barefoot bohemian poet

A Thursday Tour of a Small Town

2010-02-20T13:01:00.000-05:00

The halls of continuing education hum with excited law enforcement candidates
Dreaming of their first felony response
And handsome young paramedics practice on polyurethane torsos all named Avril
Or better yet Britney
While the instructor looks on his students with wide eyed wonder and wonders –
Just wonders.

The lobby of the family physicians is full of people trying hard not to look ill
Or be ill
Who covet only decent reading material and a moment of time
With a medical professional who might just have an answer.

The visitor center has closed early again since no one ever visits.

The coffee shop buzzes with alertness; the bakery is merely sweet.
The whole grain market sells roughage in bulk.
If you’ve got a buck you will eat.

The public library quietly studies matters great and small
And archives truth in a million volumes
With verified knowledge in all
Guaranteed to be wholesome and not harm the children
By making them think in any manner other than that previously approved
By the town council in public debate.

At the Sportsplex the circle hosts the dance of the minivans.
Those pregnant fertility symbols each disgorge a litter of cherubs
Who will now skate or swim for the appointed hour.
Afterwards those icons of the fruitful multitude will dance the circle once more
With a hundred working moms thinking “which way do I go?”
As the circle only goes right but they are thinking more left
But who would defy convention in such a manner?

Nothing ever really happens at the senior center
But that may be the way they like it.
Besides the radio only plays popular tunes from 40 years ago
And the food is good.

The burger joint has extra wide tables for extra wide customers.
Waitroids in poodle skirts bring heart attack platters
With cheese and chili fries and an extra large diet soda.
Later rows of luxury SUV’s can cruise the long block
Over to the ice cream shop
Where the benches are even wider!

Then finally on to the asphalt wilds of Wal-Mart
Where flocks of skateboarders practice tricks even they don’t know
And shoppers find bargains – low, low prices on low, low values.
Once more the luxury SUV’s and minivans dance the traffic circle
With hippopotamus grace
Thinking only which way do I go? Which way do I go?

Twin Cities Ribfest - What a day!

2009-06-11T04:42:00.005-04:00

What a day. Here I sit, unable to sleep at 5am. I will work 10 hours or so today getting out the Carrboro Citizen, then come home and pack the Volkswagen. We will drive to Winston-Salem, where I will meet the Pole Barn Poets at the Coliseum to play a hot half hour set at the Twin City Ribfest. This promises to be the largest audience we have ever played to, approximately 3000 expected to attend. Then Wonderful and I point the Volkswagen north to Ohio, or as close to it as we can get. Friday, Kelly and Sidra get married in Stockport, Ohio, and we have reservations Friday night at the Stockport Inn, a bed and breakfast in the old mill there.

The Ribfest will be the first gig I have ever played without Bessie Mae, my beloved old Hammond organ. She just does not fit in a VW, although the new Yamaha stage piano does.

Yuki the Yamaha is shown here sitting on top of old Bessie Mae as I have been doing lately in most gigs. The girls are set up for session one at Overdub Lane Studios in Durham back in Febuary. I do like my girls.

Here we go again.

2009-06-09T09:13:00.003-04:00

I have given my heart and soul to a number of companies over the years. Since my first job in 1971 busing tables at the Red Lobster, I have put tremendous energy into all that I have done. In that time, it has on occasion won me good money, promotions, and a comfortable life. Mostly though, it has won me disappointment.

Have you seen Jack Lemmon in the movie “Glen Gary, Glen Ross”? I have lived it. I have been the professional chasing a dream. I have been the dedicated Realtor, working hard in the interests of my clients. Some years ago I realized that I would never find happiness that way, and left that life. Now I think back on that time, and realize just how unhappy I was. I think of those people I knew at that time, working so hard to accumulate all the trappings of a successful life, and so thoroughly unable to enjoy it.

I concluded that happiness does not come automatically with a large paycheck; that the next huge commission only breeds desire for the subsequent one. No matter what my income, my expenses always manage to rise to it, and the net effect is the same – I must push for more. The logical solution was to shrink the expenses to match the income, which is rather easier.

I live a rather gracious lifestyle on about nothing now, although it is enhanced when a bit of extra money is around.

I gather no self-esteem from my job, no matter what it might be. I gather my self esteem from being a whole person living well inside a comfortable relationship in a small house just right for two. Although I have a closet full of ties, several nice suits, and an assortment of dress shirts, I seldom wear them anymore. Heck, I seldom wear shoes anymore. A stripped down simple life is far healthier for me.

This past year, working two minimal jobs, I pulled in more money than I ever made wearing those suits.

My Thursday job distributing the Carrboro Citizen is profitable and stress free, although I recently took a 1/3 pay cut when we divided the job in two. I am a victim of my own success here, as I grew the job into more than one man can do. Now the Citizen is available in twice as many spots as it was previously, and circulation is up considerably. An unfortunate result is that now I must split a somewhat increased distribution budget with another person so that all the papers might be delivered on Thursday. My net pay is down from last year considerably, an ironic result of this successful hard work.

For the past three years I have worked at Tarheel Takeout, putting in roughly 30 hours per week. This is as much of this demand driven delivery work as I can do without it driving me crazy. This work is at best fast paced and frantic, and more profitable the more frantic it gets. You might well understand how unhealthy that can be. Unfortunately, the business has been down lately, as discretionary spending has dried up. This combination 2 job 2-step that used to produce $600 to $700 a week has been producing about half that lately. Both my vehicles and myself have suffered from a lack of maintenance lately.

Now it may well be time to go forth into the job market once more, to put my aged ass out there and hope for the best. At 52, I find myself competing for jobs that will pay less than I am used to, competing against people half my age who are far more ambitious. I fear this will not end well.

I draw much more self-esteem from my creative efforts, but they do not pay the bills. I play in two bands, and we are creating music that is far better than I thought was in me. This makes me proud. I have done some film acting of late, which I enjoyed, but have yet to see any results from this work. Better keep a day job going.

So here we go again. Experienced professional seeks profitable employment with enough flexibility to pursue his art. Oh, and I need Thursdays off.

Emoting in the Modern Office Environment

2009-03-22T23:02:00.001-04:00

Emoting in the Modern Office Environment

is generally frowned upon,
and yet, unavoidable
and so very truly human after all.

The fax machine, the computer (even WordPerfect), the Personal Digital Assistant
are incapable of emoting in any substantive fashion
and yet that cell phone can leak emotional distress worldwide if one pushes the right buttons.
Do watch out for that Dictaphone; that can be trouble.
Intercoms can be quite treacherous as well, but require outside intervention
which often violates company policy in itself
and raises other issues without foreknowledge
that might effect stock values in ways unknown at this time.

Accounting recently received a text message that caused controversy and distress
until it was discovered to be intended for marketing
and was in fact a humorous attempt in dubious taste
with ramifications throughout the industry
that might effect stock values in ways as yet unaccountable.

With no clear company directive from the front office
emoting in the modern office environment
while certain to occur is best done outside of customer contact.
Sobriety is not absolutely required but is encouraged……………….
Please leave a sample with the nurse over at personnel.

Sales has figures from the past six quarters clearly showing
lunar cycles effect point of sale distribution and directly influence
emoting in the modern office environment
(do not use the customer database as announcement list
for resignation emails unless certain of facts and assertions
and willing to produce credible evidence in court).
Statistical analysis might indicate unpredictable stock value fluctuations.

It is then the intention of the board of managing directors
to maintain a veneer of civility over negotiations.
Blue suits and power ties go so well with martinis and Tums,
low carb lunches of wilted radichio and Percoset,
screaming only internally while awaiting installation
of a pressure relief valve on each major artery
in the pursuit of dividend coupons
and one myopic eye on market conditions
riding the swell of favorable BS trends
that bear investigation within fluid stock valuations.

Those requiring further clarification should just sit quietly and think about it.

Ambrose sleeping on a pillow

2009-02-22T11:35:00.002-05:00

My weekend ends Sunday at Noon, when I must work a double shift for my second most profitable day of the week. Ambrose's weekend never ends. Here he is taking a nap on a pillow my mother embroidered many years ago.

I like the way the sun comes through these windows in the morning. It is a pleasant place to wake up.

Ambrose has kept our home mostly mouse free for 5 years now. He has been napping on my lap a lot these recent cold evenings.

Soon spring will be here and Ambrose will spend more time in the yard. He should be well rested.

2009-02-18T21:03:00.005-05:00

After waiting 51 years, I finally got into a good studio with some good musicians. We paid for 5 hours of time with Overdub and John Plymale, and the money was well spent. I now have in my possession the most expensive CD in my collection. The 3 tracks we recorded last night are the best work I have ever done with music. Soon we must decide on 3 more for our next session. I can't wait.

These are my bandmates Kelly and Leon (with black guitars), Mondo (on drums), and producer John Plymale in the studio. I am honored to be included in among this bunch, and look forward to exploring music in ways new to me.

A time to let go, a time to move forward

2009-02-15T02:17:00.009-05:00

The candles we lit last Monday are burning out tonight. The 4 small stones in a row by the front porch will remain as long as we are in this house, a lifetime likely. The memories of 4 small companions will last a lifetime no matter where we are.

Now that those flames are extinguished, it is time to let go of this hurt. I feel that I am now able to let the dead be dead, no matter how much I wish it were not so. My little dog is truly off leash now, his soul and spirit free to move on to whatever beyond he may find. Although I still think of him often, nearly every waking moment, I know that this will pass with time. The memory will become more distant, and other companions will come at the proper time.

