Z-A Mondays: the Obscure O

Xavier moved in closer to see what was originating from the park.
In among the oaks, it turned out, were ornithologists, ogling their surroundings.

"OK", Xavier inquired, "Where is your obsession leading here?"
"We are open to anything, but offhand, we are only looking to up our overall bird count", opined Oliver, the organizer of the ornithologists.
"This group, in the past year, has added orioles, owls, ovenbirds, even ostriches, and in one case, an ochre collared piculet, to their lists."
Another called, "Don't forget the eurasian oystercatcher!"
And yet another "Oh! And that absolutely ostentatious orange beaked woodpecker!"

You could not overstate these people's awe, or their optimism in pressing on.
"Here", said Oliver, "Take a gander", handing Xavier a pair of opaque binocs.
Xavier scanned the open land and the sky overhead, stopping at one particularly ornate specimen.
"So, Oliver, what is this one?"
Oliver obliged and, once his orbs focused on the subject, let out an "Oh....my......"
The other ornithologists all trained their lenses on the object of interest, and almost in unison, nearly screamed...
"AN....OCELLATED....ANTBIRD....!!!!!!!"
"Can't be right...obviously wrong", Oliver muttered. "That species originates out of Colombia... Costa Rica..."
Another ornithologist named Oona officially recognized the find as Xavier's, noting "We shall duly note in the annals of ornithological observation that this....Xavier...., only an amateur, observed this precious ocellated antbird on this day. The bird is off-season, off-continent, and awfully far from home, yet there it is."
Lots of ooohing and awwing from the ornithologists.
Oona asked "Xavier, "Would you oblige us with your signature to evidence your original observation of the ocellated antbird?"
Xavier, writing his name in outsized letters, was overflowing with pride. But he knew he needed to move on, maybe obtain a room for the night, and outline and weigh his overall options tomorrow.

Note: Those bird types...All real, somewhere on the planet!

Z-A Monday - In the Pokey

The policeman motioned Xavier to sit in the cruiser for a pop down to the precinct quarters. Xavier wordlessly proceeded to the car, and headed downtown for processing.

He couldn't get over his plight; headed for prison. The pen. The pokey.

After processing, emptying his pockets, and a mug photo, Xavier was led to a holding cell full of, he figured, pickpockets, pimps, punks, and pranksters gone bad. He didn't even know where he'd place his "one phone call". What would be his punishment? When would he be paroled? He should have stayed a pirate!

He pondered further. How could he have prevented this? How did he fall such easy prey? Positively shouldn't have taken the plunge with these people.

Eventually, a fairly plain but yet pretty young public defender named Pam entered his cell to discuss his plight. He proclaimed his innocence; she preferred that he cop a plea. His predicament was not improving.

After a few more perplexing minutes, a jailer walked over, unlocked the padlocked door, and motioned Xavier out. Pam asked what precipitated this exit, and the policeman pointed to the front desk. "Ask Pierce, up there."

Xavier and Pam pressed Pierce for an explanation.

Pierce responded: "We're springing you. We caught the posse that pilfered that place on Quimby. They persuaded us that you were an innocent bystander. Thought they'd get preferred treatment if we pardoned you. Well, that's a pipe dream, but you're free to go."

Xavier picked up his pocket contents, penned his signature for release, and pulled open the precinct house's door.

Pam asked "Do you need a ride somewhere?" She pointed to a parked, aging Pontiac Grand Prix at the curb.

Pam seemed personable enough, but the truth was that Xavier had no place to go.

"Nah, I guess I'll just be a pedestrian."

This purported "vacation" was certainly no picnic. As he plodded on, passing a park, he noticed some people with binoculars, scanning the poplars and pines. He sauntered over to take a peek.

Weird new backyard object

We finally made the move and enlisted the help of a couple handy friends to extend our deck out over a place where the grass never grows anyway. So now we have these 4x4s sticking up at all heights, and we need to figure out the railings. But the deck is great fun; we've eaten our first two meals out there, grilled our first steaks. Enjoying it immensely, cramming in the deck time before, all too soon, the cold winds blow and we're sweeping leaves - then shoveling you-know-what - off the surface.

The Fabs Are back

Well, of course they are not, really, back. They split four decades ago! Only two still move about the face of the earth, the other two consigned to that place the Righteous Brothers call "Rock and Roll Heaven".

Every once in a while there is something to stir the soul of those of us who grew up to the tuneage (as Bucky Katt would doubtless say) of the Fab Four. Last time, it was that "Love" CD, that captured the cleverly edited soundtrack to the Cirque du Soleil show in Vegas. Before that, maybe it was the anthologies. And all along, Paul has managed to pump out some quite credible stuff. OK, even really GOOD stuff, as is the case of his last couple of records, in my humble...

