven months in a series of four different hospitals. When at last I came home, I was given a bottle of 250 Vicodin, with the dosage instructions: "Take one every 12 hours as needed for pain." Well, of course, if one is good, two must be better, and within about six weeks of coming home, I was taking as many as 12 a day. Do you see a pattern developing here? At any rate, one day I started to take some Vicodin and I stopped and said to myself, "Self, if you don't stop this, you're going to die," and I did what any red-blooded American in that situation would do -- no, I didn't sell them on the street, although, looking back, that would have been lucrative -- I flushed them.

Bad move.

Not only was there the pain to deal with, but about 18 hours after I did this, the withdrawal symptoms hit. It was as if t h e o u t s i d e w o r l d w a s i n s l o w m o t i o n whilemymindwasracingatabout70,000milesanhour. I finally called my wife and said, "I think I'm losing my mind." I told her what I'd done and she came home and took care of me for the next three days. 36 hours after they had hit, the withdrawal symptoms vanished as suddenly as they had come on.

The moral of the story: If you're hooked on Vicodin, don't go cold turkey.

2012

2012-01-06T16:58:00.000-06:00

Happy new year to the multitudes. I know you're out there. Have a great 2012.

Happy Thanksgiving

2011-11-24T04:27:00.001-06:00

Hope this finds you all happy and healthy.

Sunday, Sunday

2011-11-06T20:20:00.001-06:00

It is, as you may have guessed from the title of this post, Sunday, and I am posting this blog entry from my phone just because I can.

I hope that you are having a lazy, post-fall back afternoon. I certainly am. I woke up at a reasonably late hour this morning, said hello to my beautiful wife who was concentrating on a game of Spider Solitaire, and rolled over and went back to sleep -- again, because I could.

Life is far too short not to, as the late great Warren Zevon once said, "enjoy every sandwich." And, for that matter, every nap.

Happy Halloween!

2011-10-31T19:13:00.001-05:00

:dance:
:frolic:
:party:

I Stand With The 99%

2011-10-19T15:48:00.003-05:00

I have been fascinated at the recent developments in the socioeconomic and political climates of this country. It's been interesting to see what the people of this nation can do to rise up and make their opinions known when things get to the point where they can join in with millions of other people to say, "I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it any more."

First there were the Tea Partiers (who I still think deserve their original name of Teabaggers, since they didn't seem to find it necessary to find out the meaning behind that term before appropriating it), who were disgruntled about how things are run in this country, but took the wrong course in how they tried to implement their ideas.

Then we saw a whole slew of Republican candidates for President, all promising to undo the ills brought upon this country by that (take your pick) incompetent/evil/Muslim/foreign-born Barack Obama, and all swearing up and down that they have the only plan that will pull us out of the muck and mire in which we seem to be solidly stuck.

The only thing about it is that I do not for a moment believe that our issues are Obama's fault. For the most part, I see the ills that we are suffering from as hand-me-downs from the Bush administration, with a few notable exceptions.

Now, in the last month or so, we have seen the rise of the Occupy Wall Street movement, which I personally support wholeheartedly. I believe that the economic portion of our problems has everything to do with the bankers, the CEOs and CFOs and all the others that are identified as "the 1%."

The ancient Chinese curse that goes, "May you live in interesting times" seems to apply here.

Rites of Passage

2011-07-06T21:00:00.004-05:00

My wife and I just watched "Toy Story 3" for something like the 4th time. It got me to thinking about the rites of passage that we go through as we grow from being children to becoming adults.

It kind of reminds me of the passage from the Bible where it says, "When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child; but when I became a man, I put away childish things." This is true of everyone, yet I think we all have certain things that still hold a special place in our hearts.

As I watched Andy, the animated character that we have watched grow up through the three Toy Story films, giving his toys to the little girl at the end of the movie, I found myself tearing up a bit, recognizing that rite of passage that he was experiencing.

I can remember the huge collection of GI Joe dolls -- er, action figures -- that I once owned. I probably had eight or ten of them, plus tons of accessories, including the Mercury space capsule, the Sea Sled, a Kubelwagen (German army Jeep-style vehicle), and, of course, dozens of weapons, uniforms, and more. I smile when I think about them, not to mention that they are highly prized by collectors now -- If I still had them, my collection would probably sell for $2,000 or more. Hindsight, as they say, is 20/20.

I remember riding bikes with the other kids in my neighborhood for many years, first on a Stingray-style bike, and then later on what we used to call "racing bikes." The last bike I owned was a beautiful metallic maroon bike with 27" wheels. I rode that thing all over northwest Oklahoma City for several years, until I got my driver's license and my first car. Looking back, I don't even know what became of any of them, which kind of makes me sad.

So many other things, from Army Men, Blaze the Wonder Horse, and the Crayola 64 box to sandboxes, swing sets, and Superballs, all have faded into the past. Today's kids seem not to have much interest in anything that doesn't have an electronic screen (I have no room to talk -- I'm on this computer 14 hours a day or more at times).

Yet still, when I think of things like the big black bazooka my Dad bought me that shot huge blasts of air, or the way I used to build huge log cabin complexes out of Lincoln Logs -- and then demolish them by rolling a basketball through them, or the wars that my friends and I would have with the Star Trek Tracer Disc guns, followed by the searches we had to do to try to recover all those tiny plastic discs, I still smile.

It Was The Best Of Times, It Was The Worst Of Times...

2011-07-03T16:15:00.004-05:00

35 years ago this week, I was enjoying the summer vacation before my summer vacation.

Rolling Stone magazine's Top Ten list was, to put it mildly, pretty sad.

RS 215, June 17, 1976

1. Wings - "Silly Love Songs"

2. Silver Convention - "Get Up And Boogie (That's Right)"

3. Dorothy Moore - "Misty Blue"

4. Diana Ross - "Love Hangover"

5. Daryl Hall and John Oates - "Sara Smile"

6. Henry Gross - "Shannon"

7. Captain and Tennille - "Shop Around"

8. Andrea True Connection - "More, More, More (pt. 1)"

9. Starland Vocal Band - "Afternoon Delight"

10. The Brothers Johnson - "I'll Be Good To You"

It was the 70s. Where was the rock and roll? The Zeppelin, the Boston, the Aerosmith?

Sigh.

Apocalypse When?

2011-06-10T01:25:00.005-05:00

There have always been those who have pointed to a certain date on the calendar and sounded a warning, saying that the end of the world is near. Back in the year 999 AD, many people became convinced that the Millennium would be ushered in at the stroke of midnight on January 1, 1000, and that Jesus would return in power and glory to reign over mankind. Some true believers gave away all their belongings, figuring, "Hey, we won't need 'em where we're going." But, of course, New Year's Day came and went and life continued as usual.

Many other similar proclamations have occurred over the years; the Russellites, now better known as the Jehovah's Witnesses, taught that Jesus would establish His kingdom on Earth in 1914. This was later revised to 1915, 1918, 1920, 1925, 1941, 1975 and 1994.

Charles Wesley, founder of the Methodist church, taught that the end of the world would come in 1794. His brother John later taught that the Beast predicted by the Book of Revelation would arise in 1836.

Some expected the end of humanity in 1910 when it was predicted that the Earth would pass through the tail of Halley's Comet.

Many expected that the so-called "Y2K Bug" would cause massive failures of computer systems that humans depend on to run society when the calendar rolled over from 1999 to 2000.

An alleged Christian scholar predicted the Rapture to occur on May 21, 2011.

In case you haven't noticed, none of these things occurred.

More recently, a lot of attention has been devoted to the Mayan Calendar, which appears to end on December 21, 2012; some have taken that to mean that the world will end on that date. It's not likely that this will come to pass, either. Not to mention those who claim Comet Elenin will strike the Earth on September 10 (don't worry -- the closest it should get is about 35 million miles from us).

However, it is certainly possible that one of these days something will happen -- a terrorist attack, a war, or even an asteroid strike -- that will cause a breakdown in our society.

This is something I have spent a lot of time pondering, because in my situation -- physically limited and mobility challenged as I am, and dependent on hemodialysis to keep me alive -- if and when a significant breakdown in services were to occur, one that disrupted electric power, transportation of goods, the water utility, etc. on a broad scale, I would have only a few weeks to live, at the most. It's a sobering thought to realize that something could come along that would effectively cause my slow death, and if the disruption were widespread enough, there would be little I could do about it.

The Yellowstone supervolcano is always on my mind.

1492

2011-04-13T15:50:00.002-05:00

The white men came across the sea in ships.
They found a green, new land, a place to live,
A place to seize, a place to conquer.
It is their way.

Seven of my forefathers slew one of my forefathers,
For I am German Jew and English and Irish and Scot,
And I am Seminole.
Mix seven parts Imperialist European Invader and one part Seminole
And you get me,
Apparently.

I didn’t do it!
But they were your ancestors.
I didn’t do it!
But they were your ancestors.
I didn’t do it!
But they were your ancestors.
I didn’t do it!
But they were your ancestors.
I didn’t do it!
But they were your ancestors.
I didn’t do it!
But they were your ancestors.
I didn’t do it!
But they were your ancestors.
You did not do this,
But they were my ancestors.

Alan Seeger

Fighting Foo, Just For You.

2011-04-12T20:57:00.005-05:00

Once upon a time, there was a band from Seattle. This band was fronted by a skinny blonde dude who had trouble dealing with life, and eventually stuck a shotgun in his mouth and ended it all. But that's not who I want to talk about.

This band had gone through a half dozen or so drummers -- kind of like Spinal Tap, except, insofar as I know, none of them spontaneously combusted onstage; it was more of a thing where they just moved on for various reasons -- before auditioning a guy named Dave Grohl, whose previous band, Washington, DC-based Scream, had just broken up.

They released three albums before the blonde guy did himself in, and attained something of mythic status. But what do you do after your legendary band is no more?

Well, you could do what the band's bass player, Krist Novoselic, did and become a director and political activist, or you could form the Foo Fighters, which is what Dave Grohl did.

Since 1994, the Foo Fighters (who, if they'd been formed two years earlier, could have had the greatest band slogan ever: Fighting Foo Since '92) have released seven albums: Foo Fighters (1995), The Colour and the Shape (1997), There Is Nothing Left To Lose (1999), One By One (2002), In Your Honor (2005), Echoes, Silence, Patience & Grace (2007)... and, as of today, Wasting Light.

The Foos have always been a popular band, but mark my words: 2011 will be the Year of the Foo Fighters. For one thing, this has been one of the most visible album releases ever -- a documentary on the band has been airing on VH1 Classic and Palladia, and this week alone they have made appearances on The Tonight Show, The Daily Show, a 90 minute webcast on CBS.com where they played the entirety of the new album plus some older material, and then later tonight they'll play The Late Show with David Letterman.

It's only halfway through April, but this is, for me, the best album of 2011, hands down. Get it, or you so do not rock.

Test post - posting from

2011-04-06T15:15:00.001-05:00

Test post - posting from my phone for the first time.

Lucid Dreaming

2011-04-05T16:05:00.000-05:00

I just awoke from a very vivid dream, yet one in which, at least at times, I was fully aware of the fact that it was a dream... and it was wonderful.

I laid down and fell asleep about thirty minutes ago, listening to the classic rock music channel on our satellite TV.

I dreamed that I was back in Oklahoma, driving around, and somehow wound up at my old high school (Putnam City High School in northwest Oklahoma City, for those of you who are familiar with the area). I walked around the campus for a few minutes and found myself at the stage door entrance to the auditorium where I performed so many times in plays and musicals as well as in the chorus.

I walked in and noticed that a great old song was playing: Creedence Clearwater revival's seemingly endless version of "I Heard It Through The Grapevine." There was nothing going on at the moment in the auditorium except a few students that appeared to be taking a test, so I walked around quietly, careful not to disturb anything or anybody, just drinking in the sights and smells of this place that at one time had pretty much been my home.

There were dozens of sets of painted flats, large rolls of old carpet of various colors, lighting equipment that was stacked on one side of the stage... all the doors to the dressing and storage rooms were open. It looked to me like they were cleaning things up.

I walked toward the stairs on the stage right side that led down to the main floor of the auditorium itself, and at one point as I took a step, I heard a crunching sound and part of the wooden floor gave way slightly, as if it were old and rotten. I stumbled and fell for a moment, but got up and continued on my way. In my memory, that part of the floor was actually poured concrete, but I'm sure that it was symbolic of something.

Instead of continuing on, I went back and crossed along the back to the stage left side, Creedence still blasting. It was at this point that I looked around and whispered to myself, "This is all a dream."

I exited through the stage door and found myself in a beautiful Spring day, and began to walk toward my car...

...and awoke with Creedence still playing that long ride-out on the TV. I smiled, pleased to have had the opportunity to visit that place again that I had loved so much, even though some of the details seemed off.