Goodbye, Griffin. I miss you.

Tuesday, I fulfill a lifelong dream. Doombunny has booked some time at Overdub Lane in Durham. we have picked 3 or 4 tracks that we have great confidence in our ability to play well. This should be enough for a damn good demo. We have about 4 more tracks that we will record in a month or two in another session, which may be enough to release a CD. I have never before fell in with such a professional lot of musicians, and have never recorded in a proper studio with such excellent equipment.

I look forward to meeting John Plymale, whose musical resume is very impressive. He will record us, and certainly produce a better recording than any I have appeared on before. I really can't wait to hear the results.

Wendy's surgery was successful, and she is healing well. Her face, always beautiful to me, now looks even better. She is eating well, and her jaw splint will be off in just a few more weeks. Then in six months I will see her lovely smile without braces for the first time in about a year and a half.

The future should be very interesting.

Photo by Marie Hermansson from the album: "Doombunny" by Marie Hermansson which can be found on her Facebook page.

Good friends comfort in times of need

2009-02-11T02:06:00.002-05:00

Last night under a full moon, several good friends sat on my front porch and spoke of their pets. We exchanged stories of good dogs and cats, of childhood pets now just memories. We filled our glasses repeatedly, and drank a toast to one very good little dog.

In our front garden there are four stones in a neat row, by the front wall of the house in a quiet spot on the far side of the porch. Four candles are burning there now, for the memory of four good little beasts that have lived in this house. Esme and Bruce were the two black cats that Wendy and I brought over from our apartments in Raleigh when we first moved to this house in 1992. They were getting rather old when we added little puppy Griffin in 1997. They raised him well, though, and gave him a life long love for cats.

Esme passed away in 2001, about the same time that Sybil came to join our pack. She was a black hound from a mountaintop in West Virginia, a very wild thing who had never seen a leash or a car before she traveled 600 miles to join us here downtown. She adapted well, with guidance from Griffin and Bruce. Bruce retired from mousing about that time, and passed away in 2004 at the age of 18. Upon his passing, we adopted Ambrose into our pack. Ambrose is a large yellow cat with an amazing personality, and an accomplished mouser on his own. He has benefited greatly from being raised by dogs, and is as optimistic and outgoing a cat as I have ever seen.

Sybil was very much a mother to Ambrose. That wild beast from the back woods groomed and cared for her kitty with such tenderness that touched us all. We were all surprised and saddened by her rapid decline at an early age due to neurological problems. She was doing rather poorly prior to our wedding in May of 2007, giving us quite a scare in the weeks leading up to the big day. She rallied for the wedding, and appears healthy and happy in all the wedding photos. She died only two weeks later, only six years old.

Shortly after her death we adopted Bella, an Airedale Terrier, who has matured visibly since Griffin's passing last week. Bella is almost 3 now, and ready to assume the role of alpha dog. She has been a tremendous comfort to me after the death of Griffin. She will be a good dog for many years to come, I hope and pray.

Ambrose continues to keep mice away, and monitors our yard vigilantly in the absence of his good friend Griffin.

We have been in this house long enough now that there are more pets out in the garden than there are still living with us in the house. Although they are gone, they are still loved. Candles burn over their graves tonight, but candles will burn in our hearts forever.

A very bad week

2009-02-01T03:19:00.001-05:00

I regret to inform that Griffin passed away on Friday, and Wendy had a major operation on Tuesday. We have had a high stress month or two around here, but the worst is over now.

Wendy had her jaw relocated 7mm forward to finally correct a poor bite occlusion that has bothered her all her life. Her teeth never actually met at the front, which has caused her to always be a very slow eater, and also has caused much neck and shoulder pain in recent years. Her doctors were of the opinion that this would get worse as she ages, as it already has some. She is on a liquid diet for another week, then soft chew for about six weeks. She has been wearing braces for over a year to prepare for this, and will wear post-surgical braces for another 6 months or so.

This is something she has always wanted to do, and should have done 25 years ago. I am so pleased that we were able to make this happen, and that she is doing so well. There are a few uncomfortable weeks yet to come, but finally the worst is behind us now. While she was in the hospital Tuesday, I was a nervous wreck. I went home to be with the dogs, and returned when she was transferred to post-op care. I went home late that evening, and had one of the worst nights of my life, with my wonderful wife in the hospital and my little dog wheezing under the piano.

Griffin started a rapid decline about a month ago, with trouble breathing and a horrid cough. We took him to the vet 2 weeks ago Friday. He was prescribed a course of antibiotics for fear of some nasty pneumonia, but it did not improve. By Friday last week it had gotten so bad we took him back. A chest X-ray showed a large mass and a lot of fluid around his lungs, compressing them. We rushed him to the vet school in Raleigh, where he was admitted immediately. They drained the fluid, which gave him immediate relief, then did an ultrasound to see what was in there. What they found was a massive tumor on his heart, constricting blood flow both in and out through his main arteries and his aorta. Their conclusion was that he had a few days to a few weeks at best; there was nothing they could do that was not extremely expensive and high risk.

By Friday this week he had lost about 1/4 of his body weight, would not eat or drink, and could not sleep or even put his head down and still breath. So very sad. I hated to see my little friend go, but the time comes for us all. He was still Griffin right to the end, trying to wag the tail, and he even sat up once for a liver treat (always his favorite, and the only food that interested him in the last 2 days).

I am damn near done crying, and will be even better tomorrow. We really miss that little guy.

Griffin

2009-01-31T00:15:00.002-05:00

Jasper Griffin Blackwell
October 20, 1997 to January 30, 2009
As true a friend as I will ever know.

Dear Republican Idealogues: Your turn now!

2008-12-26T12:43:00.003-05:00

I address this article to my brother, my mother, and all those who would disagree vehemently on all my stated political opinions. Now is your turn to witness my suffering of the past 8 years.

It seems to me that a short 8 years ago national debt was declining, governmental revenues exceeded expenditures, peace was fragile but building, and national policy was based on rational discussion of multiple views in an open forum. Perhaps I am wrong in that assessment, but that was my impression at the time.

In 2000, your dear Mr. Bush won an election with a distinct minority of popular vote, with the deciding factors being disputed votes in Florida and Ohio. His policies were to me at the time frightening in thier obtuse silliness, each seeemingly concieved in fear and ignorance. Despite my sure knowledge that the country would move in directions of which I might not approve, I hoped for the best.

On that count I was more bitterly dissapointed than I might have imagined at the time.

In 2003 Wonderful and I traveled to DC one fine day with about 100,000 of our closest friends to protest against a war. That war was engaged over our objections, and still costs billions of tax dollars to this day. For this reason (and many others) now our national debt has more than doubled, and every branch of government is dangerously underfunded. Our once rosy future has been handed directly to a mighty industrial/military machine with unprecendented powers.

All this taxpayer funded murder and mayhem has nearly bankrupted a nation, coupled with a recent unprecendented nationalisation of private debt no socialist could have imagined. Your golden boy has less than a month to sneak in a few other quick thefts, and then you guys are out on your asses for at least a few years.

Now it is your turn to sit on the sidelines, watching the country do things with which you do not agree. You may protest all you wish, as is your constitutional right, but policy will go in the direction favored by the current progressive majority. May I offer some tips to deal with this stress?

1. Speak up. You may not be heard, but at least you can say it. 100,000 of us clogged the streets of DC, only to be ignored. The descision was made long before we got there, but we spoke our displeasure loudly.

2. Vote next time. I will enjoy watching Palin go down in flames a second time. I shall view this with the same glee you ridiculed Bill Clinton with for so long.

3. Breath deep, and sit back now and then. When things just won't go right, it pays to take a zen attitude and relax a little. I have been doing so most of the time since 1980.

4. Hope for the future. The pendulum will swing back in 20 or 30 years anyways. Our people will make a few grevious mistakes, and someone will do something stupid. They always do, no matter who is in charge. You can hang on to those in the meantime. I has kept me sane over the past 8 years.

5. Conspire. Perhaps those of you with guns can form a rebellion. We've had 2 on this continent; the first was successful. Good luck!

6. This may be the most important part - be very quiet at parties for a while. When you are on the unpopular side of a national debate, silence can lead to a much more pleasant evening. Laugh at the jokes, and let the political stuff slide until you are in a social context where everyone agrees. Then you will have great fun fomenting dissent among the like-minded. It is a bit like preaching to the choir, but it will make you feel better until you read the paper the next day.

All in all, ride it out. It only hurts for a lifetime. The political descisions made by the new crowd in DC will last for a long time, especially on the supreme court. Sorry about that. Don't worry though, it may just be okay.

Shopping for a new car

2008-12-06T01:06:00.005-05:00

Recently my reliable old truck needed a new clutch. At only 207,000 miles, the truck finally showed it's age a little. Since both of my jobs require me to spend hour after hour out and about in Chapel Hill traffic, I felt it was time to buy another vehicle.

The truck is still reliable, even if it is a bit grouchy now. It still gets decent gas mileage, but not quite as fuel efficient as it was all those years ago. I didn't want to trade it in, as I still need a truck now and then, but I wanted a little car.

I have always prefered small cars. I have owned a few large ones and liked them well, but I genuinely prefer the tight handling and quick response of a lightwieght car. I have always preferred vehicles that are efficient and practicle. I like small station wagons with 4 doors, and I will always chose a manual transmission over an automatic. I like the feeling of envolvment that stirring the pot gives me, and I have never had an automatic transmission that did not annoy me on a daily basis prior to finally dropping dead.

