Futility

Another year spirals towards its end,
Mocking me, letting me know that yet again,
I've failed to leave my mark,
To make a difference
To take control and be in charge
Of this meaningless life
I continue to cling to.
Hoping the New Year arrives
And enables me to be more
Accept less
And move forward
And be in command.
Loneliness eats like a cancer,
Devouring the heart,
Clouding the mind
And possessing my soul
As I try to traverse
The mountain in front of me,
Wondering to myself,
What direction do I take?

Inexcusable

Like a knife plunged deep into my heart,
The aloofness of your attitude and the
Lack of love you have deprived me of
Only remind of not how much of a failure I was,
But
How much of a coward you truly are
Depriving those of your heart
Not only of that which is you,
But also
The lives you have allowed to abandon
Our hearts
Thru no deed of their own.
Hurt is no longer the presence
That invades my life daily,
But moreso
Anger of the ignorance you have permitted
To become the cornerstone
Of your pathetic excuse for a life.

Merry Christmas!

Historical Repetitiveness

It only took three decades
And once again
We are involved in a useless war that
Holds no promise of victory,
Yet we remain blind to the truth.

Of Note

In all manner of reason and intelligence
I find it an amazing thing
That ignorance overshadows common sense
And is acknowledged as
Acceptable behavior.

Call This An Offer Or A Request

Friendships are made and lost everyday, it's a fact of life.

Friendships are also made online everyday, some of them will last a lifetime.

I've made a lot of friends online over the past nine years since I got my first computer.

I also have met some that stand on a level that is so high it's unimaginable.

Such is the case with a young woman I met thru blogger many months ago.

Reading the entries on her site are something I look forward to each and everyday. Sometimes when I've had a rough day I have gone to her blogsite and her poetry has brought me out of my bad mood and forced me to set my sights higher.

Her writing talent continues to grow and mature at an astounding rate, and she never ceases to blow my mind with the absolutely cosmic talent she possesses. I have sat here and read many of her poems and have literally shaken my head wondering how she does it time after time. She's been blessed with a wonderful talent and I've tried to tell her that on many occasions.

She's a friend beyond words. Mere words cannot describe the closeness I have been blessed with just having known her the short time that I have. We share a love of the written word and we enjoy seeing what each other has written, time after time. Though I have never met her I can honestly tell you that I believe I could trust this young woman with any secret I have and it would never be repeated to a single soul. There aren't many people I can say that about in this world.

After reading every word she has written on her site thus far, I feel it only proper to ask my dear friend Autumn if she would consider collaborating on a poem together at sometime in the near future and when finished if she would like to post it on both of our blogsites?

What do you say, special friend?

Are you up to the challenge of working on just one poem together with me?

Hope you don't mind me putting you on the spot, Kiddo!

Reality Check

After a moment of dazzling sanity,
The war in Iraq continues.

Of Oneself

Tired, wasted, energy gone,
Such a wondrous time of the year
Hoping the pressure once again
Doesn't try and rob me of
The glorious feeling
We all come to know and love.

Giving, providing, sharing
Caring,
With each one that passes from my counter,
I send along a bit of myself
Not meaning to
But knowing that it is that part
Of me that gives and goes
And saps me year after year,
But still keeps me smiling.

Are there answers?

The numbers I see
Are always the same,
So why am I playing
This foolish damned game.
I seek with desire
The answers not revealed
My heart growing weary
Losing its shield.
The weariness of travelling
This road I'd forgotten,
Seeking for reason
In things misbegotten.
I ask for your guidance
In an effort to see
Just what it is
You have planned yet for me.
Still no answer revealed
Just like you don't care
Yet all of my heart
With you I've shared.
So what does it take
To get inside of your head
Will you talk to me now
Or wait 'til I'm dead.
I don't want solutions
I don't seek the end
But I wish for this moment
An answer you'd send.
I continue to wait
What more can I do?
I continue to wait
On the master, who's you!

Are we there yet?

Supposition

Excuses given me
Never satisfying my questions
The realm of my heart
Searching
For the fulfillment
Of a long ago
Promise.

I seek, I yearn,
I yield to the truth
That never seems to find me
And deliver unto me
The proper answer.

Patiently I await
The answer of the eons
Wondering if this play I'm in
Is following the plot
Of a darker reason,
A darker season,
And am I playing the lead?

And what does it matter?

Straight Movement Number 54

Always forward,
Always onward,
Never hesitating
The show must go on.

Never knowing,
Never caring,
Only supposing
All this really matters.

Something moves me
Something propels me
I never question
The plan held for me.

No compass to follow
No direction given
Yet I continue my journey
Hopefully winning.

Commercial

After a brief pause,
Life will continue.

Desert Journey

We travelled thru the desert,
Crystalized sand seeping down into our shoes
Creating its own tiny universe in the folds of our feet.

Moving ever forward, slowly trudging thru the entrapment
Under foot.
Traversing thru mile after heated mile
Seeking escape
Seeking new life
Casting the old one behind like an abandoned pet,
Trying not to look back, trying to forget,
Trying to metamorphosize.

Blinded by the sands as winds carry it aloft,
Driving the particles deep into our skin
Little cuts appearing, blood quickly clotting
Scars embedded
As a reminder to us forever
That we escaped
But we left behind another life
In another time
In another world
Someday to be forgotten
Forever.

The desert journey
Becomes a
Cleansing force, driving out the maddening demons of the past
Perpetuating a change
Needed,
Desired,
Sought
and manipulated.

Our heads rise as we move out of the desert
And back into a new town
A new place
A new beginning
A new origin
A swirling genesis
Of being
and of
Becoming.

Forward we move.

A Word Of Note To My Faithful Few

Just a short note to wish all of my faithful few a very Happy Thanksgiving.

You all have no idea just how much I appreciate you reading and leaving the occasional comments. They are a fuel to me that inspire me to keep on adding to this page.

The onslaught of the holiday season will indeed be taking its annual toll on me as I prepare once again to survive yet another Christmas season, but it's an annual tradition that I, do, indeed love, regardless of how frustrating it can become sometimes.

I am indeed thankful for each and everyone of you and I will do my best to continue to write as time and energy permit, and again, it is for you all, as well as for myself, that I keep this labor of love going.

God richly bless each and every one of you.

Peace!

Remembering Summer Heat, Part Eight

The dance for the sorority at Franklin College was one of our most anticipated performances we had had up to this time.

It proved to be a major disappoinment, for a lot of various reasons.

The venue itself was awesome. We were to play at the Lincoln Center in Columbus. Such a plush place Summer Heat would only play at one time. It was a multi-faceted venue, and the stage was located in an area between two large banquet rooms, almost like a huge foyer.

We set up on a stage that was a challenge. It was reminiscent of the stage at Greensburg High School. It was a wooden affair, spaces between the slats, but it was highly varnished and quite slick, if you weren't careful. Thankfully, the slickness would never be an issue. After this evening though, it would definitely need a new coat of varnish.

We arrived about ninety minutes prior to showtime and began setting up the stage. It was a challenge at first because it was the smallest stage we had performed on to date. Things were very tight on stage and each band member had limited space to perform in. However, as always, we managed to work it out in plenty of time. Denny went and visited with a gal he knew, probably the gal who had set this whole gig up, I would imagine, and the rest of us sat around and verbally visualized what it was going to be like to be playing for a "college crowd."

I guess we assumed that since we were playing for college students, they would have their heads into some really good music, the type of music Summer Heat was known for playing, and we thought they would enjoy the show immensely.

Firstly, this was thought to have been a large crowd, but in reality, there might have been eighty to a hundred people in attendance. Okay, we discussed amongst ourselves, this would be a more intimate show, and one the audience would truly enjoy.

Since this was a college dance, it started one hour later than our other shows did. We took to the stage around 9 PM, and set right off with some hard-driving rock tunes and the band sounded so together during this first set. My special effects and lighting dazzled even me, because of the location of the stage and all the windows around where we playing. Almost everyone in attendance was out on the floor dancing. This got us all fired up and we actually played about fifteen minutes past our first break, which in hindsight was probably a blessing.

Jay announced we were going to take our first break, and as we left the stage, this one dude motioned me over to a table where he was serving himself with some kind of nasty looking punch. As I approached him, I noticed he had one of the stangest looking moustaches I had ever seen, a pencil thin looking thing that didn't match his hair color at all. He was wearing a french beret and what was supposed to be an ascot wrapped around his neck. When I got to him, since HE had called ME over, he seemed more intent on impressing the two chicks he was standing with. It was when I got within three or feet of him that I discovered his moustache was drawn on.

I almost burst out laughing, but I held it in, because, he was frankly, supposed to be enjoying our band and it wouldn't be right to laugh in his pathetic looking face. "Excuse, please," he said in a very fake French accent. "Don't you think music you playing is too loud, no?" His eyebrows went up as he asked this question, and I had to check and make sure that they too, were not drawn on as well as his foolish looking moustache.

Without hesitating, I replied with a smile, "Man, if it's too loud, you're too old." That remark brought some giggles from his girlfriends and he nearly spilt his punch or whatever it was he was drinking.

"What is you playing, sir?" he again kept it up with the fake accent.

I realized at this time that I was face to face with a college loser and he was trying to make me look bad in front of these two college bimbos so he could be the cool dude.

"Well, Pierre, that's called progressive rock and roll, which I was under the impression was known well to all college students across this great nation of ours. Actually, it's quite the rage of most people with any taste, but there was survey done amongst college students in the midwest, and it was discoverd that those who spoke in fake accents usually were more into polka bands and country-western music and isn't in our bands repetoire. And by the way, the punch has made half your moustache disappear, too." With that comment out of my mouth and too late to take back, I headed back to the stage, shaking my head in disbelief.

