Wednesday, February 26, 2014



 Ever heard of Pine Bush? Google it and it will come up as one of the most anti-semitic places on earth. Ever heard of Fallsburg? It's quickly becoming as infamous as Pine Bush. In the recent past, heroin and works have been found TWICE in the faculty bathroom of the local elementary school. It took finding drugs and paraphernalia twice before school officials called the cops. Video showed 8 people coming and going in the teacher's crapper, that may or may not have left the stash. The police gathered up the suspects, interviewed them and asked for pee samples. Someone called the Union and the cops were told that no urine would be forthcoming. Teachers don't get pee tested to get the job? Guess not. Hmmmm? Maybe they'll be a job opening soon.
    In the wake of that selfish douche Philip Seymore Hoffman ignoring his family and career, ODing on dope, heroin is back in the news. Bad timing for whoever is so fucked up that he or she can't remember to take the stash and works with them after hitting up in the faculty lounge. Some of my favorite people in this world are ex-junkies. I stress the "ex". When someone's using it turns most, if not all, into lying, thieving, duplicitous scumbags. I've got no use for junkies. But when a junkie gets clean, my door is always open. It used to be heroin was top of the food chain when it came to highs. Now days it's a poor man's substitute for Oxy, or any number of prescription pain killers that the young and old ingest to get away from the everyday. Combine heroin with elementary school teachers and the news feed is very welcoming.
   I understand why these teachers do not want to be pee tested. Even if the the BCI swears up and down they will not be tested for anything, other than heroin, don't believe them. Once they have something they can test (hair, blood, pee, saliva) they will test for everything. Some good teacher that enjoys a bowl at the end of a hard day of  trying to teach surly, screaming kids, will be labeled a drug user, and fired. Forget the teacher who gets blind drunk and beats his kids silly. There's no test for that.    
    Fallsburg and Pine Bush are small communities that have been painted with a broad negative brush by the media. It's so easy to do that these days. These places are no better or worse than any other poor small town in America- right wing, reactionary, homophobic, strung out....... Should I go on? Thankfully our memories are so bad, this will all be forgotten come Spring. It's been a tough winter. I hope whoever this teacher is gets straight, before they kill themselves or the cops lock them up. I'd say the first one to take a vacation in Florida will give you the guilty party. Let them go quietly and put away the torches and pitch forks. Hopefully when we finally get casinos all these problems will disappear. As everybody knows, money solves everything. I'll bet nobody leaves their chips in the faculty lounge. Who's ever heard of a gambling problem?

Confederate Flag burning church is coming.....

Sunday, February 23, 2014



THE 2%

I will never be one of the one percent, but according to an article sent to me by Scapegoat George, I am one of the two percent. This is what the U.S. government figures is the amount of people who use the burning of wood as their primary heat source. Getting home too late from another Indian casino run last night and not having any kindling, I was forced to turn on the gas, and let the stove go completely cold. Anyone who heats by wood knows what this can lead to this time of year- stove pipe clog. I just spent the last hour trying to get the fire started and breathing lungs full of smoke. Finally I was forced to break up and burn the crude little shelf I had made to hold my VCR. If that hadn't worked I would've started breaking up furniture. Temps are going down again tonight. Minus zero is predicted by the weekend. I don't have a choice in the matter. I got plenty of chairs.
   Now comes word that the government wants to send EPA officials out into the sticks to regulate our stoves and wood furnaces. You got to be kidding me! In the middle of one of the coldest winters in memory, politicians want to tell the hillbilly nation they can't run their stoves? The primary target of their regulations is outdoor wood burning furnaces. Now, I admit that one of these in a trailer park could be a nasty polluter. But in wide open country you just have to raise the stack. But it's a short slippery slope before they start knocking on doors if they see smoke. Pretty soon "Smokey" may take on another meaning. My pot is still illegal. The clip on my pistol may or may not break the law (try getting a straight answer to this one) and now if the cops see smoke they may break your door down and dowse your fire.
   A spokesman for the wood burning stove industry admits that no stove will pass new proposed regulations. And if they do they would be cost prohibitive. How wrong headed can a government get? Most people cannot afford complete reliance on electric, propane, natural gas or oil to heat their homes in a hard winter. Burning wood is hard, dirty and not that cheap, if you buy cords. But it is still cheaper than fossil fuel and pretty efficient, even in an under insulated shack. It saves us 2 percenters from freezing to death. Hopefully the rural backlash will get the US out of our business of burning. If it doesn't there will be one more law I'll be breaking. Big deal. 'Til they pry my lighter from my cold dead hands.....        

