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?

A Battered Guitar Shall Lead Them

It was a beautiful Sunday morning, and a good crowd was gathering inside the confines of the Mill Valley Church of Christ. The crisp clean morning air blew into the windows allowing a nice comfortable and cool breeze to accomodate those in attendance. No need for air conditioning today, God and Mother Nature were providing natural air conditioning of their own.
Mill Valley Church of Christ was a very formal church, following a strict schedule each week, song accompaniment always provided by the church pianist, Martha Graves and the church organist Harold Marvin. The songs were always sang the same, nearly in a monotone, and the same deacons each Sunday passed the collection plate and provided the Lord's Supper to those who wished to partake of the loaf and the wine. The deacons always walked the aisles in unison, forming a line, two abreast, and marching five deep on each side as they approached the pulpit to place the collection plates on the table in front of the pulpit and to return the trays of eaten unleavened bread and empty glasses of grape juice to the same spot.
Week in, week out, the same format, the same schedule, and always, before the minister came out and delivered his sermon of the week, someone came up, presented a song or two of special music. It was generally the same people, who normally sang twice each year, about six months apart. Occassionally someone would be invited in to provide their own music, usually bringing along either their own pianist or organist, and occassionally someone would bring in an acoustic guitar and accompany themselves while they sang. Never, ever, at the end of any presentation, would their ever be any applause, only a few utterings of "Amen" from the older men in attendance. To someone who attended Mill Valley for the first time, it would no doubt appear to them an almost rude finish to a song or two of praise to the Lord. But such was the case in Mill Valley Church of Christ, and nothing, but nothing would ever change the pattern, because it was a matter of heritage.
This particular Sunday morning, at the close of the observance of the Lord's Supper, a young man rose from the audience and walked toward the stage behind the pulpit. He had long, unkempt hair, looked badly in need of a shave, and wore a pair of badly torn and worn out blue jeans with holes thoughout the legs and both knees exposed.
Cold stares from the attendees followed him as he walked up onto the stage and picked up a battered electric guitar. He cautiously placed the guitar around himself with a leather strap that simply read: "Christ died for me!" He plugged his guitar into a rather large amp, turned it on, and immediately the halls of the Mill Valley Church of Christ were filled with feedback, which the young man quickly got under control by turning himself and the guitar away from the amp.
He walked up to the microphone rather nervously, head down, barely looking out at the crowd, and announced to the congregation, "I'm going to sing for you this morning and play my guitar, and would like you to know that my accompaniement this morning is a pre-recorded tape of a background band, but I will be providing the lead guitar and my own singing. I hope this blesses your heart."
Somewhere offstage someone was in control of a CD player, which was going to play thru the church's PA system. And whoever was in charge of that music, had the volume really cranked up loud! As the music started, someone who had been around in the year 1970 would recognize the heavy strains of Frijid Pink's psychedelic version of the Animals classic hit "The House of The Rising Sun." The fuzz tone of the guitar work and the wah-wah sounds which had died out in popularity three decades earlier filled the sanctuary of the Mill Valley Church of Christ, and the young man standing on the stage went wild with his accompaniment, slamming his hand across the strings with his pick and his fingers moving expertly, sending out a driving riff of a song from so long ago, a song no one would have ever expected to hear on the Sabbath in such a strict and holy church such as this one.
As he finished his opening instrumental, he walked to the microphone, and began singing different lyrics, MUCH different lyrics...
"Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound
That saved a wretch like me...
I once was lost, but now am found, was blind
But now, I see..."
His voice, though overly driven by the volume, was breathtaking, and to hear the words of such a beautiful spiritual song being sang to such a heavy metal sounding song, was almost too much for those in attendance.