For those of you who know the campus, Putnam City High School is located at N.W. 50th and Ann Arbor Avenue in Oklahoma City. The auditorium in my dream was definitely the high school auditorium (or at least based on it). However, the location seemed to me to be where my old junior high school was -- at N.W. 40th and Grove. There was also an auditorium there, and I did a number of activities in it, but it was much smaller, older, and darker. The one in my dream was the one at the high school, where I performed in "West Side Story," "South Pacific," "1776!," and more.

Still, it was a wonderful little dream during an uncharacteristically short nap that left me refreshed and in a good mood.

Spring hath sprung

2011-03-23T10:25:00.000-05:00

And a young man's fancy turns to thoughts of love. So the poet wrote, anyway. I'm not really a young man any more (although my wife maintains that I am 12 years old, mentally), so what should my thoughts turn to as this Spring solstice passes?

There's school, of course -- lots to do, but things are going well in all my classes. I'm hoping to pull off straight A's this semester, now that Algebra is no longer part of my routine. I started the semester with Lakota Language I as well but dropped it after the first session when I had the distinct sensation that someone had thrown me in to the deep end of a swimming pool, and that I was drowning.

I hope to take it this summer, when I may be able to find a section that has classes four afternoons a week for an hour or so instead of one four hour class a week; in addition, if it's the only class I'm taking, I may be able to keep my head above water. Do you like my learning to swim metaphor?

At any rate, life seems to maintain a fairly even keel these days. Keeping my health stable is always a bit of a challenge, but all things considered, my dialysis numbers have been good.

Until next time,

P2

Disgusting.

2011-03-17T23:31:00.000-05:00

The California State University-Long Beach student newspaper, the Union Weekly, published this article recently about a Native powwow which was held on campus by the American Indian Studies Program and the American Indian Student Council. It is filled with racist comments and denigrated Native culture in many ways, referring to an Indian taco as being "like a Mexican pizza from Taco Bell, but shittier," and other such comments.

There's a massive storm of protest gathering, particularly on Facebook -- http://tinyurl.com/4hmo5r9 is just one example. You can also see the full sized article there, as I realize tthe image here is much too small to read.

My comment, e-mailed to the editor of that paper and the author of the article, is as follows:

To all concerned parties:

I am writing to you to express my dismay and disgust at the handling of the recent story in the Cal State Long Beach Union Weekly entitled "Pow Wow Wow Yippee Yo Yippy Yay."

The author of the article, Mr. Noah Kelly, seems to have little knowledge and even less appreciation for the Native American culture. Comparing the powwow (what we here on the Lakota Sioux reservations in South Dakota would refer to as a wacipi) to a flea market both belittles and ridicules a culture that predates the time that any of your ancestors came to these shores. Your article perpetuates the same sort of ignorance and hatred that caused the mass slaughter of entire villages of Native Americans 150 years ago.

The newspaper's editor, Mr. Kevin O'Brien, is equally at fault for publishing such a slanted, prejudicial piece.

I can understand that Indian frybread may not be the health-conscious choice of most Californians, but it has a long tradition as part of Native culture in many parts of the United States, in part because it's one of the very few things that Indians living on the reservations could afford to make with the limited resources that the Federal Government meagerly doled out to them. You make do with what you have.

Oh, and regarding Indian tacos -- you seriously need to get out more if you don't know what an Indian taco is. They have been fairly common food items at state and county fairs as well as at restaurants of various stripes for at least the past 25 years -- and they are delicious.

Let's turn the tables for a moment, Mr. O'Brien and Mr. Kelly -- I don't know if you identify with the Irish heritage that both of your last names imply, but let's suppose, just for a moment, that you do, and that this festival had been a celebration of Irish-American culture rather than American Indian culture. You open your student newspaper a day or two later to discover that someone -- perhaps an Asian-American, or a Latino, or an African-American -- has written an article denigrating your culture, referring to corned beef and cabbage, Mulligan stew, and traditional Irish dancing in a similar fashion as you have written about Native traditions.

Would you be pleased if the writer referred to your ancestor's traditional fare as "shitty" and asked "what the fuck" Mulligan stew was? I think not.

The news about your little story in your little paper is spreading like wildfire, and frankly, from what I am seeing, a lot of people are very angry about this, and not all of them are even Native Americans.

I think a public apology is in order.

When Irish Eyes Are Smiling

2011-03-17T19:07:00.001-05:00

On this St. Patrick’s Day holiday, I arose quite early, as I always must on Thursdays, to get ready for dialysis. For obvious reasons, the concept of wearing green to commemorate the day was the farthest thing from my mind. I served my four hour sentence getting my blood cleansed and rode home on the transport van. I fixed myself a quick lunch and went in to spend some time on my computer before it was time to go to class.

Soon my wife arrived home for her lunch break and mentioned that she and her mother were going to go to Valentine this afternoon. She sat next to me, at her own computer, and then looked over at me. A smile played across her lips and she reached over and gave me a good solid PINCH on my upper arm.

“OUCH!” I yelled, jerking my arm away. “You’re not wearing green,” she grinned. I rolled my eyes at her, nursing my bruised ego as well as my sore arm. I looked over at her and saw immediately that she was wearing a deep green shirt. Damn.

She got up and crossed over to the other side of the room, fiddling with something in her sewing box.

A moment later she came back over to me and tied a double strand of olive green yarn around my left wrist. “There,” she said. “Now you’re protected.”

“You could have done that first,” I muttered, teasing her. “I think you have your priorities out of order.”

She smiled and went back to browsing the Internet.

Old Photographs Always Lie

2011-02-11T20:36:00.000-06:00

I was digging around in a closet full of cardboard boxes when I discovered a box full of old family photos. Some were so ancient as to be brittle, the paper flaking apart in my fingers, the sepiatoned faces staring at me in disbelief, as if not comprehending what was happening to them. Great-great-grandparents and fourth cousins twice removed, forgotten ancestors and scenes of Christmases long ago all lay jumbled together in a mass of folded, crinkled photo paper, filling several ancient leatherette photo albums.

I picked up several of the photos, searching through them for a family connection, looking for the familiar. There was one of my grandparents, younger than I had ever known them. There was a small group of children -- their relationship has been lost to the ages -- smiling and waving at the camera, apparently preparing to watch a parade. Was it the 4th of July? Veteran’s Day? I’ll probably never know. One of them might be my mom, my dad, an aunt or uncle. I can’t tell. They are all perhaps six, seven, eight years old.

Then I find some familiar faces. It’s my mother and father, seated next to each other on the sofa in the house I grew up in, so long ago. It’s the late 1960s. The picture is in color, a faded Kodachrome print.

The photograph is also an out-and-out lie.

Mommy and Daddy are smiling -- no, grinning. Grinning from ear to ear, as if they had won the lottery, which of course they never did, at least so far as I know. Their eyes shine; perhaps it was New Year’s Eve, and they had had a few drinks, I don’t know for sure. I don’t think so, because they were usually out on New Year’s Eve, out with friends, out celebrating. What I do know is that I recognize the sofa -- a hideous French provincial thing of the style that my mother fell in love with circa 1966. Our living room in those days had two of them; the one visible in the photo was a pale gold color with a brighter gold embroidery; the other was a two-tone blue. The marble-topped tables and the twenty-five inch Magnavox console color television were all carved with the little decorative feet that characterizes that same style. A print of Gainsborough’s Blue Boy hung on the wall, next to its ubiquitous companion, the lady in pink; my mother’s idea of culture.

And so on some evening in the late 60s -- the processing date on the edge of the photo says it was developed in June 1968 -- my parents seemed to be having a good time. But this, along with the photo, is also a lie.

You see, I remember the late 1960s. I would have been nine years old in June of 1968, certainly old enough to have vivid memories of what our life was like in those days, and all I can remember is their nightly fighting, the yelling and the screaming. Nearly every night, I remember crying myself to sleep. I remember a hundred times or more going into their bedroom and trying to broker a fragile peace between them, as if they were Israel and the Arabs, but to no avail.

I remember my father sitting there with a steak knife by his side, never brandishing it in a threatening way, but always making sure it was evident that it was there. I never understood how he could do that to my mother. I swore that I would never threaten a woman with a weapon. I swore that I’d be more of a man than my father was.

And yet now, looking at the smiles on their faces, it almost seems as though those memories aren’t real, but I know they are.

You see, old photographs always lie.

Second Semester Blues (Hyar, hyar, hyar, hyar.)

2011-01-30T15:23:00.000-06:00

Hello, dear readers. I have been rather lax on keeping you informed on my progress in school, and for this I apologize profusely.

I wound up with three A's and a C for the fall semester; as you can guess, the C was in my dreaded Algebra class. I'm just happy to have passed it at all and to have been set free from the land of quadratic equations and binomials. Free at last, free at last; thank God Almighty, I'm free at last.

I promptly signed up for another semester, figuring that things had to be looking up since I got past algebra.

So for the spring semester, I enrolled in: American Indians on Film, Lakota Language I, Advanced Public Speaking, English II (yeah, I know; somehow I managed to go to school for 2-1/2 years three decades ago without ever finishing English II), and Creative Writing: Memoirs.

The first week was a disaster. Our van was acting up and I wound up missing the entire week. The second week, my Monday class (the film class) was cancelled due to weather. It hadn't met the first week due to the MLK holiday, so tomorrow will actually be the first session for that class.

I went to my Lakota class Tuesday night, and promptly felt like I was drowning. The syllabus said it was actually Lakota Language II, so maybe that's why.

I did, however, learn to say the following sentence:

Mitakuyepi Alan emaciyapelo nahan iyuha cante wasteya nape ciyuzapelo.

This means, "My name is Alan, and my relatives, I shake your hands with good feelings in my heart." Unfortunately, I can't seem to memorize it.

At any rate, I realized that after having dialysis on Tuesday morning, it just wasn't going to work for me to have a class that stressed me out from 6-10pm that night, so I have dropped that class; I'll take it again in a later semester hen I can take it in two shorter sessions a week, in the morning or early afternoon. In the meantime, I'm keeping the book and learning as much as I can.

My other three classes are going great. I have teachers that I like, admire and get along with very well. They're also on my Facebook, so if you read this post, hi there!

Still need to get with my advisor to figure out what I actually need to graduate.

Hu's the President of China?

2011-01-20T18:48:00.000-06:00

OK, the whole Abbott and Costello thing kinda grew legs on me so I had to go with it, and made this blog post:

OBAMA: Well, Mr. Speaker, Your party may have taken control of the House, but I think that we can still work together to make good things happen for this country.

BOEHNER: Mr. President, I must inform you that we plan to repeal Health Care Reform at our earliest opportunity.

OBAMA: Well, as you can imagine, we'll do whatever we can to prevent that.

BOEHNER: Well, I hear you're having a state dinner this week for a major foreign dignitary. Who's coming to the White House?

OBAMA: Indeed he is.

BOEHNER: Who?

OBAMA: Right.

BOEHNER: I'm asking you who's coming to the White House.

OBAMA: That's right -- Hu is coming to the White House.

BOEHNER: That's what I want to find out.

OBAMA: I just told you.

BOEHNER: Are you the President?

OBAMA: Yes.

BOEHNER: And you don't know who's coming to dinner with you?

OBAMA: Hu is.

BOEHNER: Why in the world are you asking me? I'm just the Speaker of the House! So... one more time, who's coming to this state dinner?

OBAMA: Hu is.

BOEHNER: The guy who's coming to dinner.

OBAMA: Right.

BOEHNER: So tell me.

OBAMA: I did.

BOEHNER: Who?

OBAMA: Right.

BOEHNER: Wright?

OBAMA: Right.

BOEHNER: So Wright is coming to dinner?

OBAMA: No, Hu is coming to dinner.

BOEHNER: This is starting to sound like a Sidney Poitier movie.

OBAMA: That's the man's name.

BOEHNER: That's who's name?

OBAMA: Yes.

BOEHNER: Well, go ahead and tell me.

OBAMA: That's it.

BOEHNER: That's who?

OBAMA: Yes.

BOEHNER: Look, Mr. President... you got a guest coming to dinner?

OBAMA: Certainly.

BOEHNER: So who's coming to dinner?

OBAMA: That's right.

BOEHNER: All I'm trying to find out is the fellow's name who's coming to the White House.

OBAMA: Hu.

BOEHNER: The name of your guest.

OBAMA: Hu.

BOEHNER: I can see we're not getting anywhere here. Is there anyone else you're inviting?

OBAMA: I am considering inviting Yu.

BOEHNER: Well, thank you very much.

OBAMA: Michelle likes her book, Blood and Plum Blossoms.

BOEHNER: Whose book?

OBAMA: No, not Hu's book, Yu's book.

BOEHNER: Uh... Mr. President, I think your Chicago accent is showing. So you're inviting me?

OBAMA: Well, yes, you'll get an invite too.

BOEHNER: I thought you already said I was coming?

OBAMA: We were talking about Hu.

BOEHNER: (Frustrated) Who, you, Moo Goo Gai Pan...