Mike came over to the edge of stage and we sat down together and rapped for a few moments. "What a pathetic crowd of losers, man," he said. "I thought this was going to be a great dance, man, but the people don't seem to be in touch with what we're doing, Charlie."

"No, they don't, man. But we've got another hour to try and get some of them into our good graces, so let's see what we can do."

Jay, Jim and Denny soon joined us, and Denny told us that everyone was complaining we were playing too loud. He mentioned turning the volume down and everyone else immediately protested. No way in hell were we going to compromise our performance and make it into something it wasn't.

We reluctantly took to the stage for our second set, started off with Edwin Starr's "Twenty-Five Miles" and that seemed to bring out a few more smiles in the audience. We went into Spirit's "I Got A Line" and that got everyone up and dancing. A tune by Spencer Davis followed and then we did a tune by the Doors. Things looked to going better by now, so we decided to cut into "Rock Me" by Steppenwolf, which included a very lengthy instrumental along with yours truly playing the cowbell during the instrumental part. That seemed to lose a few smiles in the crowd as well as a few that were dancing, but we didn't care at that point, we just played a few more of the top 40 tunes this strange audience seemed to enjoy more than the more progressive tunes we usually played.

During our second break, our emotions were all mixed up. We had a few that seemed to enjoy us, but the bulk of those in attendance seemed determined that they weren't going to like us, no matter what. We pondered what to do, and finally, I think it was Mike, said that we had come here to play our brand of rock and roll and that's exactly what we were going to do for the last hour.

Which we did.

We played Blue Cheer, Cream, more Steppenwolf, and we started off set three with Summer Heat's own "Sounds From 46,000 BC." The crowd almost seemed unimpressed that we had actually written our own music, so we followed that with "Quicksand Mother."

People actually started leaving during that one.

So, this was what a college crowd was like, huh? That seemed to fuel the fire of the rebel in the entire band and we simply went back to playing the songs we liked to play the best, and even though the crowd seemed to be dwindling, we were having a great time. It was almost like a rehearsal for our next dance at the Community Building. We put the attitudes of the snooty crowd behind us and played what Summer Heat played best, and damnit, we were so good that last hour.

By the time the dance was over, we were lucky if there were still thirty people there, but we didn't care.

We were damned good that night and we didn't compromise ourselves that night to become something that we weren't. Surprisingly, a few people stuck around to tell us how much they enjoyed our music and that it had been one of the best dances they had attended since they had been in college.

And you know, that made that entire miserable evening worthwhile to us all.

For some reason they never asked us to play for them again, much to our delight, and to this day I've never seen that pathetic fool with the painted on moustache again. I can still see him standing there with that stunned look on his face after I gave him my smart ass answer with half his moustache running down his lips and over his chin. Damn, what a loser he was.

And damn, what a bummer that college crowd had been.

We couldn't wait to get back to our crowd at the Community Building again.

to be continued.....

A Shocking Development

I have to say I was utterly stunned yesterday by a few comments directed to me from one of my faithful few. She told me that my blog titled "The Calling" was appalling, gross and bizarre in a bad way. So, me being who I am asked her,"So you liked it, right?" Big mistake, folks!

No she didn't like it was her reply, and trust me, I'm making this as presentable as possible. I asked her what was wrong with what I had written, because frankly, I was pretty pleased with it and was going to add other installments to it. She told me it was graphic in a weird sexual way and that there was no way anyone would do the things I wrote about in that short blog. That was when I made my next mistake.

I laughed at her response.

Apparently this member of my faithful few, possibly a former member after our discussion, doesn't live in the same screwed up world that I do. She evidently never hears about people being murdered, slaughtered, raped, tortured, etc. Excuse me, but in the world I live in you hear about it all the time.

I remember back in the early to mid 60's of the brutal torture slaying of a young 16 year old girl in Indianapolis by a woman who had been given the job of watching her during the summer months while her parents toured a carnival circuit. She was beaten, burned, tatooed, sexually assaulted and made to perform degrading forms of sexual acts in front of guests in this mentally deranged woman's home. Also in her care was this young woman's sister, but she never received the mistreatment the older sister did. This went on for months and finally, after all those months of brutal and inhuman treatment, the poor girl finally succumbed, wearing a brand of the number "3" burned into her chest and the words "I'm a prostitute and proud of it" tatooed into her stomach.

That was over 40 years ago, folks, and I don't call that kind of treatment very normal, do you?

I remember the murders committed by Richard Speck, Charles Starkweather and others, and all of those senseless murders occurred back during the time frame I placed my story in.

I think the root of the matter is that I inferred in the blog that the perpetrator of the grisly murder committed the act to receive sexual gratification from it. Well, DUH! That unfortuantely is how many murders happen, and if one cannot see that, well, then I guess maybe they live in a far saner world than the one I do.

I guess a band of destitute hippies back in 1969 didn't live in a communal type setting at the Spawn Ranch out in California and didn't have a "leader" by the name of Charlie Manson and I guess they weren't driven to commit murder for Charlie to start the racial war of all wars that Charlie referred to as "Helter-Skelter." Funny, I thought I read a book about that happening by a man who was the proseucting attorney in that same case. I guess the unborn baby of Sharon Tate didn't die after his expectant mother was stabbed to death by the crazed group Charlie sent out to do his bidding. I guess those two movies I saw about that happening were the creations of some sick minded author.

Sorry, and I know this is probably going to lose me at least one of my readers, but if you truly believe sick events like the one I described in "The Calling" don't happen, you are so naive I can't begin to describe it.

We do live in a sick world, folks, and it's been sick for centuries.

The Roman times, the games in the Colosseum, those games that ended in execution style murders for the sake of sport? That isn't sick?

For those old enough to remember a movie from the late 60's or early 70's entitled "Soldier Blue", it is an eye opener. True, it's fictional, (yeah, I liked that, too!) but a similar event that the movie entailed was actually based on an actual incident that took place in Vietnam. The Calvary are the American troups in Vietnam and the Native Americans are the innocent Vietnamese. If you've never seen "Soldier Blue," you need to. Hell of a movie for its time and a fabulous performance by Candace Bergen as well.

Sometime back in the mid 70's I recall reading about a murder, a violent dismemberment murder, and it was a murder that was never solved. I can't seem to find anyone else who can remember it happening, but I always wondered why anyone would commit such an act as that.

"The Calling" was my theory for what might have happened. Yes, it's fictional, but it is based on the memory I have of that unsolved murder.

If that blog offended you, sorry about your luck.

An author can't write something to please you every time they write.

If you don't wish to read anymore because of one blog, then take your narrow minded eyes on to other pastures that treat you with all that is pretty and pleasant, because, quite honestly, you won't be reading that crap here.

I'm not trying to run my faithful few away. Trust me, there probably aren't that many of you anyhow. But I won't sugar coat my writing simply because someone finds my subject matter offensive.

And, I refuse to censor my own writings.

For those who stick with me, thanks.

For those of you who don't, thanks for the time you've given me up to this point.

For those of you who do stick around, I hope you're enjoying the ride and I hope the best parts of it are yet to come.

Peace!

The Calling

He looked down at his hands and was shocked at the amount of blood that was there. It was actually dripping from his fingertips and onto the concrete floor on which he was standing. Funny, he couldn't remember how it got there, but seeing it gave him that same feeling of excitement he always got whenever he saw the blood. It was like a reward to him for what he had just done. He concentrated harder, trying to remember again just how it was that the blood had gotten on his hands, and he felt that twinge of excitement again growing deep inside himself.

He pulled his hands up and held them right in front of his face and took in a deep breath of air, smelling the heavy coppery smell that came off his hands. He put his hands to his face, lightly rubbing them over his face, and looking down, he was instantly aware that he was standing on the concrete floor naked, nothing on, not even his shoes, and he wiped his hands down his chest and abdomen, rubbing the blood against his skin.

His hands continued down his body, leaving behind them a trail of blood, across his thighs, across his penis and scrotum, and down both legs. As he finished the trail down his body, he brought his hands back to the level of his face once again, and began licking what little bit of the blood that remained, enjoying the salty and acidic taste it left in his mouth.

As he continued to lick the blood from the back of his hands, he opened his eyes and looked around for the source of such a wondrous feast he was enjoying. Off to his left, over in the corner, hiding in the shadows from the moonlight outside that crept in through the windows since it was the only source of light in this place he was standing, he finally saw the body lying there and the dark liquid pool that surrounded it. Again, he felt that spark of excitement that lit within him, and not even aware of it, he was becoming erect from the thrill he was feeling.

He glanced around, not really sure why, because he knew there could be no one in here, otherwise he wouldn't be able to enjoy himself as he was without someone trying to stop him. He slowly walked over to the source of his feast lying in the corner, and as he began walking towards it, he felt that surge in him growing again. He knew that what was there in the corner was there for him to enjoy now, the fruits of his labors. He knew this was his reward for his adventure this evening, he was just having trouble remembering that adventure, but he wasn't concerned, because he knew when he looked at the body, he would begin to remember what he had done. It always happened this way, fragments of memories flashing in his mind, and slowly, over the course of an hour or so, he would remember the entire event, and when remembering it, he would again be rewarded with that rush of adrenaline as the memory of reliving what he had already done happened yet again.

He almost believed he enjoyed this part more than the actual event itself.

What layed on the floor before him nearly took his breath away. He had certainly been quite busy here, and what he had been doing had taken a considerable amount of time for sure. Nothing lying before him looked even remotely human other than the massive quantity of blood.