People looked at each other as the young man sang the second verse, many in disbelief, trying to envision why this young man, dressed so shabbily would be singing such a sacred song to such wicked sounding music. Such sacrilege was unforgivable, yet there was nothing anyone could do to stop him as he played the middle instrumental, again his fingers moving magically across the guitar strings. The sacred halls of the Mill Valley Christian Church sounded like the hall of a heavy metal concert, but the young man never wavered from his playing, and began singing the last verse.
"When we've, been there, 10,000 years,
Bright shining, as the sun.
There'll be no less days
To sing God's praise,
Than when we first begun."
And after a short riff, he went back to verse one and sang,
"Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound
That saved a wretch like me
I once was lost, but now am found
Was blind, but now, I see..."
He finished with a dramatic solo on the guitar, faced his amplifier and got the utmost volume and feedback that he could, and just as quickly as he started, he was finished.
He turned off his amp, took the guitar from around his neck, set it down, and headed back to his seat on the front row.
No applause, no comments of "Amen" followed.
Only utter and complete silence.
The young man never looked at the crowd, whose eyes bore deeply into him. If he had, he would have probably simply walked out the door, because those looks were looks of anger and hatred, and certainly not the looks of crowd of Christian's gathered on a Sunday morning to worship the good Lord.
As the good Revererend Paul Michaels stood and walked to the pulpit, there arose from the congregation whispers suggesting of their outrage and shock and displeasure and what they had just witnessed. Just how he was going to get their attention and calm them down he wasn't sure, he just knew he had a challenge facing him.
Revererend Michaels said a quick prayer, "Lord give me the words, YOUR words, to get me thru the next 20 minutes and to keep peace in this church."
As Revererend Michaels opened his Bible to read his opening scripture, he opened it to the wrong page, but looked down at where he had turned to in his Bible, and smiled.
The Lord works in mysterious ways, he thought, and began reading from the book of Psalms, Psalm 100.
"Make a joyful noise unto the Lord, all ye lands. Serve the Lord with gladness: come before his presence with singing. Know ye that the Lord He is God, it is He that hath made us, and not we ourselves; We are His people, and the sheep of his pasture. Enter into His gates with thanksgiving, and into his courts with praise: be thankful unto Him, and bless His name. For the Lord is good; His mercy is everlasting, and his truth endureth to all generations."
Those words seemed to have a calming effect on the entire congregation. Faces that had been twisted into anger and disbelief, now relaxed, and smiles replaced those looks of anger and resentment. Several members of the older generation in the church erupted into a chorus of "Amens." A few members even began to laugh, despite how they had felt just a few moments before Paul had read his scripture.
It began to occur to those in attendance that this young man who had just performed a very strange version of "Amazing Grace" had been singing his praises unto the same God they all worshipped, and he had done it in his own way, and it had actually been done with a great deal of talent.
Reverend Paul smiled, thanking God for the words, His words, and looked down to see how the young man was reacting to all this.
But his seat was empty.
Later on after the service, people commented about the young man, wondering who had invited him to sing and how gutsy a move that had to have been, but no one seemed to know who had asked him to sing. Even more remarkably, no one had seen the young man get up and leave, either. There were many who wanted to thank him for coming and "waking" up this congregation and setting them on the path to a more upbeat and more modern look at the way they conducted their worship services. But again, he was nowhere to be found.
All that was left behind was his much used guitar and amplifier.
No one could be found who had run the CD player offstage, and no one could find either the CD player or a CD, either.
No one had gotten his name and no one could ever remember having ever seeing the young man before that day.
However, and never telling a soul, lead Elder Dave Ritchie had noticed that the young man had scars on both hands, like something had been driven thru them, and he had a series of scars that resembled puncture wounds around his forehead. He wasn't sure anyone else had seen them, but he knew that he had.
Besides, if he told anyone, did he really think anyone would believe him?
Better to keep still than to make others in the congregation think he was losing his mind.
But he knew who had performed that day, and he knew that a miracle had indeed been performed as well.
Mill Valley Church of Christ had just been reborn.