Friday, February 21, 2014



I'm calling church. I know it's early. But I need a reason to live at this point. As of this morning I'm down to one cat- Spooky Cat. Ray Gilkey disappeared back around New Years. At first I thought he was just holed up at a neighbor's. But now, I'm afraid he's gone. I've had cats coming and going for almost 20 years, and I've never found a corpse. I haven't seen Nicole in a couple of days and I'm worried. That leaves Spooky. Of the three SC is the least likable. He's a big, beautiful, healthy black and white specimen. Yet, he has an annoying tiny whine of a meow and is very needy. He was always low cat on the totem pole. Maybe I misjudged him. He could  have secretly been lulling the other two into complacency all along, only to finally pounce and murder them in their sleep. Psycho Kitty kes cu say. What the hell. I'm saving on cat food.
  First let me plug a project. Recently Shewho  helped me compile a book, encompassing the past two years of art work, up here on the mountain. I'm paying to have it printed up as a kind of expensive calling card. It will end up costing about $100 per copy for a 168 pg picture book. I know it's way too much to pay, but it's a way of showing the work....without showing the work. I'll have a copy laying around or you could bite the bullet and order it online. We just finished it. It looks great- if I do say so. But now it's time to move on. Time to plan the next church. So be prepared to get off yer asses.
    As usual we are sticking to a specific theme. This time the theme is white trash. And I hate to have to say this, but that does not mean all other-than-white parishioners cannot participate. You'd think I'd be done spelling out how inclusive we are by now. Read the sign people: "All are Welcome". For many of you, this theme will be no stretch at all. Still, there's work to be done. Start thinking of hymns, costumes and haircuts. For the girls (and some boys) I suggest mullets, daisy dukes and wife beaters. For the events- wet t-shirt contests, a little mud wrestling, moonshine tasting, and spelling bee. We do not condone the meth or oxy consumption (at least not on premises). Granted, these could help with the spelling bee. Congregant beware.
    Like I said,  for some it's a little early to get into character, for others it's only a matter of screwing the trailer door shut and coming over. Your animals, farm and otherwise, will be welcome. Dogs, cats, sheep, goats, pigs, and of course ferrets will be in attendance. Don't bother washing the kids, ha-ha, toss on your pajama bottoms and fuzzy slippers, jump in the pick up, bring a 12 pack of tall boys and come on over anytime to plan our attack of bad taste.  Oh yeah, anybody got a big rebel flag?    

Wednesday, February 19, 2014



  The last I heard, Nadi and Maria were being kicked out of the band. I don't know what the beef was. Maybe the more hardcore members of the collective were jealous of all the attention the two recently released members were getting on the world stage. Nadi was the pretty one.You know how that goes in bands. They were here in Brooklyn, doing Amnesty benes, and interviews, talking of doing a tour of American prisons, when all of a sudden there they are in a Sochi hotel, planning an action at the Olympics. Maybe orders came through. You want to stay in the band? Get to Sochi. True to form, the group has been in jail more than the hotel.
   I make no secret of my admiration for this collective. Last Xmas I tried to get gifts to the two in prison, only to eventually fail in my quest for an address in Moscow. I had the two prison addresses, but resisted sending the cashmere gloves and expensive moisturizer to the guards. I still have their gift wrapped American Capitalist consumer goodies. Someday we'll meet and I'll get these to them, like a star-struck fan. In the meantime PR made good on their promise to perform an action at the Winter Olympics. Today, dressed in colorful leggings, combat boots, shifts and balaclavas, the girls pulled out a guitar, a mic, some props and before you could say Fuck Putin, they were rocking out in front of a big ugly Olympic super graphic.
   Then, as if on cue, in came the whip wielding cossacks. Didn't the Velvet Underground have a whip wielding couple as part of their act? It was classic Pussy Riot street theater. Whether or not PR hired the cossacks to beat them may or may not be true. I think it would be great if they did, but I'm sure that the militia's allegiance to the Orthodox church assures that they show up without a paycheck. The whipping made the piece. Teargas, pepper spray and billy clubs would have been derivative of the Americans. The cossack is so beautifully Russian. Due to Olympic regulations, thankfully, they left the swords and horses at home. Too bad the stray dogs were all rounded up and euthanized early in the program. Dogs in balaclavas would have been a nice touch.
   When all's said and done Pussy Riot has the wonderful purity of an art student's piece, at lunch time in the quad. It should be greeted with smiles, a slug off a bottle of Stoli, and a passed dooby. The fact that the cossacks are called into action, makes it glaringly obvious how much these young artists are needed here. The world paid no attention when they called for a boycott of these games. No gay athlete dares raise a voice in protest, for fear of losing endorsements, or out right ejection from the games. Putin's Russia is a sham. But so is the mater where it's held. The giant smile on Nadi's face, as she gathered her guitar and left, said it all. Any artist would take a little whipping to make a point on the world stage. Lets hope they can stay out of jail for a night to enjoy it. Nice piece girls.  

