An Easter Requiem for Squeaky Fromme*

Spooky Action At A Distance

Charlie-mansonThere’s a savior that’s here today, and they call him — Charlie! A different savior that thinks your way, and they call him – Charlie! Kinda young, kinda now, Charlie! Kinda free, kinda wow! Charlie! The kind of savior that’s gonna stay, and he’s here now — Charlie! – Paraphrased 1970s Revlon Commercial

Since today is a day on which honoring risen Messiahs is nearly obligatory, I thought perhaps I should contribute to this theme with an homage to an oft-overlooked but still very much alive self-proclaimed Son of God: Charles Milles Manson. To his naïve and drug-addled disciples, Manson had just as much divinity as Jesus Christ himself. And much like Abraham was able to drum up sufficient enthusiasm to murder his own son in the belief that it would please his God, Charlie’s band of devout death hippies were pleased as punch to carry out the carnage at…

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Catching Up With Curmudgeon

NO-VACANCY

Geography quiz: What’s located between the cities of Santa Fe, NM and Denver, CO?

If you answered “nothing”, you are smarter than a fifth grader. Two-lane blacktop cuts through miles and miles of dirt and rocks as you dodge tumbleweeds and elk carcasses at 80 mph. A complete lack of any signs of life always makes me feel like I’m being watched, adding a touch of unfounded fear to the deafening silence.

By the time I reached Denver, I’d forgotten how to drive in traffic. From there, Boulder’s just a quick hop to the northwest, the terminus of my roughly 500 mile journey.

Jesse and I settled into our cabin in the mountains and then I drove downtown to patronize a most unusual establishment called Terrapin Care Station. This is a store where you can walk in, hand some cash to the chirpy hippie gal behind the counter and in return, she’ll hand you a container of weed. For a moment there, I thought I was falling in love with the chirpy hippie gal behind the counter until it dawned on me that I was simply falling in love with the notion of someone being so happy to supply people with marijuana. It’s a glamorous job.

There are also, if you know where to look, a few of the most endearingly odd chickens currently walking the earth. One of them pecked Jesse in the nose because he just couldn’t keep it out of their coop. They look like this:

chicken

 

I met two friends who were already friends but now they are friends in the un-virtual sense. And they are both far more wonderful and hilarious and warm and just plain awesome than their blogs would lead you to believe, and that’s saying something. So if you don’t already, I highly recommend that you give their pages a read:

Brooke:  Summoning Magic: A Gypsy’s Tale

and

Tanya:  The Incurable Dreamer

Jesse proved himself a perfect travel companion on our first ever road trip together since I sprung him from the pound.

I was offline for 4 days and as my little cabin/motel was surrounded by mountain trails and rushing creeks, I didn’t take in much TV. As a result, I didn’t find out that Charles Manson died until I arrived home yesterday, a tad too late to get on here and knock out a tribute post. A shame, really, since I’ve more than once used him as my muse in composing blog posts; it almost seems ungrateful of me to not give him a proper send-off. But life happens sometimes, even to me, so I’m afraid Charlie will have to make due with my Easter tribute that I will repost shortly.

In the meantime, here’s this:

Friday Funhouse: Brian and Stewie

Hello there. I hope that you’re feeling funky on this fantastic Friday.

Paul asked me if I’d cover the Friday Funhouse while he’s off doing his Paul thing. I happily accepted the challenge and so, without further ado, here we go!

My favorite show is Family Guy. If you’re not familiar with Family Guy, I’ll give you a quick tutorial.

There’s Peter Griffin and his wife Lois. They have three kids, Meg, Chris and Stewie (a baby who can talk with a British accent) and Brian, a talking dog who fancies himself a writer.

Stewie and Brian are best friends and they often go on adventures together. Hilarity ensues. Here’s a montage of some of their best moments.

It’ll only take 4 minutes out of your day, so what are you waiting for?

A Deity Yawns

sleeping-buddha

When I awoke this morning, it felt as though my mood was predetermined. None of us really knows how to discern from whence a mood arises, but we spend most of our time attempting to do exactly that every waking moment of our lives. After all, what is a “blog” but an open-ended dispatch of such ego-driven after-the-fact explanations? Whether our cat died or we got a promotion at work or we suffer from clinical depression or we took in a beautiful sunrise, we are constantly reporting on the events and situations we erroneously identify as the primary drivers of our current mood. But today, I feel like a pendulum at rest. I feel no dread or hope, shame or pride, anger or adoration. My emotional thermostat is set to lukewarm. This hardly seems an ideal time to publicly express myself, yet here I am typing into the ether. I wonder what I’ll say?