But, ever since neighborhood buddies Tom and Gerald wore me down and convinced me that this was good stuff, and actually before that, when I bought my first pop music "45", "I Want to Hold Your Hand" b/w "I Saw Her Standing There", these four mop tops have been constant soundtrack among all the more transitory ones.

So now there are new remasters of the entire oeuvre. I needed a piece of this, and bought a remastered Revolver, Sgt. Pepper, and Abbey Road. I have not even had time to properly listen to these, upstairs, with my '60's vintage Dynaco speakers, but just having them is quite an elixir, another sip from the Fab Fountain of Youth.

Well, time is moving on, and at this point Paul may wish he could return to the day when he WAS 64. But, armed with these remasters, the old becomes new again as I seek out the subtle and sizeable differences in the new mixes. And for me, in my life, that's something. All I've got to do is dig it, any time at all. Listening to their music, four and a half decades after I was introduced to it, I feel fine.

The End.

Z-A Monday: Q - the quest continues

Feeling a bit queasy, and with no one in the Captain’s quarters, Xavier decided to quit the seafaring life, making his way from the ship to the quay. He didn’t have to wonder long about his next quest, as, ironically, a Nissan Quest careened around the corner and skidded to a stop right next to him, a quartet of scruffy dudes inside.

“Hey, you, wanna pick up a few quid?” came a voice from the Quest. “Dollars? Money?” Without question, Xavier was quick to land this quarry. He didn’t even quiz them about the job or its qualifications.

“I’m in!” was his response.

“Can you drive this car?”

“Of course”, he replied, a slightly quizzical look on his face.

He hopped in as they motioned him, quietly shifting into drive.

“Where to?”

The guy now riding shotgun, named Quincy, seeming to be the group’s quarterback, quelled his concern with vague talk about a construction job, but first mentioned a convenience store, “Quality Foods”, down the street, to grab some Cokes to quaff, quelling their thirst.

He parked in the Quality Foods lot, and the four got out, Quincy saying “Keep her running, we’ll be right back.” This all happened quite quickly, but Xavier was no quitter.

Three minutes later, the four rushed out of Quality Foods with a couple bags. As they reached the Quest, the quiet was breeched by a piercing alarm, and then sirens from adjacent Quimby Street. The bags were tossed in the Quest, but as the sirens drew near, the now-questionable quartet scattered into the quaint surrounding neighborhood.

Quavering a bit, Xavier shifted to reverse, looked up at the mirror, saw the officer motioning him to stop, and pondered the quantum leap – backwards - in his situation since yesterday. The queasiness had definitely returned.

weird object: Puggle Tongue

Em's little puggle had been running hard. She doesn't get to be off-leash very often, so she made the most of it. And the degree of exercise is proportional, I think, to the length of exposed tongue during the post-exercise cool-down. So here you go...

Z-A Monday: ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!

Xavier woke up to the from a fitful sleep to the sound of Reveille, the ship rolling and rocking in the swells. Then he heard the roaring. It sounded like a muffled "Arrrrrrrrrrrrgh!"
Suddenly, two ragamuffin rapscallions ran into the room.
"Arrrr, matey, we're herrrrrrrrre to rrrrrroust ye from yer slumberrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!"
"Rrrrrrrrrrrrrise and shine, swabbey!"

Xavier complied, reticently, and, rubbing his eyes, inquired as to the rough-and-tumble nature of these respective insurgents, replete with replica pirate regalia.
"Aye, swabbey, we're PI-RRRRRRRRRRRRATES! Whada ya think? Now get ye dressed in these rrrags and rrreport to the main deck!"

Again, Xavier complied, reaching the deck right away. He spied his contact from the night before, and asked: "Respectfully, sir, Pirates? Really?"
The Cap'n looked him in the eye (with his one good retina) and replied:
"Matey, yes, we're pi-rrrates, the meanest rrrascals and rrrogues who ever rrrode and rrreigned on the rrraging sea, who rrravaged those scurrrrrrr-vy rrrats, and who rrraised their rrrapiers to rrrrout those rrraunchy rrreptiles!"

Xavier reached to scratch his head, confused, staring up at the Jolly Roger flapping in the breeze. As he did, the men, in a circle, begain ranting and raving as one.

"We'll rough 'em up! We're a rag-tag team!
We're the rowdiest ruffians you've ever seen!
Pass me the rotgut; Drink ye the rum!
We'll raise the roof; We're PIRATES by gum!"