He knelt before the pile of pieces, his hands running thru them, much like he was sorting thru a culinary delicacy. His hands lightly made their way thru the pile, which amazingly was still lying pretty much together, though nothing seemed to be more than a few inches in diameter, if even that. Chunks of flesh, bone, and gristle were all that was left of whoever had been his target of the evening. It was impossible in this light to even determine what sex this person had been.

He carefully allowed himself the thrill of lying down on top of this pile, and lightly rolled around in the bloody pile of carnage. Little cries of passion escaped his throat, and it was all he could do to keep himself quiet, because the true height of his ecstacy was overwheming him. He rolled over onto his back and slid his hands again down the entire length of his body, rubbing the wet pieces of flesh deeply into his skin.

There wouldn't be much time for this enjoyment, however, because once the body parts and blood began to lose their heat, this erotic ritual would cease to be enjoyable. Even on a hot night such as this, because as his memory tended to remind him, this was mid-August, it wouldn't be long before the steamy heat of body temperature would start to drop, and the warm slickness he was both lying in and cavorting in would no longer feel acceptable to him.

During these frenzies, he no longer remembered who he was. He no longer remembered what he did to support himself, he no longer knew how old he was or even how long he had relished in this peculiar form of eroticism. Even after the kill, it took him several minutes to actually remember the kill itself and the dismemberment. And not long after this almost religious act he was embellishing in, his mind would close up and he would forget the kill, he would forget the dismemberment, and he would forget the celebration he revered in. He would forget it until the next time the urge came upon him and it all started again.

He wouldn't remember, for instance, that he had been doing this now for close to twelve years. He could not remember why he had ever started this in the beginning or what had driven him to it. He had no comprehension that he had committed thirty-seven other acts much like this one.

In his "other" life, the life he lived when he wasn't under the influence of the irresistable compulsion, he would hear the accounts on the radio, see the reports on the television and read about the occurances in the newspapers, and in that "other" life he would be appalled like the masses, hardly believing that a human being could be capable of such acts of horror.

But even the officers and agents that investigated these events would not know of their erotic nature or know that one could lie in warm human remains and become sexually aroused. They could never find evidence of any kind, other than the brutally desecrated bodies. They would find the semen that he left behind on occasion, but DNA testing wouldn't be performed, because the year these events started to occur was in the middle 1960's, and testing of this type was unheard of back then.

He was also privvy to acids, and after most of these heinous acts, he used acid to remove most traces of finger and footprints, and he always poured acid upon the bodies themselves, and although the acid never totally destroyed the bodies themselves, it made the work of law enforcement that much harder to perform.

During these acts he performed, he would be aware conciously of perfoming it until it was over, long past the killing and the dismemberment. He would remember it during his throes into ecstacy, but once the body began to lose its heat and its appeal to him, he would begin his act of cleaning up the scene, carefully packing away his tools of the trade in his gymbag he had been carrying around since graduation. Each time as his clean up was done, each time after the last of his acid had been poured and his last tool of torture was put away, his memory of the incident would begin to fade with each step he took away from whatever location he had performed it in.

He would never remember how he had met his victim or how they had gotten to where his act had occurred. He would only remember the act itself after it had been performed and he would forget about it as soon as he walked away.

Such was the gift God had blessed him with.

Such was his calling.

Being Persistent Has Finally Paid Off!

I don't know if any of my faithful few that frequent this page are familiar with DJ Dick Bartley or not, although Kingfish should be, but I've been an avid fan of his for over twenty-five years.

Dick is the DJ for an oldies show that is broadcast live every Saturday evening. Back in the 80's when I first heard him, his program was called Solid Gold Saturday Night. Then later on in the 80's the name was changed to the Rock and Roll Oldies Show. I believe around 1991 his program was changed to Rock and Roll's Greatest Hits. That name has stuck for the past fifteen years and his program is still known by that name.

Dick is a fabulous DJ and his knowledge of rock and roll is next to none. I've been listening to him faithfully for so long I feel like I've known him personally, though I assure you, I have never met him. I've spoken with him a few times on the toll free hotline he has every Saturday night, and over those years I've listened to him, he has taken and played several of my requests.

He also has an hourly contest, playing just one second of music from an oldie and taking calls from a certain caller, say for instance, the 33rd caller, and asking them to name the song and the artist. Out of his five hour program, I'm usually right about 60 to 80 percent of the time. For years I have tried in vain to get thru, only to find out I'm too early a caller or I reach the ever persistent busy signal, and when that happens I know I'm too late.

That is, until tonight!

Tonight, on his very first hourly contest, I listened to the one second clue, which was a mere four notes. My wife and I were sitting outside enjoying a fire in our firepit and the cool fall air and listening to Dick Bartley and Rock and Roll's Greatest Hits. The moment I heard the clue, my mind began searching back thru eons of music I've listened to, and in less than ten seconds, I knew the song and the artist.

I stared at the cordless phone I had brought outside, but decided it was futile as usual to call. After all, I've tried countless times over the years, and never, never, have been the right caller. I've had Dick pick up my call and tell me I was like caller thirteen and to hang up and try again, only to never be able to get thru.

My wife headed into the house to take a few things back in from our supper we had cooked over the fire, and finally, after deliberating for thirty seconds or so, I decided to make the call. Of course, I heard the busy signal on my first try, but I thought, what the hell, let's try again. I put the cordless on speakerphone and hit redial at least six more times. I thought about laying the phone down and saying to hell with it, and decided to myself to try it just one more time.

As soon as I hit the redial button and heard the numbers dial out, I heard the phone ring on the other end. I thought to myself, okay, they've got a winner, I need to hang up. After three rings I heard Dick Bartley answer the phone and say, "Rock and Roll's Greatest Hits, hold please."

A few seconds later I heard him say, "What can I do for you?"

Just knowing I was too late to be the right caller I answered him. "Well, I wanted to make a guess on the mystery oldie."

"Okay, what do you think it is?" I heard him ask me.

Nervously, not sure why he was asking me, but hoping the reason was the one I had been hoping for I replied, "Thank The Lord For The Night Time."

"And what artist?" Dick asked me.

"Neil Diamond," I answered.

Dick asked me, "Have you ever been a winner on the show before?"

"No, sir, I haven't" I replied.

"Well, you can't say that anymore, man."

I couldn't believe what he had said, and all I could think of to say was, "Outstanding!"

Again, he told me to hold, and though I was never put on hold, it was strange to hear the music on the phone he was playing and him almost constantly clearing his throat.

Hell, after twenty-five years of trying to win I had finally done the impossible, and I didn't even know what the hell I had won!

He talked to me again while the song Louie, Louie, Louie was playing and told me he needed to get my name and address. Again, he put me on standby then after a short pause came back on, took my necessary info and told me that after this song he was going to put me on the air live with him and that he was going to play that one second clip again and for me to give him the answer once again as to what the song was and who the artist was singing it. He also told me to turn my radio all the way down.

Instead of doing that, I left the radio on, stepped inside the house and left Peggy outside to listen to me on the air. Again, after what seemed like an absolutely incredibly long time, he came back on, and told the nationwide audience who he had on the phone, where I was from, and played the clue once again and asked me what the song was and who the artist was who sang it.

Being inside the house, alone, I was amazingly calm and didn't get tongue-tied or suffered a brain fart or anything, and after my conversation that went out live over the air nationwide, I went outside and asked my wife how I sounded. She told me I sounded cool and calm and not nervous at all.

It was then that I asked her what the heck it was I had won, anyhow. It wasn't that I didn't appreciate the fact that I had won a prize, it was simply that I had only wanted for one time to be able to tell the nation that I knew what the song and the artist were on Dick's mystery oldie. Hell, I had done so well and had guessed so many of them right over the years, I just wanted for one time to be recognized for my knowledge of music.

Peggy told me I had won a commemorative edition of a monorail train set from Disney World.

I know that's going to be an excellent prize when I receive it, but the prize itself wasn't as important to me as just knowing that people all over the US were listening and they heard this 54 year old dude from this little town in Indiana who knew what the first mystery oldie of the evening was.

And to think, it only took me twenty-five years to win it.....

Remembering Summer Heat, Part Seven

Practice makes perfect. I remember all my life hearing that famous quote, and while it does hold true, it can sometimes reveal changes in people as well as bring out the best in them.

Summer Heat did practice, and practice a lot. During the late 60's, there was a lot, and I do mean a veritable plethora of music out there that the band tried to keep up with and learn to play. Practices were usually very low keyed, very informal, but a lot got accomplished, that is, when everyone showed up.

Summer Heat was a very versatile band, not only playing all different kinds of current rock music, but the musicians were also quite versatile.

Denny played guitar, bass, and keyboards. He was damned good on all three.

Jay not only sang lead vocals, but he also played rhythm guitar and keyboards.

Mike played awesome lead guitar and bass. Matter of fact, Mike possessed a tremendous amount of talent on the guitar, playing what I always considered to be on a professional level.

Jim played drums, and while not the best drummer, because he had a habit of changing tempo in a song, he was still good at his craft. Unfortunately as time went by, he got to thinking he was much better than what he actually was, and it showed in his attitude. Sometimes he showed up for practices and sometimes he didn't. When he didn't, it really fouled up a lot of things. It was hard to practice without a drummer.

It was because of this that I started bringing along my friend Bill, who was not really an accomplished drummer, but he was learning, and if Jim didn't show, Bill was able to fill in and do a good job so the band could at least work on some new jams. Later on, Bill would get rewarded for his efforts to help the band out in a big way.

Jim brought his cocky attitude to the dances, too. He became beligerent at times, downright mean at others, and became aloof as to what he was supposed to be doing as the band's drummer.