One Year Has Passed

Hard to believe, but it's now been a year since I started this venture, and while I know it's not been one of the better things I've done in my life, it's given me some satisfaction and a bit of release to free the need in myself to sit down and write again.

A couple of weeks have passed, and for various reasons, one mainly being the great weather we've been having, I haven't sat down in here and done any serious writing. I hope to change that this weekend. I've got this great short story in mind that I've been writing in my head as I've been working and riding my new motorscooter(that's another story for another time), but I feel the urge building and the story will soon be appearing.

Thanks to all who continue to check back regularly, and rest assured, more is coming, good or bad, and special thanks to my good friend Glen who I'd lost contact with over 35 years ago.

As the song goes,
I must let the show go on!

Peace!

Moving Ahead Two Wheels At A Time

Well, once again, as we hear about "projected" fears and "projected" shortfalls and "projected" increase in the use of petroleum products, the out of control conglomeration of oil companies are once again at it, determined to drive the price of gasoline above and beyond the $3 a gallon mark in the very near future. And with no one in the White House who really cares one way or the other(after all, where does our illustrious President have HIS money invested,) no doubt we are mere weeks away from gasoline once again reaching an all time high price in the United States.

I've bitched and complained consistently now for over the past three years about how gasoline now fluctuates as much in a month as it used to in a year. Well, I was wrong, it now fluctuates more like once a week as much as it used to in an entire year or longer, and finally, after making threats to do so for the past three years, this past Saturday, I carried out a threat I've made for the past three years.

I went out and purchased a brand new motorscooter. Now I'm not talking about a little scooter that's going to putt around between 25 and 3o mph, either. I bought a brand new 150 CC scooter that is rated to travel between 55 and 60 mph, and after breaking in, I've been told some of them actually can go around 70mph with two people on board! So, this is something that not only is going to get me to and from work and keep up with traffic, but it's going to be something that I can use for trips other than just to and from work.

It's rated to get between 85 and 100 miles to the gallon, has a two gallon tank, so I have already figured that with my drive to work and back each day ONLY, I'll only have to fill up every two and a half weeks or so. That sure beats the hell out of what I'm spending now.

Now, yes, I had to go the expense of buying the scooter, putting insurance on it, buying two helmets and getting a motorcycle learner's permit, but I figure, what the hell, if George W and his group of greedy DC cohorts can't control the out of control oil industry any better than what they've actually tried to do, then I can afford a little satisfaction on my end and spend a few of my hard earned dollars and at least keep some of my money in my pocket and let the big dogs eat!

Now, there are some drawbacks, too, at least at first. Firstly, driving with a permit, you can only drive during the daylight hours.(Another hurray for daylight savings time!) You can't carry any passengers with a permit, and you have to have a helmet on. The last one knocks me out(pun intended) because I have no desire to go driving down the highway without a helmet on my head. But those drawbacks are minimal!

Later on this summer when I've become aclimated to being on two wheels again after nearly a twenty-five year absence from them, I hope to take and to pass my motorcycle operators endorsement test. Once that is accomplished, I can drive at night and carry passengers, and I think my wife and I together will enjoy going out for afternoon rides when the weather is pleasant, and I know for a fact I'm going to enjoy driving close to 200 miles on a couple of gallons of gas.

And sure, there's some apprehension on my part, because after all, I'm 54 years old and haven't driven a motorcycle in a very long time. But I've got plenty of time to learn, and considering how careful I drive my car, I don't think the learning part is going to be that big of a deal. The big deal is learning how to cope with the others on the road who don't see you or care about you.

But the papers are signed, I have the check written out, and this Saturday, with the help of my good friend Rick, I'll be making the trip to Indy to pick up my brand new scooter that I can't wait to ride.

Now, if only the weather will co-operate, because the forecast for this weekend is for cool and damp weather.

Come Monday, though, the forecast is for sunny skies and temps near 70. And if that's the case, you can be assured I'll be driving my new scooter to work for the first of many times.

Keep an eye out for me, will ya?

Remembering Summer Heat, Part 5

Like I said before, I never ever thought that as a band Summer Heat would ever top the performance we gave that night after the sectional tournament, but I would be proven wrong later on.
Summer Heat did become known locally for something different to happen each and everytime we played "The Pusher." One night I smashed an old dilapidated tape recorder, and another night, just for the sheer pleasure of making the masses wonder, we pushed an old stuffed rocking chair out onto the stage and I sat down in it with an axe in my hands. That brought the crowd around the stage again, I'm not sure if it was the audience believing I was going to trash the chair with the axe(which quite honestly, was what I originally had planned to do, but we collectively as a band decided that might be going a bit too far, especially if the axe flew out of my hands and out into the crowd) or if they just weren't really quite sure what the crazy skinny dude was going to do with the axe, but all I ended up doing was just sitting their passively in the chair and stared straight ahead and did absolutely nothing. Yes, no doubt the masses were disappointed, but this little stunt proved once again that no one could ever predict just exactly what Summer Heat might do during a three hour dance, and that was exactly what we wanted to do. And believe me, we sold the tickets to the dances, too. An older gentleman who was the overseer for the Community Building told us that no other band ever sold as many tickets as we did to our dances, regardless of the time of year we performed, and one night he told us we set an all time record for ticket sales. Now the years have taken a toll on my memory, but if I'm right, and I'm sure one of the remaining members might recall if I'm right or not, but I believe we sold a whopping 511 tickets one night, which meant we outsold our own record by nearly two hundred in attendance.
The best part of it was, our show just got better and better each time we played, and word got around about the hard rock band from Rushville with the fabulous light show and the fact that we played some damned good rock and roll. We received a request from the entertainment committee at Greensburg High School for an audition tape of a few songs so they could review us as the possible band to play their annual Valentine's Day dance.
The band got together at the Mike's dad's law office, and a friend of mine, Bill Atwood, brought along a small cassette recorder. I don't remember all the songs we recorded, but I do remember that we did record "Parchment Farm" by Blue Cheer and one of our band's original tunes, "Sounds From 46,000 BC." There was either one or two others we recorded, but these are the two I remember.
The tape was mailed, and within a week we were notified that we would indeed be the band to play the Greensburg High School Valentine's Day dance, which was either in 1969 or 1970. I'm thinking it was '69, but again, my memory isn't what it used to be.
What I do remember was that it was probably the best evening that we as a band ever performed to near perfection. It was a strange evening, an evening where everyone of us seemed to be sharing the same karma, feeling the same excitement, and the band that night was just so tight!
One thing that I did different that night was that I chose to wear this hat that I had, an old green formal dress wear hat. On that hat I had taken the last name off a buddy's army uniform, the word Hunter, and added to it in block letters written with a black magic marker, THE. So, there, on the front of this green hat were the words "THE HUNTER." Needless to say, this hat didn't come close to fitting anything in my wardrobe that I was wearing, but I had added an extra attraction.
Back in the late 60's, girls came into a fad called a "fall." A "fall" was a partial hairpiece that was added to a girls shorter hair and made her short hair appear to be much longer. I had borrowed one of these from a friend of mine, who had helped me pin it to my own existing hair. Now consider for a moment, folks, it's the late 60's and we live in a conservative county in a conservative state and we're all in high school. At that time in our history, there was a strict school policy that governed hair length, which was not allowed to be below the collar of your shirt, in your eyes, or sideburns past the bottom of your ears. Facial hair of any kind was banned as well.
Well, with this fall added to my own hair and cleverly hidden under "THE HUNTER" formal hat, I appeared to have hair half way down my back, which added a touch of wildness to at least one member of the band. The guys in the band thought it was great, a few of the parents weren't too wild about it, but after some consistent begging on not only my part but a couple of the guys in the band as well, the parents relented, the fall stayed, and Summer Heat started the drive to Greensburg in the van we borrowed from Denny's dad, who owned a water softener business, and we headed towards the city of Greensburg.
For some unknown reason that evening, Mike had brought along a beautiful acoustic guitar, all six strings in tact, and my eyes became mesmerized looking at it and imagining the damage my hands could do to that guitar given the proper chance. Mike caught me eyeing the guitar and immediately went on the defensive before I had even uttered a word about it. "Don't even think about it, Charlie. This is one of the best acoustic guitars I've ever owned."
Jay looked at Mike and laughed and said, "Come on, Mike, I'll pay you for it, or we can take it out of the band's bank account. Let Charlie have some fun tonight." Mike shook his head, but he never gave a definite no, either.
On this particular evening, in another vehicle that followed us down to Greensburg High were Denny and Jim, and Bill Atwood who had made our audition tape and our friend, who for the sake of not wanting to mention his real name for reasons I don't wish to get into here, was our mutual friend, Flip. Later on that evening, Flip would do exactly what his name said; he would actually flip out and add to the excitement of the evening.
Flip had a brought a sack along with him, which we found out after we began unloading the vehicles to set up, contained a set of plates and saucers. Pure white plates and saucers, obviously some form of cheap white china, and why the hell he had brought them along, none of us knew until later on before we started playing. One thing with Flip, he was generally a quiet and reserved individual, but when he had something to say, you definitely had no trouble hearing him. Tonight would be no exception.
As our crew pulled into the parking lot at the high school and we began to unload the equipment, Mike's dad came up to me and asked,"Charlie, don't you think the hair is a bit much tonight? You guys have a chance to come back here and play again if they really like you."
I looked at Jack, a bit taken aback, and I said,"Jack, how can one guy out of five with long hair make anyone not want to have us back if we give them a good show. Besides, I'll make you a deal. If we get asked to come back, I'll leave the wig at home, ok?"
Jack laughed and agreed with me. After all, I only represented 20 percent of who was on the stage, and all I was really going to do was run the lights, play percussion, and do my dead level best to get my hands on that acoustic guitar of Mike's. I mean, that beautiful shiny and highly polished wooden guitar with its full set of strings was begging for me to grab hold of it...
Obviously, Greensburg had had many teen dances before, but I don't think they ever had one at that time where one of the band's members had hair half way down his back because I was being rushed by lots of people wanting to talk, mostly girls wanting to talk about my hair and if it was real or not. My standard answer to them each time was asked was, "If it wasn't real you wouldn't be able to see it now, would you?"
That seemed to satisfy most of them. One brave young gal, a nice looking girl if memory serves me correctly, came up and asked me to take off my hat. I smiled at her and said, "My dear, if I reached up and took off my hat it would only prove that my arm would allow my hand to reach my head, and besides, we're busy moving this equipment inside so we can play a nice evening of music for you, so, I need to stay busy, ok?" She turned to her friend who was standing with her and told her "It has to be fake, but it sure looks real."
And as much as we all believed Flip to be the ultimate nerd who just happened to be with us that night, we were wrong. There was a young man who apparently had been assigned to helping us out. He was an Explorer Scout, decked out in full uniform, possessed a Curly Howard of the Three Stooges haircut, and was obviously not a popular student amongst the many that were that night, but he was nice, polite, and very helpful, and as big a nerd as he truly was, each one of us in the band took an instant liking to him, I think mainly because he was being given such a rough time by the locals. His name was Val. Before this night was over, Val would receive his fifteen minutes of fame as well. And the remarkable thing about Val, he made wearing nerdish black frame glasses almost look cool.
The stage setup was quite a bit different than what we had been accustomed to. The stage itself was portable, very nicely varnished wood, but it only set about 18 inches at the most off the floor, so we were just almost at eye level with the audience. The stage sat at the end of an open auditorium, and there was an area behind the stage that probably went back another twenty-feet or so and then made a right turn down a hallway filled with student lockers. But when we did our sound check, the acoustics in this room were fantastic, and the volume we would be playing at would be condensed into a smaller area than we usually played in. All in all we were all pretty satisfied with the set-up.
Flip set his sack of china over to stage left, down on the floor, along with various other empty boxes, so it was almost a forgotten thing that he had brought them in with us. Jay had convinced Mike to bring the acoustic guitar in, although Mike warned repeatedly for me NOT to smash this guitar, because it was a C.F. Martin his folks had gotten for him, and he didn't think they'd appreciate the shape I'd have it in if I got my hands on it during "The Pusher."
As we sat waiting out the end of a basketball game(seems we ran into that a lot during the school year) we got to talking to Val and realized that really, other than being so totally naive and sheltered, he really was a hell of a nice guy who just happened to be the guy that everyone picks on unmercifully. On this night, Val had at least 6 guys who were treating him with dignity and respect and actually enjoying his company, and you could tell it wasn't something he was used to.
Finally, a few more people who hadn 't attended the ballgame started milling in, and around 8PM the principal of the school told us we could start anytime, that the crowd would start milling in shortly, and we could get started and entertain the 40 or so students who were already there.
I took control of my lighting and grabbed my trusty tambourine and Summer Heat took to the stage playing their version of "Midnight Hour."
Amazingly, right away couples started out dancing and they seemed to get into the music right from the start. We played another few songs, the crowd by this time was really starting to grow, and the music was just sounding so damned good that night. Jay's voice never sounded better to me than it did that night.
Val stood down by the stage on the left, talking with Flip and with Bill while the band played and I worked the lighting and played my tambourine occasionally. By nine o' clock, it was time for our first break, and just as that break began, it seemed like a seafull of people began coming into the auditorium. It was going to be a huge crowd, and there was going to be a full dance floor of people as well as a few who would sit off to the side in chairs, but mostly everyone decided to either dance or stand.
Right before we had begun our first set at 8 PM, I had gone into the men's room and taken four hits of some really potent diet pills. Their actual medical name was methedrine, not to be confused with the poison that is circulating the streets today in its bathtub chemist form, but this was some really professionally made, high quality methedrine, and it had an unbelievable euphoric effect on me whenever I took it, and it really got me into the groove of the music and what we were doing onstage. By the time that first break was over, I was speeding like a backwoods Kentucky moonshiner outrunning revenuers. Folks, I was truly lit up! And, might I add, I was having a ball and enjoying talking to people in the crowd. Funny how a guy with hair half way down his back and only weighing about 115 pounds can draw attention like that, but like I said, this was late 60's and in the midwest you just didn't see too many longhairs at my age...
Summer Heat took back to the stage at around 9:15 or so, and the songs started cranking out. Blue Cheer, Vanilla Fudge, Otis Redding, Steppenwolf, Jimi Hendrix, The Doors, Cream...The band just kept belting out these fabulous songs one right after the other.
During the second set, Jay had given Flip the job of kicking on the vocal echo chamber, and he was doing a great job whenver Jay told him to hit it. Val had taken to sitting on the edge of the stage near Flip, and occasionally Flip would lie down on the stage and put his head inside the bass drum Jim Smiley was playing. For acoustical purposes, Jim rarely played with the front cover on the bass drum and Flip just seemed to really be into putting his head in there when he wasn't operating the echo chamber for Jay.
The band finished up a song and Jay walked over and was talking with Mike, who didn't seem very pleased about something, but finally they must have come to an agreement and Mike smiled, shook his head, and went behind the large Fender amp and brought out the C.F. Martin guitar and motioned for me to come over and take it. With a huge smile on my face, I rushed over, grabbed the guitar and took my position back over on the right side of the stage, but instead of sitting down at my light control box, I stood, holding the guitar and waiting for Jay to introduce the next song.
Jay walked over and picked up a guitar, something he didn't do very often, Denny sat down behind the keyboard after laying his bass on its stand and Mike took the lead guitar from Denny. Jay walked up to the microphone and announced our next song something like this: "We'd like to play for you now a song that has gained us quite a reputation when we perform in our hometown of Rushville, and we hope when we leave here tonight it will be the one song you won't forget that your heard Summer Heat play tonight. This is our version of "The Pusher" by Steppenwolf, written by Hoyt Axton."
I glanced out at the crowd, and amazingly the floor was full as far back as I could see. Denny began the opening chords on the organ and Mike followed with the guitar as well as Jay, and Jim started his drumming. I stood, turning halfway towards the wall on my right so no one could actually see that I had not a clue how to play a guitar. We went thru verse one and the chorus, and each time Jay screamed, "Goddamn, The Pusher" I could feel the tension in the room rising. I couldn't tell if it was the crowd, the band or just me, I just knew that I could feel the tension building and I knew that very soon this crowd of highschoolers in Greensburg as well as their principal and some of the faculty were going to see an instrumental break like no one had ever seen before at a high school Valentine's Dance.
I could feel my heart racing faster and faster as Jay sang verse two, and as he began the chorus for the second time and was practically screaming his "Goddamns," I looked over at Mike, who simply gave me a nod as if it to say, "It's cool, man, do your thing when you think it's right."
We went into the instrumental break of the song, and probably had played it for close to a minute when I knew in my heart that the time was right.
Mike's guitar solo was deafening, and as I looked over, I could see that he had placed himself facing his Fender amp, and feedback was pouring out back at him and out into the crowd. Jim was beating his drums like a red-headed stepchild and even Jay had started closing in on his amp, the feedback beginning to build from his guitar as well.
I turned and faced the crowd, some of whom had quit dancing because they couldn't believe what they were hearing, and I took the guitar from in front of me like I had on one occasion before, and I held it high above my head and stared skyward at it. The strobe light was doing its thing as I began to spin the guitar round and round, floor to ceiling, ceiling to floor, in a counterclockwise motion. After a half a dozen or so spins, which looked like slow motion in the strobe, I stopped its spinning, placed it against my right leg, and grabbed the thinnest of the strings and pulled, and immediately I knew I was already cutting my fingers. I did the same thing with each string, slowly, methodically, and with speed driven purpose.
When the last of the strings was ripped from the guitar, I glanced peripherally at the crowd, because I didn't want them to know I was looking at them, and everyone had crowded the stage, so much that you could actually see in the back of the auditorium and could actually see places where there were no longer people because they had closed in on the stage so much.
I grabbed the guitar by the neck with my right hand, added my left hand right below it and rammed it as hard as I could into the stage. The base cracked, but that was all, and there was plenty left of it for me to do. Again and again, I pummelled that guitar into the stage, and with each hit, more and more of it broke apart and turned into splinters on the stage, which quite honestly, was being gouged quite badly too. On the floor in front me, the guitar lay smashed, literally, into hundreds of pieces. The largest piece was part of the neck, which had been reduced to about two thirds of its original length. I looked out at the crowd, held my smashed and bleeding hands up in front of me, and was amazed at how the blood was freely flowing down my arms. The audience was simply standing in front of the stage, in total awe, and some of their mouths were actually dropped open. Mike was literally ramming his guitar into his amp, Jay was sliding the neck of his guitar and its strings down the side of his amp, and I hit an ultimate rush and turned and jumped off the back of the stage and went behind the wall where the lockers started.
I stared down at my hands, and it was worse than the first time. The little finger on my left hand was cut so severely, probably from that first thin string, and I could actually see the bone thru the cut. My hands and arms were covered in blood and I felt such a burning and a stinging in every finger and my hands felt as if they had been crushed. And as bad as I hurt, I still could hear the music playing off in the distance, and I knew I had to get back out there because we still had the last verse and chorus to do.