I did my research, looking for suitable models. Unfortunately, the station wagon is an outdated concept, replaced after a fashion some 20 years ago by the far more profitable SUV. For some unknown reason, the auto manufacturers long ago convinced the American public that an ill-handling overwieght truck is far more stylish than a sedan with a long roof. Never mind that most SUV's wiegh a full ton more than similar wagons, and frequently seat fewer passengers and can carry less cargo. Very few wagons exist any more, especially the small light ones that I sought.

The Ford Focus seemed a reasonable size and a good configuration for my needs. Imagine my surprise when I went to the Ford dealer and heard that the wagon model had been discontinued. However, used cars are always a better deal in my opinion, so we did a nationwide search for one with a manual transmission. We found one in Laurel, Maryland. When we called that dealer, it had already been sold.

I looked at small wagons by Kia and Daewoo, but they were just too damn ugly. I looked at a few 4 door hatchbacks, but I didn't really like them. My wife has a Golf hatchback that is nice, but my stuff doesn't really fit in it. I looked at some VW wagons that were very nice, but even the used ones were rather expensive. I thought about some Volvos, and nearly got seduced by a VERY nice Subaru, but a little further research proved to me just how expensive to maintain these models would be.

Also, none of these cars got gas mileage even as good as my old truck. I was shocked to see that the 2004 Subaru Legacy was rated at 18/23 mpg. My old 4 cylinder Ranger can still get nearly 30 mpg on the highway, and still gets more than 20 around town even when I drive it like I stole it. No way I would pay $13,000 for a used car that got worse gas mileage and could not carry my stuff.

I went to see a Subaru WRX wagon that was too small, but sexy as hell. That thing was beautiful, but it wouldn't start. No sale.

I have never owned a Toyota, but everyone says such nice things about them. When I heard about the new 4 door Yaris Hatchback getting 40 mpg, I was intrigued. I went to Mark Jacobsen Toyota in Durham to see them. The nice young man showed us all around the place, but they had none. They had a 2 door Yaris, but I did not like that. They had Matrix wagons, but I was shocked to see how thirsty they were, with ratings at 22/26. Not impressive at all. Also, I had gone there in August, when all they had left was every 2008 model they had not been able to sell. They ended up chasing me around the showroom with the keys to enourmous V-8 trucks that I wouldn't buy o a bet! The sales guys heard I wanted some cargo capacity, and they immediately smelled a sucker who might take some unsellable inventory off thier hands. They did not want to tell me when the Yaris 5 door might be available, they wanted to sell me something off the floor.

I got very angry, and left there in quite a huff. I fired off a very angry email to thier website, telling them how far off base that particular sales pitch was.

While on line, I fired off an email to Ford.com asking why they had abandoned a market they had sold profitably for 100 years. Then I hit Craigslist to see what might be there.

After 15 minutes I found a 1994 Saturn Wagon advertised for $800 in Hooly Springs. I was there the next day, and bought it immediately. The car gets 35 mpg on the highway, and 28 mpg buzzing around town. I can put 5500 copies of the Carrboro Citizen in it with no problem. It is rather faster than I might have expected, and is a true joy to drive.

The most amazing thing about this remarkable little car is that Saturn doesn't make anything like it any more. check out this article for the full story. http://www.nytimes.com/2008/12/04/business/04saturn.html?_r=1&emc=eta1
Saturn was created to compete with fun fuel efficient Hondas and Toyotas that were dominating the market in the 1980's. Saturn succeeded as an import beater, and was GM's only profitable car division in the 1990's. Now however, they biuld a full line of SUV's and minivans that do not sell and lose money. Even more annoying is the fact that Honda and Toyota have curtialed thier small cars and are now losing money on equally huge trucks and SUV's. At least the japanese manufacturers still have the Yaris and the Fit, but Saturn has nothing like those at all.

If the American manufacturers want my money ever again (and mind you, I buy a used car about every 4 years of so, I might consider a new one if it actually suited my needs) they need to build something I like. What I want is my old Saturn Wagon, maybe 6 inches longer and 4 inches taller. I want it with a small 2 liter engine, and a manual 5 speed transmission. I want AC and bitchin' stereo, 35 miles per gallon, and please, please, please build a 6 passenger version with a front bench seat.

My old 1989 Celebrity Wagon would have been ideal if it had ever been available with a 5 speed. It was lightwieght in the extreme, seated 8 in comfort, and got 30 mpg even pushing through the slushbox automatic that ultimately caused it's demise after 8 years of hard driving. If GM could build decent cars like this 20 years ago, why can't they build them now?

2 dates with the wife in one weekend!

2008-10-19T02:37:00.001-04:00

What a busy weekend. Wonderful and I attended a movie preview Friday night in Raliegh, NC, USA. John, an old friend (well, not that old), is a producer who has produced a nice local film, Will To Power. We attended in stylish attire - Wonderful in her new pencil skirt and her black boots, and me in black jeans, tie, and vest, and barefeet. I met many nice people there, and no one questioned my feet. John's children were amazed, but sort of expected I would show up barefoot. They exclaimed loudly for a minute or two until they figured out no one cared. We sat on a huge comfortable sofa in the lobby socializing for a while, then we were all ushered into a very nice theater (the School of Communication Arts is a beautiful facility). The film was very intense, a suspenceful thriller set in a local private school, involving intrigue and murder among the baseball team. I recommend it highly.

Saturday night we attended a fundraiser for the Orange County Animal Protection Society out in Graham, NC, USA. The training facility out there is really quite nice, and both our dogs took thier obedience classes there. They had a silent auction, and a very entertaining auctioneer selling fabulous prizes for big bucks. The guy behind us paid $1500 for a basketball signed by the UNC coach and team. Go Tarheels! This was a catered funtion with food from Tupelo, a cajun place in Hillsboro, and beer from the Carolina Brewery. Good food, good beer, my wife was buying, and who cares about shoes in a dog training facility? I had a great time.

Also on Saturday I rehearsed with 2 bands. I stayed barefoot and maybe a bit drunk all day and all night, everywhere I went.

My dog and I were even able to break away for a while to visit the nearby Saturday Saxapahaw Music Festival, which happens about 9 months of the year now. Even though signs clearly indicated a discriminatory policy against canine Americans, we were both able to stroll freely barefoot all over the place. Years ago Saxapahaw was just a tiny mill village by the Haw River, a true company town. The Jordan family still owns about everything there, and that old mill is full of some very cool things now. It is a happening place you should check out if you get a chance.

What a great weekend!
Griffin in Saxapahaw

Jesse is dead, long live Jesse

2008-07-19T05:05:00.000-04:00

Jesse is dead, long live Jesse

So finally he is dead, and soon history will judge him. Many praise him now for the good works he has done, although I am hard pressed to name them.

He spread a gospel of hatred throughout his career, a litany of distrust, and a dogma of division. His words echo through our shared history, a legacy that will condemn him to any just and loving God.

He spoke of the others as if they were not of this one human family. Others who looked different, spoke different, worshipped different, lived different, or loved different were to him and his constituency the common enemy. As if the difference were enough to shun the different, he sowed division and reaped greatness from the smallness of a million hearts.

I can not and will not accept his interpretation of a vengeful and mighty God. I would not recognize as holy any such God. If we are made in his image, he is as less than perfect as we all are; how could he smite us for being as we were created? What God could condemn us for being as we are: speaking, looking, living, and loving as we must in our own true way?

I remember the battle cry of the new Republicans, his life’s work – “Give ‘em Helms, Jesse!” It shone from a million bumpers back in the day. It rings still in the hearts of many of his mourners.

As you sow, so shall you reap. Now Jesse, perhaps you get Helms.

Doombunny and PBP at the Cave May 28th, 2008

2008-05-23T13:11:00.000-04:00

2008-05-23T13:10:00.001-04:00

This is a bit of nonsense I enjoyed in my misspent youth. Maybe you might like it too.

CWM

Your Hurt

2008-04-18T11:50:00.002-04:00

This is the latest song I am working on now. These lyrics came about after I hurt my wife's feelings quite unintentionally. It is impossible for two people to spend 20 years together (21 now) without doing something rude or stupid to each other occasionally. Especially if one of them is a big dumb oaf like me.

I love my wife beyond imagining, but I lose sight of that sometimes. Every once in a while, it doesn't hurt to just say it.
CWM

Your Hurt

All those fears that follow you just might be true.
All those problems that eat at you, don’t know what to do.
All those feelings that keep us awake at night.
All those times we couldn’t make it right.
All those fears that follow you just might be true.

You know it is the thief in the night who steals our dreams.
Any one that might come true ain’t what it seems.
The doubts that plague us through the day
Linger here just to get in the way,
A silent night with nothing more to say.

Memories of what used to be
Bringing home the reality
Of a true connection between you and me
Makes it all the more hard to see
Your hurt.
Hopes and dreams of the still to come
Lead the wild heart where it wants to run.
Will you please let me have some
Of your hurt.

All those fears that follow you might just be true.
All those problems that eat at you, don’t know what to do.
All those feelings that keep us awake at night.
All those times we couldn’t make it right.
All those fears that follow you just might be true.

Await that silent thief and chase him away.
Await that silent thief and chase him away.
Await that silent thief and chase him away.

Memories of a misspent youth
Somehow might disguise the truth
That the method of my uncouth
Can not even hope to soothe
Your hurt.
Hopes and dreams of the still to come
Lead the wild heart where it wants to run.
Will you please let me have some
Of your hurt.

Await that silent thief and chase him away.
Await that silent thief and chase him away.
Await that silent thief and chase him away.

A well regulated militia?

2008-04-15T00:18:00.002-04:00

Robert Lumley is a senior at East Wake High School who has practiced diligently, perfecting his skills for a state competition. He has dedicated great time and effort to be competitive in his chosen sport, yet his dreams will not come to fruition. The principle of East Wake high School has decided that the state sponsored competition is not appropriate for high school students. Why? Robert Lumley and his teammates have practiced the art of target shooting. In the light of recent school shootings nationwide, the East Wake principle is concerned about a team of armed marksmen in his hallways.

Perhaps these fears are not valid. Perhaps there is no harm in high school students competing in a contest of skill closely supervised by adults. Perhaps the tradition of eagle eyed marksmanship as practiced by Alvin York and other American heroes needs to live on in this country. There is room for all interests here in the land of the free and the home of the brave, isn’t there?

The statewide shooting tournament is sponsored by the North Carolina Wildlife Resources Commission. Wildlife Resources considers it’s customer base to be hunters and fishermen, and sponsors the shooting competition as part of it’s ongoing efforts to recruit youths to hunting, as the numbers of hunters statewide has been steadily declining in recent years. Wildlife Resources controls vast acreage of publicly owned lands, which it manages as game lands with laws written to favor the needs of hunters over all other user groups. As licensed hunters are less than 10% of the North Carolina population, and their numbers are declining rapidly, Wildlife Resources stands to lose influence and control over game lands once the public recognizes that non-hunters so greatly outnumber hunters.

Wes Seegars is the chairman of the Wildlife Resources Commission. He is quoted in the April 9 edition of the News and Observer, saying “I appreciate the fact they may have a policy, but all government agencies need to remember they’re there to serve the public. There is something lost in a policy that does not serve the needs of the community.” Mr. Seegars would do well to remember his own words in setting policy for his own agency. Wildlife Resources is in control of a vast majority of publicly owned land in the area, including approximately 90% of the shoreline around Jordan Lake (http://www.ncwildlife.org/pg04_HuntingTrapping/GameLand_Maps/Piedmont/Jordan.pdf) and Falls Lake. (http://www.ncwildlife.org/pg04_HuntingTrapping/GameLand_Maps/Piedmont/Butner-Falls%20of%20Neuse.pdf) While in control of this vast public resource, Wildlife Resources manages it to the almost exclusive benefit of the dwindling minority of hunters they consider to be the exclusive rightful users of game lands.

Here is the text of their regulation entitled “Unlawful Harassment” - In North Carolina, it is unlawful for a person to interfere intentionally with the lawful taking of wildlife resources or to drive, harass, or intentionally disturb any wildlife resources for the purpose of disrupting the lawful taking of wildlife resources on public or private property. NOTE: This law does not apply to activity by a person on land he owns or leases or to a person who incidentally interferes with the taking of wildlife resources while using the land for other lawful activity such as agriculture, mining, or recreation.
Violation of this subsection is a misdemeanor punishable for a first conviction by a fine not to exceed $1,000.00, by imprisonment not to exceed 30 days, or by both and punishable for a second or subsequent conviction by a fine left to the discretion of the court. (North Carolina General Statute 295)
WHAT SHOULD I DO?
If you experience unlawful harassment, immediately notify your nearest wildlife enforcement officer, county sheriff's office or local police department. Advise the authorities of this law and that you wish to hunt peacefully.
WHAT NOT TO DO
Do not provoke a fight, threaten reprisals or use profanity. Remember these anti-hunting activists are seeking confrontation and may be accompanied by the news media.

This regulation is written so broadly that even a non-hunter’s mere presence in the area may be a violation. Note also that an exception is made for recreational land users. However, lawful activities are closely defined, and any deviation from those defined lawful activities is another violation. Deviations include unleashed dogs, any alcohol or drug possession, or swimming in an area not designated for swimming. Also note the language about anti-hunting activists. Wildlife Resources is well aware that they serve a minority of the general population, and write their regulations to counter this inconvenient fact.

It is well past time for this situation to be addressed. Why are the majority of publicly owned lands in the Triangle area managed for the exclusive use of a small minority of users? Why is our tax revenue used to further the dreams of gun toting firearms enthusiasts, while preventing the peaceful enjoyment of public lands by an unarmed majority?

Robert Lumley and his friends are the innocent victims of a shift in public opinion. While I can respect the craft and skill needed to shoot responsibly, the reality is that many of these boys will set up unauthorized shooting ranges on public game lands. When bullets are flying, it is hard for anyone else in the area to truly relax, and it is impossible to enjoy the peaceful serenity of the North Carolina woods when it sounds like Fallujah out there. Our woods need not sound like a battlefield. In fact, it is incumbent upon Wildlife resources to prevent bullets from flying through populated woods, as they so often do.

Too many times my own walks through the woods near Jordan Lake have been disturbed by the sounds of nearby gunfire. During hunting season or not, I often hear the unmistakable sound of target practice, short bursts of fire separated by several minutes of reloading and target set up. The woods are littered with debris from target practice, including broken beer bottles and bullet riddled signs. Many times I have had to calm the fears of my little dog when gunfire erupts near our favorite happy place.

Just yesterday I called in a complaint about gunfire that was obviously target practice in an area that sees this activity regularly. I have personally called in these complaints at least 20 or 30 times in the past two years. These complaints are never mentioned in press releases from Wildlife Resources, but they are very careful to include language about complaints of nudity and sexual solicitation in avery document that goes out. Wildlife Resources has very carefully constructed the record to show that nudity is the only problem out there, when in fact there are many hunting related complaints that go unmentioned.

How can Wildlife Resources justify this as effective public land management? I would remind Wes Seegars that his agency has an obligation to ALL users of recreational land in North Carolina. Something is lost indeed in a policy that does not suit the needs of the community.

The game lands around Jordan Lake are mismanaged by NC Wildlife Resources

2008-02-22T13:02:00.004-05:00

The game lands around Jordan Lake are managed by NC Wildlife Resources, whose primary source of revenue is hunting and fishing licenses. As a result, NC Wildlife Resources values the opinions of hunters and fishermen beyond any other segment of the population. All North Carolina laws regarding game lands are written with the supervision of Wildlife Resources to better serve the interests of their customers. In North Carolina, being a proper woodsman is equated with being a hunter.

While target practice is illegal on game lands, the ban is rarely if ever enforced. Often I have heard repeated gunshots while walking in otherwise peaceful quiet woods. I will hear 6 to 20 shots (depending on the size of the clip used), then a pause for reloading, followed by an equal number of shots. Sound travels oddly in the woods, especially near water such as our area lakes, so it is hard to determine who is shooting at what, and where they might be. When someone is shooting target practice in the woods, people a mile in any direction are nervous, and had best keep a sharp eye out for flying bullets.

When we hear shooting in the woods, my little dog gets anxious and I get annoyed. I often use my cell phone to call in a complaint, but without precise information of who is shooting where there is nothing Wildlife Enforcement will do. They consider target practice to be an unfortunate but unavoidable habit on game lands, and tell me to not worry, I won’t catch a bullet. I have gotten this dismissive response so many times over the years, I can just about make the speech myself.

Another nice feature of most modern cell phones is the camera options found on most these days. I recently took a few nice shots of target practice debris out at Jordan Lake. Broken skeet, shotgun shells, boxes of ammunition, and shot up bottles and appliances are everywhere all around our area lakes.

Despite this evidence lying on the ground virtually everywhere, Wildlife Resources tells me this is not a problem. Despite the fact that one of my favorite trails yielded a dead bicyclist a few years back (shot by a hunter firing target shots at a sign on a gate blocking a long straight roadway), Wildlife Resources tells me the danger is minimal. Basically, they tell me not to worry my pretty little head about it.

Wildlife Resources takes a dim view of other transgressions though. They have stiff penalties for interfering with a hunt, something I am guilty of if I walk my dogs on game land during hunting season. Rest assured, in North Carolina it is ALWAYS hunting season for something. If rabbit and duck are out of season, there are deer and pheasant, or something that you can blow to hell.

From what I understand, you can shoot a duck in season at any wildlife observation site. In November of 2001, some hunters set up a duck blind in front of the Audubon Society observation deck, and scattered dead ducks about indiscriminately. Numerous complaints from me and others got no response from Wildlife Resources. One day I saw the hunters there, and sat nearby watching as my dogs played. Soon the hunters became annoyed, and two armed men tried to chase me away. I stayed my ground and called Wildlife Resources, who threatened to charge me with interfering with a hunt. No officers arrived, however, and the hunters eventually left. As they roared off in their motorboat, I set fire to the duck blind, an act applauded by all passersby.

Yes, you can shoot a duck on game lands, but if he sees your wee-wee you are guilty of indecent exposure. You can blow away any mammal you please in season, but should you have the poor taste to be caught taking a leak when the children’s choir comes around the bend in the trail, you could end up with a GPS enabled anklet for life as a registered sex offender.

So continues the glorification of death in the culture of violence. I think the hunters should have a place to hunt. I also think that everyone else who wants a place in the sun should have it. Public land belongs to the whole public, not just the popular groups.

You can’t reserve vast swathes of public land for the exclusive use of only those you consider to be the cool kids. Wildlife Resources is a closed little network of hunters vehemently protecting their rights to bear arms and shoot whatever they see. They will not acknowledge that any other use for game land has merit. They have increased penalties for skinny dipping, and created a hostile armed insurgency to keep the woods safe for murder and mayhem. I do not agree with the principles of management espoused and practiced by this retrograde group of Reagan Youth, and seek to depose them from their self appointed throne. They have the laws behind them because they wrote the laws to suit their purposes. This is not how democracy works.

Wildlife Resources has mismanaged lands around our area lakes for long enough. It is time for more enlightened management to take over the areas that Wildlife Resources has demonstrated a complete inability to properly manage.

I want to wash my truck

2008-02-20T00:32:00.003-05:00

I like my truck. It has served me well for eight years, doing nearly anything I have asked of it with minimal complaint and expense. I am dependent on my truck.

Of late, the truck’s appearance has suffered from a variety of ailments. We had a little incident on I-40 two years ago that pleated and folded the entire front end. Now some of the fenders are a different color. Actually, the primer black looks pretty cool with the original silver, giving the truck an unintentionally municipal look. It sort of looks like the Hooterville Town Police, maybe the East Podunk CSI.

Furthermore, I frequently travel with two dogs. Sometimes the seats are a bit sandy, and the windows are smeared with nose prints. I keep a brush and some Windex handy so I can clean up after I drop them off. Of course the cat likes to sit on it when the truck sits in the driveway, so it’s covered with paw prints from a variety of species.

Let us not forget the cherry tree that leans over it in the driveway. Birds do unspeakable things to my truck when the cherries are ripe.

With the recent drought, the truck has accumulated dust and grime, sludge and road tar, and brake dust particularly on the wheels. Those wheels are the truck’s nicest feature, actually, being wide and chrome, and even the spare matches. They support some low profile tires that have served me without failure for 195,000 miles.

I was more particularly particular about the truck’s appearance when all the paint was the same color. It really looked nice for the first five years or so but time has worn it to a fine patina of mild decay. I have tried to keep it up, but time marches on and eventually death comes for us all.

The truck would perhaps look healthier if I could just wash it, but that is a bit of a sin during an extensive drought. This morning I tried a little experiment. My driveway is brick, with a low spot that collects a puddle after every rain. I have a long brush I use to wash the truck and the car, which I dipped in the puddle, and scrubbed my wheels. They came clean! I then scrubbed that new front bumper (the one some giant trailer hitch backed into the day I installed it). I came clean!

Then I hit that drip of whatever that’s been stuck on my tailgate for a week. It came clean! I eventually managed to wash most of the truck from one puddle.

Perhaps our current hour of scarcity is good for us. We Amuricans are so used to having our way with everything; it might be healthy to get a reality check now and then. Now we are forced to finally consider carefully our water consumption. We must learn to think as a region on this vital issue, rather than just drilling a deeper well than our neighbors.

I read the stage three water restrictions that OWASA has on their agenda, possibly instituted very soon. This act is perhaps six months to late, yet when I reviewed the restrictions I realized we were already well within them. We haven’t watered anything in the yard in almost a year, and I can’t remember the last time I washed the truck. I have only used the hose once in this calendar year, to clean up a small paint spill on the front porch floor. We bought a front loading clothes washer that uses very little water, and gets the clothes really clean. We have a new toilet, and a 2 rain barrels. I even bought parts for a grey water system, but I haven’t installed it because they violate code here in Carrboro. We have been setting the potted plants in a puddle in the back yard, but most of them died. Don’t worry, next year there will be more, and we saved the important ones.

Coupled with the current recessionary economic climate, this hardship will force us to think in new ways. There are better, more efficient ways to manage and allocate our water resources. I only wish I knew what they were; this is not my area of expertise. I’m glad I don’t have to make these very hard choices that the OWASA board must discuss this month. People do so often fail to pay attention until they finally have no choice.

Right now I’m just glad I never got around to fixing the low spots in the driveway and back yard. I’m glad we have those puddles right now. If you squint a little, my truck kinda sorta looks clean.

Cost effective Bedevilment

2008-02-16T09:08:00.002-05:00

Cost effective bedevilment

Any incarnate evil entity wishing to inspire woe unto all mankind has a number of options to attain this dismal goal.

Plague, pestilence, and wrathful acts of gods inflicting injury indiscriminately,
Leading to gnashing of teeth and rendering of cloth as mourners gather
And millions might cry out to the heavens “WHY ME?”

But these tests of faith can unfortunately backfire
And instead result in the universal human brotherhood
As 6 billion sufferers worldwide realize that
In the end we are all in this together.
Rather than being crushed beneath unspeakable oppression
We humans have a perverse tendency to rise above the suffering
And find peace, love, and understanding
That will see us through the darkest hour
Until we reach our just reward in whatever our faith leads us to believe
Will be the salvation of the righteous.

Such great endeavor yet not the intended result at all.

Then to each might be delivered those thousand little disappointments
That can truly break the spirit
And cause the individual to ask rhetorically “WHY ME?”

Such is the nature of life that dreams may evaporate or condense
On the merits of ecclesiastic whims so beyond our control or understanding
That we may have no concept of purpose or design within it.
Context is lost, and only the details remain –
That job interview missed because the bus was late;
The romance shattered when the time and the stars were just not right;
The talent that one might so nearly possess yet so intensely desire;
The great endeavor lost in the shuffle never to be resumed.
Such is the nature of time that the greatest poem ever written
May well crumble into dust with the passage of eons
In some obscure notebook forgotten under tons of debris.

What a lot of time and effort that would consume.

No, for cost effective bedevilment a much simpler plan will serve better.
Jealousy and envy are perfect foils for the human spirit
And an unjustly fortunate few might evoke millions to question “WHY NOT ME?”

It really is no great investment to shower all that this earth might have to offer
On the unjustly fortunate few, those shallow individuals whose contributions are few,
Whose merit is not apparent, whose passage is smooth beyond imagining.
A small number of conspicuous consumers who appear to rule the earth
And eat a share of it well out of proportion to their needs -
Those 400 who might have everything while the majority have nothing to compare;
The elite who know not the agony of those who serve them so well;
Self-appointed royalty who hold themselves to be grand and all others to be invisible;
The great who know nothing of greatness.
Such is a misery no one can endure.

That might just explain all in this world that makes so little sense.

Chuck Morton February 15, 2008

Photographic evidence of my happy place

2008-02-05T10:16:00.000-05:00

Wonderful and I like to walk, run, and swim in the natural world with our dogs, Griffin and Bella. Here we are in Jordan Lake, at an area that is now closed to the public. we like this area because it is so very clean, a direct result of 20 years we have spent cleaning it.

As a child, I walked an area that is now Crabtree Valley Mall. The beauty of this natural flood plain has been so thoroughly erased that one would never guess that the creek once ran right where the mall is now. That is why it floods so often.

In my early adult years, I found a place that I liked very much, an old farm pond lost back deep in the woods. That place became a large city park about 1980, and now the water there is so polluted by runoff of excessive fertilizers used on the extensive lawns around it that no fish can live there.

Please note that these very happy dogs are off leash, a misdemeanor on gamelands without a hunting dog permit. I will continue to commit this particular crime even if it becomes a felony, but only with dogs I trust like these two.

About the time the old farm pond got swallowed whole by the city, I found a great scenic place in Cary. That pond is now under the SAS campus. It was spectacular at one time though.

This bucolic scene contains a number of crimes. Shall we count the misdemeanors? I see a dog off leash, a potential for indecent exposure (depends on whether or not I remembered to pack my swimsuit that day), and a reasonable certainty that there is a small flask of bourbon in my pack. For these crimes I remain unrepentant.

Wonderful and I fell in love on our first date at the Little River in northern Durham County. That free place had been a popular gathering spot for centuries, being popular with native populations long before Europeans with notions of land ownership came to this continent. The river was cleared out in 1990 when 8 luxury homes were built on the overlooking ridge.

Wonderful and I will surely find another happy place. After 21 years together we have learned that we will be just fine wherever and whenever. We sure would like to continue walking in the natural world, though. I can't help but wonder why this is such an afront to the modern suburban world.

Indian Creek Wildlife Observation Area Closing (again)

2008-02-05T03:08:00.000-05:00

For some 20 years I have walked in the woods at the Indian Creek Wildlife Observation Area. In recent years I have walked there with 2 dogs on an almost daily basis. I have seen firsthand what goes on out there, and have been annoyed almost equally by creeps in the parking lot and litterers throughout the area. However, because of the efforts of a few caring volunteers (myself included), this is the cleanest set of walking trails in the Triangle.

Since Indian Creek is now closed, the wife and I have been seeking a new place to hike with our dogs. The logical alternative that we used last summer during the timber harvesting is about 500 yards north on 751 just across the water. Yesterday when I went there, I found this notice. Please observe the full scene below.

Note the deer carcass nearby. The smell of this surprisingly fresh kill was powerful. Many flies buzzed about. The deer found here in such close proximity to your signs and the notice from the first picture sends a clear message, don't you think? Since we are a month past hunting season, I called in the obvious violation, and was reffered about to the agencies and people I noted on the notice itself during the conversations. All of the officials told me there was no actionable violation, and they would not do anything. The deer is a young buck, missing only his antlers. He appears to have been dead about a week. What does not show in this picture is the amount of trash nearby.

I note in your online map (http://www.ncwildlife.org/pg04_HuntingTrapping/GameLand_Maps/Piedmont/Jordan.pdf) that about 90% of the Jordan Lake shoreline is gamelands. Am I to assume that 90% of all area residents are hunters? Or has all of this area been reserved for the exclusive use of a small percentage of the taxpaying population?

Sunday we took the dogs to the peninsula across the water, and walked almost a mile down a shadeless gravel road before finding a nice single track trail. This is the mile of road where the bicyclist was shot some years back by a young hunter taking target practice shots at the signs on the gate blocking the road. We found about 5 or 6 deer carcasses there. More specifically, our dogs did.

Here is a picture of the dogs waiting patiently in my truck while I talk on the phone to NC Wildlife Resources. Will you please explain to me (and them) why going to our happy place is now a misdemeanor? I understand that there has been a history of nudity on the property. I also know that there is no mention of that in the Audubon Society sign in book on site. I do see however that every page is covered with complaints about the recent logging.

I did a short review of my family to determine how many hunters I am related to. My brother and his son hunt regularly, as does my sister's younger son. That makes 3 hunters in the family. Then I asked how many go walking in the woods. That was everybody except my 78 year old mother, who no longer can. Then I asked how many had ever been skinny dipping. Most everybody had, and about 5 regularly do. The Naturist Society claims some 70 million Americans have gone skinny dipping, an American tradition painted by Winslow Homer and Norman Rockwell. The AANR (http://www.aanr.com/ American Association of Nude Recreation) claims about 18% of the American population particpates regularly.

Making a behavior illegal does not make it go away. It simply drives it underground and makes it impossible to regulate. By closing Indian Creek, I can garuantee that this behavior will spread all around the lake, leading to a dozen responses such as this notice posted with your names, looking falsely official. Some one will surely get shot.

Do not think that by ignoring this email that I will go away quietly. I have copied this email to a number of interested parties and media. I will persist until Indian Creek reopens. I would recommend opening the area with a designated clothing optional area, with some reasonable price for paid admission and/or parking. This would pay for supervision on site, and mitigate the problems that your prohibition ironically fostered.

Chuck Morton

How to order out politely

2008-01-24T00:48:00.000-05:00

Tarheel Takeout and countless other delivery services offer the finest of area cuisines to customers who rightly wish to stay home and snuggle on the couch. This valuable service is difficult enough without the complications that many customers impose upon those who provide this service. Here are a few pointers to make that pizza guy less grouchy next time you call.

1. Please turn the porch light on. you would not believe how many dark houses we approach on a daily basis. If your mother was coming with your dinner, wouldn't you turn the light on for her? And don't use those damn motion detector lights, they are counterproductive. It is very frustrating to approach a dark house only to be blinded by 200 watts of halogen bulbs pointed towards the street just as you start to climb the steps. Often because of the motion detector lights, I look for munbers on a dark house, yet it is all lit up like Christmas when I leave.

2. Post your house number where it can be seen from the street. A good test is to sit in the street in your car on a rainy night, and objectively evaluate if you can read your house number. Most people hang thier numbers on bright sunny days, and never think of them again. It is one thing if the pizza guy is delayed, but someday you may need an ambulance. You don't want him riding up and down the street trying to figure out which is your house. Also, I don't care if you are renting. The landlord doesn't care if your dinner is late. Post your own damn numbers; they cost about a dollar each at Home Depot.

3. Open the door! Don't yell "come on in". I will not. I don't know you or your house. Open your damn door.

4. I don't care if you are naked or smoking a joint or whatever. Just answer the door. Time is precious, so please answer promptly. It is very disconcerting to wait at the front door while much bumping and stomping happens unseen behind it. Just open the damn door; I don't care about the other stuff.

5. Tips are nice. Cash tips are really nice. Tip stands for "to insure promptness". We remember people who tip well, and we talk unbelievable shit about people who stiff us. You can usually tip on your credit card or paypal account. Cash tips are really nice.

6. Apartment dwellers be aware! We do not need the mailing adress of your apartment complex. All we need is your apartment number and your apartment complex name, in that order please. Put the most relevant information first. We do not need your mailing adress, unless we are mailing the pizza to you. You try to deliver to 1102 Highway 54 East. That is meaningless, as it covers 300 apartments and isn't posted anywhere anyways. Just say (for example) H-2 Laurel ridge; the apartment number followed by the complex name. Those names are on huge signs by the road, but the mailing adress never is. The same is especially true for dorm rooms. The next kid on campus who gives me his mailing adress, I swear I will mail his dinner to him.

7. These days, most deliveries are dispatched by text message, or short handwritten forms. Do not assume that any special directions to your house will get to the delivery driver. I get 25 characters on text for adresses, so put the most relevant information first, not a descriptive paragraph about your house. My house is yellow and next door to the town hall, but you likely wouldn't find it if I didn't give you my adress.

8. Have your payment arranged before you call. Don't scramble around trying to find cash once the food arrives. This is rude and stupid. Drivers end up losing money this way.

9. Are your steps icy or falling down? Screw you. Fix them, you lazy fool.

10. Please buy houses that have front doors facing the street. On many new homes it is hard to figure out where the entrance is, because the primarily used entrance by the occupants is the garage. If your door is obscure, give me some clue, an arrow pointing the way or something. Also, I will use your front door. I will not go around to the rear of houses I do not know. Guys get shot that way. I don't care if all your friends and family use the back door. I don't know you, and I don't know your house. I will go to the front door.

to review in short form:

1. Turn the light on. Don't make me stumble around the yard in the dark.

2. Post your house number where it can be seen from the street.

3. Open the door, don't just yell to come in. I will not.

4. Open the door promptly. Don't make me wait on the porch while you stomp about.

5. Tips are nice. Cash tips are really nice.

6. Your delivery adress may be different from your mailing adress. Just give me the relevant information. I'm not mailing it to you.

7. Keep your delivery adress short and concise, especially if ordering online.

8. Have the payment ready before you order.

9. Make sure your entrance is safe.

10. I'm going to your front door. Don't be surprised that I won't stumble through your back yard when I don't know you.

Thank you for your business, and know that if you piss us off we will talk about you at the office at the end of the night.

Pointless Obfustications

2008-01-23T23:06:00.000-05:00

It has been more than a month since my last post. The holidays and a busy schedule conspired to keep my creative energies overtaxed for several weeks. Then, just as the schedule returned to normal we were slammed by a complete and total computer meltdown. We were offline for 2 weeks. No email contact was possible until the day before yesterday. we still don't have Word and Excel, so some work remains impossible on this new machine for now.

After catching up with two weeks of email, I have a bunch of unexpressed opinions. Time is still short though. This week I worked 3 jobs, and rehearsed with 2 bands. Also, I spent far too long in the dentist's chair in recent weeks. All of these delays in my creative energies has me thinking of all the pointless little delays that we face on a daily basis.

For some reason, my life has evolved to the point that I am now some kind of modern middle class Stephen Fetchit. The 2 jobs that pay my mortgage both involve me racing about town in an elderly Ford truck, trying to get stuff where it needs to go. Five nights a week I buzz about delivering for Tarheel Takeout (tarheeltakeout.com). This is a stupid way for a grown man to earn a living, but it got me through that accounting degree last year, and pays alarmingly well. On Thursdays I distribute the Carrboro Citizen (carrborocitizen.com), which also performs better for me than I might have expected.

Since I spend so much time in the truck under deadlines, I tend to be impatient with unnecessary traffic delays. In the service of the general public, I now air this list of grievances, and offer my suggestions of HOW IT OUGHT TO BE DONE.

There are a number of mistakes amatuer driver make that annoy the hell out of multi-million mile professionals such as myself. Talk to anyone whose jobs requires many many miles, and they will all agree with these rants and raves.

1. I am no fan of traffic lights. As far as I can tell, they serve primarily to allow slow witted and slow moving traffic equal footing with competent drivers. I note that often traffic lights are the only obstruction to my passage through an intersection for the entire duration of the red light. Often, they serve to back up oncoming traffic so that left turns become impossible during the next green, forcing one driver per light cycle to move only at the end of the yellow light. Particularly annoying are loooooooong light cycles, such as those on 54 near Meadowmont. If a slowpoke in front fails to move at any opportunity, those behind will have to wait for as long as five minutes for the next green signal. Those huge intersections are larger than the traffic circles that could easily better serve the purpose, and better allow traffic to continue to flow. The current series of one block drag races serves as an invitation to congestion, frustration, and dented fenders.

2. A particular problem at any traffic light is the tendency of people to pull forward into the intersection before they can clear it. If the forward progress is blocked ahead, they will be stuck in the center of the intersection when the light changes, and traffic in the other direction will be blocked for much if not all of the light cycle. This is a major no-no in other urban areas; why is it tolerated here? Just because one damn fool can't go, it is no reason that everyone else must be stuck.

3. The same is true for all the side streets and commercial driveway entrances that are impacted by backed up intersections. If one driver chatting on the phone or otherwise not paying attention blocks these entrances, no movement is possible for the duration of the offending light. This is silly, folks. Let the people who can go through. That will be one less idling automobile in somebody else's way.

4. Why are there so few right turn lanes around here? Why must I (and others) sit waiting for one person ahead to go straight? If you are that person going straight with right turn signals behind you, is it such an imposition to squeeze forward a bit to let them go?

5. I yield to pedestrians, but I do it close to the crosswalk. I regularly see drivers on Franklin Street and other congested parts of town simply refuse to move forward if pedestrians are blocking them from turning right. This unnecessarily blocks traffic that wishes to go straight. There is always enough room for a car to make about half of its right turn before impacting pedestrian progress. Doing so clears the lane for traffic going straight.

