Open Mic Nightmares

            It was the spring of 1997 in Austin, Texas. We finished playing the “open mic night” at Big Dave’s Dam Saloon and drove down to Lucy’s Retired Surfer Bar & Grill on 6^th Street to watch about an hour of Reckless Kelly before heading over to the Cactus Café.  Summer nights in Austin, Texas can be down right charming. The “Cactus” is right next to the “Longhorns’” campus. That’s where we met Amy and a few of her sorority sisters. Jeff and I killed an hour watching “Kelly” and they were right on time; straight up- 11pm. For some reason, they were our biggest fans.  I deemed they took a charm to the strange dudes from Tennessee because when we first met them, they asked, “So what do you do?”  With guitars in tow; my long hair & Jeff’s agreeable hat, we deployed that little sentence that every crafty musician in Austin exploits… “We’re songwriters.”

             Next question: “Oh, Really?”

             “Yeah, we’re from Nashville.”

            Of course, neither of us was from Nashville but we were from the Tennessee hills. Amy was originally from Corpus, I believe, and as best I recall, the rest of those gals came from “Money.”  Perhaps they found amusement in propping up our egos on the “Open Mic” circuit; and laughing and giggling amongst themselves back in the dorms. At any rate, we always made it a fun night and they fermented themselves as faithful followers.

            They liked some of Jeff’s more serious songs and found me to be just goofy enough to enjoy… while I was on stage… and bearable enough to sit with at the table.

            That particular evening we had a little surprise in store for the ladies. I brought along a little something special; my Elvis “jump” suit. I couldn’t wait to get dolled up in my “white jumper” and bang my electric Fender on the same stage where Willie Nelson and a number of other Texas troubadours had jammed.

            Just like every Tuesday, the place was packed. But that night, it was “standing room only.” At first we were worried we had gotten there too late. I looked at Jeff and he looked at me and we kind of shook our heads in rejection. Then, out of nowhere one of Amy’s friends came screaming out of the crowd towards us and she’s yells, “I got a table up front… I got a spot up front, guys!!”

            As if given a reprieve, we scurried up behind her to get our names in the mix before the cut-off time. We looked around and started asking folks why the place was so crowded. The anchor of “open mic night,” was, oddly enough, a guy named Mike. Finally, Mike came over and told us that the “amateurs” would have to make a necessary reprieve lasting about 40 minutes. There was a “special guest.” We asked when this special guest (Shawn something) would be performing and Mike explained: the stage was his real estate upon arrival.  Apparently, he was scheduled to play at 10pm, but he was running late.

            Every “professional” “open mic artiste” can tell you that scheduling a “special guest” on open mic night is the worst news an artiste can hear. That equals fewer slots and “less clock” for “open mic-ers” and somebody’s going home with no stage time.

            Mike, however, knew we were regulars and that our entourage included several sorority girls with an optimistic disposition about our stage time. This being a college bar, Mike did not want us to prospect the notion of a departure until after the “special guest” performance.  That means one of us needed to take the stage prior to said mystery guest; on the premise that we would all stick around. We figured Mike would most likely sandwich “said mystery guest” between us.

            Anticipating the fact that both of us might not get a chance to sing, Jeff hinted to Mike that I should go first since I had my “Elvis suit” in tow. Wearing an “Elvis outfit” is not a normal thing for an “open mic” setting. In fact, it’s not normal in any “serious” music setting, but especially in a congested theatre venue like the Cactus Cafe.

            We made it clear that we had to work the next day and could not stay out too late.  Since we were “a regular” part of the scene, we hoped Mike would make a bold move and get us on stage as soon as possible.  

            But our craniums were clogged; aspersed with loose logic. Having worked in radio and television for years, we should have known better.

            Recognized in media as the art of the “tease,” we were about to become a part of that counterfeit conduit.  In other words, Mike could always bring on the “special guest,” and tell everyone to stick around for (fill in the blank here) to go on stage immediately following “said mystery guest.” We did not consider his thought process and the fact that his job was to keep patrons there.  Aside from the obvious, he was probably wondering how we wrangled those beautiful college women into parking at our table. That fact would have been enough to keep us seated as long as “customarily” possible; but I dare say, our other Achilles heel was “The Suit.”

            As -- “unexpected,” Mike brought Jeff on stage first. Jeff did his three songs and the wild “sorority” bunch commenced to clapping and screaming, and pervaded the silence fast becoming the rowdiest table in the place.  They were having a super time and I developed a great sense of delight while contracting a bad case of anxious nerves just from their overexerted enthusiasm. It was far past my bedtime, and inside, I was secretly hoping our “mystery guest” would show up and I would not have to take the stage. I thought there was no way I could live up to the garnered frenzy of stimulation that had overrun the room; especially wearing a shiny sequenced suit sheltered by a silk cape. I called myself a songwriter because I was not too good at guitar.  How dare I present myself draped in a cape and decked out in all white garb;  the crowd would surely expect a prodigious musical super hero standing in the spotlight.

            After Jeff finished, he stepped off stage. A few talented performers later our host Mike must have figured our mystery guest was a no-show. He signaled me to get ready and I’d be up after three short songs. I hurried to the restroom and climbed into my white sequenced jump suit. Those pasted-on jeweled trinkets were “crazy” shiny in the “lavatory” mirror, and there were plenty of puzzled looks from fellow patrons.

            It was mostly a college crowd and for some reason they did not have the passion for the “King of Rock-n-Roll” that I shared. OR maybe it was my imagination. Perhaps the few attendees who snorted and smirked were simply jealous because Jeff and I were sitting at a table full of sorority girls; an impossible milestone for those poor young snickering college dudes.

            As I shuffled through the crowd in my glorious white Elvis type, “stage duds,” there was definitely a low rumble of attempted hazing. But I composed myself in my vetted splendor and strapped on my red, electric fender as I approached the stage.  Just then I heard a voice from behind me.

            “Shawn’s here!” Mike shouted.

            I looked back and saw a long blond haired, cool looking dude with a beat up acoustic guitar.  I glance over at Mike. He seemed a bit lost. Then the girls started chanting, “Kelvis! Kelvis! Kelvis!”