The Cap'n regarded him, finally raising his voice.
"You, Xavierrrrrrr, go rrrig the rrrope! Rrready the rudderrrrr!"
Xavier had no clue regarding this nautical babble. The men knew it, and began ribbing him.
"Ah, ye lubber, ye'll be rrrrowing us home!"
"Mate, you've crossed the Rrrubicon! There's no rrrreturn alive fer ye!!!"
The ragged men moved closer to him, sensing weakness, their rowdy reverie most unsettling.

- - - - -

Somewhere on shore, a rooster crowed. Xavier rubbed his eyes, now awake, at rapt attention. Wow, he thought, that R.E.M. sleep plays crazy tricks with reality. There was no sound; just the roll of the ship. He arose, stomach rumbling, and rambled up to an empty deck.

Relax

The Z-A installment for this week will be a little late, seeing as how both kids and the granddoggies are here and keeping us busy. We'll Resume the story shortly. Have a great laboR Day!

Weird but Cool Town: Floyd, Virginia

Floyd, virginia is a county seat and has a population of about 500. We stayed there overnight on our recent vacation in the Hotel Floyd, a highly recommended little 13-roomer recently constructed with various green components, like geothermal heating, bamboo floors. Each room has a different theme and features art from local artists. Ours had an African feel.

Hotel Floyd, outside (above) and our room (below)

So this town, out in western Virginia, a handful of miles from the Blue Ridge Parkway, is branding itself as a mountain and roots kinda music place. And it's genuine. The country store features a weekly Friday Night Jamboree. There's a used bookstore with a coffee shop overhead. A few little shoppes and boutiques. A good ol' fashioned hardware store.

Those kids are going into the general store for music lessons. It's a big thing in Floyd.
And that's the Country Store - home of the Jamboree.

And we had just missed Floydfest, an annual music festival that brings in nationally and internationally known musicians. Blues Traveller had made the 2009 edition, and a bunch of indie artists.
The guy who runs the motel said his dad, an "aging hippie" who has operated his own successful business and who decided to take on the green motel venture, was one of the town's guiding lights. He said the town is about 1/3 old hippies, 1/3 farmers, and 1/3 business people, and they all seem to get along just fine in the microcosm that is Floyd.
I was fascinated by the town. Don't know if I will ever get back there, but if I do, I want to be there on a Friday night. (I did purchase a CD of "The Music of Floyd" - as expected, heavy on the bluegrass, which is ok by me. Proceeds go to the development of a new community park.)
For more info from the Floyd Chamber of Commerce, go here.

Z-A Monday: Seafaring!

This rock star showbiz stuff was scraping the bottom, the whole "girlfriend" thing was stirring his stomach, and Xavier had to get out. He didn't get the sedan he was promised, but settled for an '02 Saturn S-Series that seemed to scoot around ok. With that, he said a sheepish goodbye to the boys in the band, stuck his sack of selected belongings on the back seat, and shot down Highway seventy-seven toward his fate, whatever it may be.

Around sunset he made it to the shore, stored the Saturn, and while shlepping around the docks he came upon a sign soliciting short-term sailors, stevedores, and other seafaring jobs. Xavier figured, heck, he could swim, he liked the sea, studied its various species in school (he fondly recalled the stingray, starfish, squid, shrimp, scallop, shad, salmon, spearfish, sharks...and he liked sushi!), and even knew a little semafore. So he marched into the shack that served as the corporate office and signed on for a week aboard the S.S. Schmidlapp, a sordid-looking, sagging, but seemingly seaworthy ship. He'd be swabbing the deck, sweeping the cabins, serving chow; whatever was needed. Salary was minimal, but just escaping was satisfying enough.

Boarding the Schmidlapp, he served up a salute as the swarthy Captain, Steve Striker, stuck out a hand to shake his, stating "we don't salute here, son; we're not in the service."

"Aye aye, sir", Xavier stated, regretting his use of stupid semi-military cliches.

"Son, it's getting dark. Go stow your gear, find a bunk in steerage and get some shut-eye." He scanned the sky. "Looks like a storm, maybe some swells. Southeaster, I s'pose. Tomorrow we'll square you away, make you a skipper, teach you a square knot, a sheep-shank to secure the ship, and go over the Schmidlapp from stem to stern. For now, hit the sack."

Xavier descended the steps to the bunks with a smug swagger. The seduction of the sea! The smell of saltwater! Scrimshaw, skulls and crossbones, scurvy dogs, the whole shot! What serendipity had brought him here? He knew he would sleep soundly...though he wasn't even sure what was stored in the ship, or who it was serving...