Knowing me, I’ll probably try to spin this dull equilibrium into some kind of self-congratulatory metaphysical gibberish. Yet I know full well that the appeal of conceptual experience occasionally and necessarily goes into a sort of remission to ensure my continued interest in this self-penned drama that I call “my life”. But even in the process of offline recharging, I am online for the sole purpose of attaching concepts to my tepid disinterest. This is when I start to wonder how life would feel without language. If we did not have the capacity to analyze our situations and run each of our experiences through the prefrontal cortex, we wouldn’t bring the questionable qualities of logic and reason to bear upon them and we would simply experience without the obscuring effects of scrutiny.

We would have no stories to tell because we would be incapable of concocting them. And perhaps we’d capitalize on this inner quietude by resuming the long lost art of spiritual evolution with perfect purity, untarnished by ego fantasies and expectations. Our blogs would disappear along with the devices upon which we compose them for the simple reason that such self-absorbed communication would be as unnecessary as it is impossible. Speechlessness is next to godliness. We are all gods who have sold out our real significance in exchange for the false comfort of analysis. Sssshhhh. Reclaim your true essence and dance silently with the world you project. For gods and goddesses, nothing is predetermined.

Alabama

roy-moore

Big wheels keep on turning.  Carry me home to see my kin.  Singing songs about the Southland.  I miss ole ‘Bamy once again and I think it’s a sin. – Lynyrd Skynyrd

Alabama continues to distinguish itself as America’s genital wart.  This week’s crescendo of angry drawls raised in defense of a disgusting caricature of a Deep South judge with a predilection for girls that are too young to understand why it’s ridiculous for a grown man to wear a cowboy hat in the course of his political duties just leaves me dumbstruck.

I’m not going to use this post to vent my frustration and disgust about this situation because countless others have already done so.  Instead, I decided that I wanted to scour the web for something — anything — positive about this puzzling backwater haven of incestuous bible-thumpers.  As I’m sure you can imagine, it was quite an exhaustive search but it was not in vain.  So in the interest of doing a little damage-control for the image of the state that “dares defend its rights”, I give you this, the most wonderful thing ever produced in The Heart of Dixie:

A Blessed Day

sky

Annually, the Catholic Church observes six Holy Days of Obligation, in addition to 52 Sundays on which practicing Catholics are obliged to attend Mass, bringing the grand total to 58 days per year on which the Pontiff-led faithful find themselves spectators to a bizarre transmogrification ceremony that culminates in a cannibalistic feeding frenzy whose main course is the flesh of their Messiah.

In stark contrast, the Church of Curmudgeon only recognizes one Holy Day of Obligation in any given calendar year and that day is today, the Solemn Feast of November 13th. Most of you are probably unaware of the significance of this holy observance and that’s okay. We’re all about forgiveness here and the only thing that matters is that you are here right now to join in this blessed celebration. All you need to do to be considered in good standing with the Church is watch this short video explaining the mystical origins of this most sacred of days:

Friday Funhouse 13: What Is Inspirado?

Charlie-brown-1-sad

Come one, come all and waste some time at The Funhouse!

The theme for today is inspiration. Over the past year, I’ve read many blog posts that seemed to be fishing for inspiration from other bloggers for good topics or graphics or ways to attract more readers to their pages. Having encountered writer’s block more than once in my 47 year history, I can sympathize with their plight but I’m afraid they’re barking up the wrong tree. You see, true inspiration comes from within and pilfering second-hand ideas may end up yielding something that has all the appeal and passion of a book report or a letter to the editor of Cigar Aficionado.

shat

 

Before I cede the floor to Jack Black and Kyle Gass for their exhaustive illustration of the search for the elusive inspirado, I must regretfully announce that the Funhouse will be closed next week as I will be leaving on a road trip next Friday morning. That is, unless Merbear74 would like to fill in for me and compose next week’s installment. Mer? Can you step in and keep the Funhouse run unbroken? It’s quite simple and I’m sure you’ll do it justice. Just type a bunch of nonsense until you’ve got a couple of paragraph’s worth of it, then finish up with some shit you ripped from YouTube. Got it? Good.

But if you still find yourself at a loss, allow the mighty motherfucking Tenacious D to virtually bludgeon you over the head with inspirado: