Duane and an unknown blowdaddy, Forest Inn, 3-30-69.
Wail on, Skydog!
Here's a bit of film from that concert:
Last month our elderly beagle-mix Shiloh tore a cruciate ligament in her left back leg. We didn't see how it happened; we saw the resulting trembling in the leg and inability to jump and took her to the vet. We started her on mild pain killers and a reducing diet.
Early this morning while we were doing our laps around the local baseball field, she yelped and sat down. The other rear knee had blown out, probably from overuse. Unfortunately there was no way I could carry her portly canine caboose to the car to get her home. I got a blanket from the car and walked back over to her, contemplating improvising a sling or perhaps a travois. I also contemplated why that fifth-grade lesson on the travois was still in my head, whether kids are still learning about them, and how much better the wheel is. When I put the makeshift sling under her belly and tried to lift, however, I found that her particular mass divided by her particular volume equaled one dense dog. I couldn't budge her.
This situation called for the big guns --or at least bigger guns than mine and a strong back to go with them--: I'd have to go home and get my husband to carry her. I covered her up with the blanket and me and our other dog -- a three-legger but vastly more mobile at this point-- went home so I could tell Mr. Cracker that I'd left his precious little snowflake princess lying injured in a field. I knew he'd be upset.
He and I walked across the pitch black field and she finally came into sight, all bundled up and awaiting rescue. When we got over to her she was very vocal to him and told him all her troubles.
We got her home and settled and gave her a bit of medicine. Then she asked if she couldn't have a little bite of breakfast.
So she's in no pain and still enjoying a nice meal. Throw in a comfortable bed and that's about as good as it gets for any of us really.
While we can't share gifts with each other this season, we can share some memories.
My favorite Christmas was in mine and Mr. Cracker's first apartment. It had no heat in a typically freezing Tallahassee winter, and the fact that plumes of frosty breath would come out of our mouths when saying things like "Pass the salt" was endlessly hilarious.
His mother was less amused by it when she came up to visit and went out and bought us a kerosene heater, which was also delightful.
I can't say I've ever had a bad Christmas. Even the Christmas that we were deploying to Saudi for Desert Shield, though full of long, tiring days, held an underscore of excitement. Perhaps I could have done without getting woken up with a kick to the head for sleeping in front of the warm air blower in the Frankfurt fest tent that was our last stop before getting on the C5, but I was indeed being a heat hog and since it has proven to be the only chance in my sheltered life that I've ever had to receive a good head kick, on second thought I'm glad I didn't miss out on the experience.
A Merry, Merry Christmas to all of you.
This pic from what looks to be his sideman days at Fame studios is new to me.
It's nice to still be coming across surprises after all this time.
Wail on, Skydog!
A closer look:
A much nicer copy of the stone picnic table pic from the stoned picnic series.
Via e-mail from the ever-resourceful Greg Henderson.
Wail on, Skydog!
I went shopping today. Everywhere I turned there was the talentless mug of a teen pop princess grinning at me from the front of one product or another. It was unnerving and I started jonesing for a shot of real female musical talent. When I got home I sat for a while and listened as Rickie Lee Jones used word and music to paint something real about being a human:
One thing that will be sadly missing from the store next year are the famous pre-teen Bratz dolls. It looks like they've gone to the Big Stripper Pole in the Sky:
The rowdy Bratz dolls have been evicted. Barbie has regained control of the dollhouse.Toy giant Mattel Inc., after a four-year legal dispute with MGA Entertainment Inc., touted its win in the case Wednesday after a federal judge banned MGA from making and selling its pouty-lipped and hugely popular Bratz dolls.
"It's a pretty sweeping victory," Mattel attorney Michael Zeller said. "They have no right to use Bratz for any goods or services at all."
U.S. District Judge Stephen Larson rocked the toy industry with his order that MGA must immediately stop manufacturing Bratz. He allowed MGA to wait until the holiday season ends to remove the toys from store shelves.
The decision was a stunning defeat for MGA, which exploded onto the tween scene in 2001 with the edgy dolls and made hundreds of millions in profits, giving Mattel's more classic doll-diva Barbie a run for her money.
Requiescant in pace, little plastic hoochie mamas. I know that as a child I would have adored your impish enjoyment of the world around you:
Drug Possession. Jackson, Alabama, March 22, 1971.
Record company lawyers on the way.
Wail on, Skydog!
From the book "Midnight Riders":
"They were charged with possession of heroin, marijuana, and phencyclidine, the animal tranquilizer known as PCP. Duane, Gregg, Jaimoe, Dickey, Butch, Berry, [roadies] Willie, Joe Dan, and "Tuffy" Phillips, who drove the equipment truck, were all arrested and charged with possession of narcotics and spent the night in jail. Gregg had a paranoid fear of jail cells and he went crazy, climbing the bars and screaming, before Duane made him shut up."