6. When turning left, one can always move forward and left enough to allow others to pass and proceed straight through the interesection. Just because you can't go, doesn't mean that no one should be able to go. None of these first gear manuevers are at all dangerous. The point of driving is forward motion, and it is the only efficient way to use a running automobile. Any vehicle sitting still for any reason is getting zero miles per gallon.

7. PAY FUCKING ATTENTION! Your breakfast or cell phone conversation may well be fascinating, but your full attention must be on the road. Last night, in less than a half hour's time, I was vehicularly assualted by 2 drivers talking on cell phones. I use cell phones myself, in fact my trips are dispatched by text messages. I know when to dial and when to pay full attention to driving the truck. The difference is if the truck is moving or not. You figure it out.

8. 9 out of 10 turn signals are not needed. If you are in the left turn lane, you had better be turning left. You need not tell me that endlessly for a whole 5 minute light cycle. Also, turn signals carry meaning for about 100 yards. After that, most drivers assume you are stoned or senile enough not to notice your signal is on. I have followed people for miles that had signals going continuously. They might be turning one way or the other miles ahead, but they signal absurdly early. This annoys me because of an anomily in my personal vision. I do not know quite why, but flashing lights make me nauseous. My eyes are slow to adjust to varying light levels, and yellow flashing lights have long had the power to make me very sick very quick. A tow truck on a lonely two lane road made me vomit one night 25 years ago. Please consider your signal to be a brief communication, and limit it to when it has impact on the movements of others.

9. Slower traffic keep right. This is in fact the law. I don't care if you are going the speed limit, or close to it. If others are backing up behind you, you are impeding the flow of traffic and creating a dangerous situation. While you are content with your moderate speed, others are bunching up behind you, and gathering too close together. When inevitably someone must turn, everybody behind hits the brakes, and sooner or later fenders will crunch. On multilane freeways, slowpokes in the left lane cause much dangerous manuvering in the gathering angry traffic behind. Two brief flashes of the high beams means get your slow ass out of the way. It is an absolute law in Europe and the northeast. Ask Richard Petty, he knows.

10. The high beams are illegal if any other vehicle is in sight ahead of you. Lately I have been seeing many people in city traffic on the high beams, particularly on rainy nights. That stupid fool will see marginally better, but everyone else will be endangered. The next time I am at a red light in front of someone with high beams (or headlights aimed too high), I may just hop out and break those lights. I always want to. All modern cars have headlights mounted in plastic header panels, whose mount points deteriorate with age. This tends to aim headlights upwards on many older cars, dazzling drivers ahead even on the low beams. If your lights illuminate the passenger compartment of the car ahead, you are causing a hazard. I see this all the time, and most of those drivers don't notice. In fact, most of them think they have really good headlights. I knew one guy who aimed his headlights high on purpose, because it really lit up the road ahead. He had two broken headlights one night, and never knew how or why.

In short form, please consider these 10 points of driving ettiquette:

1. Don't dally at the light. Every extra car length you allow is one more car that won't get through the light.

2. Don't enter the intersection if you can't clear the intersection.

3. Don't arbitrarily block side streets and driveways while waiting at red lights.

4. Squeeze forward when going striaght so that others can turn right.

5. Squeeze forward when turning right so that others can go straight.

6. Squeeze forward when turning left so that others can go right or straight.

7. Pay attention!

8. Use your turn signals briefly and concisely, so that they mean something.

9. Slower traffic keep right. Get your slow ass out of the way.

10. Be polite with your powerful and potentially blinding headlights. Keep them dimmed when other traffic is in sight, and keep them aimed properly.

Now drive cheerfully and stay out of my way.

Old adventures are not forgotten

2007-12-18T01:41:00.000-05:00

One advantage of having a web site with your name on it is that it is very easy for people to find you on the web. I created chuckmorton.org for the election, but I keep it because every so often I get emails from people I have not heard from for forever. Most of the time this is just a pleasant hello, but recently an old girlfriend sent a steamy photo that showed just how gracefully she is aging. The wife is perhaps a bit jealous, but she really needn’t worry. I have slowed down so much in recent years that I am certain the old girlfriend would be grievously disappointed.

I was really pleased to hear from my old friend, whom I had wondered about. She was at a difficult place when I knew her, but I was certain she would be okay. It appears that she was. In her email, she recounted her memories of me, and mentioned some names I hadn’t thought of in a while. She remembered Charlie, about whom I have previously written. She also mentioned a name, another old girlfriend, which brought back a flood of memories.

This other (nameless) girlfriend involved me in all sorts of strangeness, most of which I would know better to avoid today. I was 24 years old, and changing belatedly from a boy to a man. We inflicted great emotional trauma on each other in many petty ways, and in some rather major fashions as well. We were together about six months, a brief but passionate adventure in codependence.

She was frequently absent without leave, and off on ill-advised adventures. One particularly notable indiscretion brought 3 angry motorcycle dudes to my door at 3am one night. This was an indicator to me that things were not as they should be, and I asked her to leave upon her return. The next day, she and all her stuff left my house, and I neither knew nor cared where she went.

At that time, I had a temporary roommate in my spare room. Jim was just passing through town, drifting a bit, and not inclined to talk about himself. He paid the rent on time, and cooked fabulous meals for us all. He worked as a cook at the Mountain Jack’s restaurant on Capitol Boulevard at the beltline. Jim had no car, and took the bus to work. Unfortunately, there was no bus for him to take home. Since he was such a good guy and such a good cook, I agreed to pick him up from work most nights when they closed at 11pm. That is why I was driving my old ’66 Plymouth on Capitol Boulevard late that evening in May 1981.

To get to Mountain Jack’s, you had to enter the parking lot at The Howard Johnson Motel, then turn left onto a one lane driveway to Mountain Jack’s. As I made that turn, I had to yield to a pedestrian, a large black man dressed in blue work clothes carrying what was obviously a TV wrapped in a bedspread. He was heavy, about the build I am now, perhaps 45 years old, and walked down Capitol towards the beltline bridge. I gave him little thought at the time, and drove on to pick up Jim. We went home, ate, and slept well.

The next day, my newspaper had a large headline about a murder at the Howard Johnson Motel. The desk clerk, Clyde Sykes, a 41 year old graduate student supporting a wife and child, a Viet Nam war veteran, and apparently all around nice guy, was beaten to death with a concrete block wrapped in a pillow case. I immediately called the police to tell them what I had seen. I gave my information to a rather bored sounding officer, who wrote down my contact information and said he would pass it along to the investigating officer. I went to work, wondering if I had seen what I thought I had seen – could I have had such close contact with a murderer leaving the crime scene?

A few hours later, the dispatcher called me in, saying the police wanted to ask me some questions. When I met up with them, they put me in handcuffs and hauled me downtown. They were not treating me as a witness; it was apparent they considered me a suspect. They kept me in custody in an interview room for several hours, grilling me on every detail of my encounter with the late night pedestrian. At the end of a very long day, they released me. They informed me at that time that the last person to check into the Howard Johnson Motel that night was the (former) girlfriend whom I had evicted only a few days before. There suspicion was raised because she gave my address as her home address, and she was not alone.

Over the next few months, the Raleigh police grabbed me up for questioning several times, and even hypnotized me for greater detail. For this reason, every detail of this chance encounter is just as clear to me today as it was that night in May 1981.

Jim decided he didn't like all the police attention, and moved away.

Eventually, the case went cold, and the RPD decided that I was no suspect. Fortunately, I had spent that evening with friends who could account for my time. I was not a suspect anymore, but I remained curious about the case. I often wondered over the years what became of it, and if Mr. Sykes would ever get the justice he deserved.

Last year, a Raleigh detective called me, wanting to show me pictures of suspects. I agreed to meet him, but he never came. I tried to follow up a month of so later, but no one seemed to know who was investigating a 25 year old case.

On June 13th of this year, on page 6B of the N & O, was a story entitled “Raleigh police crack their oldest cold case”. The RPD announced that they believed Everett Julius Alston had murdered Clyde Sykes. The picture in the paper is definitely the guy I saw way back when, I have dreamed of that face many times over the years. Alston was 45 at the time of the murder, and had arrests for violent crimes in several states. Apparently, fingerprints at the scene were matched to him in 2006, using technology not available in 1981.

Alston died in 2000, in a car at a used car lot in Durham where the owners let him sleep after hours. I do not like to think that this man walked free among us, living on the streets and scraping by on spare change and petty crime for 19 years after this hideous murder. This thought definitely flavors my suspicion of the panhandlers I meet daily on Franklin Street.

This experience gave me great faith in our legal system. To be treated as a suspect in a major crime is scary and disruptive, even when the media is not staring at you also. I have empathy now for those who are arrested but not yet convicted, especially those being tried in the media. I refuse to rush to judgment about anyone’s guilt or innocence. I know that I am lucky not to have spent the past 26 years in jail for this. I can only imagine what the result might have been had I a criminal history, or some minority status that the investigating officer did not like. Sometimes being a white bread product of a good family with fortunate genes is the best defense.

This ancient memory keeps coming back up recently. This nameless old girlfriend has come up in surprising conversations. My father asked about her in the last conversation we had. There he was, on his death bed with less than a day left to him, and he was asking about her. He remembered her as being very pretty, which she was. I had forgotten just how much he liked her. He reminded me of why I was so attracted to her all those years ago. The detective who called me last year said she was back in her hometown in New York and apparently aging gracefully. He said Jim was doing well too, but wouldn't say where he was.

