Scrap Book Discovery

I wasn't looking for it, but I found my brother's obituary today. It was a harsh reminder how fleeting life is. He was only 21.

=@# - The Residents @ the Rio - #@= Part 1

I Have Got a Story To Tell

Today, for the first time all summer, rain was in the forecast for Santa Cruz... just in time for the Residents Bunny Boy Tour debut. The threatening skies swirled and gloomed, but remained respectful to the fans who came out to see the infamous eyeballed ones.

The show was incredible. I've been spending the past hour or so thinking about the the Residents performance earlier tonight. As usual, it was nothing like I had ever seen. It's always that way when it comes to the Residents. I don't know how they stay so far ahead of gr@vity.

At this point, I realize that more than one post will be required to describe my evening with the Residents.

Arrived Early

When I arrived a little past six o clock, there were already a hundred or so people ahead of me in line. I staked out a spot while Mighty Mo set out to interview a handful of attendees. Here's what she shot.

Where ya from sailor?


Local Santa Cruzan, Trevor 1, claims to be a quantum visionary.





Bay-Arean, Double A, came all the way from Santa Cruz to see the Residents for his first time.




Solon Hammack came all the way from behind the Zion Curtain to see the Residents at the only show west of the Mississippi. He told Mighty Mo that he wore a Residents shirt to a Yip Yip show, so he returned the favour tonight by wearing a Yip Yip shirt to a Residents show. Yip!




Mason is a Vox Jaguar from Santa Cruz.

See more video from the Residents at the Rio on the You Tube

The Eagle Has Landed 19.5+19.5 Years Ago

The Greatest Accomplishment of Mankind... So Far.

Thirty-nine years ago, for the first time in recorded history, ambassadors of humanity stepped foot on the dusty, crater-ridden surface of the Moon. That summer day in 1969, if only for a moment, all of humanity became united as we made that giant leap together.

I remember those profoundly historic times when men walked on the Moon. I recall neighbors standing together in the middle of the empty dark street, gazing up into the night sky with proud, dumbfounded awe. As the partially illuminated sphere hung magically in the sky, we stood in darkness, contemplating the gravity of the moment... there were astronauts there... perhaps looking back at us.

For another four years, men from Earth traveled to the moon, until it seemed commonplace. Eventually, the expensive Apollo Program lost it's public appeal... and congressional support. The splashdown of Apollo 17 on December 19, 1972 concluded the Apollo Program, and humankind is yet to return to our nearest natural satellite.

The Masonic flag taken to the Moon aboard Apollo 11 by Astronaut Buzz Aldrin is currently on display in the Masonic Museum of the Supreme Council of the Scottish Rite Temple in Washington, DC.

The Residents or What Does Salt Smell Like?

Edweena

Subterranean-Rhetro

The first time I heard the Residents was in 1979. I was sixteen or seventeen, and an avid listener of I'm So Bored, Susanne Brown's Tuesday night radio program on KRCL in Salt Lake City. There was nothing else like it in Utah at the time, (or the rest of the country for that matter), and assuming that I would likely never hear the songs again, I began recording the shows on ninety-minute 8-Track tapes. I'm So Bored was unique, and presented me with a plethora of new punk and rock wave music, (as Michael G. Cavanaugh* called it), that I could listen to at my leisure on the tapes I had recorded. One of them contained a track called Plants by the Residents, which was nothing like anything I had ever heard before. I knew I'd have to hear more from these mysterious musicians.

The Cosmic Aeroplane was no doubt the most likely place to find Residents music in Salt Lake in 1979. I was astounded that good old el Cosmico had a handful of Residents records to choose from. I delightfully selected Not Available, and Fingerprince, and purchased them both, having heard neither. I bought Not Available for myself, and Fingerprince for my summertime girlfriend, Jamie, who accompanied me on my quest for the Residents. Back then, the record department at the Cosmic was located downstairs. At least that's where they kept the punk-produkts and related paraphernalia. After finalizing my purchase, we ascended the narrow stairwell, and exited the store. I had a friend named Bob Ruffner who lived near Skyline High, so we went there to hang out and listen to my new Residents records. Bob's house would be a good place to hear them for the first time because his dad had a great stereo, and surely, the Residents could be best appreciated on a good hi fi.