            Mike looked up at me with an awkward gaze. I don’t think he realized “the power” of the “THE SUIT!” Looking back, he probably thought we were kidding about the “Kelvis routine.”  There was a sudden stalemate as to the next move.

            Mike then said, “Sorry dude, Shawn (the special guest) came in while you were in the bathroom.”

            I said, “Is he ready?”

            All the while the girls were getting louder in mantra, “Kelvis! Kelvis! Kelvis!”

            Jeff had a video camera on Mike and me.  Mike looked back toward Shawn who appeared to be talking to someone near the soundboard. So he signaled me to get on stage and then shouted, “Just do two songs!”

            I said, “Got it! Thanks!”

            I was actually relieved. I didn’t think I could keep the crowd going through more than two songs. I jumped up on stage and started my "shtick."  Our sorority posse was diggin’ it and by this time in my Austin “open mic” career, a few fellow singers from the crowd were familiar with my songs.  They were singing along and cheering throughout the shortened routine. Perhaps they were trying to hurry me along to make way for the main act. In a few minutes I was done and I was happy to be finished, exiting stage left to go change clothes.

            That was an awkward moment!

            Shawn Mullins then took the stage and my lack of guitar skills more than amplified his guitar magic to an elevated rock status that he so deserves. It was the first time I ever heard someone play a single instrument and make it sound like three in one. In clear command of his guitar, he played down the neck while thumping out a rhythm orchestrating what sounded like a kick drum from the guitar’s polished wooden frame. There was a bass presence habitually inserted from somewhere near the top string all while his vocals lingered at home on various ranges. He sang and played lead in random succession.  I had also never seen anyone captivate an audience so precisely. He did something unique that worked extremely well in a live forum. He would virtually dial it down a notch and with a deep, gravelly voice whisper the lyrics into the microphone.

            We wound up staying out late that night.  We watched his entire set.  After he finished, Jeff bought one of his CD’s and we listened to it and talked about how great he was on the ride back home. I was still ashamed of the fact that he had to wait for “Kelvis” to finish two songs.  I kept ‘em short though -- no “bridges” – just guitar and lyrics.

            A couple of years later, I worked in radio and was playing Shawn Mullins on the air when I got a call from Jeff.  He was driving through town and heard the song, “Lullaby.”  He couldn’t resist calling to remind me of that night. I was laughing and confessed that I was still ashamed of making him wait on the “Kelvis Shtick.” But Jeff had a lighthearted way of putting things into prospective.

            Jeff said, “You didn’t make him wait.  You opened up for Shawn Mullins!”

            And from that unique perspective, I can hold my head high… AND say, “I opened for Shawn Mullins!”

            In the words of Shawn Mullins’ song, “Lullaby,”--- “ Everything’s gonna be alright Rockabye, Rockabye.”

The song “Lullaby” was nominated for a Grammy and hit No. 1 as a Top 40 (Adult Contemporary) hit in 1998.

Hokiescopes (Week of Feb. 7-13)

Since the WorLD WiDe wEb is full of predictions and horoscopes, then I must declare my piece of the “MOON-PIE!”

This web-log will prove its lack of awareness about the future by posting a drowsy consciousness pertaining to hold the keys to the future. Unlock the secrets of your sign as we peer skyward through the eyes of this week’s Hokiescopes  

(And you don’t even have to sign up for anything!)

Week of February 7^th - Feb. 13^th)

Aquarium (Jan 21-Feb. 19)

   You are assertive, without being self-assertive.  This week, you may feel the need to go surfing because you will get the word, “assertive” confused with “A-Surfer.” You will snap out of it, because it is cold.

Fish, Blue Gill, Pisces and such (Feb. 20-March 20)

   Your sign may dislike discipline and confinement. That’s why you don’t do well in jail.  Try not to go there. 

  If you’re there already, your sign has the ability to withdraw into a dream world.  

  This can also work if you feel like your job is more like jail.

NAries (March 21-April 20)

   Do NOT disregard your pioneering spirit.  IF you do, you will never build that time machine you’ve wanted since you were a kid.

Tires (April 21-May 21)

  You dislike quarrels and general ill-feelings. 

  For the female Tires, yoga can help you relax and get rid of bad thoughts.

  For the male Tires, your next yoga class will be never.

Jim & I (May 22-June 21)

  You may sometimes escape blame by contriving to put it on others.  Don’t do that anymore.

   But if you must blame others, be very sarcastic. At least, you can laugh about it later.   

Canker(June 22-July 22)

   You have a talent for mimicry. You can sit outside with your friends at night making “bug zapping” noises... sure to delight and amuse.

  This week, however, be careful of bad karma, while showing off your talent you may inadvertently swallow a bug and gross yourself out... but when you puke; it will make your friends laugh.

(Sore-ee! This week’s Hokiescope only applies to "Warm Climate" Cankers)

Cle-O (July 23-Aug. 22)

   You may be at the forefront of cutting-edge technology.  You are ahead of your time in business practices.

   The only problem is you don’t really have time to develop this skill because you’re too busy reading about your future on the internet, playing video games, or you can’t turn your head, and look away from the next episode of “Jersey Shore,” etc…

Vertigo (Aug. 23-Sept. 23)

  You may start your day with four eggs, three sausages, and three biscuits. But you have to learn to eat something the rest of the day.

  This week, try something like scheduled meals. Ice cream and chocolate chip cookies don’t really qualify as a meal.

Libra kadabra (Sept. 24-Oct. 23)

  Sometimes you tend to beat yourself up over nothing. But that’s better than someone else beating you up over nothing.

  This week, look at your pet goldfish and say, “You’re worthless... You’ll never amount to anything and you’ll never turn into a swan!”  Take out your frustrations on innocent creatures that don’t have ears.

Crawdad (Oct. 24-Nov. 22)

   Sometimes, you can be unforgiving of the faults in others.  The San Andreas Fault is really BIG!

   It creates unforgiving damage in the form of earthquakes.

   Eruptions about the “faults” of others are like earthquakes... I have no idea where I’m going with this... Just remember, earthquakes are not your fault!

Satch-YOU-Terry-Us (Nov. 23-Dec. 22)

  You may have a choice between career and family. The circumstances will arise in such a way that you won’t even understand your decision. 