OBAMA: No, Hu is Chinese, but we're having steak and lobster.

BOEHNER: Forget it! I wouldn't come to your state dinner if you were hosting the President of China! (exits angrily)

OBAMA: I wonder what's wrong with him?

Dear Santa:

2010-11-14T23:36:00.000-06:00

A certain person posted her Christmas list on her blog recently, so I figured I would follow suit. Santa, you DO read my blog, right? Right?

Anyhow, here we go:

- Epiphone Les Paul Standard (Ebony): Much more attractive than the Les Paul Studio line but significantly less expensive than the Plain Top or Plus Top Sunbursts and Transparent finishes.

- Rolling Stone subscription renewal (Thanks, Mom!): I have really enjoyed this past year of RS.

- The new Stephen King: "Full Dark , No Stars."

- Western Digital 2TB Caviar Green Hard Drive WD20EARS ($99 at Amazon)

Kickstart me!

2010-11-07T20:52:00.000-06:00

Well, after sitting on the opportunity for several weeks, I finally "pushed the button" earlier this evening and started my Kickstart project to fund the duplication of the CD I am working on.

If you're not familiar with Kickstart.com, it is a system where creative people can present an idea that they have in the works and give others an opportunity to contribute to the funding of the project.

You can read about the proposal here, and if you are so inclined, I'd appreciate your contribution.

Plans and schemes

2010-10-24T14:19:00.000-05:00

Now that the stress of getting settled back into the routine of school has largely passed, I am starting to think about the other large project that I have been stewing on the stove of creativity: the CD that I have been planning to record for so long.

A new concept came to me a few days ago. Rather than just an ordinary collection of unrelated songs, I am thinking in terms of a CD that is almost a concept album (remember those?). Not quite a true concept album as in telling a complete story, not Tommy or Quadrophenia or 2112, but a collection of songs that kind of tells the story of what I've been through in my life, from my birth in the Golden State to the scars that I now bear.

Working title: The Five59 Project.

Algebra ate my brain

2010-10-24T14:13:00.000-05:00

Yes, that's right. Through the wonders of modern medical science, even though algebra has officially eaten my brain, I am still able to post to this blog.

It's been a while since I have posted here, and for that I am deeply apologetic. School (primarily that darned old algebra) has been occupying the majority of my attention. My other classes are going well, but I am scrambling and clawing to try to make sure I pass algebra. It's kinda weird -- I have never been able to "get" algebra. The last time I took it -- in 8th grade, far more years ago than I will admit to -- I barely scraped by with a D, and I seriously think that this was what I refer to as a "pity D" -- a D given out of the teacher's kindness just so the student can say that they passed the class.

The word "algebra" comes from the Arabic language. Some might say that it's a terrorist plot against the youth of America, but I am not so closed-minded as to say that. However, upon doing some linguistic gymnastics, I can say with absolutely no authority whatsoever that the word "algebra" comes from an Arabic word that is related to the procedure of pulling one's toenails out with a pair of pliers.

Anyway, the semester is halfway over, and I'm hangin' in there.

Finished the first week of school...

2010-09-05T15:43:00.000-05:00

...and I have not yet spontaneously combusted!

I was extremely nervous about starting back to classes after my long summer break (that lasted thirty years!) but it wasn't nearly as traumatizing as I thought it might be.

I managed to make it through two sessions of algebra (Monday and Wednesday morning), Intro to Computers on Monday night, Native American Lit on Thursday night and Playwriting/Production on Thursday night. I think the whole semester will go smoothly if I can just keep afloat in algebra, and prevent my cranium from exploding.

The computer class should be an easy A, I hope; it is going to cover Microsoft Office 2010, so that should be useful. The playwriting class is going to be excellent, too. We watched the 1986 TV production of "Death of a Salesman" last Thursday, which stars Dustin Hoffman as Willy Loman. That was incredible.

Looking forward to another Hoffman fix this coming week when we watch "Little Big Man" in Native Lit. I already know I am going to enjoy that class. I have only seen "Little Big Man" once before and that was when it first came out, many years ago.

I'm very glad that I decided it was time to go back to school.

Back To School II

2010-08-22T00:09:00.000-05:00

Well, things went rather well when I went to enroll. Sinte Gleska University requires new students to take portions of the Stanford Achievement Test to see whether remedial instruction is needed in the following areas: Reading comprehension, language, science and mathematics.

I had no qualms about the reading or language portions, and only slightly less so about the science portion, but I was -- well, I suppose "terrified" is the best word to use -- about the math part.

As I stumbled through the 40-minute ordeal, bewildered as always by the presence of the letters x, y, z, a, b, and c nestled in amongst the numbers (I am pretty certain that the word "algebra," which is known to have come from Arabic, actually means "torture of the mind"), I determined that I should skim through the problems to see if there were any that I actually knew how to do.
I figured the areas of some polygons, and calculated the perimeter of some fenced-in-areas, and deduced the number of whatzits in a doomafrozzle. There was, unfortunately, no question requiring me to figure the number of inches in a light year, a calculation that I have done a number of times in the past simply to pass the time.

Yes, I can do that, but algebra causes my cerebral cortex to implode.

Anyway, I muddled through, ran out of time... and somehow passed the test.
I was utterly shocked when the test administrator came over to me after scoring my test and said, "Off the charts."

Huh?

I passed all four portions of the test, she explained, so I don't have to take any of the remedial classes. In fact, I was only one of two people to take the test that day who did so, and I had the top score of the day as well.

I ended up enrolling in College Algebra, God help me, because I will need it for my degree and I figured I had better get it out of the way; Special Topics in Creative Writing: Playwriting/Performance Studies, which I am quite excited about; Fundamentals in Computers, which I am mainly taking to gain some familiarity with Microsoft Office 2010; and Literature by and about Native Americans Throughout History, which should be interesting.

Classes begin August 30.

Back to School

2010-08-03T20:22:00.000-05:00

As many of you know, I am looking at going back to school this fall. It will be the first time I have been a student since *cough* 1980, though I have been in the classroom as a teacher quite a number of times.

I'm looking at the class schedule for the fall semester and realizing that I'm scared to death. I have no idea what I want to major in. When I started my first semester of college (back when the scribes wrote out our textbooks on papyrus scrolls) I was an English major. Then after the first year I took a break and worked at a few different jobs for a year or so, and then enrolled at the local junior college as a theatre major.

Well, this time around, there's no theatre department. Going back to English (which would, for me, mean an emphasis on creative writing) is appealing, but I don't know how practical it is... there is no music program, either, for those who are thinking about my bent toward that.

A lot of people have encouraged me to do computer science, but I don't really think I want to do that because I enjoy my computers too much and I'm afraid it'll turn them into that dreaded four letter word... W-O-R-K.

I'm also extremely nervous about the requirement for Lakota language classes. (I'm enrolling at Sinte Gleska University, which is run by the Rosebud Sioux Tribe.) My Lakota vocabulary amounts to all of six words or so. Let's see: Waste = good, Wakinyan = thunder beings, Un'ci = Grandmother, Tatanka = buffalo, Mni = water... there's bound to be one more...?

One of my friends who works at the college encouraged me, saying "Just do it! Six words of Lakota is more than I knew when I started." Thanks, Mary, that helps. I'll probably be saying, "Teacher, how do you say 'The dog ate my homework' in Lakota?"

They offer a class called Traditional Lakota Women's Studies. I told my wife that I should enroll in that and the first day I'll tell the teacher, "Uh... I live with a bunch of UNtraditional Lakota women. HELP ME!"

I do want to major in something practical, meaning that it would benefit me in some way other than just hanging on the wall and proclaiming that I is a college grajuayte.

I have about two weeks to figure things out.

Alan

A Kernel Of Wheat

2010-07-09T12:47:00.001-05:00

Thoughts On the Nature of Faith, Sacrifice and Martyrdom

By Alan Seeger

[Note: The following mega blog post was written in a spiral notebook during one massive marathon writing session between 3:30-5:15am on July 9, 2010. Minor clarification and cleanup were performed the next day as I typed it. It comes from the heart.]

In a few short weeks, two anniversaries will arrive that mark seminal events in my life.

One is the 28th anniversary of the birth of my first biological child, Angelique. Happy birthday, sweetheart. I can't believe that in just two more years you'll hit the big 3-0. Look at the wonderful family you've built -- the great husband -- if a little dorky looking -- and the three wonderful grandsons you've given me. I can't wait to get to meet the newest one in person. I'm very, very proud of you.

The other event occurred one day prior to Angel's birth, and it was about as far from a joyous event such as the birth of a child as one could possibly imagine. July 28 marks the 28th anniversary of the day that 28-year old Christian singer-songwriter and minister Keith Green and two of his children were killed in a plane crash at the ministry’s ranch in Garden Valley, Texas, along with eight members of the Smalley family and the ministry's pilot. Last Days Ministries survives to this day, helmed by Keith's wife, Melody Green, and they are preparing to commemorate the event with a memorial that they are calling Keith Green 28|28|28.

All of this, in the light of my own close brush with death which essentially served to end twenty years of service in the church, brings me to contemplate many things -- the nature of service, the belief (or lack thereof) in a God that ostensibly loves his people and provides for them, and most of all, the nature of and reasons for sacrifice and martyrdom.

I tried very hard after a head-on car wreck nearly took my life on December 4, 2002, to understand why God -- if in fact there was and is a God out there somewhere -- allowed such a thing to happen to me after I had served him for two decades. Barring the occasional human failing that we are all subject to, I worked in various ministry positions from 1982 until my wreck in 2002, in positions ranging from serving as a musician in a church band to holding the title of Minister of Music. Between August of 2001 and August of 2002, I also worked full time as a producer and editor at a religious television station. At various times I also went on the road, serving as a musical evangelist, traveling to church events in Oklahoma, Arkansas, Missouri and Illinois.

Even after my wreck, I took a position as a Music Minister in a local church -- in fact, a church headed by the father of the young woman who had been involved in my car wreck -- despite my damaged faith, because I felt as though it was the "right thing to do." That ended disastrously, with my faith in both God and man failing me perhaps when I needed it the most.

Since 2006, I haven't set foot in a church except for special occasions -- I went to a service at the church where I was serving at the time of the wreck, mainly to see friends but also to see if a spark of faith still existed. I felt nothing. I attended a service at another church with my daughter Angel, and at her urging. Though I enjoyed the music, I again felt nothing.

At Christmas a couple of years ago, my wife and I went to Mass at a local Catholic church where members of her family have gone for many years, because the children were in a Christmas production. Though I enjoyed the (very traditional) music and I was moved by the ritual and the pageantry, in the end, from a spiritual standpoint, I felt nothing.

I've been asked to play in church here in South Dakota, but I have politely declined, feeling as though it would be the height of hypocrisy to do so when I feel the way I do.

And so now, looking back at the way Keith Green's ministry has not only survived his death 28 years ago, but has grown and spread to an amazing degree, and the way mine died despite the fact that I am still alive, I have to wonder: was the accident and my subsequent experience all some sort of divine test? Because if so, I can only assume that I flunked it spectacularly.

Leonard Ravenhill, a close confidant and friend of Keith Green's, once related that when he heard of Keith's death, a certain passage of Scripture immediately popped into his mind. "Unless a kernel of wheat fall into the ground and die, it remains alone," (John 12:24) going on to say that, on the other hand, if it does die, it will multiply itself, and bear much fruit.

So what am I to think of a God that would use his children so? It's not really the dying part that bothers me, because if the God part is real, then presumably the Heaven part is, too, and the few moments of agony that Keith must have endured in the plane crash would shortly have been replaced with all manner of heavenly rewards such as the Bible describes.

No, it's the impact on the survivors that I am primarily thinking of. Not only did Melody lose her husband and the Green children their dad, but two of the Green's four children -- three-year-old Josiah and two-year-old Bethany -- were killed in the crash along with Keith. Imagine the grief and sorrow that Melody and the two remaining children must have endured.

I can only imagine how my family would have been affected if I had perished in the wreck or succumbed to my injuries at some point afterward, as I by all rights likely should have, considering their severity.

What kind of God, claiming to love his children and provide for his servants, would allow them to suffer so? Can I, in good conscience, consent to believing in a God like that?

And then there is the matter of the hypocrisy, greed, selfishness and downright hatred I have seen in the lives of people I used to work with in ministry situations.

People who seemed to be more concerned with making sure my wife collected the proceeds of my life insurance in the event of my death, apparently hovering vulture-like over her, anticipating that she would tithe ten percent of that amount to the church.

People who made a grand show of taking up a "special offering" to assist my family with added expenses such as traveling back and forth between Northwest Arkansas, where we lived, and Little Rock, where I was hospitalized, and other expenses and then doling out only the amounts for which my wife could show receipts, rather than simply giving her the actual amount people had donated for that purpose.

Hearing the way people within the leadership of the church talk about church members behind their backs.