By the time side one of Fingerprince had finished playing, there was no way to convince Bob and Jamie to listen to side two, or the other record I had purchased. They had decided that the Residents were too weird. Bob had became partial to the last of the successful prog bands, Rush, while Jamie had metal tendencies, and fancied Van Halen and Ozzy. YUCK! Serves them both right! I had to wait until I had driven all the way back to Tooele, dropped off Jamie, and returned home before I could finally listen to Not Available on my own adequate stereo. I was shocked. It was stranger than anything I had ever... anything. It appeared to be some kind of opera about a woman named Edweena. I wasn't sure if I liked it. I played it for my friends Greggary Peckary, Merlin, Jon and Bart. Jon and Merlin gave it three thumbs up, Peck snickered, and Bart sardonically laughed, declaring, "They sound like little kids." I could forgive Bart. He didn't know any better. After all, he was a cowboy from Stockton, Utah, who's most radical venture in alternative music was Molly Hatchet and Lynnard Skynard. I suspect that Peck secretly liked it.
1979 was a time when music was stagnant on most fronts, yet changing on others. Leading the change, so far ahead they were out of sight, were the Residents, who's brand of subterranean-modern tunneled deeper than other alternatives, and kept their fans entertained with comically spooky treatments of familiar and contrived themes. I had become jaded by the polished cookie-cutter music that permeated the seventies, and in 1979 I began a five-year boycott of commercial music. Who needs commercial radio when there's KRCL? No commercial radio stations, and no TV. As it turned out, I missed a lot of terrible stuff during those years... so I hear. Remember Wham? I don't.
On Wednesday nights, KRCL presented Brad Collins' program** which featured more emphasis on the punker side of neo-underground musick. When the Residents released their critically acclaimed Eskimo album, Brad Collins played his copy in its entirety. It was awesome, and I soon procured my own copy on snow-white vinyl. One of my favorite records of all time. Eskimo was an unprecedented instant masterpiece that made it clear to me that the Residents were not only part of the underground scene... The Residents, in fact, were THE underground. Everything else sounded like pop in comparison.
In 1980 my best friend, Jon, purchased the Residents latest release, the Commercial Album. A departure from their anthropologique Eskimo, the Commercial Album featured forty - one minute songs... a mockery of formulaic top forty pop music. What was most surprising about the Commercial Album to both Jon and myself was the album cover which featured a picture of my friend Jon. I have no idea where the Residents got a photo of Jon, or why they used it on their album cover, but there he was.

Jon 1978

The Commercial Album 1980

When the Residents released their Mark of the Mole album, they pressed a handful of special edition silk screened covers which had been signed by the Residents with brown crayon, and pressed on brown vinyl. My copy was mistakenly sold at the flea market for one dollar. :-( I wish I still had it, especially since now its worth hundreds of dollars. At least I still have my Third Censored and Roll album, the West German version of the Third Reich and Roll. Still in perfect condition.




The first time I saw the Residents perform was at the Barrymore Theater in Madison Wisconsin in 1990. I arrived early, and was the first person in line that night. When they opened the doors to the theater, I sprinted to the front and center of the Barrymore. Best seat in the house. That night the Residents presented Cube - E (being) The History of American Music in 3 E-Z Pieces. The first piece featured old western cowboy songs. One Resident wore an exaggerated over-sized cowboy hat. A neon fire glowed at center stage while a projected desertscape and evening sky illuminated the backdrop. The other three Residents, cloaked beneath Harry Tuttle-esque disguises, tapped away at their electronique instruments . Black slave songs were the theme in the second set. The third and final set featured Elvis as a fulfillment, or personification of cowboy and black rhythm. In the end, the space-age Elvis is made insignificant by the British invasion, specifically the Beatles. At least that's what Zoroaster said.

I didn't see the Residents again until 1997, when Mighty Mo purchased tickets for the Halloween show at the Fillmore, for our anniversary. I was impressed by projected images onto a large balloon on stage. Brilliant idea! Clam rockers, Primus, and fellow Residents fans, must have liked the idea too because they incorporated the concept for their own stage.

A Simple Song - Ralph Viddy - Buy or Die!
I must have been one of the first people to order this fancy NEW Ralph Records Video.

When it arrived in the mail, it was a simple TDK video cartridge featuring seven different Ralph viddys. Five different bands, including the Residents.

The cover-art consisted of basic black ink on a 81/2X11 white paper-board. I carefully cut out the video cover, and with Elmers Glue, affixed it to the vhs box (included). Crafty!
The fancified package was complete.