  But once the assessment is made the choice will become obvious that you have formed a conclusion and the decision will be one of your options.

Capricorny (Dec. 23-Jan. 20)

  You make an excellent educator. But you make a better vacationer. If you are a teacher, take a day off this week, and read some stories (perhaps at the blog-sight, UnfoundedNiche)

  Say it to yourself, “I’m as good at vacationing as I am at educating.”  Bah! DON’T start talking to yourself out loud again - just ask questions silently in your mind… then give it a rest… there you go.

I Predict... local school closing for this week!!  If you live here in Tennessee... Just wait and see what your future holds- "The Hokiescopes Have Been Written!"

**  Next week we may discuss what each sign means.  For instance the sign for Tires (April 21-May 21) is a Bull.  What would a bull have to do with tires?  Tune in next week for the answer.

'Twas the Day of the Game

‘Twas the day of the game, as I stared at the crowd

Of people in Dallas, all jovial and loud

The TV was shrill, analysts out of control

They all knew the winner of the next Super Bowl

The neighborhood kids all played on the lawn

Where the full-time QB was a tall boy named Shaun.

They had their nerf, and I had my nap.

I was ready for football; enough of this crap!

I wondered what rambled through each players mind

We’d all know the answers in just a short time

The chore of the kick-off was… the waiting… INSANE!

Could the roar of the crowd please drowned out pre-game?

While the rest of the world might consider it quirky

I fixed me some wings in the form of a turkey.

I had me some Ice Cream and some white Hershey’s chocolate

Cool… look on TV- a Human Jet-Powered Rocket!

The butterflies churned somewhere way down south

Cause it’s still… like, really cold here and stuff and the B-Flies ain’t migrated back yet.

SO I yawn at more pre-game becoming disheveled

And thought of the players who soon would be leveled

On Rodgers, on Clifton, on Jennings, & Driver!

To the end zone, a spike and a big ‘ol high-fiver

Give it your best, stay on top of the ball

And try to avoid that Big Steel Curtain Wall

There’s a big ouchy waiting from Troy, James, and Tuff

So wear the right cleats or your gonna get stuffed

Oh yeah, Ben make a choice; don’t hesitate

Or you’re going to be schooled by a strong arm named Clay

Oh goodness… the clock… where has the time gone?

The game will soon start; I’ve made this too long.

I’ll end it now soon and wish all fans good luck

AND may your team win, Unless your team sucks!    <double speak there>

Oh NO! MY CABLE!  It seems on the fritter

I’d tweet, “What has happened?” but I’m not on twitter.

So it comes down to this, OH PLEASE… save the day!

I’m relying on my friends’ Facebook play-by-play

Bubble Gum Crises Averted

            The headlines read: “Bubblicious Bubble Contest!” Parents were up in arms! Kids were thrilled. A panic stricken nation clamored to its dial-up rotary phone network in the summer of 1978. Dark cloud infested rumors began to spread that this great “chewing gum” force was unstoppable.  How could large corporations be so audacious? These soulless monsters were encouraging reckless behavior.  Had the secret “Barbershop Lobby of ‘76” failed? There was nothing- and I mean nothing that the nation could do to stop this non-face sticking bubble gum revolution.

            In the mid 1970’s, children were introduced to Bubble Yum bubble gum. We chomped and chewed and devoured this product. It had a waxy feel to it.  It was quick to lose its flavor. It could be like chewing on a rubber balloon. BUT, the reason it was so embraced was because chewing gum “bubbles” could finally be blown up to the size of your head and sometimes larger.  Yeah!

            The gum had a magical quality about it.  It did not stick to your face! And the bonus “pack” was; it was easily extracted from even the longest of flowing locks. There was no worry about the gooey, sugary mess globbing in your hair. Kids picked up the camera and began taking amateur photos.  The Kodak and Polaroid executives had to be thrilled.  Pictures began to circulate “school-wide” showing little boys and girls with what looked like see-threw pink basketballs glued to the front of their faces.  The Teacher Education Association was divided on the issue, but most veteran teachers were in an uproar. Gum had never been allowed in class! The question on everyone’s mind precluded; what kind of gum was this?

            There was yet another problem. This new “Bubble Yum” didn’t even make a loud pop; but rather an almost silent deflation from an exasperated blown bubble.  Kids had to actually be “caught holding” or blowing a large bubble in class. So, to keep the gum out of schools, teachers from the “Old Guard” branded Bubble Yum bubble gum a “menace” and a “distraction” to the rest of the class.

            Parents were less understanding with the infatuation of this new product. How could a “chewing-bubble” be that large without it getting stuck in your hair?  Children’s manners were bubbling over into bizarre and nonsensical behavior. This new generation even fell asleep with “gum in their mouth;” without it getting stuck in their hair!! Adults knew this was scientifically impossible. When sugar heats up; it melts...  AND sticks to things—LIKE YOUR HAIR! Facts are facts!

            This posed such problems that PTAs (Parent-Teacher Associations) teamed with the BLA (Barbershop Lobbyists Association) to re-introduce sugar as the key component of gum. How was a barber to touch up your hair if your parents never had to cut gum out of it? The ADA (American Dental Association) stated openly that it would remain neutral throughout this flavored crisis, but history tells us money was being funneled to the movement.  It was known in “dental circles” as the “NTC-Project.”  The ad campaign promoted “Necessary Teeth Cleaning” by your local dentist. This NTC maneuver was designed to help dentists stay in business until the crisis blew over. The underground GAC (Gum Action Committee) was committed to stopping the Bubble Yum gum machine. But first the GAC had to determine what magical “non-sticking” element had replaced sugar. The destruction of America’s way of life sat in the balance.

            First, repeated letter campaigns for senate hearings into the Hershey Company failed. The Candy Lobby was holding its ground. Then, covert operatives were employed to infiltrate the “Lifesavers” company where Bubble Yum was manufactured. This tactic was unsuccessful due to the fact that staff members had to sign an agreement that “they were NOT ALLOWED to tell anyone” how Bubble Yum was infused and factory concocted into a non-sticking gum product.

            Drastic measures had to be taken.  So a sinister plan was hatched as a necessary means to and end.