I remember one night in particular, it didn't seem anyone could do anything right in Jim's eyes but Jim. He didn't want to play certain songs, he was later coming back at both breaks than the rest of the band, and he smarted off to all the guys in the band, and even told me to quit using the strobe light during certain songs because it was "throwing my timing off."

After that particular night, the band got together, drafted up an agreement detailing a policy for practice attendance and overall attitude during performances. Everyone signed the agreement, Jim quite reluctantly, and even going as far as to purposely change the spelling of both his first and last names when he signed it, but I think he got the overall picture. He knew that if he didn't comply, he would be let go from the band.

Things did get better and once again practices became fruitful and successful.

Here we were, a group of high school musicians, taking on covers by Blue Cheer, Steppenwolf, Cream, Vanilla Fudge, Edwin Starr, the Rascals, Wilson Pickett, Traffic, Jimi Hendrix Experience, Quicksilver Messenger Service, Chicago Transit Authority, The Doors, The Stones, The Beatles, The Spencer Davis Group and countless others.

We also had some original material that the band had written. One song, quite the long, drawn out yet quite heavy number entitled Quicksand Mother, which I always thought would have been a killer name for a band. Jay and I worked together to write a good rock and roller called Sounds From 46,000 BC. The tune just came out during practice one night and I improvved the words on the spot for Jay to sing, and the song became a part of every dance we played, and was always welcomed with applause or requests for "That BC Number." During the Woodstock Music and Art Festival, we would hear Country Joe and The Fish perform a number called "Rock and Soul Music," and the tune was almost note for note what we had created during a practice that we ended up calling Sounds From 46,000 BC. Talk about strange.

Rehearsals also brought about talking about what we could do next to "shock" the masses. Some of those things we did, most we didn't, but more and more everyone was giving imput as to what they wanted us to do. Denny gave me a couple of songs to play the bass on while he played keyboards, nothing complicated mind you, because I truly had no talent playing anything. Jay gave me a couple of songs to play keyboard chords on so we could provide that full sound we missed on a few songs, and of course, I also played the tambourine, the morraccas on several songs, and we introduced the sound of the cowbell on several songs including Steppenwolf's "Rock Me" and the Chamber Brothers' "The Time Has Come Today." I remember getting so into playing that cowbell that I broke more than one drumstick in the process.

Word continued to get around about that really good high school rock band from Rushville, too. We received word that a sorority from Franklin College wanted us to come play a dance they were going to have at a great location called the Lincoln Center in Columbus, Indiana. We gratefully accepted, being offered a substantial amount of money for the dance. I thought we were really going to have a great time playing for college age students.

I was going to end up being disappointed beyond words.

To be continued.....

Without Purpose

Out of the fire
The madman came
Blood on his hands
A man with no name.

A man with no purpose
'cept to reign over all
A man without conscience
His desire but to maul.

No mission to accomplish
No purpose to serve
His existence I question
Yet I dare not disturb.

He knows that I'm out here
I'm his enemy, his foe.
When he finds me, my defense,
Well, I really don't know.

The time of our meeting
Grows closer each day
And when we face each other
One of us shall pay.

But who?

The Arrival Of Autumn

My child, my child,
Run
Depart and be
Free
Let go of what you never held onto
Aim higher
Desire more
And reap the rewards of your venture.
You cannot lose
What you never had
You can't create love
In a vacuum
Where love does not reside.
Break the chains that bind you
Escape the torment you allow yourself
To endure.
Set your sights upon higher ground
And attain the greater rewards
That await you after your climb
Out of the pit of living hell
You've allowed yourself to become
A prisoner to.
A rainbow awaits you
After this storm passes
And leaves you the promise
Of better days ahead.
Free your heart
Free your mind
And allow yourself to
Live.
It's all in your hands,
It's all in your power,
You only need to be bold
And take the first step.
Onward!

Arthur Is No Friend To Me

Ink blotter, eggs splatter,
Fire ring,
Football bladder.
Accosting the acoustic,
Still wanting the electric,
But settling for whatever
Falls into these hands of mine.

Richter scale,
Humpback whale,
Fingers no longer gripping,
Faith in my music slipping.
Can't move my fingers to chord,
So pissed as these hands of mine.

Weather radar,
Telescopes
Disregarded
Horriblescopes.
The urge to play just one last time,
My hands won't listen, lost without reason.

Tomorrow things will worsen.

Time To Buy Some Cigars

Well, folks, we got the news today, and it looks like in July of next year I'll be passing out the cigars, for sure. Nicodemous, aka Nic, is indeed going to be a papa July 17th, 2007. The results of Amber's bloodwork came back today confirming that she is indeed with child!
Such super news for us to be receiving, because, as I stated in my story of Nic's Great Adventure, this was his first breeding, so he is one fertile little dickens for sure! To say that I'm a proud owner at this point in time would indeed be an understatement.
Any further developments will be published right here for all to read as they become available.
Now the long waiting period begins....

Child Molester

The skin crawls,
The heart races.
Breath coming in short gasps
The desire to depart
Becoming a fever
That burns both eyes,
Tears escaping
Casting trails down her face.

The one upon whom she bestowed
So much trust,
The one she had uttered her committment to
Countless times,
Forever embellishing the emotional
Interludes
They shared so many times together.

Unbelievably her eyes scan
The news item lying in front of her.
Her mind travelling back
Remembering those precious memories
That have yet to fade
From her mind.

She can still feel his hands upon her,
She can see the warmth in his eyes.
She can still recall the tremors in her body
That he had created as they shared
Intimate moments.

Deception,
Unknowingly a victim
Yet not like the one she has just discovered
As her unbelieving eyes
Have yet to convince her
That what she has read is true.

The words she has read,
His picture she has seen
Like countless thousands have done
Repetitively today,
The thoughts of only the perpetrator
And not of the young victim.

A stifled cry, muffled yet audible
Escaping from her lips
As the reality of this tragedy
Lies naked in print before her.

Disbelief becoming confusion,
As confusion becomes anger
And the memory of those promises
Discovering the emptiness
Of her heart.

The bastard!

Escape

Pulling inward,
Withdrawing from what is set before me.
Leaving reality behind me,
Travelling down a one way street into
Oblivion.

Sanctuary at last.

Nic's Great Adventure

As most of you know, if you've done any reading here, you know that almost two years ago my wife and I went into a joint venture with my sister and her husband and started an alpaca farm. It's been a learning experience for us all, and the alpacas are wonderful animals to be around and fill a lot of hours with pleasure taking care of them.

Recently, our second to the youngest male(my wife and I own three males) was allowed his first sexual encounter. It was an amazing thing to witness, and believe it or not, if you know nothing about alpacas, the mating ritual is actually quite a romantic encounter. It's actually amazing to watch the male and female get together for the first time, because he actually kisses her on the head, and if she so inclines to be a part of this ritual with the male, she not only kisses him back on the head, she actually lies down for him to mount her.

We then go into the actual mating itself, which is a very lengthy process, and not uncommon to go as long as 45 minutes. (Kingfish, eat your heart out!) The male has this noise he makes during the entire process, and I may possibly have the spelling wrong, but it's called orgling. And it's not quiet, either.

Anyway, Nic was not only done in a much shorter period of time, but at first, we thought maybe he might be Greek...but he finally got things done correctly, and for days afterward, he walked around with his head held high, thinking himself quite the macho man.

Five days later, we brought him and his lover back together again, and once again, you could see the excitement building in the little dickens as we brought him and Amber back together again. This time, however, she promptly turned and spit right in his face. This is taken as a sign that the female is pregnant. If indeed this is the case, then Nic has much to be proud of, since this was his very first mating. And if indeed Amber did get pregnant during this first encounter, this means we have a very fertile male and we can begin studding him out in the very near future. This is our hope, this is our dream, and this is a part of our retirement investment in the years to come.

Late last week, just to check again, my sister once again led Nic over to Amber's side of the barn and this time, she spit all over him, time after time, so we're feeling very good now that the mating has indeed been a success, although I don't think Nic was none too pleased.

The attached picture is of Nic, in the middle, with his proud owner on the right(that would be me), and our youngest male, Trevor on the left. Nic is hard to see in this picture, but I can assure you, if alpacas can smile, Nic is surely doing so in this picture.

Remembering Summer Heat, Part Six

That concert at Greensburg High will always remain in my heart as probably the very best show we ever collectively put on as a band. Yes, other shows were maybe better musically, some of the band had better nights than other members, but collectively, the first Greensburg show was no doubt our best one ever!

That show also was a catalyst of sorts that led to other out of town shows as well.

We were asked to play at a nightclub in Carthage one night. It was a Friday night show, and even though not a single member of the band was 21, we got the go ahead to perform there one Friday night. It was going to be damned good money, too. Since the crowd in attendance would be consuming alcohol, I guess the owners of the nightclub decided we could be paid a handsome sum of money for our night's work.

I don't remember the name of the club now, as the years have taken a toll on certain things I remember. I do know, however, that the place we were playing had at one time been a bowling alley. We knew we would have a large area for people to dance, and people would be eating and drinking as well, so we were really fired up at playing at an adult oriented nightclub, regardless of the fact that we had heard the place did tend to get a bit rowdy at times.

We met at Mike's Dad's law office and proceded to load Denny's Dad's van with all our equipment, which I assure you was not a quick task to do, because we did have a lot of equipment. Part of it always had to go in a couple of our cars, to boot, and we always managed to get everything loaded in a relatively reasonable amount of time.

This particular evening, we used my car as well, which didn't happen a lot, but what the hey? I felt like I was one of the band(which I've since been told by Mike that I indeed was a part of the band) so I didn't mind loading a bit of equipment in the trunk and hauling a couple of the guys in the band with me. We also took along a friend, maybe two, but one for sure that I remember. A friend of mine, Bill, who also played fairly good drums, came along with us as well. Later on, Bill's attendance with us that night would lead to bigger things for him. But that's a story for later on.