T is for..Toledo Botanical Gardens, Again!!!

So this is what's bloomin' (and honkin' and quackin', etc.) in August. Couldn't figure out the lone baby duck.
All of 'em were taken at the Botanical Gardens, except the grand-dog, back at Em's apartment.

Z-A: A Troublesome Triangle

Break time over, the band returned to the stage for a final set. They mixed traditional with today's sound. Some Tom Petty, trashy Twisted Sister and Tin Lizzy, a crazy Tom Waits tune, a Tammy Wynette tear-jerker, some Turtles, a twangy Randy Travis/Travis Tritt medley, some Tool, and even backup for an audience member who did a passable Tina Turner. Set over, the band took a bow, high-fived and, tension relieved, took off.

After the trauma of making it through the tunes and their tablature, Xavier threaded his way through the throng to order a tequila from the bar. While passing through the thrashing, turbulent, some tumbling, some teetering, teeming thousands (or so it seemed), Xavier spotted a solitary woman, a face in the crowd. An unforgettable face, a blast from his past, quite a throwback. Actually, quite a tease, a tantalizing thrill! He approached her with some trepidation.

"Tiffany?"
She looked up at him.
"Xavier, you were terrific."
"Thanks. What brings you...?"
"Oh, things have been...troublesome, sorta tense. I needed a night out, some tranquility, just, y'know, therapy."
This was too tempting, worth taking a shot. Was he thinking, or reacting to a tidal wave of testosterone?
"You wanna go, I don't know, get a cup of tea somewhere?"
Forget the tequila. This was "teetotaling Tiffany".
"Sure, I'd love to take you up on that."

They trekked over to her parked Toyota Tercel. She knew a place, a glorified truckstop, where they could talk over old times.
Then, the unmistakable trill of the telephone. Xavier opened it, saw the caller ID (Wendy), grimaced, and said "Ah, hi there."
"Xavier, I've been thinking about what I said. I wanted to apologize. I was way too...terse. Can we...?"
"Who's that?", Tiffany interrupted.
"Who's THAT?", Wendy asked.
"Well, isn't this thorny?" thought Xavier. A tragic triangle, a tinderbox. Any response will take its tortuous toll.
He just needed time. He felt on trial, and for now, he'd "take the fifth".
Without a word, he touched the button that terminated the call.
"Just a telemarketer", he answered Tiffany.

Z-A Monday : U

There was an uneven sound as the VW bus struggled into the parking space at the ragtag band's venue, the Monkey's Uncle Club, then an unbearable crunch as it undulated to a halt.

Vic said "Not to worry; My Uncle Uli has a beat up Chevy Uplander he'll be glad to sell for next to nothing."

Noting the urgency of his need for wheels, Xavier nodded ok. The four members of the Verdict, gear already loaded on stage, proceeded to sound check.

Xavier labored through the unscripted practice, unveiling a decent command of the fretboard, though certainly not upstaging Vince on lead. Vic gave him his single order:
"Dude, you're the utility man; don't upstage us, just let the music unfold."

They moved through a varied first set: a little UB40 reggae, an unmistakable U2 cover, an unorthodox tribute to the 80's with some Ultravox, an understated attempt at a sprawling Umphree's Magee jam, some unassuming roots-like, Uncle Tupelo stuff, an "awesome" but unpolished classic rock tribute to Vince's favorite, Uriah Heep, and then, thanks to a couple requests from the floor, a country cover of a Keith Urban tune and an uneven R&B attempt at an Usher hit. There was even a nod to Don Ho with a cover of "Tiny Bubbles", an unexplainable crowd fave, where Vince broke out his uelele.

Xavier played in an understated, unassuming way, strumming softly during unfamiliar tunes. He got by.

During the break, Xavier and his new bandmates proceeded to the bar for a quick brew.
"How'm I doing?, Xavier asked.
"Unbelievable!", Vic responded over the din of the crowd.
Vince agreed, as did Ulf, the nearly uncommunicative drummer. The four joined in some spirited "high fives" and back slaps, feeling that upbeat unity experienced among musicians, urged on by the alcohol.

Xavier heard his cell phone and lifted it to answer. The number he had seen umpteen times flashed on the screen - Wendy's number.
"Hey, Xavier, what's going on? Sounds loud."

Uncertain how to respond, uninhibited by the beer, he proceeded: "Wendy, you wouldn't believe it. I'm in a band tonight. It's unbelievable"

Wendy was unimpressed. "Unbelievable, all right. You know, at the University, you were all about your future. So you go off and...now you're doing this silly useless stuff."