            Suddenly, “out of nowhere,” a rumor began that revealed the “secret” ingredient of Bubble Yum.  It was spider eggs!!  The explanation seemed logical to a child. Spider eggs are soft and chewy and spiders carry them on their back “because the eggs won’t stick to the web.”  A-Ha!!  So there it was; the “non-sticking” bubble gum secret was out. What older kid wants to eat spider eggs?  We all try them when we’re young but most of us grow of that.

            Bubble Yum scrambled to dispel these rumors, but nothing seemed to work. The company even placed a full page ad in the New York Times!  But customers were not buying it.  I mean literally, kids do not “buy” the New York Times; nor do they read it… it’s got big words.

            It seemed the GAC backed parents and barbers held all the cards. Persuasive rumors caused anxious youngster to question buying the Bubble Yum “spider egg” laced chewing gum. A contrived plot was forming into a successful campaign to stop these bubble blowing atrocities, and the sugar cane industry was “all smiles.”

            Little did the public know, plans had been set in motion months earlier from Cadbury Candy Company headquarters for the introduction of a new “bubble gum” product.  Cadbury would shock the world with its own brand of non-face sticking bubble gum. The product was unveiled as having more flavors with longer lasting taste qualities AND holding the same miraculous properties as Bubble Yum.  Bubblicious came out with a national ad campaign featuring a national bubble blowing contest! Pictures of kids’ “chewing-gum-bubbles” were being taken across the continent. Every kid sent in a photo back in ’78 and some kids sent in more than one entry. They all wanted to win, but there could be only one.

            Adults felt this “contest” had to be dealt with swiftly! Another plausible argument to putting a stop to this bubble gum blowing contest was the “fact” that anytime children become amused and astounded by a product, it can lead to “questionable behavior.” Because adults hate having real jobs, their most enjoyable hobbies include stepping up to spoil the fun for children.  After all, that is the only benefit of being an adult.

            Tensions ran high that summer, but after the contest was over, the melodrama died down. The adults could only sit back and watch things unfold. Bubblicious got its winner- (some stupid brat from Jersey I think—can’t remember). But the most important thing is; the children had made their choice. 

            There was a united consensus from an overwhelming majority of youth that Bubble Yum was still less sticky and made bigger bubbles (spider eggs and all).  On the plus side for Bubblicious, it did offer more flavors (some quite exotic). Bubblicious became an adult favorite while Bubble Yum continued to outsell the rest in late 1970’s.

            I eventually grew out of the “bubble blowing phase” of childhood gum chewing; AND I’m guessing a whole lot of adults breathed a huge sigh of relief in 1980. That’s when some marketing genius finally put large quantities of sugar back into bubble gum.   Sold to children in a smokeless tobacco pouch, Big League Chew quickly leveled the playing field.  I kept a pouch in my pocket all the time!  I even spit (a whole lot) just like Grandpa. A child with a tobacco pouch of Big League Chew (chewin’ gum) sure sets a parent’s mind at ease.

Egyptian Predicament Precludes a Larger Problem

 (Helping to Make Less Sense of it All)

             Will the catalyst in the Middle East be Egypt? Will other countries’ borders suddenly become transparent while Autocratic leaders step aside to enjoy resting in retirement? Other Mid-east countries welcoming freedoms of press and religion is a wonderful, albeit “utopian thought.”  In a region where oil flows freely, certain social freedoms are still unacceptable.  The real question is: what’s the unpredictable, hypothetical x-factor in the end game? A person’s basic necessities, especially in this arid part of the world, are food and water.  Eventually these substances could outweigh all the elements that make up the periodic table.  Thus, a prediction becomes more like…a presumption. When food commodities become luxury items, history tells us that citizens rise to the role of leadership; unfortunately,  a violent civil disturbance is more likely under Autocratic rule because there is only ONE person to blame. Authoritarian leaders tend to be hung upside down, lose their head, or, if lucky, become exiled to a remote island. The Bible “predicts” Armageddon will take place in the Middle East; here are some reasons why a clash of nations (in that area) may indeed happen in the not so distant future. However, the “Final Battle” of “Good vs. Evil” will not happen unless someone has an “Armageddon complex.”  Presented here is a simple prediction/presumption; a violent overthrow of various places and peoples in a natural civil war for resources.

            Our government may poke its nose where is doesn’t belong, but any immediate major battles do not even have to involve the U.S., the E. U., Japan, China, or most other industrialized nations. Unfortunately, we may have to exclude the world’s largest democracy, India, due to population/geography-etc…too hard to explain.  The “end of days” scenarios you’re always reading about on the internet will only happen if organized governments from industrialized nations take it upon themselves to go in with guns blazing!

            Here is an overly simplified version of complicated events. Like the writings of Nostradamus, don’t read too much into it.  It’s just something to ponder.

            First, let’s traverse back to the “inevitable food & water shortage.” Having seen a number of “web-predictions” about the failure to recognize this problem, let’s call it a forgone conclusion. In other words, there are facts to back this up, but we are still not sure how long we have- there, simplified.

            Chaos may follow the impending food shortage not only in the Middle East, but around the world. World hunger is happening now in places like Nigeria, Morocco, Bangladesh, and the list is too long to even fathom. That’s just a simple fact.

            One might assume that this “food shortage” condition is based on a country’s “economic status.” It only affects the “less fortunate,” “poorer” nations of the world. That’s where the proverbial bell tolls.

            The “economic status” argument can be quashed with simple facts. If we “humans” were like locusts, and only came out about once every seven years to consume everything in sight for about a week, then we might not be in this mess. But we are human. Each of us consumes everything in sight for a number of years. That takes quite a toll on our mammal kin and plant friends. And I believe us to be closely related to the “ostrich folklore.” We tend to “stick our head in the sand when a problem arises.” When a large predator (like a tiger) approaches in the middle of the night we refuse to acknowledge the expected attack. 

            What do we do? We close our eyes… lie… shh… real… shh… still… hoping to avoid the inevitable. How can we as a species be so intelligent, and yet ignore reality?  There in lies the quandary. However, ME thinks this genetic reaction might be due to eons and eons of “ignoring the tiger.” It’s “built into our DNA”- as the cliché’ goes.  There’s probably no proof to an “off the wall… tiger theory.”  But one could argue that historical accuracy has so little to do with sequences that chronicle the past. Here is a first hand account of the populace history of “We the People”- the human race, not just the ones mentioned in our Constitution.   

            As we glimpse into the past, numerous reasons would explain why we’ve had a global population explosion in what seems to be the “blink of an eye.”  By most accounts, future historians might use terminology like; “mainly due to a great number of advancements.”  The only problem is… Now, WE reproduce almost as fast as rats or cockroaches. We went from 1-billion (at the beginning of the 19^th century) to 3 billion (1960) to 6 billion in 2009. Due to centuries of warfare, smallpox, Black Death and such, between 10,000 B.C. and 1400 A.D. (end of Black Death), the world population was able to weigh in at about 100 to 500 million people tops! And 500 million is a high estimate! 

            Take the numbers mentioned in the above paragraph and transfer them into a line graph. Imagine if you will the number of years (beginning with early agricultural societies in10,000 BC) on the bottom of the chart following it to your right all the way to 2011 AD.  Over that 12,000 year period, visualize where the super population explosion begins. How did we traverse from low to mid millions for 11,400 years (end of Black Death) to 6-billion (closer to 7-billion) people in just over 600 years? Now, the population of “We the People” compared to the rest of the animal kingdom seems way off the mark!  Or one might say: “Those who forget Easter Island are bound to repeat it.”  If you’ve never heard of it, basically the folks who settled the island never imagined they would eventually out-grow their own environment.

            As you’ve known since 3^rd grade (that’s 5^th grade to you Davis) an island is a “land mass surrounded by a body of water.” The inhabitants of Easter Island literally “grew out” of the island’s natural food-making capabilities. They sort of lost their cooking utensils, their “Zippos” for making fire (AKA –wood). Animal harvesting food supplements disappeared and as the natural resources became depleted from over population, the tenants went the way of a dodo bird.  The “Dodo” was indigenous to an Indian Ocean Island, but unfortunately the bird could not fly and its extinction was directly related to human activity on the island and these events were recorded in “human time.”  As Metallica would scream, “Sad But True.”

            OK, in all this “explosion of population talk,” I did exclude micro-organisms. There’s no telling the kinds of mutations those critters have undergone.  And what kind of havoc will those little super bugs one day impose on our immune systems, lungs, tissue, our poor… temperate life forms; again forcing a mass extinction like the Black Plague that took out half the population of Europe.

            Follow along with me now and we’ll delve into what governments and media around the world should be discussing instead of the color of a national leader’s tie. Even though this information comes to us by committee from the United Nations’ sanctioned FAO, we prefer to ignore it. It’s more way better and very really cooler and neat-o-ier if we just label these folks as something like, “extreme alarmists.”  But for reading purposes, we’ll call them “scientists.” They’ve distinguished areas where the Middle East could improve; thereby helping humans in that area. Areas or zones have also been designated as “good” for the survival of people in the not too distant future.

            I’m rambling again, and a brief explanation is in order. The Food and Agriculture Organization (FAO) is the United Nations agency concerned with the international organization of food and agriculture. They basically make predictions based on annual worldwide food production and distribution. For instance, in the past the FAO has said that Sudan, Canada, and Australia are the future Bread Baskets of the world.

            The Republic of Sudan lies on the southern border of Egypt and is best known for its terribly underrated human-rights abuses and violations. There is enough stupid political crap; oops, I’m sorry corruption in the Sudan for the whole of Africa. One thing is obvious to that area and that is, the future (of money) is now! 

            Being simplistic in thought and without particularizing here’s the deal. Basically the majority of Sudanese people are just trying to survive. The big corporations, corrupt bureaucrats, and large bands of gangs controlling certain areas of the country are getting wealthy beyond their wildest dreams. The Sudan is mineral rich.  They’re mining gold, copper, asbestos, nickel, zinc, petroleum; chromite (forgot that one in school?? – It’s a substitute for iron to help make big buildings--- big, big buildings)… AND they’re digging up anything else a person needs to survive in a “monetary system.” 

            That’s right; you can’t eat chromite, have your kaolin for dessert, and wash it down with petro. But you sure can sell it!  There are massive problems with deforestation leading to lowered soil fertility, corrosion, and hence, lowered water tables. This also angers fresh water fish.

            Many of “the powers that be” could care less about these problems; yet the future of the entire Middle East may lie in the hands of Sudan.  Its millions of acres of fertile plains are being stripped and mined for more minerals daily.  The Agriculture Industry still remains its most important sector, but recently the country has started importing more food. A nation, given the proper modern technology, which could feed the whole of the Middle East, is starting to rely on its mining operations to buy food from other places. That would be considered… a superfluous use of funds for something you already have.

            You know the old saying: “A country that fails to plan… plans to fail.”  Let’s take the U.S. out of that equation. And so it is now written, “All responsible ‘parties’ (leaders in the North African region) are now officially allowed to feel ashamed.” The fact is Sudan has the most fertile soil in the Middle East.  So take note, gold may not corrode, but soil does. From 2007 to the present, world food markets have been in turmoil and it has impacted the agricultural sectors worldwide. Those countries that rely on food imports may be digging a deeper hole than they can mine.

            How will the recent massive flooding, in an area the size of Texas and New Mexico combined, affect Australia’s crop production?  The forecast is not good. The hottest seawater in recorded history equals “big twirly” oceanic activity. Following the floods that hit Queensland, the country just got hit by the largest cyclone in history! AND is it a coincidence that the cyclone was named “Yasi” while Egyptian’s President is named “Hosni?”  Ahh!!! Use your imagination, now we can start some kind of crazy internet rumor!

            And as for Russia’s wheat harvest, were you aware that the country banned exports (Oct. 2010) due to last summers fires that destroyed a bulk of the crop?  But who can blame them for taking care of their own?  Wouldn’t we do the same… or would we? We’re SO darn generous to give and sometimes impose our will on others. And in the words of Colonel Jessep and sort of an excerpt from the movie, A Few Good Men, our nation hasn’t “the time nor the inclination to explain (itself to someone, plus tax-) for the freedom (we) provide, and then questions the manner in which (we) provide it! (We’d) rather you just said ‘Thank you,’ and went on your way.” 

            And the good Yoda said, “Back on track, we must get.”

            Russia’s decision to hold food exports and feed its own people based on an cataclysmic environmental events in its own country is only one reason food prices soared in the Middle East; supply and demand. Russia is one of that region’s major wheat suppliers. Perhaps the Mid-East needs to start thinking about its own food supply much like we (the U.S.) need to start creating/producing our own energy reserves.

            Remaining on course and sticking to the “scary future” theme; since I mentioned beastly insects earlier, let’s not forget 2004.  Think back to almost 7 years ago, and recall a time when locusts’ swarms devastated North African crops in August of 2004. Yup, add 7 to 4 and you get eleven! There’s no way of knowing if the forecast calls for African locusts in 2011; however, locusts are predisposed to divulge that information at some point.

            Having proven my case that I’ll never be a rocket scientist, I do believe Egypt doesn’t really need rocket fuel- just body fuel – in the form of food.   That’s why predicting how, when, where, or even why food crops do well is such a difficult task.  Facts do not lie. Honestly, more people than ever inhabit earth and the planet doesn’t appear to have grown any larger over the last several hundred years. No one can predict the future, but with some simple facts it sure is easy to scare the crap out of people.  

            In the short time we have to spin around and poke holes in the crust of this oval rock with a molten center, let’s at least support the groups who are promoting equality & freedom in some form.

            I’m of the opinion that Egypt is the least likely place in the Middle-East to be “taken hostage” by extremist groups. Reporters are more likely to be “taken hostage” by Egypt’s current government. The general public is fed up with the Aristocracy and of course, unaffordable sustenance! Give folks access to information, and believe in your fellow human being to make the right choices.

           

            And on that note, let’s go back to words previously written; “the hypothetical x-factor.” A food shortage is only one problem (x-factor) facing the region and the world. The reason all eyes are on Egypt is because Cairo is the birthplace of the six member Arab League of States. It’s headquartered in Cairo and the main goal of the League, put simply, is to set the economic activities in the region. It also exerts the cultural, scientific, and social agenda for the Arab region.  The six original members were: Egypt, Iraq, Jordan, Lebanon, Saudi Arabia and Syria.  ME thinks Iraq has been forced into “freedom” --it Happens! And the other four (Member Nations) are truly worried about “which one of these is doing his own thing.”

            Overwhelming, in the scheme of history, another ponderance (made up word) to consider is a fact I’ve created that the Arab League is partly responsible for me being able to see some of my favorite shows on the History Channel.  I have to watch when the Discovery &/or History Channel features famous Egyptian Archeologist, Zahi Hawas, go off on a bunch wimpy interns who are afraid to walk up a narrow hallway into a dark tomb that used to house a 4,000 year old mummy!!!  WE need this to go well for Egypt!!!  After all, a free and open society is the key to planning a dig to find out what is under the Sphinx’s paw. And what about the Great Pyramid where they found a small door made out of marble that has a handle on the door and reads, “Opener of the way.”  Hawas has now been named Supreme Councilor of Antiquities and if all goes well, he might actually let a robot go in to see what lies behind the door---   Dude!-  that would be Sacred-Awesome!

To summarize (or something)…

We all have the “right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.” We can’t say with any certainty what makes people “happy.” Some spend their whole lives “searching” for happiness only to be let down at the end by unfulfilled accomplishments – (sorry ‘bout that, little double speak for ya) –

Others enjoy helping those in need, or making people laugh, or creating family memories. But does your “pursuit of happiness” ever end?  Somewhere along the way, somehow, in some other dimension, in some distant crevasse of the mind that would seem unrecognizable to most who just want to be happy; that line in our Constitution, “pursuit of happiness,” seems to have morphed into a new idea. It seems to have been hijacked! That original idea has now become the “Pursuit of Stuff”- ONLY to replace that “Stuff” with the “Stuff” you just bought a week ago. Our own Supreme Court has declared a Corporation (Corporate ENTITY) as a person… not going there now… maybe later…

Anyway, peace out and henceforth may we all talk about the scary things. Don’t worry; we will encounter more social and economic evils and problems stemming from environmental issues that have been ignored for years in favor of short term gains. Let’s all put our collective brains in motion and find solutions to life’s toughest problems. And let’s lend our support to the Egyptians who are dealing with tough times, tough issues, and even more importantly questions about the nation’s future.

I'm on your side
When times get rough
And friends just can't be found
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down

Simon And Garfunkel

Footnote: Latest reports from Cairo (State TV) around 1,000 wounded and 5 dead-

High Noon Central time, U.S.-Feb. 3, 2011

A Dog Named Dean in the Eye of the Storm

           It’s the last day of January 2011 and the news media/ weather service is expecting an exceedingly large snow & ice storm to pummel the Midwest. According to reports about 100 million people could be affected in the next couple of days. I truly hope people are prepared. SO, here’s some advice: check the mood of your pet to see if your area will be affected- seriously! This is a true story about an unexpected storm where people had no preparation time, but one dog took action.

            The worst of the storm hit the small town of Jarrell, Texas in the spring of 1997. I was working in south Austin as a glorified secretary. I mean no disrespect to secretaries or their profession.  I was literally a “GLORIFIED” secretary. My boss, Kathy, loved me! The owner was also genuinely fond of me as he would ask, “You holding down the front desk area?”  In fact, he always asked if I wanted to go golfing with him and his friends after lunch. 

            The only problem with going golfing in the middle of the week is the fact that a big part of my job; I’m sorry, the main part of my job was answering the phone. That’s hard to do from a golf cart. It’s even more difficult to transfer calls. So it became a “running gag” every morning for the owner, John, to ask me if I wanted to get in a round of golf after lunch.  For some reason I would always chuckle to myself every afternoon about 2pm (during the slowest part of the day).

            John was one of the greatest bosses I’ve ever had and his daughter, Kathy, was also a delight. Even though it was a family run business, they were bringing in some BIG cash!  It’s a rule that everything has to be bigger in Texas, and even though it was considered a small business, the full name of my workplace was six words. I’ll not go into any further detail.

            But as I was saying, since things have to be bigger in Texas, that also includes “dangerous weather patterns.” I say “weather patterns” in case any meteorologists read this.  To the average person that’s just the fancy way of saying “a big ol’ storm” is probably going to be blowing through here so you better take cover. 