I walked slowly back to the stage, and just as I got back on stage and back to my position where I had been standing and this now splintered guitar lay, Jay was preparing to sing the last verse and he looked over at Flip and yelled, "Now!" What he meant was for Flip to hit the echo chamber button, but Flip was so caught up in what had just taken place he misinterpreted Jay's call of "Now!" and grabbed his bag of china, which he immediately began smashing against the wooden stage floor. Piece after piece of broken glass flew thru the air, and in just a short matter of moments, Flip had run out of whole dishes and began picking up the smashed pieces and began smashing them again. This was NOT what we had expected.
Finally, Jay walked over and hit the button for the echo chamber himself and finished out the last verse of the song and the chorus, and I swear, when the last chord of that song played, the crowd went into a frenzy of applause and cheering. People stood and stared, some too dumbfounded to say anything at all, but you could read the looks on the faces of the crowd. They were in total shock and had just seen the wildest damned thing a band had ever done in their little school.
Jay announced that we would be taking a short break, and we all went behind the stage and tried to regroup. Indeed, my little finger was cut clear to the bone, I had numerous deep cuts and scratches, and already my hands, palms and backside both were bruising.
Flip's hands were bascially cut to shreds, the glass had taken a lot worse toll on him than me as far as the number of cuts, and while he had a few deep ones, none made it quite as deep as the one that had gone to the bone on my little finger. Jay was laughing almost uncontrollably and asked Flip what the hell he had done that for? Flip said, "Well, you shouted now at me, so I thought after Charlie destroyed the guitar you decided I should smash my plates."
And as bad as we both felt with the pain, we laughed and we smiled and we realized just what a spectacle we had just presented. We had to get back out front and see how the crowd was reacting, and besides, we still had one set left to go.
The stage was a wreck, covered with broken cheap china and the splintered remains of the guitar. Some of the locals decided it was time to buddy up with the band, and when we came back out, Val came out walking towards us and a couple of the local "jerk" jocks pushed him aside. It was Mike and Denny who walked up to Val and asked him to come up on stage with us while we cleaned up our mess. The jocks stared at Val like they couldn't believe we had welcomed him onto stage with us and not them, and Val actually asked one of them to bring him a broom and a trash barrel. The guy actually did it, too.
Bill and Jim took Flip back to the men's room and began cleaning out his cuts with soap and water. I knew I could wait a few minutes, because Flip's hands were really bleeding quite badly still. While we were standing there talking amongst ourselves and with people in the crowd, I folded my arms across my chest as the bleeding slowed down and the pain really began to set in.
One guy, and there seems to be one in every crowd said, "I've got something here you can play with and I bet it don't break." I smiled and answered him smartly and without hesitation, "What's that, your girlfriend, or is she just a front so people don't really know what your real interest in lovemaking is?" He never smiled or said another word, but his friends laughed at my put down and I immediately felt like I had been rewarded.
I put my arm around Val and asked him if there was first aid kit nearby, and bless his heart, he almost ran off the stage to get one. He brought it back to me and as he started cleaning up the glass and the guitar again, Jay and Mike and myself went back to the men's room to where Jim and Bill and Flip were.
As they began applying first peroxide and then alcohol to Flip's injuries, Jay and Mike began helping me set forth the task of getting my hands washed and doctored as well. Amazing how alcohol burns, especially when a finger is cut to the bone, and even though I knew I really needed to go have stitches, I just couldn't leave that night. I to this day still carry the scar on my left pinkie from that night of chaotic entertainment.
After tending to our injuries in record time, we were back onstage in less than fifteen minutes to finish out the rest of the Valentine's Dance. Collectively, as a band, when we started our third and final set, we brought Val up on stage with us and introduced him as a friend of the band and let him play the tambourine on the first couple of songs we played that set. We also presented him with what remained of the neck of the smashed C.F. Martin guitar. When he was done playing on those songs, he went over to stage left and sat with Flip, and a couple of times I looked over from working my lights and saw Val lying on the stage with his head inside the bass drum. I couldn't help but smile, because for just that one evening Val had become a part of something that was so special and unique. And he would be carrying home with him a medal of honor for his becoming a part of our the Summer Heat show that night, the broken neck of that guitar. I've often wondered if Val still has that trophy.
To me, out of all the shows and dances we ever played, and there were many more after this one, this one still stands out in my mind as our best and was when Summer Heat had really hit their peak!
Jay is no longer with us, God rest his soul, Denny and Jim I've lost contact with over the years, but I do see Mike occassionally, and when we talk memories of Summer Heat, we always talk about this one special night and we both agree it was the best show we ever put on.
And yes, there would be many more shows to come, and yes, Greensburg High School shockingly enough after this wild ass show of ours, actually had us come back the following school year for another dance, although this time we would not be the hit we were at our first performance there.
As a matter of fact, the second time we played Greensburg we barely made it out of town without getting our tails kicked by a large group of the locals. But that's another story for another time.
One thing has disappointed me all these years, though. On that night, during our wild performance of "The Pusher" and all the mayhem that happened, the yearbook staff took pictures of that night and to this day I don't know if any of those pictures still exist or made it into the yearbook that year.
I hope that if anyone who reads this knows of any of those pictures or possesses a yearbook from Greensburg High School that has any of those pictures from that wild night, I would truly love to see them, because it would be a dream come true to finally see what that night must have looked like from out on the floor.
to be continued.....