All of these types of behavior and more turned me off to the church itself. The idea that God, who supposedly loved/loves me and cared/cares for me and had said "I will never leave thee nor forsake thee" had apparently done both to me turned me away from my belief in God.

And yet here I am, seven years later. I'm still fighting medical issues; some are related to the accident, while others are apparently unrelated, or at best peripheral to it. I spend four hours three days a week in a chair at a dialysis center ten miles from my home in South Dakota, getting my blood cleaned, after suffering kidney failure in the summer of 2008.

Despite this, I can say I am blessed. I am married to a wonderful, hard working woman who does her best to see that I take care of myself, often in spite of my best efforts. Along with marrying her, I inherited four more great kids who have learned to like, and maybe love, the weird white guy (hey! Only 87.5% white!) in the wheelchair.

We share a love for music and movies and computers. Life in South Dakota is peaceful. The sky is big and blue, and the weather -- well, the weather is a bit more extreme than what I used to experience in Oklahoma and Arkansas. Just as hot in the summer, but much colder in the winter.

There are negatives to living so far from where I once lived -- I don't get to see my daughters, although we stay in touch via the Internet and the telephone. The worst part is not getting to watch my grandkids grow up. I have two new ones that I have never seen. Due to medical and financial considerations, I don't know when or if I ever will.

And yet, overall, I must say that my life is good. I feel blessed.

So does this mean that I think God has blessed me?

I don't know. Maybe I do still believe that there is a God who has brought me through these trials, but I'm not sure if I still believe in the God that I was taught about for all these years.

Living on the Rosebud Indian Reservation as I do, I have learned a little about the way the traditional Lakota people believe.

In their belief system, there is a Great Spirit -- Wakan Tanka -- who is over all, and there is also a spirit they call Tunkasila -- essentially, Grandfather, though not in the sense of your father's father -- that handles day-to-day life for the people.

I'm not saying that's what I believe in, either. I'm just saying that I am open to the idea of a God who is not necessarily just like the New Testament depicts him, nor the Old Testament, for that matter, nor the Quran, nor the Bhagavad-Gita, nor any other book of organized religion.

I look at the pictures of all the amazing objects that the Hubble Space Telescope photographs, extending billions of light years into space, and I think, "Could all of this beauty that I see -- birds and trees, animals and fish, sunrise and moonset, all have happened by accident?”

I don't know. And that is the very definition of agnosticism.

I'm still trying to figure it all out.

The Evolution of a Classic: Come Together

2010-04-21T14:53:00.000-05:00

The Evolution of a Classic: Come Together

By PHOENIX PSALTERY

In September of 1969, The Beatles released what many fans feel is their finest album, Abbey Road. Although they would release Let It Be eight months later, the songs on Abbey Road were the last that they recorded together prior to Paul McCartney filing suit to dissolve the band on Dec. 31, 1970. (Years later, the surviving Beatles would work together again during the production of the Anthology collections, adding their talents to the demo of "Free As A Bird" recorded by John Lennon in 1977 and tracks from "Real Love" which Lennon recorded prior to his murder in 1980.)

The opening track of Abbey Road was different than anything heard before on a Beatles record. "Come Together" was built on an odd sounding, almost dissonant bass line and rolling drums, with a chord structure that seems to move between the keys of D minor on the verses and B minor during the choruses.

The lyrics were typical Lennonese -- some considered them nonsense -- but filled with intricate turns of phrase that fascinated many listeners.

Here come old flattop he come grooving up slowly,

He got joo-joo eyeball, he one holy roller,

He got hair down to his knee,

Got to be a joker he just do what he please...

Some speculated that each verse of the song is a cryptic comment on the individual Beatles. For example, "he one holy roller" supposedly is a reference to the spirituality of George Harrison, "he got Ono sideboard," to Lennon himself, and "got to be good-looking 'cause he so hard to see" to baby-faced McCartney. Others have suggested that the entire song is a self-disparaging self-portrait by Lennon.

Whatever its true impetus, the song became an instant classic in the annals of rock music. It has been covered by a wide variety of artists in recent years, but one of the first and most widely known was the version from the soundtrack of the film "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band," performed by Aerosmith, who appear in the film as the Future Villain Band (FVB). While the acting in the 1978 film, which starred Peter Frampton and the Bee Gees, is pretty atrocious, Aerosmith is one of the high points.

He wear no shoeshine, he got toe-jam football,

He got monkey finger, he shoot Coca-Cola,

He say, "I know you, you know me,"

One thing I can tell you is you got to be free.

Come together, right now, over me.

In 1986, Capitol Records released Live In New York City, featuring the rare treat of John Lennon live in concert. Backed by the Plastic Ono Elephant's Memory Band, Lennon introduces "Come Together" by saying, "You might remember this one better than I do... it's 'Here come ol' flattop,' that's all I know."

He bag production, he got walrus gumboot,

He got Ono sideboard, he one spinal cracker,

He got feet down below his knee,

Hold you in his armchair, you can feel his disease...

Come together, right now, over me.

In the years since its initial appearance on Abbey Road, "Come Together" has become one of the most recorded songs in history, having been recorded by artists from The Supremes to Eurythmics to Michael Jackson to Soundgarden to Tom Jones. Axl Rose and Bruce Springsteen performed the song before John Lennon's induction into the Rock n' Roll Hall of Fame in 1994. Elton John performed the song as a tribute to Lennon during his concert at Madison Square Garden in 2000. The trippy lyrics and almost freeform feel of the music have made "Come Together" a unique and timeless contribution to the history of popular music.

He roller-coaster, he got early warning,

He got muddy water, he one mojo filter,

He say, "One and one and one is three,"

Got to be good-looking 'cause he's so hard to see...

Come together, right now, over me.

In this day of divided political views and continued concerns over war, terrorism and natural disasters such as tsunamis, earthquakes and global warming, I believe that if John Lennon were still with us he would encourage us all to "Come Together" in, as he put it in another one of his songs, "a brotherhood of man."

Mortality, part 2

2010-03-31T16:45:00.000-05:00

I waxed philosophical some time ago about the fact that we are all headed toward the grave, with no way to turn back, because of the slew of prominent celebrities that shuffled off this mortal coil during 2009.

Ironically, just as I began to type this blog post, my mp3 queue chose to rotate to Paul Oakenfold's techno-rock tune, "Faster Kill Pussycat," which features one of the celebs we lost more recently than my previous post on the topic, the late Brittany Murphy.

Anyway, this thing is hitting closer to home than ever. The live music scene in Second Life has lost two of its best-loved performers -- my good friend Kevinbear Watanabe, a regular at The Merry Pranksters and partner of our real life friend Nancy Lei, lost his battle with cancer on Saturday, March 27 due to complications from a post-surgical infection, and then on Monday, March 29, another SL performer, Micki Underwood, passed away after a long illness.

As I have said for years, after several close calls myself, you never know how much time you have remaining, so make sure those you love know how much you care for them.

P2

Looky! I'm on dbTwang!

2010-03-31T16:23:00.000-05:00

dbTwang, a guitar aficionados' website, chose me as its "Featured Member" today.

http://blog.dbtwang.com/featured-dbtwang-member-phoenix-psaltery-59-les-paul-standard-sunburst/

They got a couple of facts wrong, but hey, it's the thought that counts, right?

P2

edit: They fixed the errata.

The Evolution of a Classic: All Along The Watchtower

2010-03-08T12:03:00.000-06:00

Certain songs are timeless; when you hear them, it brings a smile to your face, and transports you back to a simpler time, a time of being a carefree youth. Often, songs like this are remade by many other artists over the years, because, hey, they love those tunes just like you do. The Evolution of a Classic will look at songs like this, examining how they developed into a part of our shared rock and roll psyche.

The Evolution of a Classic: All Along The Watchtower
By PHOENIX PSALTERY

Much like the Yardbirds' version of "Train Kept A-Rollin," the Jimi Hendrix classic "All Along The Watchtower" has been mistaken by many casual listeners as an original composition by the late guitar god. Although it was penned by none other than Bob Dylan, the Hendrix version is what comes to the minds of most rock fans when the song is mentioned. However, it is unquestionably Dylan's hauntingly enigmatic lyrics that make the song such a classic.

“There must be some way out of here,” said the joker to the thief,
“There’s too much confusion, I can’t get no relief..."

Who is the Joker? (And please, don't say it's Steve Miller.) Who is the Thief? It's never explained. Like a pencil sketch of a complex scene, we are given only a cursory glimpse into the lives of Dylan's characters -- but that makes them all the more intriguing.

"Businessmen, they drink my wine, plowmen dig my earth,
None of them along the line know what any of it is worth.”

The joker apparently has a store of wine, and fields to be plowed. That's about all we ever learn about him, although I suspect that the implication is that he owns a vineyard; he makes the wine that the businessmen drink.

Then we are given a glimpse into the mind of the thief, and the nature of his particular brand of philosophy:

“No reason to get excited,” the thief, he kindly spoke,
“There are many here among us who feel that life is but a joke.
But you and I, we’ve been through that, and this is not our fate,
So let us not talk falsely now, the hour is getting late.”

The Thief proves to have an interesting outlook on life; he seems to disagree with those nihilists around him who feel that life is meaningless, and indicates that he and the Joker have a history. He challenges the Joker to be honest and not conceal the truth, for "the hour is getting late." Whether this is a foreshadowing of an impending apocalypse or merely a statement that it's late in the evening is anybody's guess. Only Dylan really knows what he meant when he penned these words some four decades ago, and so far as I am aware, he ain't telling.

The pencil sketch then moves on to another topic, away from the Joker and the Thief, to those who are guarding what seems to be a castle or fortification:

All along the watchtower, princes kept the view
While all the women came and went; barefoot servants, too.
Outside in the cold distance a wildcat did growl,
Two riders were approaching, the wind began to howl.

We're never told who the riders are, or what their purpose is. The entire song seems cloaked in mystery, or even incomplete, but that's all part of the genius of Dylan -- he makes us imagine more than he tells us, much the way that only ten percent of an iceberg is visible above the waterline.

Aside from the original Dylan recording, which appears on his 1968 release, John Wesley Harding, and the Hendrix version, there have been numerous cover versions of "Watchtower." Allmusic.com shows well over a hundred different artists having recorded the song.

Dylan's original recording lopes along, propelled by acoustic guitar and an understated drum and bass accompaniment, embellished only by Dylan's harmonica playing. When Hendrix's version was unleashed on the world, it was like someone picking up a kitten and having it morph into a fire-breathing dragon in their hands; the simple vi-V-IV progression that had sounded like a modern folk ballad when Dylan performed it turned into a soundtrack for an alien visitation as it warped its way through Hendrix's Stratocaster, which set the bar for virtually every subsequent version of the song. Even Dylan himself liked Hendrix's take on the tune so much that he soon began performing it live in a style based loosely on Hendrix's version.

"It overwhelmed me, really," Dylan said in a 1995 interview with the Fort Lauderdale Sun Sentinel. "He had such talent, he could find things inside a song and vigorously develop them. He found things that other people wouldn't think of finding in there. He probably improved upon it by the spaces he was using. I took license with the song from his version, actually, and continue to do it to this day." In the liner notes of the Biograph album, Dylan said, "I liked Jimi Hendrix's record of this and ever since he died I've been doing it that way... Strange how when I sing it, I always feel it's a tribute to him in some kind of way."

As I write this, I have a dozen different versions of the song queued in my MP3 player; Dylan's and Hendrix's, of course, along with little-heard versions by well-known artists such as the Dave Matthews Band, Neil Young and Eric Clapton and Lenny Kravitz, along with live tracks from the Grateful Dead with Dylan himself on vocals, Widespread Panic, and Leslie West and Alvin Lee.

A version by Dave Mason (who played acoustic guitar on Hendrix's version) is on the list, too, driven by acoustic guitar and tasty B-3, as is blues great Taj Mahal's sax-and-slide guitar take, and the Watchtower Four's version from the Ali soundtrack.

U2's live version from the Rattle and Hum CD is there, too, with Bono's social consciousness verse in the middle: "All I've got is a red guitar / Three chords and the truth / All I've got is a red guitar / The rest is up to you..."

It's kinda like Dylan's pencil-sketch lyrics. All he gave us is a brief glimpse of these people; the rest is up to us.

P2

PreexistingPosterChild.info

2010-02-25T18:30:00.000-06:00

After watching President Obama wrestle with the stubborn mules today during the Health Care Reform Summit, I was inspired to create my own message intended to urge people to make their views known concerning health care in the United States, and hopefully motivate those who can actually make things happen to do so.

I am setting up a website at PreexistingPosterChild.info, which will carry the following image in several formats and express explicit permission for anyone who wishes to reproduce and distribute it to do so. It's not up and running yet, but should be within a day or two.