Anyway, loaded down with equipment, a couple of guys from the band, and Bill, we began motoring from Rushville to Carthage for what we were expecting to be a great night of music and fun.

We couldn't have been more wrong.

We arrived about an hour before we were to take to the stage and walked in to check the place out since we had never been there before. Upon our arrival, we got out of our respective vehicles and walked in the side entrance door to the nightclub.

Coming in from out of the bright sun to a dimly lit room with no windows took a moment to get used to. But as our eyes adjusted, we were pleased with what we saw. The stage ahead of us was carpeted and surrounded by a wooden railing with an opening off to each side to enable us to carry our equipment up and thru for setting up. The ceiling, however, was quite low, and though none of us was tall enough to ram our heads into it, it was going to have to be of some concern while the band moved around on the stage, and certain movements with the microphone and guitars was going to be limited.

There were several tables off to each side of the stage and up against the walls, leaving a vast area in front of the stage for dancing. A hallway led the way up to the front of the building, obviously to the entrance and the kitchen and bar area, and probably where a lot of the patrons would enter and pay their cover charge to get in.

A small service window was in one of the walls, apparently where one could go and order drinks once the dancing got started. We saw a couple of fellows sitting at a table, having a couple of beers, but they seemed not the least bit interested in a group of guys checking out the stage. They seemed more determined to concentrate on their drinking. We all looked at each other amongst ourselves and started asking each other what this night might hold in store for us since the crowd would be drinking alcohol while listening to us, watching us and dancing to our music and our show.

I looked around, found the electrical receptacles both on the wall and recessed into the stage floor and I began figuring out where each one of our pieces of equipment needed to be plugged in as well as where my lighting console was going to be located. We each walked around the stage and pretty much came to a mutual agreement as to where each item was to be placed. It was much easier to decide then than after we started bringing all that equipment in and then try figuring it out.

After about five minutes of discussion on the matter, Bill, Mike, Jay, Bill, Jim and myself started out to get the equipment and Denny decided to go find the manager and let him know that the entertainment for the evening had arrived.

We had probably moved in two amps and the beginning of Jim's drumset when Denny reappeared, and the look on his face wasn't a happy one. It was more of a look of shock and disbelief than anything, to be honest with you.

Jay was the first to approach him after we put our first bit of equipment on the stage. "Everything okay, man?" he asked Denny. "You don't look too happy, dude."

Denny shook his head. "No, guys, we got a hell of a problem here. The man up front says we aren't scheduled to play here tonight, that we're supposed to be here next month instead of tonight."

I would love to have been able to have see the shocked look on all our faces, especially mine, because this was a dance we had been anticipating for a couple of months since we were booked to do the show. I saw the look on Jay's and Mike's face. I didn't look at Bill, probably because I didn't think it would matter to someone who wasn't in the band, but I did look at Denny's, and we were all no doubt wearing that same shocked expression, and one that was also filled with disappointment and disbelief.

I looked at Denny, who had handled the booking, and I asked him, "Man, are you sure it was tonight we were supposed to be here?"

Denny replied,"Hell yeah, man. I've got the date circled on the calendar at home in red, and I wrote it down on the message pad right next to the phone the night this dude called us and asked us to be here. He said they have a country-western band coming in tonight, and they're getting paid union scale."

That statement signalled to me the truth of our situation. The nightclub had booked a dues paying band and they had set the date, probably the only one they had open for awhile, and this band probably catered more to the redneck crowd that would probably be here tonight. I was quite sure they would be much more accustomed to listening to Merle Haggard and Charley Pride than they would be Steppenwolf and Cream.

Me, being the ever-present rebel at times like this said,"Well, hell, they can't take the stage if they have five guys sitting in the middle of it, can they?"

Jay started smiling that sly Jay smile that I've missed so much over the years since his untimely passing a few years ago, and he asked, "You mean, just plop our asses down on the stage and refuse to move, Charlie?"

I smiled back and shook my head in an affirmative motion.

"Far out, man, and you're right, they can't do shit as long we're sitting in the way. Besides, we're all underage and if anyone touches us, they go to jail, right Mike?" I think because Mike's dad was an accomplished attorney we all considered Mike our legal adviser.

"Yeah, legally they can't touch us, man. If they do, we can have all their asses hauled of to jail by signing a warrant against them," was his reply.

So, we moved our equipment back out to the vehicles, walked back inside the club, and promptly planted our asses down in the middle of the stage. I pulled a cigarette out of my shirt pocket, lit it up, and passed one over to Jim and one to Jay. And that was how our protest began that night. A sitdown strike in an over 21 nightclub, daring anyone to interfere with us.

A few minutes passed, a few more patrons made their way in and sat down, the waitress taking their orders, and soon the alcohol was beginning to flow amongst the patrons. We all thought we were truly going to make a statement and somehow get our way by sitting down in the middle of the stage and refusing to move.

I seemed to have forgotten the one obvious thing about this protest of mine.

We were sitting in the middle of the stage, attempting to stop the evening's entertainment from setting up on the stage in a nightclub where the sign on the door clearly stated: NO ONE UNDER THE AGE OF 21 WILL BE PERMITTED TO ENTER UNDER PENALTY OF THE LAW.

We were all under the age of 21.

Gigantic whoops, here, folks!

About a half hour into our sitdown strike the manager walked in and stared at us, the look on his face clearly stating that he didn't know why we were still here, and the sneer that followed that look clearing stating without words that he was highly and profusely pissed right at this moment. He grabbed the waitress by the arm as she started past him and I could tell she was basically telling him from her body language that she had no clue as to why were still there, and even more why we were sitting in the middle of the stage where his union scale band was going to be playing in less than half an hour.

His hand pointed to us, pointed to the door and his right fist hit his right hand and made quite an audible sound, even over the blaring of the jukebox.

I believe had I been a lesser young man at the time that my bladder would have probably emptied itself right at the precise moment his fist hit his hand.

He turned back towards the front and stormed off, and this halfway attractive waitress came over to us, a bewildered and embarrassed look on her face. I could tell she didn't want to do the deed she was about to do.

She walked over to us, looking at each one of us as she spoke, and she spoke nicely, a bit ashamed, but also delivered the message her boss had given her to deliver. "Guys, I have nothing in this, so please don't be upset with me, ok? My boss told me he's not sure what it is you're up to, but I know what's going on, because he hired another band in here tonight instead of you because he told me he did. But if you don't get out of here now, and I do mean now, he's going to call the sheriff's department and have you all arrested for being in here, and he can do it because you're all under twenty-one. He told me to tell you to come back in four weeks and the whole place will be yours for the evening, with an extra fifty dollars over what he said he'd pay you to begin with. He doesn't know I told you about that you really supposed to be the band here tonight, and if he finds out I did, I'll get fired, or worse. Just pick up your stuff and go, and we'll see you here next month, ok guys?"

She didn't wait for an answer, she just took her drink tray on back towards the kitchen area, and with that, we all looked at each other and decided getting our asses thrown in jail was not worth what we were trying to pull, so we each stood up and grabbed what we had brought in with us, and made post-haste to the door and out to our vehicles. It didn't take too long to get them started and heading back towards Rushville, either.

We ended up going back to Mike's house and sat with his family in the family room and I got to listen to Savoy Brown that night for the very first time in my life, their album Blue Matter, and we talked to Mike's folks and sister about our experience that evening.

Mike's dad, Jack, looked at us and asked, "So, are you boys going back up there and play next month."

Without a moment's hesitation, and damned near in unison, we replied, "Hell, NO!"

That response got Jack's family laughing, and finally, after a few seconds, it got the rest of us laughing, too.

to be continued.....

Ann

Confusion abounds....

I'm never at a loss, normally, for what direction my life should take, but for the moment, I'm totally at a loss.

My wife's step mom died yesterday, and when she died she hated me and had held those feelings for over the past sixteen or so years, all due to a stupid misunderstanding.

The problem I'm having with this is that she hated me for reasons that were not a fault of my own...

I had told my wife on many occasions that someday this woman would leave this world hating me, and it would not be of my own doing.

I had no idea it would be this soon.

And even though it was a stupid misunderstanding, I can never get her to see my side of what happened...

And THAT is what is killing me tonight as I write this...

No, I wasn't wrong all those years ago....

But now, I'll never have the chance to make things better between us...

And that will never, ever, leave my mind....

Departation

Hatred was the fire in your blood
Anger was what kept you going.
Kind words never came from your mouth
In your world,
No one was ever right but you.
Many tried to get close to you
But the coldness of your heart
Kept so many locked out
That truly wanted to be accepted
Without any conditions
Demanded by you.
In an instant
All has changed
And the coldness and bitterness
That held you captive thoughout
Your years
Gained you nothing in the end
But the hurt you brought
Upon so many
Who only longed to gain favor
In your eyes.
And now
In a split second
All that has come to a bitter end
And you took nothing with you
From this life
But the heavy chip you carried on your shoulder.
I can only shake my head
And wonder
If any of that matters to you now
As you enter the next phase
Of your eternity?

Such a shame...

So Far, So Good

This vacation has gone pretty smoothly so far.

And while I haven't done anything remarkable, travelled any great distance or gone anywhere unforgettable, this vacation has served me well by allowing me to clear the dustbin of my brain and sweep out some of the cobwebs that have gathered there.

For three straight days I have ridden my new scooter a lot of miles and on a lot of different types of terrain. I've highway driven, county road driven, and even managed to traverse two thickly gravelled driveways. THOSE were a challenge.

