Monday, January 23, 2017

QUESTIONING MYSELF



Question:
So, Jon, what did you think of all those anti-Trump women who were protesting world-wide yesterday?

Answer:
You mean those angry, unattractive, post-menopausal broads who were dressed as vaginas and carrying flaming Tampon torches? 
Do you mean Ashley Judd, who accused Donald Trump of having wet dreams about his own daughter?
Do you mean Madonna, who said she'll give oral sex to any man who voted for Hillary? 

Now you know why there are so many gay men. And why they are proud of it. 

What is your honest opinion of Donald Trump being President?

It's only been two days. Give it time. Here's my take:
We finally have an Alpha Man in the White House - - which scares the living shit out of the hardcore feminists. 

He's not going to be a limp-wristed pansy who ass-kisses Saudi Kings or denies the fact that radical Islamic terrorism exists.

Most importantly, to me, is that Trump genuinely loves America and is not afraid to admit it. Putting America first is foremost on his agenda.

Barry Hussein What's-His-Name was the most racist, divisive president in American history. He despises Jews as much as he hates whites (and our Constitution).

Do you have anything to say to Barack Obama, now that he's no longer President?

Well, Barry, look at the bright side. Now you have some time to actually play golf - - and possibly go on a vacation. Perhaps you can visit Castro's grave (ashes) in Cuba. Or visit your relatives in Kenya.
Whatever you do, don't go to Israel. 

Any advice for Donald Trump, now that he's in the White House?

Yea. Change the toilet seats. Get new mattresses. And bulldoze Michelle's victory garden.



Hey, hombres, I had a few beers and couldn't contain myself. Comments are disabled for this post, solely because I know that I REALLY pissed off a LOT of people. 
And I'm smiling.
 

Thursday, January 19, 2017

MY MUSICAL PAST

I seldom write about my musical past. It lingers on the misty edge of a distance that no longer seems real. It is impossible to ever fully recapture those times, and - to be truthful - it's heartbreaking for me to remember what was....

...my youth in California when I was inspired, exuberant, energetic, optimistic. To say that I was a professional musician is no exaggeration. Despite my reckless, shiftless Hollywood years, I also managed to (later) go to college and study with some of the finest teachers in the country. I composed, conducted, worked as an accompanist, and gave solo concerts. I also performed with numerous orchestras.

After I left California at the age of 34 (for too many reasons to go into) I embarked on a life far removed from any semblance of excitement, fulfillment, glamor, or inspiration. I lived in the Missouri Ozarks, West Texas, and now Tennessee. During this time I encountered more problems, obstacles, and incredibly bad luck than I'd care to remember - which eventually expunged my heart and soul. I was rendered nothing more than a bitter, cold relic - a pale shadow of my former self.

Despite everything, I still had my music and my memories to hang onto. When I moved to Tennessee, however, the movers lost all of my diaries, journals and mementos. They also lost many of my California photos and more than half of my music manuscripts. That's when I finally completely gave up. My past was rudely severed forever.

During my active years as a musician, I made over 300 piano recordings (all are catalogued). Many of them were lost, but - fortunately - I still have some of my ancient, original cassette tapes.

The other night I started listening to some of the tapes, and somehow my spirit was rejuvenated. They are completely unedited, crude, and in mono - but at least they retain glimpses and glimmers of my musical past.

I'm presently in the process of transferring (some of) these tapes from cassette to 3MP files - via Audacity.

Last night I made two of these files into videos for YouTube. The videos themselves aren't very good, and the audio is extremely poor - but at least it gives an idea of my former piano virtuosity.
These piano tapes were both recorded in Los Angeles when I was in my very early 20's.



Tuesday, January 17, 2017

RAINY DAY STORY



 "Noah called. He picks us up in ten minutes."

Sit back, take a load off, and I'll tell you about my trip to town. Actually, the whole ordeal is too damn long, so I'll only offer selective highlights.

BTW, you won't really appreciate this unless you read my previous post RAGE. Even then, you might not appreciate it, but that's beside the point.

I desperately had to drive to town today, since I was nearly out of food and supplies. And I was completely out of cat food. My trio of felines haven't had a decent bite in two days. The last I saw, they were praying for mice.

Anyone who faithfully reads this blog (all three of you) knows how much I dread driving to town. It's an infinitely long stretch of dangerous, narrow, winding mountains roads. It scares the jeeters out of me on a good day. You can imagine my apprehension when it rains.

Today it didn't just rain. It was a non-stop Biblical deluge. I got up early and figured I'd wait until the rain tapered off. By 10:30 it was raining so hard that I was considering sending a dove out to look for an olive branch.

I finally realized that if I waited for the downpour to abate, I might be hanging around for months. As if on cue, a heavy mountain fog appeared as soon as I started driving. The windows steamed up and the rain was so torrential that seeing anything was an impossibility.

I did, however, see my entire life flash before my eyes multiple times. By the time I got to town my legs were limper than leftover spaghetti and I figured it would take the Jaws of Life to extract my fingers from the steering wheel.

The first thing I had to do was get gas (that's petrol, for those of you in Yorkshire). I was in line (in the store) waiting to pay the cashier. There was a grizzly old man in front of me (I'm old, but he was about fifty years older....).

Suddenly -
with absolutely no warning -
he turned toward me and let out the Mother of all sneezes. It was a direct hit. That son of a bitch anointed me with a Hillbilly Tsunami. I couldn't believe it.

I held my breath for nine and a half minutes until I got to the cashier - while silently putting every imaginable foul curse on him, and alternately praying for my own death.
All I really wanted to do was get home so I could boil my clothes and douse myself in lye soap and Listerine. 

Next stop was the bank. I usually utilize the drive-through window, but today I had to go inside (I won't burden you with unnecessary details).
When I came out again, my car wouldn't start. It's a damn good thing I hadn't robbed the bank - I would have never gotten away.

Despite the pouring rain, I was forced to open the hood (that's the bonnet for those of you in Oxfordshire) and mess around with the engine while getting mercilessly drenched.
It took twenty minutes to start the car.

At this point I had no doubt that I was being punished for multitudinous past sins. 

How multitudinous are your sins, Jon?

Let's put it this way: a priest once passed out as he was hearing my confessions. After he regained consciousness, we had sex.

Hey, don't sweat it. I only said that to scare my readers in Iowa.

I'm not Catholic. But I have made a few priests swoon in my time. 

Thanks to this unnecessary and extremely distasteful detour, I've completely lost my chain of thought. It doesn't matter - this post is getting too long, anyway.

One more (unrelated) thing: 
Why is the heat always turned up in the supermarket? Every time I go grocery shopping it's like being in Barstow in August. Today it was about 110 degrees in there. I felt like I was going to pass out and actually had to linger by the frozen chicken thighs to revive.

I have a lot more to tell but figure I'd better quit while I'm ahead. If indeed I am ahead.
In conclusion:
I miraculously made it home safely. It took forty rain-drenched slip-and-slide minutes to drag all the groceries up the muddy, perilously slick hill to my back door. This is the hilliest place I ever lived. It's like a Coney Island fun house.

The cats finally have food again. And - after I completely disinfect myself - I'm going to bed. It'll take a few days to recover.