Feed your body, your spirit, and your mind

2010-01-04T13:06:00.000-06:00

Reflecting on the passage of another year, my thoughts turned to the honored American (and perhaps world-wide) tradition of New Year's resolutions. It's very common for these 'best-laid plans,' whether made by mice or men, to include themes of self-improvement. I'm going to lose weight. I'm going to do this better. I'm going to do that better.

I got to mulling this over and began to relate it to what I think of as the tripartite nature of a human being. When I was a student of the Bible, I often compared this to the Christian doctrine of the Trinity, which teaches that God manifests Himself as Father, Son and Holy Spirit (or Holy Ghost, depending on the flavor of one's Christianity).

Although I am no longer involved in the Church and find that I am somewhat in flux as far as what I believe, I still see man as being a three-part being, and as I thought about the idea of improving oneself in this new year, I began to think of the necessity of nourishing all three parts of that being.

The body, of course, needs nourishment; that much is obvious. We have to eat to live. However, it's not healthy to eat just anything. A person who ate nothing but Ghirardelli chocolate, delicious as it may be, would be a physical wreck in a very short time.

Most people are familiar with the basics of good nutrition; eating the proper balance of grains, vegetables, fruits, dairy products, proteins such as meat and beans, and yes, a touch of oils and fats, leads to a balanced diet and a healthy body.

Sure, that's not a 100% guarantee that every system in your body will always run smoothly, but it certainly helps. Not that I'm any sort of authority on or example of good nutrition -- I was a fast food addicted kid and grew into a fast food addicted adult, and while the amount of fast food I eat now has been cut down considerably for both financial and accessibility reasons, I still love my McD's, Taco Bell and the like. It's a struggle.

Be that as it may, being good to your body means seeing that it gets a reasonably good balance of nutritious food.

I believe that the same rule applies to what you feed your spirit and your mind. This isn't said from a religious nor a moral point of view; what I mean is that just as you should feed your body with the vitamins, minerals and other nutrients that make your body "happy," so to speak, in the same way you should find things that please your spirit, which, to me, has to do with finding love, joy and happiness in your life, and things that please your mind, which refers to things that stimulate you intellectually.

I believe that some people go through their entire lives without ever once really finding a truly balanced type of love. There are couples in relationships all over the world who stumbled into each other, found a spark of attraction or just a moment of lust, and ended up getting married. This may be because of the conception of a child, or because of circumstances such as family (especially in parts of the world where marriages are still arranged by family heads or matchmakers) or simply because it seemed like the thing to do at the time.

I really think it takes a miracle -- so to speak -- to be in the right place at the right time and in the right situation where you meet a person who totally fulfills you, and again that extends to the tripart being; body, spirit and mind.

In fact, I think all three of these areas can be subdivided into also fulfilling the desires of all three parts of the human person. Food that is nutritious fulfills the need of the body for nourishment, but food that looks good and tastes good and smells good can appeal to the spirit and mind as well.

But back to finding the perfect relationship. I think that the person who ultimately will fulfill you as a partner is not only going to appeal to the needs of your body, i.e. sexually, but will also click on an intellectual and spiritual level as well. Failure to find compatibility in these areas is, in my opinion, one of the major reasons that divorce is so prevalent in our society.

This doesn't necessarily mean that your partner must believe exactly the same things that you do; what it really means is that the two of you can respect each other's beliefs, perhaps sharing some tenets (I will refrain from calling them dogmas simply because of the connotations that that word brings with it), and having the ability to have honest discussions -- call them debates if you like -- about others.

I think that a great many people are unable to achieve this simply because of the chains that their respective religions have placed upon them, indoctrinating them with the concept that it is somehow intrinsically wrong to be partnered with someone whose faith is not in lockstep with their own.

As far as the mind is concerned, I think that much depends on the individual's intellectual capacity, but I like to compare it to two fencers who are pitted against each other. It's not terribly interesting nor stimulating when one fencer (or wrestler or boxer or debater) is far more experienced than his or her opponent.

This even applies to games such as World of Warcraft; it's possible for a low level player to attack a high level opponent, whether that is a creature in the game or another player, but if the disparity is very great, the contest won't be much of a contest at all. The best duels -- and that word can be applied in many ways -- come about when two equals spar, and that can be done in a multitude of ways as well.

The old joke about being an unarmed opponent in a battle of wits applies here as well. How many times have you met a couple where one partner was articulate and intelligent and the other was dull and unimaginative? Those relationships seem to me to be doomed to either fail because of the unequal relationship or to be extremely one-sided.

The spirit, on the other hand, is a controversial topic. People who are religious typically equate it with the soul, and think of it as that which survives after death; I am not attempting to get into that debate here. What I believe, and of course, as always, YMMV, is that the mind and the spirit are intertwined but not identical. The mind is the part of a person which is tied to the physical brain, i.e. the memories we have that are stored in a sort of hard disk that we carry in our heads. It's clear that some memories are lost if certain parts of the cerebrum are destroyed. However, there have also been situations where people have lost substantial parts of their brains to disease and yet continued to function on a normal level. So which is it? It's hard to say.

All I am saying is that it's important to "feed" all the parts of who you are. Some people give up things in their lives that are genuinely important to them to please someone else, whether that is a parent, a spouse, or some other person in their lives. I'm not advocating selfishness; there are times when giving something up is the responsible thing to do, such as giving up a dangerous activity when one has small children. However, I do think that when someone pressures another person to give up something that they truly love for no good reason, that deprives the person of something that feeds their spirit.

As an example, I haven't played or recorded music in several years. It's not because Sansarya has pressured me not to; it's because I presently lack the equipment that I need to do it, and I am gradually remedying that. If she were to have said to me, "Phoe, you're a grown man, you're never going to be a rock star, you need to quit playing music" -- well, if she'd said that while we were dating, we likely wouldn't be married. But in truth she has never discouraged that side of me -- in fact, she has long encouraged me to get back into music. (Incidentally, the rock star dream was put to rest decades ago -- I just want to be an artiste now.)

That's what I mean about feeding the spirit. It's not only about love; dreams and goals are part of what our spirits thrive on. Whatever you dream of doing is what your spirit longs for, and it shouldn't be crushed.

What do you desire in your life? What would feed your spirit? Make that your goal for Twenty-Ten.

Welcome to the future.

2010-01-01T11:57:00.000-06:00

Okay, it's 2010, whether you wanna pronounce that as "two thousand and ten" or "twenty-ten" (I personally am trying to train myself to use the latter, simply because it's different and has a nice ring to it). 2009 is dead and gone -- it's pushin' up daisies; it's an ex-year -- and the New Year is here.

Holy crap. This is one of those years that, when I was a kid, was part of (cue dramatic music) the future!

You see, I grew up during the 1960s and 70s. Shut up, I know I'm old. If you're not, you will be one day, and then some snot nosed kid will look at you trying to unfold your old-lady walker in the parking lot at Wal-Mart and snicker at you and run in circles around you as if to say, "Nyahh, nyahh, nyahh! I'm a kid and you're..."

Hmm? What was that sound, you ask? Oh, that was nothing. Just the sound of a bratty seven-year old shrieking in terror as a condor carries him off to its mountain nest.

Anyway, I digress.

I clearly remember the New Year when I was nine years old. I remember thinking that "1967" somehow sounded old-fashioned and stodgy compared to the sleek, futuristic-sounding "1966."

I remember hearing about such futuristic dates as 1984, when the government would become our totalitarian Big Brother; 1986, when Halley's Comet would return and dazzle all of our eyes; and, of course, the incredible! Amazing! YEAR TWO THOUSAND, by which time we figured we'd all be living like these guys:

Guess what? We have all successfully traveled into (there's that music again) the future. The Daniel Amos song above asks, "It's the Eighties, so where's our rocket packs?" Well, in my opinion, rocket packs are both inefficient and dangerous, so for the dawn of this new decade, I am asking, "It's 2010, so where's my damn RL teleporter?"

What? It's a valid question.

Have a happy new year. Happy Ten!

Note: No celebrities were harmed in the making of this blog post.

Time: Thoughts On The Nature of Mortality

2009-10-11T13:26:00.000-05:00

So I am sitting here, watching the clock tick, and pondering the fact that with every tick, every breath, as the old Pink Floyd song says, I'm "one day closer to death." Cheery, eh? I'm sitting here typing on a keyboard with a few sticky keys (one of the kids is using my computer, so I'm in the living room using the spare computer, and every so often the k key, among others, will stickkkkk -- with results like that. It kind of reminds me of how little things -- and sometimes big things -- go wrong with our bodies as we age.) and I have allowed my mind to drift onto the topic that has haunted me for a couple of years, which is the indisputable fact that, like everyone else on the planet, I'm getting older.

Yeah, I know. This is not news. The TV news is not announcing, "Scientists say Seeger aging; film at 11." But all the same, it's a big deal to me, and if you have reached some sort of milestone this year, as I have -- the half century mark was mine -- then it's likely that it's been on your mind as well.

It's interesting to note that when I was 42 and teetering precariously on the brink of death after a catastrophic head-on car wreck, I never had these kinds of thoughts. It never occurred to me to worry about whether I was going to die -- I just pigheadedly pushed forward, determined to survive, not really in a conscious fashion (I didn't cry out that I wanted to live, I just more or less assumed that I would, and proceeded to do so).

It wasn't until the cusp of that half century mark, shortly after my 49th birthday, when I was hospitalized, diagnosed with kidney failure, and sentenced to a lifetime of dialysis unless a kidney transplant becomes available, that I really began to contemplate the fact that "it is appointed to man once to die." And you know what? That sucks.

I'm sure that this post owes a lot to the fact that Sans and I watched The Curious Case of Benjamin Button last night. That film -- which, if you haven't seen it, is excellent, unique and very thought provoking in a manner that befits this topic -- got me to thinking about this even more than I had been. If this post makes you go, "Hmm, yeah, I know what you mean," then you should definitely watch Benjamin Button. That's all I'll say about it, as I don't want to give away too much, other than I understand why it won the Oscar for Best Picture.

Anyway, I know, it's true, like the surgeon says in Ghost World, "People die all the time." This year has been a shining example of a laundry list of famous people meeting up with the Grim Reaper. Some were more or less expected -- Farrah Fawcett's battle with cancer was very well documented, as was Patrick Swayze's -- while others hit out of the blue, Michael Jackson's death being perhaps the most shocking.

Adam Goldstein, known as DJ AM, survived a 2008 plane crash only to die of a drug overdose less than a year later. High volume television pitchman Billy Mays surprised us all by dying of a cocaine-related heart attack. (WHY DID I FEEL LIKE TYPING HIS SENTENCE IN ALL CAPS?) Kung Fu star David Carradine managed the ultimate "oops!" death, managing to die during an episode of autoerotic asphixiation. For a while this summer it seemed as if we were playing a morbid game of "Let's Check CNN To See Who Died Today."

Then there were the thousands of people living in the South Pacific who lost their lives in the last several weeks to tsunamis, typhoons and earthquakes. It's a rather graphic illustration of the fact that whether one is rich or poor, famous or unknown, the last page of all our our biographies can be summed up in one sentence: "And then he/she died."

It's what you manage to accomplish before then that matters.

I heard someone once say that everything we make of our lives is contained in that little dash on our tombstone. You know, the one between the birth date and the death date.

What have you accomplished so far in your "dash" through this world?

The Guild: CyberDating 2009

2009-09-26T17:13:00.000-05:00

OK, I realize I am about six weeks late in commenting on this, but I have been busy making googoo eyes at Felicia Day in this video. (Gosh, I hope Sansarya doesn't see this.)

In case you have been hiding under a virtual rock for the last couple of years, Felicia Day is the ubercutie who plays Codex the Healer, the de facto leader of The Guild, a web-based video series about a group of MMO players. (She's not the actual guild leader in the series -- that role falls to a balding cubicle dweller who goes by the name of Vork (Jeff Lewis).

The other guildies are Bladezz (Vincent Caso), the surfer dude Rogue; Tink the Ranger (Amy Okuda) who is one of those players who always has to put her two annoying cents in; Zaboo the Warlock (Sandeep Parikh) whose obsession with Codex doesn't border on creepy -- no, not a bit -- and Clara the Mage (Robin Thorsen), who juggles time online with sort of taking care of her kids (well, they're still alive, aren't they?).

The Guild began in the late summer of 2007, and for the first season was financed solely by fan donations. Since season 2, The Guild has been distributed by Xbox Live and Microsoft and sponsored by Sprint, and is now midway through season 3.

In August 2009, The Guild released a music video entitled Do You Want To Date My Avatar? for which Day wrote the lyrics. Composer Jed Whedon wrote the music for the song, as well as directing the quirky video, which features the real life Guild members, dressed as their MMO characters, singing, rapping, and dancing.

According to Wikipedia, the video reached #1 on the iTunes download chart on the day of its general release and reached 1 million YouTube hits in less than two days, as well as reaching #1 on the UK iTunes charts. It was the top download at Amazon.com a day after its release.