These videos were a great alternative to the trendy commercial music being played on MTV.

The Residents have released lots of other videos over the years. Millions of them in fact. In May 2001, My son and I had the opportunity to see the Residents right here in Santa Cruz, Ca, at the Rio Theater. As usual, the Residents presented a unique and unprecedented concept for their stage show. The Icky Flix Tour featured the Residents playing live on stage as their familiar videos were projected onto a large screen above the band. Not long after the tour, the Residents released the Icky Flix DVD, which featured lots of snazzy Residents videos that could be played with the option of listening to old familiar songs, or newly recorded versions of the same tunes. Sparkling idea! I'll take two. Mm... Salty!

Ralph

* Michael G's show preceded I'm So Bored. His show featured sixties and seventies rock. This was back when KRCL was located above the old Blue Mouse Theater, next to Cosmic Aeorplane. Jon and I paid Michael G a visit one evening. He played Cucamonga by Zappa/Beefheart at our request.

** My friend Squirrelly's cousin, Jamie, who lived in Colorado Springs, Colorado, stayed with Squirrelly's family every summer. She returned home with Fingerprince. Jamie reported to me that she had played it for a friend, and that they both laughed at it. What can you expect from a couple of ignoramiatic metalheads?
*** Mr. Collin's program was originally called Dead Air, but was later changed to Beyond The Zion Curtain. When Brad sold out and began playing speed metal exclusively, Jon and I began to pester him by requesting Eskimo every time his program was on. Years later, I asked Collins about his Eskimo album, and he told me that someone had stolen it. He may have assumed that his taunters were the thieves. He assumed wrong

Mug Shots or Cups I Have Known

Collecting mugs isn't something I pursue consciously. I don't seek them out when I go on vacation, and I don't have mugs from around the world. Its more like the mugs find me. OK, I don't even have that many mugs to brag about, but the ones I do have tickle my fancy.

One of my favorites comes from good old Tooele County in Utah. These beauties were handed out to Tooele County employees sometime in the twentieth century. I found mine slightly used at Deseret Industries in Tooele a couple of years ago.

I've often pondered what it means by both worlds. Here are a few ideas I have considered.

Desert/Mountains

City/Rural

Military/Civilian

Mormon/Non-Mormon

Cowboy/Chicano

Educated/Un-educated

Contaminated/Decontaminated

Who knows?

Another specimen from Tooele County is this official looking Tooele Army Depot Headquarters mug. TAD is of course where Uncle Sam housed and maintained the majority of his chemical weapons of mass destruction stockpile.


Another favorite mug came from Ground Zero Coffee in Madison Wisconsin, and features one of my favorite themes.

Fight Club Training

You can't grow up in Tooele without learning a little something about fighting.

Xtra Files 4: Counting Sheep or Two Shakes of a Dead Lamb's Tail - Remembering the Infamous Sheep Incident at Dugway

Tooelean Twilight Phantom

In the early morning hours of March 14, 1968, I was fast asleep in my cozy little bed, seemingly safe from monsters and bogy-men, while outside a winter storm raged. Not too far away, somewhere in the stormy twilight sky, a Phantom F-4 fighter-jet fitted with a special canister containing the highly toxic VX chemical-nerve agent headed out across the Great Salt Lake Desert on what should have been a "routine" open-air, chemical-weapons test. Blinded by the snow storm, the pilot skillfully navigated his way over the snow-covered alkaline mud flats of Skull Valley as though he had done it a hundred times. The dense quiet of snow falling at Lone Rock was briefly interrupted by the thunderous sound of the Phantom's two powerful J79 engines as it passed over the unpopulated landmark. Visually stealthed by the storm, the warcraft continued on course southward towards its target.Nearby, at Dugway Proving Grounds, located about forty miles southwest of where I slumbered, the US Army was conducting a routine, open-air, chemical-weapons test. Except for the storm, everything seemed routine, but on this particular blustery morning, something went terribly wrong. The F-4 was scheduled to employ a 300-gallon TMU-28 spray-tank canister over a specified target, but unfortunately, it failed and began to vent from beneath the jet as it maintained its scheduled flight-path. The powdery aerosol nerve agent continued to spew from the faulty canister as the Phantom thundered over rangelands populated mostly by thousands of sheep. Particulates of the highly toxic VX chemical mingled with snow flakes that tumbled and danced their way to the ground, contaminating the snowy desert below.