            When we heard the radio reports that day, we all stepped outside to take a gander. I worked in south Austin and it was shocking to look up to the north.  We were introduced to 30 mile an hour winds and an ominous black sky that gurgled with what sounded like a well orchestrated disdain for all human life. “Mother Nature” was north of our building, and she sounded frustrated while spewing advice that shook the asphalt under my feet. In a low voice I think she asked us to “move.”  I understood that I had no leverage over her intentions.

            To me, taking cover meant getting in my car and driving east toward Houston.  But my boss, John, in a smooth Texas drawl laughed at my intentions. He said he had lived in Austin all his life and had never even seen a tornado.  I’m not sure if he was just trying to settle my nerves or if he was telling the truth, but I had a tough decision to make. I trusted John, but should I ride out the storm in that big metal building, or should I get in my car and head east out of the darkness.

            That’s the preface to the story, but here’s the meat! The fact is I was “house sitting” for my brother that week.  He lived in north Austin where wind damage and power outages had been reported.  In no way was I worried about my brother’s house.  I was, however, worried about his dog.

            So, what do I do? Do I take a chance with my life and try to save this beautiful white dog or do I just leave him in the back yard and hope for the best.  Pets and especially dogs will make a person do stupid things. But the few dogs I had growing up did, literally, save my life on more than one occasion.

            There was a German Sheppard named Angel who almost overdosed on snake venom after a powerful strike to the front of her neck.  My ankle might have been the intended target of the copperhead’s assault. I was inches away from taking the hit myself when Angel pushed me aside to grab the snake.  She killed the venomous creature but suffered a seriously infected wound.  Angel was overwhelmed for days, but she finally pulled through. I was a careless kid who didn’t notice the camouflaged reptile meandering beneath the fall leaves.

            And, there was the time I was three years old and Angel’s pal Solomon, saved the day. Solomon was a big white extremely protective German Sheppard.  I don’t remember the experience but according to all accounts, as the story goes, Solomon pulled me from the road to the ditch just seconds before a car went flying past our house.

            For some reason, I’ve always been fond of large dogs.

            So that brings me back to my dilemma in Austin. Should I face my fear of tornados and make that drive north to check on the dog?  Should I listen to my boss who tells me not to take a chance just to save a dog?

            The weather reports are dismal and disturbing. The traffic reports are horrendous. Emergency management is warning drivers to stay off the road.  There is flooding, power lines down, and of course smaller tornados spawned by the F-5 twister that has leveled Jarrell, Texas.  The television stations are off the air and the few radio stations broadcasting these horrific events are mentioning roads and landmarks near my brother’s house. 

            I have no choice but to drive up there and check on the dog. I’m not going to let him get hurt or killed because he is trapped in the back yard where ten foot wooden fences have him hemmed in; he’s basically caged with no protection from flying debris.

            I don’t get six miles up the highway before spotting fire trucks and downed power lines. The electric lines adorn the road lighting the way for emergency personnel as they yell and point at me to drive toward some mall parking lot.  I give them a “thumbs up” and proceed to go behind the parking lot to hit the side roads I know so well.  The road has large tree branches and various bits of debris flying about.  I have the only car on the road, but I spot one that apparently tried to park upside down on a tree.

            Somehow I’m able to make it up to the west end of  “Aloe Vera Lane”- NOT KIDDING…  That was the name of the road.  For some reason the jittery street sign made me laugh. I began thinking to myself; ‘if a big old branch comes flying through the window, I’m going to need a lot more than Aloe Vera.’

            I come in the back way to bro’s house when I hear what sounds like an explosion. I can see items flying through the air and then I see where the explosion has occurred. A transformer right up the street is smoking and my guess is, “fried.”

            I whip the car in the driveway crashing over branches and limbs on the concrete. I jump out and into the wind and head straight to the front door.  There is a large tree branch on top of my brother’s house, but inside things seem fine. I run to the back door and slide it open to find chairs and kids’ toys scattered about around the back yard. But there is no dog.

            I run back out the front door to the neighbor’s house on the left but they’re gone. Then I run over to the house to the right.  After banging on the door, the owner lets me in and says, “Are you looking for your dog?”

            My heart sinks because I feel he’s going to be the bearer of bad news.

            I sigh and say, “Yeah, I don’t suppose you’ve seen him, have you?”

            Then he laughs and says, “You’re not going to believe this.”

            He proceeds to tell me that as the storms begin, he hears the dog barking and he tries to open the gate to the fence. It is either locked or jammed.  The wind picks up, and he has no choice but to skirt back to his house.  The next thing is barking at his back door. And there he is… a big white dog scratching away.  He lets the drenched creature in and the dog runs directly to the bathroom.  The dog jumps in the tub and stays put just like one is supposed to during a tornado warning.

            We both inspected the fence once the weather cleared a bit, and there were no holes and no apparent way for the dog to climb the ten foot fence.  Just like Dorothy in the “Wizard of Oz,” Dean made it to a magical place where he was safe from the winds. Oh Yeah, “Dean” was the name of the dog and he went on to live long; finishing his life in Alaska. Dean was named after Coach Dean Smith, best known for his successful 36-year coaching tenure at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill.  For a time, Coach Smith was the NCAA Division I men's basketball record-holder with 879 wins. I still wonder how Dean (the dog) left his court in the back yard to jump a ten foot fence to safety. 

1920’s E-Z Speak (History Revelation: Before the Crash)

           It was late 1923 and “radio” didn’t seem but just a few months old, but for those who owned a radio, that box was quite a delight.  Just about every time you turned it on you’d hear the song, “Barney Google;” with the “goo goo googly eyes” bam, bam, bam. Barney Google and Snuffy Smith inspired the hit written by Billy Rose, and I’m of the notion that radio was the greatest invention ever.  I mean it was a total shockwave listening to music through a wireless setup!  I remember me and my best girl, Mary (I called her Mouse), singing along at the top of our lungs at a little “knock, knock” up in Chicago.