"Useless? This could be unlocking my future for all I know!"

"Don't come unhinged", Xavier thought. "Don't let it get ugly".

"Well, you just took off and...I'm just kind of upset."

"I understand. And it's untrue, I'm not, like, running off and joining the circus."

"But if you keep following every crazy urge, it's just...I'm unable to..."

Xavier saw this was an uphill battle. Wendy was unwilling to understand, and the band was motioning him back to the stage.

"Look, Wendy, I've gotta go. We'll talk later."

"OK, fine, but you'd better 'find yourself'' soon or I'll have to find someone else."

Earlier Xavier had felt so "up", and now he felt nearly useless in light of his unforgiving girlfriend. Playing in the band was unforgettable, but losing Wendy would be unbearable.

Weird Object Friday: The Log on the Blog

Les Paul, a pioneer among musicians and inventors, died this past week. The picture is of "the log", his first (and the first ever) solid-body electric guitar. This "Log" was fashioned from guitar parts and a 4 by 4 fencepost.

Les Paul perfected the solid body guitar (they had formerly been hollow bodied), and then played the heck out of 'em, charting a few hits along with his wife, Mary Ford. To this day, the Gibson Les Paul is a leading guitar; my son plays a non-Gibson version of a Les Paul.

Les also came up with the whole concept of multi-tracking by using tape heads. His wife could harmonize with herself thanks to his invention. we think nothing of this today, of course, as musicians go into the studio and add all the tracks they want now, digitally. But back in the day, it was a big deal.

Just to keep things interesting, I hope there are more people out there with minds like Mr. Paul's. Rest in peace, Les, or may your peace be occasionally broken by strains sound from the product of your mind.

I did, pretty much, Charlie; Thanks for asking!

Several nights a week we watch the ABC news after or during dinner, depending on how late we're running. I'm not sure why we are brand loyal to ABC news, but it may be because of Charlie Gibson. He has an affable style. We need more affability in the world. Too many people hollering. (That's not a political comment; it's a cultural one. I have some questions about the health care tome now on the table, but I don't see the need to holler about it.)

I sort of like it when Charlie ends with his trademark "I'm Charles Gibson and I hope you had a good day." Charlie says it with such sincerity, in my view, that I feel he would not mind if I emailed him back and said, "Yeah, Charlie, I did. I had a good one", and this would actually make Charlie perk up a little bit and maybe walk with his head just a little higher.

Charlie's sign-off always makes me pause and reflect. Did I have a good day? Like most people, I suspect, on a scale of 1 (miserable) to 10 (ecstasy; utopia is achieved), most days run in that 4-6 range. Nothing great, but no huge loss, either.

Then, lately, I mix in a sub-theme from a recent sermon I heard, to the effect that we should all be expecting blessings every day. In other words, the attitude should be that good things are expected. I suppose that's called "optimism", something I need to work on. I am certain that on more than a few days the "blessings" pass me by, unannounced, unnoticed, and unappreciated. My bad.

Sometimes, if you stick to the ABC news all the way to the end, and get past the day's casualties in far-off countries, the tsunamis and earthquakes (usually in the other order), and the rest of the bad stuff, they are careful to tack on a positive human interest story at the end that helps you feel good again about the whole sordid state of affairs. Tonight, there was a feature on a guy stuck in a wheelchair who goes hiking, often pushing himself up mountains, backwards, in his wheelchair. And that guy is ecstatic about getting out there and scaling some heights. That's pretty inspiring.

On the other hand, it gets fairly depressing when you realize that you are in this glaringly obvious target demographic that actually watches network news. In other words, you are over the hill. I would reckon that about three-fourths of the advertisements supporting the network news are courtesy of pharmaceutical companies pushing pills. Pills for cholesterol, pills for blood pressure, pills to adjust attitudes, and that still-perky Sally Field pushing "Boniva" (I want a job just coming up with drug names). Yeah, the news ain't MTV.

So we end up, at the end of the news, after seeing how the day has gone for the world, after the pill pushers have tailed off, with Charlie asking us about our day, and I sit through the next few ads pondering how things have gone since the sun (and, presumably, I) rose this morning. And I have to say that, really, most days, I had a pretty good day and I am glad that someone is asking. And then, before I know it, Pat Sajac is walking out on a glittery set holding Vanna White's arm, the wheel's a-spinning, and a bunch of hyperactive contestants are hollering for "big money". I hope those contestants have a good day.