XO Infamous Sheep Incident OX

The result was the death of more than 6,000 sheep,* and a host of other wild animals and birds. The toxic carcasses of the poisoned animals were sent to a central location in the desert where mass graves were dug, and the bodies which had become gelatinous (a gruesome side effect of VX) were buried and forgotten. The US Army denied any involvement, but agreed to pay the herdsmen for their financial losses... to $hut them up. They did a pretty good job of covering up the story, but people knew that something had happened, and assumed that some gas had drifted from the test site and poisoned the sheep. No one knew for sure... except the army, and they weren't talking.

Whiffs - Not a Gas

Unfortunately for the government, the sheep incident, as it has come to be known, didn't go entirely unnoticed, and stirred up a bit of media attention. In 1974 my small town of Tooele (pronounced too-ill-uhh), was all a-buzz when it was made known that a big-time Hollywood movie company was coming to town to make a film. Lots of Tooelians were cast as extras,** to appear on the big screen, in Whiffs starring Elliot Gould. This was Gould's first movie following the critically acclaimed box-office s*m*a*s*h, M*A*S*H. There were lots of other celebrities*** in the film too, but unfortunately, it wasn't very good. .

"We don't want to kill the enemy... we just want to make him a little sick."
Eddie Albert as Col. Lockyer in the 20th Century FOX film, WHIFFS 1975

Whiffs' title song was nominated for an Oscar in 1975, but other than that, the mis-managed movie didn't make much of an impact, and lingered about as long as a fart in a windstorm. Whiffs did have an interesting premise, with lots of promise. Based, very loosely on the incident at Dugway, Whiffs is a fictional dark comedy about a government human test guinea pig, (played by Gould), who's health and quality of life is permanently impacted by repeated exposure to chemical weapons. Since he's no longer of any use to the army, he's forced to take an early retirement. He gets back at the system by stealing from the chemical weapons stockpile at Duggum**** Proving Ground, then unleashes chemical warfare on my home town. This was accomplished in part by a yellow and blue, bi-plane that flew a grid over Tooele spraying us with gas... crop-duster style. When my small city of about ten-thousand people was completely incapacitated, the banks were robbed, and the hero made his climactic getaway.

Geofrey Cambridge as Dusty spraying Tooele with a chemical weapon
in the 20th Century FOX Film, WHIFFS 1975

During the filming of Whiffs, the bi-plane spewed Hollywood smoke***** as it flew all around town for what seemed like days. It was closely followed by a helicopter that filmed it canvasing our town with a grid of "gas." It was exciting to watch. My friend Albert Buck and I rode our bikes to the Tooele City Airport, a desolate landing strip beyond the westerly edge of town, to sneak a peek at the unusual aeroplane. I had never seen a bi-plane before, except on TV, so I was anxious to look at it up close. Soon it approached the runway from the south, landed and taxied to the fueling area where we were waiting to inspect it. Located a few hundred feet on the opposite side of the runway, and over an old barbed-wire fence to keep out cattle, the Tooele Army Depot, keeper of the majority of America's chemical weapons stockpile, loomed quietly, as if watching. Sprawling across the valley to the foothills on the other side, thousands of bunkers, warehousing the implements of war, spotted the landscape like nervous goose bumps on Mother earth. A grim reminder of the reality of chemical warfare... in my own back yard.

Forty Years Later

Today, forty years later, America's chemical weapons' stockpile has been destroyed at the Tooele Chemical Agent Disposal Facility located at the Deseret Chemical Depot about twenty miles south of Tooele.

Dugway Proving Grounds remains operational, and continues to produce America's latest and greatest biological weapons. DPG is sometimes called Area 52, or the new area 51, probably because of all the unmanned aircraft/drone research and development taking place there these days.

*Counting sheep+ means something quite unique to this Tooelean. Fortunately we can all rest well knowing that our government doesn't lie to us anymore. Sleep tight tonight my little sheep.


** Including Paula Argus, my high school English teacher who tot me too rite rill good.


*** Eddie Albert, Jennifer O'Neil, Harry Guardino, Alan Manson to name a few.

****Spoof on Dugway Proving Ground, and perhaps alluding to the mass-graves the government dug to hide their dastardly deed.

***** Or was it another governmental chemical or bio-test conducted under the guise of a Hollywood movie?

Begin counting sheep now. Below are 6,000...