One interesting thing to note is that while it's never stated that they are playing World of Warcraft -- the gaming terms used are kept deliberately generic for copyright reasons, but it's likely that they are WoW players, since 11 million people play the game -- no one that I know who plays WoW ever refers to their character as an avatar. We use the "A" word in Second Life, of course, where far more people tend to think of the pixels onscreen as an extension of themselves, but in WoW most players refer to their characters as "toons."

At any rate, it's fun. I know it ain't rock and roll, but I like it.

My First Powwow

2009-08-30T03:44:00.000-05:00

[Disclaimer: This is written from the point of view of a person who, although "only" 7/8 European Imperialist Invader and 1/8 Native American, managed to grow up in Oklahoma without having once attended Red Earth. "You never went to Red Earth?" my wife asked me in shocked tones. I admitted that I hadn't. This, then, is the story of my first powwow.]

I am seated next to my wife and two dear friends on the wooden bleachers of the Adam Bordeaux Memorial Arena in Rosebud, South Dakota, listening to the sound of Native drum groups from all over the state as they play while dozens of dancers drift slowly, majestically, around the floor of the arena.

It is the 133rd annual Rosebud Fair, and we are in the audience at the powwow (wacipi). Men, women and children, some in traditional dress, some in fancy dancer regalia, some simply in hoodies and ball caps, move about the grassy floor during the intertribal dances.

Then the competitive dancing begins. Women dance, straight and proud. Men stir up the dust, their moccasined feet pounding the ground as the half moon, Jupiter and the ancient stars look down from the heavens just as they watched the ancestors dance in these Dakota hills hundreds of years ago.

Women twirl, holding their ornate shawls as if they are wings. The music -- the beating of a single large drum by multiple beaters at once, the voices lifted together -- seems at once alien and yet familiar, as if it calls to that part of my blood that springs from this American land.

Some groups of judges evaluate the dancers, while others stand in clusters near the drum groups, judging the performances of each simultaneously. No recorded music here -- the music is as authentic as the blood that was once spilled on these grassy hills.

Jingle dancers in beaded leggings wear brilliant colors of every shade Nature ever created, plus a few that I am certain she never imagined. The silver bells which cover their dresses, traditionally made from the metal lids of chewing tobacco containers, chime softly as they dance to two songs. The judges ask for a third, a sidestep song. One dancer is in hot pink, another in royal purple and lavender, one in red and white divided along the diagonal. Still another is in hunter green, yet another in turquoise, one in silver and black -- there is even one whose dress is plaid.

The men, some holding symbolic spears, coup-sticks, shields or hoops, perform dances that enact hunts and battles. The grass dance, it is said, originated when the young boys of the tribe were sent to trample down the grass in the area where the wacipi was to be held, and over the years developed into its own dance style. The grass dancers' regalia includes long, colorful ribbons of fabric that recall the tall blades of grass with which they once decorated themselves.

Some sights seem a little incongrous: the man in full fancy dress garb, checking text messages on his cell phone; the woman snapping photos of other dancers on her digital camera, then slipping it into a pocket of her bell-adorned dress.

I smile as the dancers form a line and move past each other, each giving the others high fives of congratulations like two opposing Little League ball teams.

Families watch, soaking it all in; after more than a century, I am pleased to report to you that the prolonged effort begun by the U.S. government of the 1880s to breed the Indian out of the Indians has failed.

Oh, my god...

2009-08-13T14:21:00.000-05:00

IT'S ALIVE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1111111eleventyone

Second Citizen

Bolton Decries Release Of Euna Lee And Laura Ling

2009-08-05T11:34:00.001-05:00

"Euna Lee and Laura Ling are safe at home and in the warm embrace of loved ones and it's hard to feel bad about this. But, since Bill Clinton has a hand in their release, someone's got to step up and naysay the effort, and predictably, that task has fallen to former UN ambassador and noted rage-walrus John Bolton, who says the "Clinton trip is a significant propaganda victory for North Korea, whether or not he carried an official message from President Obama." Of course, holding Lee and Ling as prisoners was also a significant propaganda victory for North Korea, insofar as the ravings of a crackpot rogue nations can be held to be significant. If Kim Jong Il bakes a mediocre angel food cake today, North Korea will claim they've achieved a significant propaganda victory."

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2009/08/05/bolton-decries-release-of_n_251697.html

So what would you have preferred that we do, Mr. Bolton, simply abandon these two young women to rot for the next twelve years in a North Korean prison? Most people who enter those camps never come out alive.

This man is incredibly shortsighted and obtuse. I think that this is a great day and a true victory for America and for freedom in a time when few things hat are touted as such truly are.

Bill Clinton, despite any moral failings he may have had or immoral acts he may have committed (and who among us is innocent of such?) was a great president in many ways, and once again he has proved his ability as a negotiator. Kudos to you, Bill.

Radio 559

2009-07-19T21:16:00.003-05:00

I am proud to announce the formation of a new radio station:

Radio 559 will play mostly classic rock from the 60s and 70s -- the stuff I grew up with and that I still love. I'm not ready for prime time quite yet, a microphone is still on its way and there are a few other logistics to deal with.

Many thanks to my friend, the most excellent Sean McPherson, for sponsoring Radio 559 with a streaming server. You rock, kilt boy!

I haz a guitar!

2009-07-06T22:20:00.000-05:00

Thanks to my good friend Lecktor Hannibal (obviously a stage name, eh?) I am now the proud adoptive father of a bouncing baby Fender Squier Stratocaster. It's really a nice instrument, and I am looking forward to getting my chops built back up after having played hardly any guitar since my wreck in late 2002.

For those who may be late to the show, I began playing guitar (if you want to call it that) at the age of 11, when my parents got me both a set of drums and a classical (read: nylon string) guitar for my birthday.

I soon realized that the sound I desired was not the soft sound of nylon strings, but the brighter sound of steel strings. Not realizing that a classical guitar wasn't made for them, I put a set of steel strings on it, and within a few days I had what appeared to be a bow... with six strings.

Later, I got an inexpensive Japanese electric and a book and decided, at the age of 14, that I was gonna figure out how to play that thing. I did well enough that a few years later I traded in the cornet I had played in junior high on a cheap ($129) Kay sunburst Strat copy. It was all right to progress my learning on, but this was the era of Kiss, AC/DC, Black Sabbath and Led Zeppelin, so I soon decided that single-coil pickups were out, and humbuckers were in. I went through a couple of Les Paul copies (a tobaccoburst and a white one) and a really nice copy of a '58 Explorer which was later stolen. This was the period in which I was a member of Greyhaven, which played the greater Oklahoma City area for several years and drew a pretty decent following.

Later, during my church music period, I played a succession of no-name or off-brand copies: a wine colored SG, a natural finish Strat, a black single-pickup metal-style Strat, a Ventura 12-string acoustic, and finally a black Hohner Telecaster. At the time of my car wreck in late 2002 I was lead guitarist at a church in Springdale, Arkansas and having a ball. At that point my principal instrument was a lovely blue Peavey SSH Strat-alike which I had borrowed from one of the other band members.

After the wreck, which damaged my left forearm (among lots of other things) and left me barely able to move my left hand, I sold off the guitars I had. Later I got an Oscar Schmidt acoustic but ended up giving that to my daughter after becoming frustrated at my inability to play. I stuck to playing keyboards for several years.

Recently, I began feeling the urge to play guitar again. I would have dreams where I went into a music store or a pawn shop and discovered a guitar with a buttery soft action. I'd wake up disappointed and frustrated.

I decided a few months ago to take the plunge and get another guitar, and began shopping. One day a few weeks ago I got a message from Lecktor, asking whether I'd be interested in a Squier Strat. I replied that I would, wondering how much he was asking. Much to my surprise, he replied that he was sending it to me as a gift. (Don't shed any tears for him -- he got a new Epiphone Les Paul which is a beauty.)

And so it is that I now own this beautiful instrument. Many thanks to Lecktor.

The Evolution of a Classic: Train Kept A-Rollin’

2009-07-06T04:39:00.000-05:00

The Evolution of a Classic: Train Kept A-Rollin’

By PHOENIX PSALTERY

Most rock fans are familiar with the classic tune, “Train Kept A-Rollin’,” usually from Aerosmith’s recording of the tune, although those “in the know” often point to the 1966 version by The Yardbirds as being the definitive version. What many people don’t realize, however, is that the song was actually written by Tiny Bradshaw, Howard Kay, and Lois Mann and originally recorded by Bradshaw. His version has a distinctly big band/R&B flavor due to the horn section of Bradshaw’s band. He originally formed the group as a swing band way back in 1934; its second release, a full decade later, had a more R&B feel. “Train,” however, released in 1951, has a distinct early rock ‘n’ roll flavor with its liberal use of bluesy seventh chords and an excellent sax solo.

Three years later, Johnny Burnette recorded a cover version of the song, trading the original’s bouncy swing rhythm for a driving rockabilly feel featuring a guitar opening that is as intense as any before the advent of metal (or at least the Beatles’ “Revolution”) and a harsh, hiccuping vocal. Suddenly the innocent infatuation of the train passengers in the original morphs into a (not terribly subtle) analogy for something a little hotter as Burnette shouts about how he “just couldn’t let her go.”

The song crossed the Atlantic in 1965 when it was recorded by Screaming Lord Sutch and the Savages. Once again, a big horn section was utilized to great effect. Apparently Sutch wasn’t familiar with the city of Albuquerque, because he sings “Made a stop in Kentucky” rather than the “Al-bu-kirk” that most other versions refer to. Once again, a hot sax solo is featured.

The following year, the seminal British blues-rock band The Yardbirds recorded “Train” at breakneck speed. The musical blacksmith that hammered the song into the form that virtually every subsequent version would emulate was none other than Jeff Beck. He also seems to have invented the wailing guitar lick that is used in the intro, intended to emulate the sound of a train whistle. Minor updates to the lyrics — “she was handsome” instead of “she was a hipster,” and “she musta thought I was a real cool jerk” instead of “real gone jerk” — have stuck in the many subsequent versions.

The song took on a new life when Italian film director Michelangelo Antonioni featured the Yardbirds in his 1966 film Blow Up, where they perform the song as “Stroll On,” with new lyrics supplied by vocalist Keith Relf, reportedly because there were issues with getting the rights to "Train." Way to circumvent copyright, Keith.

In the film, the band is seen performing in a small club as an apathetic crowd stands and watches (the exception is a young woman wearing a long silver lamé jacket and orange-and-yellow striped Carnaby Street trousers, and her dance partner). As the song continues, a crackling sound is heard, and Beck is seen checking his guitar’s cord and adjusting his amplifier, to no avail. The problem gets worse and worse until Beck begins first to punch his Vox amp and then to beat his guitar against it, culminating with the complete destruction of the instrument, smashing it to splinters on the floor under his boot. When at last he picks up the neck of the wrecked guitar and tosses it into the audience, they suddenly go wild, each one fighting tooth and nail to be the one to retrieve this scrap that has fallen from the table of the gods.

Beck has never been a guitar smasher, and it is fairly well documented that Antonioni instructed Beck to smash the guitar for the scene; he had originally wanted The Who for the sequence, and that band’s guitarist, Pete Townshend, was notorious for his habit of smashing his instruments at the end of nearly every performance. Another interesting thing about this clip is that it also features Jimmy Page as the band’s second guitarist; he gives a smirk as Beck is on his rampage, perhaps as if to say, “This is so contrived; Jeff never smashes his guitars.” Shortly after the film was made, Beck left the Yardbirds, and Page began the process of remaking the band in his own image, first as the New Yardbirds, and then, in 1968, as Led Zeppelin.

Though Zeppelin never released a recording of “Train Kept A-Rollin’,” there are a number of recordings floating around of the band performing the tune live, notably a manic 1969 version recorded at the Whisky A Go-Go in West Hollywood. Page’s future guitar god status is evident on this recording, where he manages to conquer all the sonic territory that previous versions had required two guitarists, or even a horn section, to cover.

Another erstatz version of the tune is by the British boogie band Foghat, whose version of Big Joe Turner’s “Honey Hush” from their 1974 album Energized is infused with Beck’s signature “Train” riff, the repeated hook in the chorus being “Hi-yo, hi-yo silver” rather than “Get along, sweet little woman.”

The same year saw the release of what is arguably the most popular version of “Train” to date when it was included on Aerosmith’s second album, Get Your Wings. Considerably slower and more deliberate than the Yardbirds version, it still owes much to Jeff Beck, including Joe Perry’s emulation of Beck’s “train whistle” guitar lick, which is also used in the middle of the song to lead into Joey Kramer’s drum solo.

Since that time, the tune has been covered again and again. Metal maniacs Motörhead took a ride on the “Train” in 1977, recording a nearly speed metal version slightly faster than the Yardbirds’ classic cut (a task which would seem nearly impossible) which featured bassist Lemmy’s characteristically growling vocals. 1984’s Best of the Nazz featured a previously unreleased version of the tune by Todd Rundgren’s old band.