You Decide

Inward, amongst the trivialities
Of daily existence, there lies a
Power
Within each of us.

It is with our own decisions and actions
Whether or not to use this power,
Or to just reject it and cast it aside,
Forgotten and unutilized.

Many people tend to complain,
Yet never act to make attempts
To change those things they cannot handle
For the better.

Complaining, though it burns so much energy
Tends more to be an act of
Laziness,
Whereupon one sits and bitches yet never tries
To move forward and create
Positive change,
Merely complaining,
Yet never tapping that which lies within us
All.

To complain is to surrender,
To act is to refuse to accept that change
Cannot happen.

Deny fear, take action
And take command and control your
Destiny.
Follow the path
Your heart has chosen for you
And be all that you have the power
To be.

Become motivated,
Become all that you can acheive
Of your own free will.

Take action!

Something Different For Those Bold Enough To Give It A Shot (pun intended)

I'm taking a completely different approach with the following entry, and it might catch a few of my faithful a bit offguard, but hey, if you know me, you know darned good and well I'm anything but normal.

One of my favorite things to do on certain evenings is make exotic drinks, or drinks that simply just taste really good, and a lot of them are made with a certain coffee flavored liqueor. And while I'm a big huge fan of that delicious, thick concoction, it tends to be a bit overpriced.

Therefore, yours truly has been blessed with a recipe for same said coffee flavored liqueor, and once it has been made, and made at a fraction of the price you would pay for a single bottle of it, you can use it and make the same drink recipes you would use the brand name stuff for. You can make white Russians, black Russians, mix it with coffee, use it to make mudslides, the list goes on and on. And while I'm protecting myself by not mentioning the name of this liqueor, you can go to their website and find recipes which you can use this recipe of mine to make.

I'm curious to hear from any of you bold enough to take the challenge, because honestly, it's very inexpensive to make and will yield you probably close to a half gallon of the stuff or more. The best part of it, other than the cost, is that it tastes absolutely like the real thing, if not a little better, and it tastes great just drinking shots of it all by its lonesome...

So come on, faithful few, grab a few bucks, go to the store and pick up the necessary items and let's get ready to make the

RainbowDemon's Coffee Liqueor

In a pan on the kitchen stove combine the following:
4 cups of water
4 cups of sugar
6 well rounded teaspoons of instant coffee (I prefer Folgers)

Bring the entire contents to a boil for 20 minutes, stirring occassionally to keep the sugar disolved, then let cool.
Once this mixture has cooled, add the following:
4 Tablespoons of Vanilla Extract (makes no difference if it's the real thing or imitation)
32 ounces of Vodka (it doesn't have to be a top brand either, actually, the cheaper stuff will do fine, just try and make sure it's at least 70-100 proof.

And that, my friends, is it. It's ready for immediate use, and I suggest having a couple of bottles handy, the empty vodka bottle is a good one as is an empty glass gatorade bottle...

Come on, faithful readers, and give this a try and let me know what you think.
And remember, drink responsibly, but above else, drink and enjoy!