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ 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++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
They might just as well have been people had conditions been different.

kEEp TOoELe PUNk

"Forever and forever in Tooele."

OX Achtung XO

It's been forty years since the US Army's chemical weapons accident at Dugway Proving Grounds that killed thousands of sheep. Forty years ago, Rhetro Zenberg was less than forty miles away when the infamous sheep incident occurred... America's worst home-land chemical weapons accident.

"In the early morning hours of March 14, 1968, I was fast asleep in my cozy little bed, seemingly safe from monsters and bogy-men, while outside a winter storm raged. Not too far away, somewhere in the stormy twilight sky, a Phantom F-4 fighter-jet fitted with a special canister containing the highly toxic VX nerve agent headed out across the Great Salt Lake Desert on what should have been a "routine", open-air, chemical-weapons test."

See the whole story this Friday at zenberg.blogspot.com

Mr. Plow's Cruel Blade

Ding dong. The doorbell rang. I was still putting on my snow clothes when mom answered the door which revealed a bright snowy world. Two young children with sleds stood at the door. "Is this your cat?" one of the kids asked as he gestured toward his sled with a bloody white cat laying motionless on top of it. "The snowplow hit him," he added.

Boozer was barely alive, and suffering terribly. He wouldn't have stayed on the sled otherwise... I knew I had to let him go. My dad had other intended projects planned that Saturday morning, but he took on the awful responsibility of putting poor Boo out of his misery.

Boo was my cat. I was there when he was born, and chose him from Pooker's litter as the first cat I called my own. He was my big fat fluffy white cat. As dad took my doomed Boozer around the house to do what he had to do, I sat on the living-room sofa mourning my fluffy friend's fate, when I happened to gaze across the room at the china cabinet who's sparky clean glass reflected the downward swing of the hatchet in my dad's hand... and Boo was no more.

I went outside and walked down the street to find evidence of Boo's accident. It didn't take long to find a patch of bloody snow in front of Pooch Erickson's house. As I examined he scene before me, it was apparent that the plow had intentionally swerved to hit my cat who had been sitting on the cleared walk watching the goings on in the neighborhood. The kids had witnessed it, and kindly placed my bloody cat on a sled and dragged him to my house.

In Rhetro-spect, I should have sued someone, but I was only nine years old and didn't consider such a thing. I wonder how many other animals have suffered at the cruel blade of Mr.Plow?

#9 or John Lennon Killed 27 Years Ago Today

I can't believe its been twenty-seven* years. When my best friend Jon called, I was standing in the kitchen. The first words out of his mouth were, "Hey, did you hear that John Lennon is dead?" I was shocked and stunned... surprised how hard the news hit me. I mean, I didn't even know John Lennon... not personally anyway. On the other hand, I did know him, probably better than anyone else I didn't really know. I had all of his records, except for the Wedding Album, and could even sing along to parts of Unfinished Music #2... a true die hard fan.

Not for the literalist

John Lennon was a clever and witty lyricist. His words have appeal on many levels, and seem to speak to everyone personally. The world knows his music well, and ranks it among the classics, yet his books are almost unknown. I love to read John's books. His comedic masterful use of word play is taken far beyond most peoples' ability to comprehend and understand. I larfed historically.

Everyone loves you when you're dead

You know, it is kind of funny, (funny is a funny word for it), how right before John was murdered, he wasn't well liked by the masses. In my sphere, he was considered to be a has-been who had been out of the biz for a long time, and wasn't really interesting anymore. When he died, suddenly everyone was his biggest fan.

*Numerologically, 27, is 2+7

"Turn me on dead man" (Revolution #9 backwards) John Lennon

Gas Masque Mystique

As long as I can remember, I've been intrigued by the mystique of gas masques. I even took one to school for show and tell in Mrs. Jacob's class when I was in third grade. That day, one of the hicks who bussed in from Rush Valley**** grabbed it from me after school, got on the bus, and I never saw it again. I was crushed. I don't know why I didn't tell someone about the incident. In retrospect, I probably could have got it back had I made an issue about it, but the kid who took it was three years older than me, a sixth grader, and I felt powerless to do anything about it.