Most recently, Metallica, with an all-star crew of guests including the Rolling Stones’ Ron Wood, Aerosmith’s Joe Perry and a blue-haired Flea from the Red Hot Chili Peppers, along with both Jeff Beck and Jimmy Page (oh, the light of their radiance!) performed a thundering version of “Train” after both Metallica and Beck were inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame on April 4, 2009.

Certain songs are just timeless. “Train Kept A-Rollin’” is one of them.

NEW REGULATIONS

2009-07-01T11:51:00.000-05:00

It is now illegal to shoot live animals over the Internet in Wyoming.

Guess we'll have to settle for shooting humans.

When a Demigod Dies: Pop Culture Icons and Mortality

2009-07-01T00:46:00.000-05:00

Lightning strike

The unexpected death of pop superstar Michael Jackson on June 25 sent shockwaves around the globe like the impact of a comet striking the earth. Social networking sites such as Twitter and Facebook were overwhelmed with inquiries. For a time, Google responded to queries on Michael Jackson with an error message reading "We're sorry, but your query looks similar to automated requests from a computer virus or spyware application. To protect our users, we can't process your request right now."

Cable news channels such as CNN and Fox News largely shifted their focus from the earlier tragedy du jour — the death of 70s sex symbol Farrah Fawcett, whose losing battle with cancer had been well documented and whose passing had not been completely unexpected — to a nearly fanatic examination of Jackson’s life and career as the news initially came in reporting the 911 call that Jackson had collapsed, then that he had been rushed to the hospital, that he had suffered cardiac arrest, that he was comatose, and finally, late in the afternoon, that he was gone. The story even overshadowed the continuing struggle of the Iranian people against the apparently fraudulent election of weeks past.

The news of Jackson’s passing seemed to come out of left field, shocking everyone. Many seemed to feel that it must be a hoax; how could that lithe young man that sang and danced his way into our lives as a child star be dead, for Christ’s sake? For that matter, how could he even be 50 years old? Some pointed to the allegations of child molestation that had dogged Jackson for years, with more than a few people openly stating that they would “shed no tears for a pedophile.” Many more, however, were overcome with grief, displaying their sorrow in displays reminiscent of the rallies that followed the deaths of Elvis Presley or John Lennon. A massive crowd gathered outside the Los Angeles hospital where physicians worked to revive Jackson, to no avail. When the confirmation came, a groan swept through the crowd, an audible response as the worst fears of the mass of Michael Jackson fans gathered there were realized.

It is appointed to all men once to die…

No one is immortal; all human beings must eventually leave this world, though some are able to linger for a century or more, while others have their lives cut short, some as infants or young children, some as teens or young adults, some in the prime of life, whether through disaster, disease or accidents. It is said that about 153,000 people die each day around the world. Most are mourned by their friends and families, while others who are celebrities of various stripes are more widely recognized, but once in a while, a death catches the attention of virtually everyone.

The death of Michael Jackson is a prime example of the sort of event that captivates society in this way. It was shocking in its suddenness, outshining the day’s other celebrity loss like the glare of a supernova suddenly obscuring the dimming light of a nearby fading star. Farrah Fawcett’s illness had been public knowledge for an extended period of time, and her death was no surprise. It was expected, in fact — it’s certain that media around the world had her obituary prepared, with the only thing lacking being the exact date of death.

Oh, and don’t forget about…

The same was true of another recent celebrity death — isn’t it certain that some gossip columnist will eventually start referring to these as “celedeaths?” — that of the venerable Ed McMahon, beloved by millions for his decades of service as sidekick to the late Johnny Carson as well as his many seasons as the host of American Idol’s grandpappy, Star Search. While his death at the age of 86 was certainly not a shock, the fact that it was relegated to near-footnote status (“Oh, god! Did you hear that Michael Jackson died? And so did Farrah! And oh, yeah, that one guy that used to be on Johnny Carson died the other day, too”) served as a sad reminder of how fleeting fame can be.

Dying in plain sight

There have been other shocking celedeaths in the past, of course. In 1977, the world was slapped in the face with the reality that Elvis Presley, who wiggled and hiccupped his way to stardom in the late 1950s, became a B-movie screen star in the early 1960s and morphed into a tasseled Vegas act in the 1970s, had died at the young age of 42.

Stars meet their fates in a bewildering variety of ways. Air crashes took the lives of Buddy Holly, Richie Valens and J.P. “The Big Bopper” Richardson (1959), Ronnie Van Zant, Steve Gaines and Cassie Gaines of Lynyrd Skynyrd (1977), and Stevie Ray Vaughn (1990). The almost clichéd drug overdose took both Keith Moon and John Entwistle of The Who, the Sex Pistols’ Sid Vicious, Gram Parsons of The Byrds and The Flying Burrito Brothers, Janis Joplin, Dee Dee Ramone, guitar god Jimi Hendrix and Hollywood sex kitten Marilyn Monroe.

Alcoholism has taken its fair share; Led Zeppelin's John "Bonzo" Bonham and AC/DC's Bon Scott fall into this category, while Keith Relf of The Yardbirds managed to electrocute himself by playing his electric guitar in the bathtub; perhaps not the wisest move.

Some went intentionally to their graves through suicide, such as Nirvana’s Kurt Cobain, guitar master Roy Buchanan and The Band’s Richard Manuel, while others met the Grim Reaper in motor vehicle accidents, including Lisa “Left Eye” Lopes of TLC, film star bad boy James Dean, Stiv Bators of the Dead Boys, T. Rex's Marc Bolan, Duane Allman of the Allman Brothers Band and Britain’s Princess Diana.

Disease and other medical conditions took their fair share as well, usually at a much younger age than you would normally anticipate. This was the case with excitable boy Warren Zevon, who lost his battle with mesothelioma (a form of lung cancer) at 56; Barry White, who succumbed to kidney failure at the age of 58; Freddie Mercury of Queen, who died of AIDS-related pneumonia at 45; and Joey and Johnny Ramone of New York punk pinheads The Ramones, who died of lymphoma at 49 and prostate cancer at 56, respectively.

Then there were the cases that made people raise an eyebrow in puzzlement. Lizard King Jim Morrison’s death in Paris in 1971 was variously reported as being due to a heart attack, a heroin overdose, a heart attack due to a drug overdose — or as a total fabrication. There are those to this day that claim that Mr. Mojo Risin is still alive and well and living under an assumed name. The deaths of INXS’s Michael Hutchence and Kung Fu star David Carradine were both listed as due to accidental strangulation as a result of autoerotic asphyxiation — they each died while masturbating with a rope around their necks.

Finally, there are those who went to the next life as murder victims, often after being shot by individuals who were supposed fans. Tejano star Selena was shot to death at the age of 23 by the president of her fan club. Metal guitarist “Dimebag” Darrell Abbott became the first rocker murdered onstage when a deranged fan who claimed that he had written much of Abbott’s material shot him to death during a performance in Columbus, Ohio. Reggae artist Peter Tosh was murdered by a gang of men during a robbery at his home in Jamaica. Soul icon Marvin “Let’s Get It On” Gaye was shot to death, not by a fan, but by his own father. Finally, in perhaps the most memorable outpouring of public reaction since the death of Elvis, former Beatle John Lennon was gunned down in 1980 by a fan who claimed that he was John Lennon.

28IF

The “Club 27” list — rock stars who died at the age of 27 — is a long one. It began when the triumvirate of the club — Hendrix, Joplin and Morrison — died within months of each other. Brian Jones of the Rolling Stones, whose death by drowning in his swimming pool was officially attributed to “death by misadventure,” was a de facto member as well, having died just a few months before. It may have actually begun in 1938, when legendary blues guitarist Robert Johnson (“Sweet Home Chicago,” “Cross Road Blues,” “Love in Vain”) died, reportedly at the same age. Since then, the club’s membership roster has grown to include members of Canned Heat, Stone the Crows, the Grateful Dead, the Stooges, Badfinger, Uriah Heep, Triumvirat, Big Star, the Minutemen, Echo & the Bunnymen, Hole, Manic Street Preachers and more.

Long Live The Dead

Most celedeaths rate a paragraph or two in local papers, and a brief story in music and fan magazines. There have been instances, however, where attention was focused on the story for days or even weeks, and where the devotion of the fans has lasted for years. The deaths of Elvis, John Lennon, Princess Di and now Michael Jackson seem to be the events that set the bar for measuring the public’s acclaim for fallen stars.

One star whose death reached mythic status among a subset of society is Jerry Garcia of the Grateful Dead, whose 1995 death from heart failure sent a wave of sorrow through the ranks of Deadheads everywhere.

Despite the changes that Garcia's death produced in the group (they disbanded for a time, with the principal members later regrouping under the name The Other Ones, which was rechristened The Dead in 2003), Dead fans largely are still and will always be Jerry fans, speaking of him with the reverence one might associate with the way a nun might speak of the Christ Child.

He has the rather unique distinction of having a popular ice cream flavor named for him; in 1987, Ben & Jerry's introduced Cherry Garcia, which includes cherry ice cream with cherries and fudge flakes. (For a period of one month after his death, Cherry Garcia was made with black cherries as a symbol of mourning.)

While society in general may not have focused on Garcia's life and legacy with the intensity that it did those of Elvis, John or Michael, for Deadheads everywhere (and you know who you are, man) Jerry Garcia remains the ultimate rock and roll prophet.

It even happens to Jesus Freaks

Speaking of prophets, even the world of gospel music has its martyrs. The 1982 death of singer-songwriter Keith Green in a plane crash left behind a legacy of five albums plus a slew of posthumous releases which to this day elicit bittersweet smiles and loving comments from fans.

Green's musical interpretations of Bible passages such as the story of "The Prodigal Son" or the separation of "The Sheep and the Goats" reveal both Green's knowledge of the Scriptures and his tongue-in-cheek sense of humor, with one of the "goats" who's being cast into hell objecting that he didn't know the hungry homeless guy he'd shunned was actually Christ himself ("One of the angels wanna go out and get the Lord a hamburger and a coke? Oh, you're not hungry...? Yeah, I lost my appetite too...")

Green, who also is a member of Club 27, has become something of a legend in Christian music circles, with much speculation of the "think of what he'd have done if he had lived" variety that is common among fans of Holly and Hendrix.

What's up with that?

I asked a group of friends to give their opinion on why society reacts so strongly to the death of certain celebrities. Why did we see such a public outpouring of emotion over the deaths of people like Elvis, Diana, John Lennon and Michael, when the passing of many others has caused a much milder reaction?

Deanna: “Farrah’s passing hit me harder than MJ... I think the public’s reaction has to do with the magnitude of the media’s love of them.”

Madame: “I think that there may be a sense of vulnerability about them that folks identify with.”

Reflecting on that, there may be some truth to the idea. For years, stories circulated about both Elvis and Michael intimating that each of these superstars led isolated lives, dependent on others who dealt with the routines of life until they became utterly out of touch with the realities of day-to-day existence. Not only did their lives seem to mirror each other, but in the end, so did the manner of their deaths.

“I think the next one to hit me hard will be Walter Cronkite,” Deanna added, saying that she doesn’t feel an emotional reaction to the deaths of most celebrities. “[They] didn't sadden me, to be brutally honest… it was the media that put them up there and made them [stars]. [The media] are the ones making sure they still profit from them, even in death.”

Sarah: “Even when non-celebs die, though, you will find a lot of people jumping on the grief bandwagon. There's always someone at the funeral who you think, ‘Why the fuck are they here? They hated so and so,’ or ‘They haven't talked in years.’”

Mourna: “Celebrities are elevated to a godlike status these days, and it's like watching a god die. It doesn't count unless everyone is watching.”

Sally: “Everybody dies eventually, so why the fuss?”

Dan: “[It’s] because we're not a smart species. Seriously. People dying in Iran, over 4400 dead U.S. servicemen in Iraq, tons of shit going on… and Michael Jackson gets the fucking front page.”

Shared grief

Outside of the world of entertainment, the only comparable reaction to an individual death in recent memory is probably the national state of shock that the nation experienced following the assassination of its young, vibrant president on November 22, 1963.

Then there are the mass casualties that capture the public’s attention — the deaths of 168 people, including nineteen children, in the bombing of the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City on April 19, 1995 brought a national outpouring of sorrow and anger; to this day, many who lived in the area report overwhelming emotional reactions each year when the anniversary rolls around and television news rebroadcasts the footage of the aftermath. I am one of them; sitting in my office 20 miles from the Murrah building, I felt the shock wave of the blast and thought a gas main had exploded a few blocks away, only to discover the awful truth shortly thereafter as news reports began to come in.

The ultimate in shared grief, however, must be found in the events of September 11, 2001. The world watched in shock and disbelief as the second of two airliners plowed into the World Trade Center. (Many heard about the first incident and believed it to be a tragic accident; most of those viewers were subsequently watching, as I was, when the second plane zoomed in unexpectedly and struck the towers live on morning television.)