I finished a book I had been reading, started another one, and generally enjoyed lying about leisurely in the afternoons because of this damnable summer heat. (Oh, yeah, that reminds me, I have another chapter of Remembering Summer Heat to try and get to this week as well.) The heat index has been well over a hundred, the heat and humidity have been pretty hellacious, so my riding and most outdoor activities have been done during the cooler morning hours.

We were able to breed our second to the youngest male alpaca this week, which was quite the experience for him, as well as for us. I would have never believed livestock breeding to be as romantic as this truly was. And now, just a few days after his first sexual encounter, young Nicodemous is quite the stud muffin, or so he thinks.

Now, as I begin the second half of my vacation(yeah, the first half flew by) my wife will now be joining me for the next five days. I've a surprise or two in store for her, just to keep things fun for her, and Friday evening, weather permitting, we're going to the local amphitheater to see the Irish band Gaelic Storm, who appeared in the movie "Titanic."

I've certainly not missed work, and while I'm not dreading going back, I can certainly say that I would much rather be away for another week, because I didn't get much done outside because of the heat, and I'm still behind on things that I hoped I would have gotten caught up this week.

Ah, well, there's always that two week vacation I have coming up in October, and that one is just a mere eight and a half weeks away.

So, come on October!

A Level Of Sanity Returning

Okay, I know, eighteen days between entries...my, how the time hasn't flown by!

Hopefully, though, things will now begin to get better.

I'm thru wearing the aircast, I'm off the narcotic pain meds, and thankfully, after a couple of really lousy weeks at work, I'm on vacation and one I'm really needing.

Things at work, let's just say they haven't been the best as of late. I won't get into any reasons right now, but let's just say that dedication and loyalty sometimes get you absolutely no where and sometimes those who try the least and do even less manage to make great strides. THAT is all I'm going to say about that!

I have a few days now to get my self back under control and sit back and see things in a different perspective. The first half of this vacation I'm taking alone, simply because my wife has decided to save vacation time and only take off the latter part of the week. This will give me some time to do a few things I need to do basically for myself.

Breaking an already sprained ankle has taken a toll not only physically on me, but mentally as well. I'm behind on a lot of things this year because of both injuries, and I hope to get a few of those things caught up this next week.

I plan on spending a lot of hours on that new motorscooter that I bought this year, and hopefully become more acquainted and aclimated to it. The possiblity still exists that just maybe I can get enough seat time on it to be able to take my skills test this year and get my motorcycle operator endorsement on my license.

My usual annual trip to the Speedway is not going to happen, as I outlined in a previous blog. I won't miss the crowd, but I will miss the chance to see the Nextel Cup drivers and I will miss seeing a friend I made at the Speedway years ago.

Hopefully, though, after this week off, I can get my mind back on track and get my karma back under control.

And just maybe I can start smiling again and really mean it.

A Decision Of Protest

I realize fully well that probably what I'm about to write about won't mean a thing to most of you who regularly read my entries, and yes, it's been a while, but thanks to the level of pain medication I've been taking, let's just say my creative side has been a bit "fogged" lately.

Back in May I wrote an entry of frustration towards the management of one of my favorite places on this earth, The Indianapolis Motor Speedway and how they handled fan comfort during the month of May during practice sessions. I not only wrote the entry, I sent it to their public relations department and heard absolutely diddly-squat back from them.

This has festered inside me the last couple of months now, and the longer time passes the angrier about it I become. To not allow fans access to seating that is undercover during inclement weather is totally inexcusable as far as I'm concerned.

Every year I take a week off from work and make the trek to the Speedway in May to relish in the excitement of opening week of practice for the Indianapolis 500. I make a minimum of three trips there that week, sometimes I make five, and while I'm there I not only enjoy myself being there and watching the track action, I also spend my money there. You would think that the Indy Racing League, being starved for fan attention would make it as convenient and comfortable for the fans as possible. As I stated in my blog back in May, this simply isn't the case.

Each year I also take time off during the month of August and attend the practice sessions and qualifying sessions for the Allstate 400 at the Brickyard featuring the Nextel Cup drivers. Again, when I go, I enjoy myself, and I spend MONEY while I'm there. It costs more for the Cup activitives, it's much more crowded, and it's only for a couple of days, but there's a tremendous crowd in attendance, totally overshadowing the open-wheel racing action in May.

This year I once again have that eventful week off for a vacation. And yes, I dearly want to go back up to Indy and watch the Cup cars practice and qualify, and I want to have my customary IMS Bloody Marys, which are the best I've ever had anywhere, and I want to savor the flavor of Crown and Coke, and I want to see a friend of mine I met up there several years ago and visit with him for the two days.

However, this year, I'm staying away out of protest from my experience back in May.

And no, IMS won't care at all that I'm not there. They won't give a hoot that I'm not sitting there with family and friends and having a great time whilst waiting for track activities. They won't miss my enjoyment and my love of auto racing, and they won't care that I'm not spending my money with them.

My friend Jim might miss seeing me this year, but I figure the people that I usually go and sit with will explain my absence to him. I know I'll miss seeing Jim, because Jim wasn't able to attend last year because of a family member's health problems.

And yes, I'm going to miss being there and I'm going to miss Jim and all the things I listed above. But I can't in good conscience go back this soon after being treated so badly and feel like I'm being fair to myself. I felt let down and almost betrayed in May, and most of you probably don't understand that feeling I'm having, but when you love the Speedway like I love the Speedway, and you consider I've been attending Speedway activitives since 1963, you might begin to understand the hurt and resentment I'm feeling.

Will I quit going back for good?

No, no way.

Will I go back next year?

Probably, but the feeling will be bit different than it has been in years past, and you can bet I'll be listening to the weather forecasts, and if there's a good chance of rain, no, I won't be attending anything that day at IMS.

The truly sad part of this whole thing is that during Brickyard activities and even the Formula One activities, the seats that are undercover are OPEN, damnit! But during the month of May, and for activities pertaining to "The Greatest Spectacle In Racing," those same stands are CLOSED unless cars are on the track.

Makes no sense to me at all.

Then again, who am I?

I do know that I am a fan of the Speedway, the Indy 500 and the Allstate 400 at the Brickyard. I know whenever I pass thru the gates on 16th Street and pass under the track and upon entering the Speedway itself, I get such a thrill when I get my glimpse of the asphalt around that famous 2 1/2 mile track.

That is a feeling that I experience each and everytime I see the Indianapolis Motor Speedway.

It's also one I won't be experiencing anymore this year, anyhow.

I truly hope by next year I feel like going back and enjoying myself there once again, and this time, I truly hope customer relations get their collective shit together and make it a more enjoyable experience for both the dedicated fans and the new fans as well.

If you attend any of the activities associated with the Brickyard 4oo this year, think of me when you do. Enjoy them for me as well, and if you see Tony George, tell him to kiss my carbuerator!

No End To The Madness

Wow, here I go again, getting off a rant, but frankly, I couldn't believe my ears today while listening to the news. Once again (shock, shock, shock) the price of crude oil has reached an all time new high, over $75 a barrel, and this time, the blame is being put on the missile launch from Korea!

Okay, so now someone please tell me, but just how much oil do we actually get from Korea? Are we seeing the price raised because of "projected" fear of just what this tremendous shortage might come to? Are we afraid that maybe the missile might start a typhoon that will send rampaging waters across the continent and into the oil fields in the Middle East? Are the oil companies afraid that their executives might be the target of such a missile launch?(Actually, that doesn't sound like such a bad idea to me, really!)

We had the typical raising of gas prices last week because of the impending holiday weekend. After all, the news jumped all over the fact that the 4th of July is the largest travelled holiday during the entire summer in the US of A! Lots of factories and businesses shut their doors during the first couple of weeks of July each year allowing their employees time off from work and a lot of those same folks travel, so it's not any wonder at all why gasoline prices jumped nearly a quarter a gallon last week.

To boot, the really worst part of the hurricane season is yet to arrive, and of course, when it does, once again the greed of the oil companies will once again take over and cast common sense aside and gasoline will once again have the price driven further up by even more "projected fear."

I love that phrase, "projected fear." It has to be one of the most flimsy excuses for true price gouging I have ever read. And trust me, folks, that's exactly what we are being exposed to daily now, good old-fashioned price gouging, which of course, is against the law, unless of course you're in the oil industry. Then all you have to do is make the statement "projected" and add a word or words to the end, you know, like fear, higher usage, possible shortage, refinery cutbacks or maybe even profit shortfall! As long as that is stated to those who are supposed to be in charge of not allowing price gouging, all is forgotten and you and me and the rest of us working class folks are going to have to cough it up each and everytime we pay at the pumps.

Earlier this spring I bought my new scooter I told you about, and I had it in my mind about all the money I was going to save this summer by riding my scooter back and forth to work. Then my freak mowing accident happened, I broke my ankle, and the scooter has sat the past 7 weeks in the garage getting dusty and pretty much nothing more.

Next Tuesday, however, the cast is supposed to be coming off, and I double damned guarantee you I'll be back on it next Wednesday and driving it back and forth to work, getting my 75 to 8o miles to the gallon. I'm fortunate in that I only have an 8 mile drive to work. I can't imagine the people who have to drive 40 to 90 miles each day to work and what they have to be paying. I used to never let my vehicle get below a half a tank before filling it up. Now it's very rare I let it go below three quarters of a tank.

As the oil companies continue to rake in these huge, never before seen profits each quarter, the American public continues to pay more and more thru the nose, and they will continue to pay thru the nose until something is finally done. However, by the time that ever, if ever, happens, the damage will be done. Our economy is going down further and further each day, people can't afford necessary things anymore because their money is being eaten up by ridiculous gasoline prices.