Now I have a variety of gas masques...Israeli, Soviet, Hungarian, and etc... and some of them are actually functional. I even had the opportunity to use one one day while doing laundry, when I accidentally dropped an open jug of bleach in a poorly ventilated room, and approximately two cups of bleach spilled out. Chlorine gas quickly filled the room and began to burn my eyes and lungs. I immediately remembered my good old, never before used, Israeli made gas masque, and ran to my bedroom to retrieve it. Within minutes, the hazardous spill was cleaned up.

Viva la masque!

**** Rush Valley is the collective name for the tiny little farming communities of Clover and Saint John... the outer limits beyond civilization... the nether world of Tooele County. Their school had been closed, therefore they were bussed to my school, and they brought their back-woods, gas masque stealing, barbaric ways with them.

Friends/Fiends #1 - The Ice and Fire Man

Everyone called him Boob. It was short for 4B (BBBB) which was short for his longer nickname, Booby Baby Bobby Bryan. He had received the notorious name sometime in grade school, or possibly even earlier... I don't know exactly when, but it was a well established monicor by the time I met Boob sometime in my early teens. His younger brother Jim (6B1J or Booby Baby Boby Bryan's Baby Brother Jimmy) was one of my best friends, and lived only a block away. Apparently, Boob hadn't changed much since those early days of Boobery, and was still viewed as an arrogant know-it-all by most of his peers. Boob was smart, but never learned how to socialize, therefore he came off as a bit of a snob. He was actually a pretty nice guy once you got to know him, but he certainly was opinionated... about everything, which made him a bit difficult to be around. One thing Boob had going for himself, at least as far as Jim and I were concerned, was that he had access to his parent's automobiles, and could take us to Salt Lake.* On one such occasion, 4B, 6B1J and myself had gone to the big city to catch a movie, and hang out. We were in Boob's father's blue and white Ford pickup truck, and had been through the drive-through at Arby's to get some cool drinks. We quickly consumed the cool liquid, and were left with large wax cups still nearly half full of ice. Jim and I (not Gemini) began using our straws to shoot small chunks of ice out the window at drive by targets such as cars, signs, and even pedestrians. We were having a ball, and began throwing the remaining larger chunks of ice that wouldn't fit through the straws. We had thrown numerous chunks of ice when Boob, in his usual manner said authoritatively, "Let me show you how to do it." He grabbed a small chunk of ice from Jim's cup and threw it from his window at the next oncoming car. Direct hit! Unfortunately the car turned around and gave chase. We could see that it was a man with short hair and a moustache driving an early 70's model Pontiac sedan. He followed us for several blocks, when Boob decided to get on the freeway in hopes of losing his potentially hostile pursuer. Unfortunately the sedan stayed in hot pursuit, so Boob took the next exit, and turned down one of the streets. We hadn't gone very far when suddenly there was a roadblock, and before we knew it, a bunch of men in uniform had surrounded us. They quickly removed us from the truck, separated us, and began to interrogate us. They were firemen, and Boob had unwittingly taken us directly past a fire station... and not just any fire station.

As it turns out, the person Boob hit with ice was an off duty fire chief, and had used his two way radio to stay in contact with his buddies at the station who set up the blockade. He claimed that he had been hit in the face by a chunk of ice, and pointed to an old scab as evidence. At that point I began to wonder if he had been hit at all... maybe his car, but no chunk of ice that Boob threw caused the injury the moustached man claimed.

A policeman issued Boob a citation, which meant that soon he'd have to appear before a judge in Salt Lake... and would need to borrow the truck again. He certainly didn't want his parents to know about the ice and fireman incident, so he used the excuse that he needed the car to get to work. Boob was a cook at the truck stop in Lakepoint, and frequently used the family vehicles to drive the ten or so miles to and from work. A seemingly perfect plan. No one would ever know... except that on this particular occasion, an unprecedented event occurred... Boob's parents decided they'd have dinner at the truck stop that evening.

When Boob's parents arrived at the truck stop, they saw a stranger in the kitchen. The waitress soon arrived at their table to take their order and they introduced themselves as Boob's parents, and requested to speak with their son. They were told that she hadn't seen him, and that Boob wasn't scheduled to work that day.

When Boob finally got home, he had a lot of explaining to do.