Friday, February 14, 2014



  I've been too sick, sore and cold to think twice about keeping up on my blog postings. Add to the sad fact that aside from a Danish zoo killing, and butchering a baby giraffe in front of school children, then feeding him to the lions, as a "teaching moment", there hasn't been much to write about. So my absence should be understandable. We've been getting hammered with the cold. Then when it finally warms up..... it snows. Thirty inches are on the ground as of this morning. More's coming. A post holidays cold settled in my neck and I haven't slept a full night in weeks. Luckily I have a Doc with one of those head stretching, decompression racks and very strong thumbs. She always works me back in shape eventually. But it takes time.
   In the depths of my neck aching, cabin fever Wed. night, I answered the phone. It was Diamond Dave. He had an idea for a road trip. We were expecting a nor'easter dumping snow the next day. Why not go on an adventure involving driving, alcohol and gambling? He proposed an overnight at the Indian Casino about 3 hours to the north. DD and Pigpen would gamble and snow mobile while GNJohn and I hit the ass waxing and hydrotherapy spa. "When?" I asked. "Now." he answered. No time to back out.
   If I was in my right mind I would've politely begged off and grabbed another beer. As it was, I loaded up the woodstove, threw the well switch, grabbed my homburg and Mr. Coat, and jumped in the truck. Off to the casino. The snow hadn't started yet, so we took the back roads, stopping only for gas, coffee and strap checks on the two snow machines. We were in the casino by 10 pm.
    Casinos look just like they do in all the movies and TV ads you've ever seen, except for the people. Portrayed on film as dapper gentleman and lithe, sophisticates in slinky dresses and furs, heads tilted back in delightful ecstasy, at being winners......the reality is somewhat less. Atlantic City caters more to the retired set in scooters with big plastic cups of quarters for the slots. Turning Stone Indian Casino was filled with a crowd that looked like a combo of rehab and those two weeks before they admitted they needed rehab. Stone washed, bedazzled skinny jeans with fuzzy topped boots for the girls. Hoodies, sock hats and and over sized baseball hats for the gentlemen. Black and white, equally beaten down and simultaneously optimistic, packed the place on a Wed. night. A Breaking Bad costumer and casting agent would've been in heaven. I had left my gun at home, so I made sure not to make eye contact with anyone. Oh yeah, everyone was smoking and probably on Oxy. So much for truth in advertising.

DD and PP headed right for the blackjack table. GNJ and I held back. Neither of us liked winning more than we reviled losing, not making us very good gamblers.  DD is a natural. He can schmooze the pit boss, order a drink, text Irish Liz, light a cigarette, bet $300, hit or pass and guide PP's bet, all without blinking an eye. In Vegas he'd be considered a casual player. At Turning Stone DD is a whale. By the time the young Asian girl dropped off our dreamcatcher, around 1 am, DD had won thousands. You heard me right. The other thing he's got going for him is knowing when to walk away.

   The next morning I took multiple baths, drank multiple Bloody Marys, hit the pool and hot tub, smoked weed, turned up the thermostat, ordered room service multiple times, watched the Swedes and Nords battle it out on the curling court and fell into a boozy sleep on the couch. I didn't put my pants on all day long. DD and Pigpen went riding, and bought a new snowmobile trailer with the winnings, as GNJ and I went the spa route.  When the girl delivered our lunch she eyeballed GNJ, fully dressed in the chair and me in my robe and slippers....guess we know who the bottom is in this relationship. A couple more bloody Marys.....and who knows? What happens at Turning Stone.......
  We drove home in a helluva snow storm. But, what with the brand new snowmobile trailer and DD's lear jet FORD 4x4, we safely blasted past everyone. Even my seat was heated. My ass....I mean my neck is still a little sore, but all in all I think my water therapy worked. I'm back in my filthy, cold shack, shoveling 3 foot of snow, running out of propane, bailing the kitchen sink, huddled up the woodstove, wishing I had taken the dreamcatcher. I'm not a gambling man. But I'll bet the next time DD calls with a road trip in mind, I just may double down.