My sincerest hope is that if an end is ever put to this madness, that those higher ups pay dearly for the larceny they are getting away with, and I also hope the lawmakers in this great land of ours also pay by not being re-elected to office. Unfortunately, this nation's people have a tendency of forgetting about being robbed whenever election time comes around, so it's no wonder the Amercian people are getting shafted more and more each day by the big oil fat cats.

Prediction: By Labor Day of this year I bet we see gasoline prices top the $4 a gallon mark and touch the $4.49 to $4.79 range, if not higher. Then, when gasoline drops back down to around the mid $3 range, people will be conditioned into thinking they're getting a bargain again. And if you think I'm wrong, take a look at what has happened the last three years or so...gas goes up 60 cents a gallon, drops back 40 cents, and people are thrilled that it's cheaper.

Pardon my bluntness, but BULLSHIT!

Two years ago you could buy a gallon of gas for around a buck ten a gallon.

However, that was before the world ever experienced:

PROJECTED FEAR!

Hey, oil companies and Washington fat-cat lawmakers, PROJECT THIS!

Parasite Of Burden

Spreading out, like the web of a spider,
Spiralling outward into a pattern,
Symetrical,
Yet unique in its outward existence,
Probing like an arc,
Proliferating unyieldingly,
Amassing,
Splitting,
Mutating,
Growing,
Nurturing,
Spreading,
Multiplying.

Bigotry lives and breathes
Spreading like a cancerous tumor
Convuluting and devouring
A meaningless wasteland
Yet vastly overpopulated.

Diseases are wiped out,
Eradicated,
Exiled from our planet,
Yet within the bowels of those who inhabit
Grows this disease
That eventually will be the ruination
Of all we hold dear
And holy.

Thank God the infection has spared me.

35 Years Seems Like Nothing Sometimes

This past weekend, after several months of suggesting and hoping, a friend from my past and I got together for a visit, and it was the first time in 35 years we had gotten together. We not only cleared up some misunderstandings from the past, but we came to realize in just a few short hours that we had taken off where we had left off thirty five years ago.

That in itself is such an amazing thing!

Glen and I used to be very close friends, but like so many people in our lives come and go, he and I kind of went our separate ways back in 1971, each paving our own path that life has taken us down, yet always feeling that emptiness that existed in our hearts since we parted ways.

We used to share our love of music, and we each in turn, turned each other on to some really great music the other hadn't yet heard. Glen introduced me to the Boston Sound, groups like Ultimate Spinach and Beacon Street Union. I, in turn, shared my love of Vanilla Fudge with him in return.

Three nights last week I went into a marathon CD burning spree and burnt my good friend Glen 56 CD's, he in turn burnt me 29. It wasn't a contest or anything remotely close, it was just two friends burning what he thought the other one would enjoy having. I gained 29 albums, plus I regained a bridge that I thought had been burned all those years ago by some stupid misunderstanding.

Glen and I shared some great times together back in the 60's, and we shared not only our music but our philosophies as well. We were both pacifists and we both abhored the VietNam war.

One night all those years ago, back in 1967 or 68, I can't quite remember if it was fall or spring, we shared a life altering experience when the local town drunk put a bullet thru Glen's shoulder as we were driving by his home, which was dilapidated camping trailer set up in a housing addition right down the street from where I live now. Some kids had been "harrassing" the town drunk, and when we drove by that night, we must have been overly loud with our talking and our music, and the old bastard came out his camper door, shot his rifle at us, and Glen took a bullet thru the shoulder. I was convinced only that Glen was kidding me when he told me he had been shot, but after numerous shouts at me to take the wheel, I noticed the blood coming out of his shoulder and thru his shirt. I grabbed the wheel and pulled his car over, and remarkably enough, where the car stopped was the driveway where I now live. After a grand jury inquiry, it was adjudged that because of the harrassing this poor old soul had taken, he was found NOT GUILTY! Not guilty of shooting a bullet thru Glen's shoulder, not guilty of shooting at the car that was behind us that contained my sister, and the bullet that hit the car above the rear window glass, had it come down a mere six inches, would have hit her in the head!

NOT GUILTY MY ASS!

But, had it not been for what happened that night, who knows? Maybe Glen and I wouldn't have felt that compelling need to get back together and rekindle an old friendship. We both feel we were forever co-joined that night because of the experience we shared. It altered our lives and it was a moment when a friend came to the aid of another friend truly in need.

Hell, I didn't even have a driver's license when this happened, I was a year away from that blessed moment in my life, and I've often wondered what would have happened if Glen had been in that car by himself.

But he wasn't, I was there, and I'm glad it was me that took over the car and brought us to a stop and ran to the nearest house and burst in and hollered for someone to call the police.

And while the old bastard that shot him is dead now, I can't help but wonder why in the world he was let off scott free! For God's sake, he tried to kill more than one person that night! Yet, a group of his peers found him not freakin' guilty... I guess this county had a lot of violent and alcohol induced peers back then...

The truly wonderful thing of this whole blog is simply this:

A great friend of mine and I have gotten back together for what we hope will be the first of many visits together for many years to come, and hopefully as time goes by our wives can get acquainted as well and more friendship can blossom and grow between us all!

Thanks, Glen, for taking that first step in calling me, my friend. These years that have passed have seemed empty without you there.

We've got time enough now to let things take root and grow once again my friend.

Thanks, dude!

And a personal hello to a new reader of mine, Wild Bill! While we only get a chance to talk when I'm at work, dear sir, I hope you know I don't just consider you a customer, but a friend as well, and that picture you gave me of the railroad track leading off into the horizon makes me realize each time I see it that I've not that long to go before I walk out the doors at work and finally see those tracks on my own.

Glad to have you aboard, sir!

Awakening

The sun crests the horizon
Shooting beams of bright orange and yellow
Into the early morning sky,
A veritable rainbow of colors that lasts
Only a few moments
With a beauty rarely seen by many,
Yet a pattern that is repeated
Over and over again,
Day in, day out,
Making way for the many hours that will
Follow.

For those fortunate enough
To take in this overwhelming beauty,
Adrenaline pumps throughout their veins
And pulses within them a total and complete
Awakening.

Many hours from now, this same sun that creates
Such a wondrous and colorful creation,
Will begin to pass from our sight
At the end of its day long journey,
Setting forth another burst of color,
That this time recedes and allows
The darkness of the night to follow.

Again, such beautiful colors, somehow now
Subdued,
Prepare us for our traverse into the nighttime,
Again being seen in its glory only by a select few
That are permitted to behold such splendor
As yet another day comes to an end.

These colors as they fade, permeate the visions
Of those fortunate enough to behold this vision
And ease the soul from the tensions of the day
And into the restful peace and quiet
The night sky now brings upon us all.

As this beauty leaves us for yet another few hours,
It rises in another part of the world,
Again creating an awakening to those
In that part of the world
Blessed with the chance to see such beauty.

Night Air

This poem was written in the year 2000, though I don't recall the month or date. Hope you like this entry from the past!

Night Air

Gazing up at the night sky in wonder
I watched as the moon began to melt,
Its contents spilling down upon the Earth
In a tidal wave of deep blue.
All it touched began to glow
In colors I can't describe.
The stars in all their splendor glowed
With an intense light, unnatural and strong.
The ground was bathed in their light,
The waters reflecting a million million dots
Of precious light.
The night air hit me in the face,
Intoxicating me with the essence of its spendor.
An awkward moment, stumbling back,
Unsure of this moment, unable to comprehend
The changes.
Like a bolt out of the proverbial blue,
Realization struck me full force,
Answering my unasked questions.
You were nearby....

Believing In An Old Promise

A guiding star once rose in the east
Showing the way to those seeking the truth
And the promise that created the answer
Man had seeked thoughout the centuries.

Blood was shed in the past, blood continued to be shed
In that present time,
And finally blood was shed
For the salvation of all mankind.

False gods, demonic leaders of violence
Misguided masses continue even unto
This day.

The ultimate promise made,
The ultimate price paid,
Yet for so many that seek the truth
It still wasn't enough.

And mankind still follows blindly
The teachings of those whose only promise
Is the bloodshed of the innocent.

How can good be found in the greed
Of the insane, who hide and command others
To destroy and give up their own lives
As the evil ones pull the strings of their
Ignorant puppets?

The promise of the lamb has been fulfilled
Yet so few follow that promise and seek
Its comfort.

The promise of a second coming
Though not yet fulfilled,
Is a promise that only can be coming
As the word has taught us
And we have seen accomplished up until now.

The bird of peace shall come
When time is right,
The king shall sit at the throne
And only the blood of the evil shall be spilled.

And those who are misguided into believing
That it's better to reign in Hell
Than to serve in Heaven
Will truly have their eyes opened
When the final days arrive
And the followers of the word
Shall receive their just rewards.

I trust I shall be there.

Your Demented Ways

Deep down, burrowing beneath the surface
Boils a tangle of emotions,
Amassing a web that frightens one
Yet intrigues and confuses
Those who fall within its
Influence.

Discarded feelings, buried memories
Unbridled passions
Surrounded by hysteria
Yet comforted by relief.

Down within the confines of such a small space
There lies confusion
But knowledge as well.

Out of this deep and dark abyss
Terror tries to begin its reign,
Allowing common sense a brief moment
Of entanglement
And emotional release.

Broadening in spectrum
Reflecting a light sparse in its luminesence
Hiding yet seeking escape
And searching for truth.

Born out of the dark side
Wallowing in its creation
Crying out in total desperation
At wit's end.

Forgotten promises, failed relationships
Lies made in haste
Disgusting human waste.