* Tooele was a good thirty + miles from Salt Lake, and riding freight trains was always a bit sketchy... It was easy to get to Salt Lake, but getting back to Tooele was a bit more challenging. Sometimes the train wouldn't stop where we needed it to, and we'd have to backtrack on foot, or catch another freight train that may or may not stop at Warner Station outside Tooele. The best place to ride is on top of freight cars, but some of them don't have ladders to the top, so we'd position ourselves between two cars, put our feet on one car and our hands on the other, arching our backs, and extending our bodies from one car to another, we'd inch our way up the ribbed exterior of the box cars. That was the easy part. When we got to the top, our bodies extended horizontally across the chasm nearly fifteen feet in the air, we'd have to make one hard lunge, and pull ourselves on to the top. Failure was not an option. It was an easier task to perform before the train was in motion. One night, we boarded one of the empty engines, and I stepped on what felt like a body. I didn't stick around to find out if it was... or who it was.

Skarzita's Day

When I was about four or five years old, I was having a great time throwing an old rusty dart around the yard. It was great fun to launch it high into the air, and watch it fall to the earth, and stick point first into the lawn. One of the throws arched high in the air, and over my neighbor's fence, but instead of hitting the ground, it lodged in my sister's arm.* Blood squirted from the puncture with every pump of her twelve year old heart. Unfortunately, she had to have a tetanus shot as well... adding insult to injury.

Happy Birthday Sis.

* I'm much better at throwing darts now, and even hit the target some of the time.

The Climb of a Lunchtime

I almost became a missing child once. I was four years old, and it was a day like every other summer day, full of exploration. When you're four, there is always something new to discover. My friend Steve lived in the house diagonally positioned from mine. His house was a fence climb away, so we spent a good deal of time together. Steve was a rather wild kid who lacked parental direction, supervision and oversight. He basically did what he wanted to do most of the time because no one was there to tell him otherwise. On this particular day, I was at his house playing with his electric train set. We were being too noisy, so we were sent outside so the baby could sleep. Now we were on our own... on an adventure, going where no four year had gone (alone) before. We walked and walked toward the mountains. I knew of a place we could play, a mysterious place of hills, puddles, trails, gravel and dirt. I knew it existed because I had been there with my dad while riding on the back of his Honda Trail 90, and I knew how to get there. The concrete plant was our destination. When we arrived, it must have been lunch time because no one seemed to be around. The most obvious and impressive landmark was the towering conveyor belt structure. We made our way to its base, and found the belt loaded with rocks destined to make their ascent to the top, and then drop spectacularly into the crusher to be made suitable for cement production. Strangely, the machine was not operating. The belt was quiet and still. It wasn't very steep, and looked easy to climb. At that point we made a really bad decision, and began making our way up the rocky slope of the conveyor belt. I remember taking small steps as my little town was being revealed below, and spread out before me as I ascended. Soon, we were at the top looking down into the crusher below us, never considering at any time that we might be in any kind of danger. I've often wondered what might have happened if lunch break had ended, and they resumed operation just as we stood at the crest???

George Killed Ringo - - By By Birdie

As I mentioned in an earlier blogue, I was a huge Beatles fan when I was a kid. I even named my Parakeets after two of the fab four. Ringo was a beautiful green and yellow colour, and had a very friendly disposition. He would fly about the room, circling and swooping, and land on my finger. I could walk around the house with him on my shoulder. George was quite different in every way. He (actually she) was a light blue colour, which is why I named him (her) George... IE Blue Jay Way, and For You Blue. It is difficult for me to imagine George Harrison doing or saying anything malicious. *!%@# George the Parakeet, unlike Mr. Harrison, and his (her) cage companion Ringo, was the nastiest of all things that fly. Instead of standing on my finger, like Ringo, George would bite me. He (she) drew blood from every member of my family... mostly fingers and ears, (fortunately no eyes). One morning, when I was about ten or eleven, I removed the cage cover to find Ringo laying on the bottom of the cage, dead, and there stood George with some of Ringo's feathers in his (her) talons. Mom! I yelled. "George Killed Ringo" I exclaimed as I burst into tears. The cage was situated just outside Mom's bedroom door, and she mentioned that she woke up to some commotion coming from the cage early in the morning. I remember taking Ringo's dead body out of the cage, and scolding George for killing him. I wrapped the body in soft tissue paper, and placed the loosely wrapped mummy into an empty tennis ball can which had previously contained three fuzzy yellow/green balls... ironically the same color as the new feathered occupant. A small procession of children walked two blocks to West Elementary School where, at an undisclosed location, we placed the tennis ball can and its contents into the ground, and said good by to Ringo.