Between the attacks on the World Trade Center, the Pentagon, and Flight 93 that went down in a Pennsylvania field after the passengers overpowered the hijackers, nearly 3,000 people died on 9/11, and it has an emotional effect, even on people who were not directly involved, to this very day.

Yet it is the fans of celebrities, surely, who set the record for longsuffering, almost religious faithfulness to their fallen heroes. Fans of Elvis, Diana and John Lennon are well known for their devotion to the objects of their worship; now it appears that Michael Jackson fans are queuing up to be added to the roster of those who will never forget their fallen stars.

P2

I went beyond what David Crosby did

2009-06-22T00:54:00.000-05:00

Almost cut my hair
It happened just the other day
It's gettin' kind of long
I could've said it was in my way

But I didn't and I wonder why
I feel like letting my freak flag fly
And I feel like I owe it, to someone

Well, I did.

I finally got tired of dealing with the heat -- it's been 90 degrees here -- and I buzzed off my shoulder-length pony tail, and now I resemble a chubby Marine recruit.

I guess I could always say I sacrificed my hair to the Summer Solstice.

Up!

2009-06-18T13:04:00.000-05:00

If you have not yet seen the new Pixar film, Up!, you must. In 3D if it's available in your area.

Best 3D work I have ever seen, totally natural looking, none of those annoying red and blue halos we used to see in the old 3D films years ago.

It's funny, sad, and an adventure all rolled into one. Two thumbs up from Sans and P2. Must see!

Test drive

2009-06-08T23:51:00.001-05:00

Well, Sans and I took a drive this evening in the newly repaired van. Drove into town and got something to drink, then cruised out to White River and back (a round trip of about 40 miles).

The van ran fabulously, but then it should have for what it cost us.

The Van Is Fixed, Finally

2009-06-08T13:48:00.000-05:00

Ouch. Well, we have our van back, $749 and a new fuel pump later.

I seriously wonder if the rumors about ethanol fuel destroying parts of the fuel system on some vehicles may be true.

Surfin' the web at 2.4ghz...

2009-06-03T22:16:00.000-05:00

...dual core, 3GB RAM, and 340GB of hard drive space.

I think I have reached Nirvana. But Kurt Cobain's not here.

:-)

Happy Birthday To Me

2009-06-01T12:15:00.000-05:00

Happy birthday to me,

I am now fifty.

"Not as bad as I figured,"

He chortled with glee.

Well, my birthday came and went yesterday, and as my quickly-made-up, fake song lyric says, t'werent bad at all.

Sansarya and I went to see "Night At The Museum: Battle of the Smithsonian" and thoroughly enjoyed it. Ben Stiller continues to be funnier than either of his parents ever were, IMHO. Amy Adams ("Enchanted") is excellent as Amelia Earhart, and Hank Azaria does his best funny accent role since "America's Sweethearts" as the power-hungry Egyptian prince whose parents always liked his brother better, seemingly channeling Boris Karloff with a thlight lithpth.

Dinner was a lovely steak, corn on the cob and fruit salad, heavy on deep red juicy watermelon, and an angel food cake with but five candles (I think we were afraid fifty might attract the fire department).

And you know what? Turning fifty actually feels good!

New look redux

2009-05-25T17:21:00.000-05:00

OK, the script logos only lasted a day. I decided they weren't what I wanted, so sue me.

The new look still uses the yellow and black attack color scheme, but adds a purple corona and a postmodern, edgy look.

I is happy. Even the blob -- er, blog (take a look) has a logo now.

Redecorating

2009-05-24T21:34:00.000-05:00

There's a somewhat new look to the site tonight. The Caddy is gone, but unlike Elwood, I didn't trade it for a microphone; I've added a new script logo font that brings a consistent black-and-yellow look to most of the site. I'm not sure if I'm trying to make it resemble Barry B. Benson or Stryper.

The Lakota Music Project: a great evening of wonderful music

2009-05-23T13:55:00.000-05:00

Wow, it's been ages since I posted here.

Sansarya and I went to hear the South Dakota Symphony last night, together with the Porcupine Singers, who are a traditional Lakota drum group from the Pine Ridge reservation (about 100 miles west of the Rosebud reservation where we live).

During the first half of the program they swapped back and forth, taking turns playing pieces on various themes... Courtship and Love, The Spiritual Warrior/Soldier, Death and Mourning, and Joy and Affirmation.

The singers would play a Lakota drum song, then the Symphony would play an excerpt from a classical work... they did pieces by Tchaikovsky, Aaron Copland, Khachaturian, Handel, Wagner and what is possibly my favorite orcjestral piece, Samuel Barber's Adagio for Strings.

The Singers did The Lakota Flag Song, Mourning Song, a World War II era song that commemorated the Lakota who fought against the Nazis, and several others.

Then after the intermission, they played two pieces that integrated the two groups together. It was incredible.

The South Dakota Symphony's website is http://www.sdsymphony.org.

Conductor Delta David Gier has worked with the New York Philharmonic, the Metropolitan Opera, San Francisco Opera’s Western Opera Theater, the Polish National Radio Symphony, the Presidential Symphony of Ankara and the Bucharest Philharmonic. He will debut with the Phoenix Symphony and the American Composers Orchestra later this year. All in all, a remarkable and delightful evening.

Happy anniversary, Sansarya

2008-08-11T11:19:00.000-05:00

This is it -- the day many said would never come, the day hell freezes over, the day pigs fly... but our true friends knew was inevitable.

One year ago this afternoon, Sans and I got married in a lovely little city park in Bentonville, Arkansas.

Things haven't gone great financially since then, and right now I am dealing with trying to get my health back on track, but despite all of that, I am happier than I have ever been in my life, and it's all because of her.

I love you, Sans. Here's hoping things start improving for us so that the next year is ten times better than this first one has been.

P2

Where In The World Is Magellan Linden?

2008-04-06T14:59:00.000-05:00

Magellan Linden, intrepid explorer of the Linden grid, has been mysteriously missing since June 30, 2006.

Now, a group made up of many prominent residents is embarking on a mission to find this valiant soul.

Is he dead? Shipwrecked somewhere, talking to a volleyball? Sitting in a pub, nursing a pint or two? No one knows.

Help us to locate Magellan! If you have a clue as to his whereabouts, contact Salazar Jack.

8 Random Things About Me

2008-01-14T22:59:00.000-06:00

I saw this on Sansarya's blog, so I'm just going to post "8 Random Things About Me."

1. I love to go to music stores and mess around with instruments, primarily guitars and keyboards.

2. My favorite beverage in the world is a Route 44 Cherry Diet Coke from Sonic Drive-Ins.

3. I was born in San Francisco, California. I left there in 1960 as a baby and didn't return until the Second Life Community Convention in August 2006.

4. I majored in Theater Arts in college.

5. I once met Eddie Van Halen and he gave me a personalized guitar pick.

6. I love cold pizza for breakfast.

7. My friends and I once drove the entire length of the (at that time) not-yet-completed I-240 which runs through Oklahoma City -- at 110 mph, at midnight. (No, I wasn't behind the wheel, and none of us had been drinking.)

8. I am a HUGE Robin Williams fan.

P2

Sans, P2 and SL on ABC's iCaught TV

2007-09-04T22:49:00.001-05:00

ABC's "iCaught" segment on Second Life ran tonight, and Sansarya and I were featured as a large part of it. Want to watch it? Here you go.

[edit: Sorry, apparently as of May 2009 this video is no longer available. However, a related text story is available at ABC.com.]

August means joy

2007-08-01T19:01:00.000-05:00

So sublime the feeling
Of holding her in my arms
As if a dream had crystallized into warm flesh

She is here, with me
Never to be parted again
We are one.

P2

Tick tick tick...

2007-07-29T18:17:00.000-05:00

I'm counting down the hours until my beloved bride to be arrives here in Bentonville. It's been a roller coaster of a 13 months, but at last we are nearly there.

She's picking up a rental van in the morning, and should be here by Tuesday.

[Melts into a puddle of joy on the floor]

P2

Uh-huh, it's mah bifday...

2007-05-31T11:23:00.001-05:00

And so far it's been a great day.

P2

Project Open Letter

2007-04-27T23:15:00.000-05:00

Dear Linden Lab,

In the past eighteen months, Second Life has expanded, growing from a small community of early adopters to a platform supporting millions of users. Linden Lab has created a world that inspires a deep level of passion in its users and provides unprecedented opportunities to share creatively, socially, and financially.

With explosive levels of growth often come unexpected problems. In keeping with your company's policy and rich history of resident involvement, we the undersigned would like to take this opportunity to address some concerns that we feel have gone unanswered for too long.

There are some consistent, ongoing problems that are getting worse under heavy load, not better, and are not simply irritants but problems that are causing financial loss in some cases, which is unacceptable. Here is a brief list of the main concerns:

* Inventory loss - this is a devastating problem that is worsening. We have no ability to protect our own inventories through backups, and are trusting you to protect that data. This is the highest priority. Sensible inventory limits (on non-verified accounts only), combined with better management tools and ways to protect our inventory ourselves would help to mitigate the problem as well. Regardless, this cannot continue - we will not accept financial loss as a feature of Second Life. It is your responsibility as service provider to ensure our data is not lost, and you are failing us.

* Problems with Find and Friends List - we continue to see search outages on a far too regular basis. It is bad enough trying to get anywhere without being able to use search, but many users are also paying money for classified ads. Our friends lists just do not work reliably any longer, after years without an issue with them. If America Online/MSN/Yahoo can provide presence information for hundreds of millions of users, surely there is a way to make our friends lists work again.

* Grid stability and performance - teleports fail quite regularly, especially under heavy load. Attachments end up in places they did not start out in, and sim performance varies wildly. None of this makes for a very pleasant experience for users. Long promised improvement to physics and scripting would help dramatically to reduce these problems, but there are a lot of other scalability issues as well. It often feels like the grid is coming apart at the seams. The promised use of limiting logins of non-verified accounts during peak load has been severely lacking. This would be an effective interim solution to load issues, but Linden Lab seems unwilling to use it.

* Build tool problems - the importance of build tools that actually work as promised cannot be overstated enough - we rely on them to create content. Prim drift, disappearing prims, imprecise placement, problems with linking and other issues with the tools need to be addressed. Too much time is being spent trying to work around the problems.

* Transaction problems - inventory deliveries are failing with an alarming (and annoying) frequency, leaving merchants with the burden of replacing missing content and having to try to confim the transaction in the first place. We trust that our L$ balances are accurate, but given recent problems, that is a cause for concern as well, and one we place our full trust in you to ensure its accuracy.

We remain fully supportive of Second Life and are more than willing to continue doing our part to help, but our confidence is steadily being eroded due to a general lack of communication and the apparent failure to successfully address the many issues detailed above. What we are asking for is that these problems are addressed immediately, ahead of new features, and that we are able to see tangible improvements. We accept that this will not happen overnight but it also cannot be allowed to continue indefinitely either.

Thank you for taking the time to read this letter.

Phoenix Psaltery

(If you would like to read the signatures of my fellow Second Lifers who have signed this letter, or to sign the letter yourself, please click the link to Project Open Letter.)

2007-02-25T21:59:00.000-06:00

Today was such a tremendous day. My second "rezday" (avatar birthday) in Second Life -- and what a rezday it was.

My dear Sansarya and I were married today in what had to be one of the most beautiful weddings in SL history.

So many people contributed so much to us to make this day so fabulous. We rocked the sim most of the day today. Our gratitude goes out to all those who helped us pull off what I believe may have been the most amazing wedding ever in Second Life; to Sue Stonebender for use of the brand new Ubuntu sim; to Barnesworth Anubis for his incredibly majestic Taj Mahal; to Jackal Ennui for creating our awesome, one-of-a-kind wedding rings; to Ordinal Malaprop for helping this non-scripter with our wedding invitations; to Lucifer Baphomet for officiating; to our wedding party, Garret Bakalava, Nancy Lei, Taco Rubio and FlipperPA Peregrine for their friendship and support; to Cylindrian Rutabaga for her wonderful playing and singing, and Nethermind Bliss for DJing the reception. There’s only one thing left to add: “And they lived happily ever after.”

P2

2007-01-07T21:54:00.000-06:00

OK, so I haven't posted here very often. I've been busy.

I spent New Year's Eve in a cabin in the Black Hills of South Dakota, had a wonderful Italian dinner prepared by my sweet Sansarya, and rang in 2007 in a very special way.

All the best to you in the new year.

P2

I'm back.

2006-12-02T23:45:00.000-06:00

Once upon a time, there was a blog called Firebird Folio. It contained the thoughts of a guy named P2. (That's me.)

Stuff happened. I deleted the blog. Now I wish I hadn't. But I'm back.

Be afraid. Be very afraid.

P2