A flame finds spark,
Kindling itself and seeking eratic fuel
In an effort to burn and seek creation
And a new birth.

Confusion abounds, mindless creations
Grope for existense
Love becomes hate
Hate becomes love
And time no longer heals the wounds
Of long ago,
The cancer has spread
Its malignancy growing out of control,
The damage done,
No cure available
As apathy grows and consumes reason.

Why do you enjoy what you yourself
Have created and developed this desire
To manufacture the pain in so many hearts?

Blindly and sadistically you move forward,
Smiling.

Indy's Fan Friendliness Addendum

Well, folks, it's been one week since I posted my blog regarding the fan friendliness, or rather, the lack of fan friendliness at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway this year, and I even took the time to send my blogpage to the IMS public relations department, who e-mailed me back and advised me that they would forward my blog to the correct people and I would receive contact from them regarding my comments.
So, one week has passed, and no one, not a soul from the greatest speedway in the world, has taken a moment to answer my complaints. So much for caring about your spectators comments and feelings.
Also, last Friday, my friend John and I did indeed attend the rained out version of Fast Friday, and upon entering and finding a Customer Service station manned by three very nice men, we asked them if they were going to open any seating that had cover over it to keep people dry while waiting for the rain to stop and the track to open. One of the men radioed his superior and his superior's answer to this question was, "We won't be opening any seating with protection from the elements unless they start putting cars out on the track."
Excuse me, but does that make any sense?
If the cars are running, it's not raining, so sitting under cover and it not raining does indeed NOT give spectators protection from the elements, unless that would be the hot sun, which sure didn't shine this year on Fast Friday. Matter of fact, it didn't shine throughout the opening weekend of qualifications, either.
So apparently, all IMS is interested in is for people to show up, pay their admission fee, and be uncomfortable, wet and cold and they have a "Who cares?" attitude when it comes to taking care of the faithful fans who follow the dying sport of open-wheeled racing.
Therefore, before I make my plans next year to take a week's vacation and attend a venue large enough to accomodate over 400,000 people, I'm going to have to ask myself the question as to whether or not I want to continue to pay money to be uncomfortable should the weather not be good. If the management of Indianapolis Motor Speedway doesn't give a hoot about the people who faithfully try and follow the sport, why should I continue to make the drive and spend my money at IMS when I could take vacation time and go somewhere else where at least management cares about the comfort of their guests.
I do have my week for Brickyard 400 already picked, and as much as I enjoy going to see the Nextel Cup cars run at the Speedway, I'm already thinking about going somewhere else and spending my money there instead.
IMS management really needs to look at THEIR attitude towards their clientle and decide what's going to put butts in the seats, because their present policy SUCKS and it doesn't make attending events at the Speedway very attractive anymore.
After last year's Formula One fiasco, you would think the Speedway would be more than willing to give more to the fans and quit taking more away from them. Personally, I know for a fact I would never, EVER attend a Formula One event held on Amercian soil, and I'm truly beginning to think twice about ever attending anything at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway ever again.
Time will tell, I guess, and should I receive an answer to my complaints I addressed in my last blog from the Speedway, I promise to share those with all of you as well.
Until then, I guess the new famous words at the most famous track in the world should be changed to "Ladies and gentlemen, start your bitching!"

Fan Friendly? Not in May...

To anyone who follows the sport of auto racing, it's no news to them that open wheeled racing has been taking a beating for years. A lot of people like to direct that blame towards Tony George, founder of the Indy Racing League. I don't think Tony was wrong with what he tried to do, because frankly, when it comes to open wheeled sanctioning bodies, the IRL has fast become the leader of the sport, at least in the United States.
Tony's original idea was an open wheeled league of inexpensive cars, American drivers, oval tracks only, and all races held within the confines of the United States. His problem was during his opening of the new league, he decided to "reserve" the top 25 positions for only those drivers who were members of the IRL, which meant rival CART drivers would only be eligible for the last 8 positions.
Without going into a long diatribe spanning the last decade, let's just say that although Tony had a great idea, he really loused things up with the top 25 Indy qualifying positions, and soon that idea was scrapped. Problem was, the damage had already been done, and rival CART decided on holding an alternate 500 mile race the same day at Michigan Speedway. Thus the war of the open wheeled sanctioning bodies began.
Now, all these years later, although the IRL is the leader as far as the two factions go, the cars are not inexpensive, there's many foreign drivers that are full time drivers in the IRL, the body decided last year to begin road course racing(BORING!) and the IRL is now racing out of the United States.
So much for offering the small town driver without much money the chance to participate in the greatest auto race in the world, huh?
Because of the friction that the open wheeled wars has caused, crowds have dwindled at most venues, CART has filed bankruptcy and is virtually a non-existent racing faction now, and one only need to travel to the Indianapolis Motor Speedway during the month of May and see the vast masses reduced to just a few die hard open wheeled fans and curiousity seekers.
I can remember over forty years ago the entire month of May was a buzz and crowds flowed into the Speedway daily. Pole day the front straightaway was packed, and race day was sold out a year in advance.
Pole day is now lucky to draw 10,000 fans, the race hasn't been sold out for the last two years and the practice day audience dwindles year after year.
One need only attend the practice sessions each year and can see part of the reason why. The Indianapolis Motor Speedway isn't very fan friendly during the month of May anymore.
If you go to any of the activities related to the Allstate 400 at the Brickyard in August, you know what kind of a crowd attends the Speedway for this major Nascar event. Although it hasn't sold out either the past couple of years, the crowds that attend the one day of practice and the one day of qualifying are massive. On those days, stand after stand is open to accomodate the fans, and you can't pass a vending stand that isn't open and selling refreshments or souvenirs.
Each year that I have attended Indy 500 sessions for the past four years, I see less and less stands open for the spectators, and vending and souvenirs stands sit empty and unopened. Four years ago I attended the entire opening week of practice, save for the first Sunday, but I was there five straight days and sat in a grandstand one stand north of the media center. The next year, that stand was closed. On fast Friday, up until last year, Grandstand E down in turn one was open. Last year it was closed.
This year, half of the section I sit in that sits in front of the medial center has been closed, and Monday, the stairways that lead up to the stands from the back were closed, meaning that if you wanted to sit up at the top, you had to climb over 30 rows of stairs leading up thru the stands without handrails. And while this may seem unimportant to most, it really bugged me this year.
Due to a careless accident on my part, I severely sprained my left ankle and tore the main ligament that runs across the bottom of the foot. It's been very slow healing, and yesterday, because of the back stairways being closed, each time I wanted to go down out of the stands whether it be for refreshments of voiding myself of refreshments, I had no choice but to go straight down the stands, and seriously, the last time I started up those stands, I didn't think my left ankle was going to make the trip. Today, I took a cane, and lo and behold, one flight of stairs had been opened up. Today, however, I got smart and used the handicapped facilities one flight down from where we were sitting.
I went online earlier this week to check out what seating is going to be available on Fast Friday, and guess what, dear friends, there are even less stands open this year than last. Last year, my friend John and I sat in our favorite seats in front of the media center on Fast Friday and were almost ran out of our seats by a group of men in their late 50's t0 early 60's who were trashing the entire area of seats by throwing not only their empty beer cans down, but they brought in big bags of peanuts and were throwing the shells down in all directions and eating fried chicken and throwing the bones down as far as four rows in front of them and to the side of them. After about an hour of this adolescent behavior from this group of grown up delinquents, John and I traversed under the track thru the tunnel and sat directly behind the flagman's stand on the top row and were treated to a grand view of the track. That was, until the mid afternoon thunderstorms came and drove us out of the stands and out of the Speedway entirely after it was decided the track could not be dried off before the track closed.
This year, however, that stand is not among those listed as being open.
Go figure.
You hear the public relations people of the IMS wondering why the crowds are dwindling away. If you attend each year like I do, it isn't hard to see why people aren't going. IMS is not fan friendly in the month of May. They close so many spectator areas, they close down refreshment areas, more and more each year, and then scratch their heads and ask"What can we do to get the people to come back like they used to?"
Trust me, I truly expect to back next year and find an even smaller area in front of the media center open to the public. I expect less seating next year open for Fast Friday. Probably less vendors will be open, too.
It's a shame that Indy can't be what it once was, and no, I don't think that will ever happen again, because the open wheeled wars took care of that and sent fans scurrying over to Nextel Cup and Nascar. But they can at least put up an effort and at least try and make more seating available that's in the shade, provide access for people who are injured or handicapped and provide better security for those of us who sit in the stands and don't wish to be the target of chicken bones that are being turned into projecticles you have to dodge just so you can sit and watch some of the sport that many of us still love to watch.
Without a fan base, IMS runs the risk of losing their faithful few. I take a vacation every year so I can attend the practice sessions, but this year it's not been fun, it's been a pain and an inconvenience. It makes me wonder how much longer I'll continue to make my annual trips to the Speedway for IRL practice.
I don't think I'll cancel my plans for next year just yet, we'll see how Fast Friday goes this year.
But, if I go back next year and less and less is open and it has become even more inconvenient, my trips to my favorite race track might come to an abrupt end.
And, if I quit going to Indy during the month of May, I just might quit going during August, too. After all, it's the same people running the facility, and if they don't care about my comfort or convenience during the month of May, then maybe those same changes in August just might come along to.
Hope someone at the IMS wakes up before it's too late and all of us have gone home, never to return.
It's a sad situation and only getting sadder as the years go by.
Funny, too, that it's the 90th running of the Indy 500 this year, too.
You think that in itself should make those in charge want to attract a larger audience.
Apparently they don't care as much as they profess to.
The Greatest Spectacle in Racing?
Maybe, but for how much longer, Indy?