            I called ‘em “knock knocks,” but I guess if you were not a frequent guest like my fortunate self, you might call it a “speakeasy.”  I didn’t worry too much about a RAID; after all if your “owner-pal” had the right setup, those joints were all connected. My friend, Nic, in Chicago didn’t understand why I called them “knock knocks.” At social gatherings, he kicked into blogging mode and would even offer money for me to speak in my native tongue filled with fast talking “jargon.” And I would naturally oblige laying my accent on thick by using my best tools, resources and wit to claim my domain; via my best southern vernacular. During that era of time anybody from the Appalachian Mountains was a novelty. However, that little café was a publicly criticized operation that anybody could take a DIG at! And my hillbilly charm would have been for naught had it not been for the product I personally delivered to the “tuxedo gambinos” in the big town. 

            I didn’t much like “moon-running” all the way to Chicago but every once in a while I’d do the whole trip. I preferred taking my homemade vice on a shorter drive from the hills of Tennessee and to a flexible storage drop off unit at my cousin’s silo in Ohio.    He had an “arrangement” with only one “organization” in Cleveland. That was the smartest way to keep your teeth and nose straight (no pun intended). But I had been in the “Great War,” and I didn’t mind taking chances now and then on a bruised ego or worse… bruised, battered and broken bones.

            SO, to make a little extra cash, my “pay-pal” Nic who owned the little spindle in Chicago got a great deal on my white lightning while his lady friends would flip and/or, should I dare say, flap over me. That’s why I didn’t mind running shine way up there. I referred to that long, hard drive as my secondary storage vice and I didn’t want to lose my connection to that “Inside Intel,” if you know what I mean. Plus Nic had a cannon massive protection device that he wasn’t afraid to use. He called it his MP-360 because the thing would turn on a dime if the cops showed up and it would scatter whatever you threw in there into what northerners might call, a powerful "third party" that equals the playing field.

            Let me briefly explain why I took up moon running so you don’t think I’m a complete scoundrel. Even though the “Great War” supposedly ended in 1918, I didn’t get back from Germany until well into 1919. Upon my return from the service, I found that eking out a living in the Tennessee hill country was getting’ harder and harder.  However, by 1923, I was really “twittering” along.  I’m just poking fun with you. My friend Nic is the one who introduced me to that word (twittering) and I’ve laughed about it ever since.  He was upset one day about an article from the New York Times claiming the investigation into President Harding’s administration was “poison-tongued partisanship, pure malice, and twittering hysteria!” I’ve loved that line ever since he read it out loud. I’ve used the phrase several times in conversation just to keep things rolling and to lighten up the mood. It usually gets me a laugh out loud. Of course, I proudly extort my entire southern drawl to adjudicate “twittering hysteria” from my mischievous lips.

            It had been a couple of years since the Eighteenth Amendment and when the government prohibited someone from doing something, the first thing they wanted to do was enlighten themselves with intoxicating beverages to further understand the law!

            I actually delivered a special brew that my uncle Mac taught me how to make. Mac’s real name was Cameron McIntarsh (from the old country) but we just called him Mac. Cameron was a desk builder, but he was known in the “Good Lord’s Country” of Tennessee as one heck of a drink maker. He was an inventor and he would use a “special ether-net” allowing him to make whiskey that tasted like it had been blended for years. He called the bottle his “motherboard” and always said, “there in lies the secret” to making a great product.  We never really understood what he was saying because he was always drunk, but we respected him for his… “Him-Selflessness.”  He called it the Dublin concoction and claimed the water was actually fresh from a colorful place called E-Bay, Ireland.  Of course, we all knew where the spring water came from, but we jokingly referred to it as the I-Pond Bay of the Great Smokey Mountains.  It’s rumored he had the secret recipe written down in what we also lightheartedly called his I-Pad or “Irish Pad.”  In other words, it was somewhere in his house or the crevasses of his mind and no one would ever find it!

            The beer recipe, however, is a different story. My Pappy once told me that our beer recipe had been in the family since 486 A.D.! He said that we were distant relatives of Clovis, the King of the Franks.  After the Franks sacked Rome, they made Clovis their King in 481. According to my Pappy, Clovis had a taste for brew, but at that time in Europe, beer was despised and considered bad for you. But in 486, Clovis used Roman technology (some say it actually came from the ancient Sumerians) to cross breed a delicious wine/beer mixture. It’s a 32 bit branch process where he used a broadband so the liquid combination would flow faster through an integral pipeline fermenting the yeast fusion process at a floating point that he called a branch prediction.  This was the Pentium of the brewing progression.

            I don’t have a window into Clovis’ mind, but the procedure somehow works, and the product sold great in 1923. We enjoyed a prosperous, healthy living throughout the roaring 20’s and “The Age of Prohibition.”  Known from Cleveland to Chicago, we were “Processing Coherent Indiscretion” and so dubbed ourselves the “PCI Express.”

            Running at night by the light of the moon, I bet the law thought we had artificial intelligence.  I wish I would have been on line with something like that, but all I had was a police radio.  I was the “Irresponsible Service Provider” (or ISP) of all the whiskey the big city folks could share or ware for that matter.  Sometimes it felt like I was in a world wide web of deceit, but a man’s got to make a living.

            On one extended trip to the coast, I had to modify the trunk for extra storage space. You can’t take a chance on a surprise search be it a trunk or an engine search. When you go to the U.S.B. P. (United State’s Busiest “rum running” Port), you can’t be too careful. They definitely had some spy ware there!

            I got nervous about halfway to the port. I even thought I might have to send a cable back home to Pappy.  My machine (I call her that) started acting funny and slowing down a bit. I had sporadic popping activity in the motor (SPAM). I whipped out the toolbar and could tell it had something to do with the coasting diode random oscillating machinery (CD-ROM). After checking the random action mechanism (RAM), I found the default off switch (DOS) located under the console to be interfering with the Complementary Metal Oxide Semiconductor or “codec.”

            I stood there for a few minutes. I had a cookie and a pop; up by the edge of the highway.  I felt like just crashing the whole load.  But I brought myself back from the depths of my deepest fears and into a new dimension of thought. I had to figure out if my hunch would work. SO, I very softly took out a micro bit part from the processor and replaced one of the diodes to camouflage the micro function device into a Single In-line Memory Module (SIMM).  By then, I was stirring for a nap; yes sir!  But first I took a shortcut to my destination.  And I must say; I don’t ever want to go that slow down that super highway again!!