Because of this ugly murder, and so many other ridiculous things that stood between us at the time, we parted badly. I ran across her at Sadlack’s about ten years later, and we spent an hour apologizing to each other. I know she has gone on to a good life, as have I. Knowing that this murder is now solved leads to a little more closure on this ancient folly. All is forgiven at this end; perhaps the same is true in New York.

The Carrboro Citizen rides to the rescue

2007-12-15T12:57:00.000-05:00

Hope is such an ephemeral thing, poorly defined and hard to see on occasions. Just the concept of hope can be hard to grasp in those dark moments when none seems apparent. However, even the sun can not see until the heavens clear. The clouds that obscure the hope of hope will eventually blow away, and the sun will shine.

This past week, we have enjoyed unseasonably warm weather, and given the furnace the week off. I have run my mile each day and feel so much better as a result. I run that mile a little faster every day, taking only 18 minutes yesterday. Not bad for a fat man who only began running after his 50th birthday.

All this good sunshine and good health has improved my mood immeasurably, but good news has lightened my fog. One of my most vexing concerns has been money. Money is never a concern until it is simply not there. While completing my studies and finishing my accounting degree, I had no money to spare. I had not even enough to cover the basics, the mortgage and utilities. There have been few extras around our house in recent years.

Now the daily commute to Durham is six months in the past. There are no more expensive books to buy, and no more tuition payments. This alone has given me more wiggle room, but I have not been successful thus far at increasing my income. I have been scraping by on very little for so long that it has become normal. We have forgotten what it is to have a little extra, to hope for something more.

I have sent resumes everywhere, but it is harder to start a new career after 50. I don’t know if my age or my past experience has been the deciding factor, but for the first six months of this job search, I felt as if the world was not speaking to me. I got nothing from most companies and only a few polite rejections by email from the university. Now however, the universe and I seem to be on a talking basis. I have gotten a few intimations lately that there may be cause for hope.

In the midst of this newfound optimism came an email out of the blue from Kirk Ross at the Carrboro Citizen. They were looking for someone to handle distribution on Thursdays; would I be interested in the job? To be frank, I had seen the ad in the paper, but had not given it much thought. I was flattered that Kirk thought of me, and went to meet the publisher. The offer was far more interesting than I had imagined, so we entered into a working relationship. I started Thursday, so if you could not find the Carrboro Citizen at your favorite location, it is entirely my fault.

I enjoyed putting out the paper, and take pride in being a small part of the Carrboro Citizen, a damn fine little paper at that. My last stop is at the public library in Pittsboro, across the street from the Habitat for Humanity Home Store. We need a new back door, as the old one is falling apart (no more jokes please, they are too obvious). Right by the cash register, beside the Christmas tree (Hanukah bush, Yule log, Kwanzaa bough, etc.) sat a 1957 Hammond M-3 in nearly perfect cabinetry. I have long wanted the percussion options found on the M-3 that are not on the M-2 I have been using in performance for 10 years. It was marked at $99, and I just happened to have enough! Glory be, I have enough money for a small extravagance! I bought it, and loaded it in the truck in less than five minutes time.

This one has a blown power supply, which David tells me is an easy enough repair. He can also put an output panel on it just like the one he installed just last month on the M-2. Now that I am rehearsing with two bands, it will be nice to have two organs, one at each location.

I can’t express my gratitude to the Carrboro Citizen for this opportunity. This could not have come at a better time.

A time for new adventures?

2007-12-02T01:11:00.000-05:00

Sometimes situations can evolve rapidly. Sometimes the trigger from stagnation to forward progress is not apparent. Occasionally, the impression of progress can be mistaken. Once in a great while, however, progress just sneaks up on you.

I can’t say just yet what will come of this, but several new hopes have arisen on the employment front. Perhaps 2008 will be kind, and the bills will be paid on time for a while to come. It is too early to speculate right now, but hope flutters by, and lingers near.

Kelly and Leon came by the house today to play a little music. I am not ready to give up on PBP, but I can sense the energy is not there right now. Draxx and Mike and I have played together for five years, and I hope we will continue to play together for a lifetime. Unfortunately, we have hit a little dry patch, and PBP has just not been working for a few months. We are taking a break from rehearsing for some unknown period, hopefully not long.

I really respect the musicianship that both Kelly and Leon have exhibited through the years I have known them, in both the Hurt and Twice Told. They are far more accomplished musicians than myself, and I am pleased that they are inviting me in on this new project. Now we must identify a sound that is truly honest to us, and find the rest of the people who complete this lineup. We need a drummer, perhaps someone for bass, who knows?

Right now, after this wonderful day spent with my wife, my dogs, and good friends, I feel that I may enter 2008 with some new prospects. A new job would be nice. A new band would be wonderful, and a renewed sense of self-esteem would be a lifesaver. Keep hope alive! Keep hope alive!

All my friends are getting older.

2007-11-26T00:59:00.000-05:00

Wonderful and I drove over to Raleigh today to visit an old friend who is in the nursing home. Victor was a good friend 30 years back, when I was involved in the local theater. We did a couple of shows together, and had a lot of fun.

Victor has 3 degrees in dramatic arts from UNC, NYU, and Oxford. He was an interesting conversationalist in his youth, who had traveled extensively, and seen every show on Broadway. He had seemingly endless money, as he had inheritied well at an early age. He was the ultimate lunch date, as he was witty, charming, polite in the absolute, and always bought lunch.

Over the years, however, his fondness for vodka got the better of him. He drank rather too much regularly, and on occasion made rather a nuisance of himself. He took far too many pills of dubious origion, and washed them down with much liquor. His charm wore rather thin in recent years, and many of our old mutual friends gave up on him years ago.

I had not seen him substantially in the 15 years we have lived in Carrboro. I have had less and less reasons to drive over to Raleigh as the years went on, but I always tried to visit there at his house if I was able. The last few times I was there, his father let me in, and Victor never got off the couch. I thought this strange, but let it pass.

I read Victor's father's obituary in the paper recently, and I was saddened by the passing of this wonderful old man. The obituary noted that Victor was in a rehab center, so I went to visit him.

There is little left of Victor's mind now. A degenerative desease of unknown origins has robbed him of most of his cognitive abilities. He can barely move in his hospital bed, and speaks with some difficulty. He can not walk. The old humor and charm is still there, though. He is still rather fun to talk to, although he is clearly in and out of reality now. He is always happy to see me, and remembers me well. I am told he does not recognize some family members reliably. I am pleased that our freindship has endured this hardship. We talk of many things, although the scope of the conversation is of course somewhat limited now.

This man is 52 years old, and his mind is gone. His body is failing him. I do not know how long a person can live in that condition, but he seems happy enough. I will continue to visit him as long as I can; as long as he can. It is sad to see an old friend in this condition, though, especially as i suspect that he did this damage to himself.

A life with such potential wasted is the saddest part of this whole situation. This makes me want to find some way to feel myself more relevant all the more. I feel my short years on this planet slipping away. All these funerals lately, and all my sick or injured friends remind me that life is short and precious.

This is the time for me to do something that truly matters. The only question is - What?

The Age of Conspicous Consumerism

2007-11-23T01:56:00.000-05:00

Today was Thanksgiving. We drove to Mother's house where we ate too much, and took many photographs to prove how much wieght we all gained.

Now it is after midnight, and I sit alone finally, watching Forrest Gump change history again. Every so often, the movie stops, and sponsors tell me of fabualous after Thanksgiving savings on things I don't need or want. Bank of America wants me to get mobile checking; Hummer wants to sell me some huge thing that tromps through fragile ecosystems. A new movie is coming out, and the insurance company with the funny duck only want me to be happy.

The most curious thing my television tells me is that stores are opening at 4am to sell me stuff at amazing savings. Thousands of store clerks are already rising as I finally go to bed to open stores in the middle of the night. This is the day when retailers must make thier money. The next few weeks are the source of profit for the entire year in retail.

Somehow I can not imagine that those who will open the stores at 4am will not be the ones to benifit from it. Those thousands of sleepy store clerks will clock in at thier regular rate. Some lucky few may get a bit of overtime, but most employers try to avoid that. All that extra revenue passes briefly through those tired hands, then moves on to the front office where it coagulates in the pockets of wealthy investors who have the day off.

Such is the nature of money. If you have it, it is easy to get. If you need it, none will come. Being broke is actually quite expensive, as all rates go up when you truly need. A credit check is a standard pre-employment screen, which means you may not have a job if you truly need it.

Every quarter I get a report from First Citizens Bank telling me just how much money will be mine someday when the greatest generation is through using it. This is nice, but unfortunately it does not ease the pain of all those bills that come each month. I tend to blow my paychecks on such nonsense as the mortgage and utilities. I have been thinking in survival mode for far too long to consider waiting in line for the mall to open at midnight.

I simply don't understand the age of conspicous consumerism. I find more joy just watching that moon set outside my window. As Forrest says, "stupid is as stupid does." Lining up at the mall at midnight to empty the wallet seems kinda stupid to me. But then again, perhaps the folks at the mall are smarter than me. They have money to burn!

The Right Way to Spend a Nice Day

2007-11-22T23:51:00.000-05:00

Wednesday was unseasonably warm. I wore my favorite shorts as I stuffed Bessie Mae in the back of my truck. Bessie Mae is a 1956 Hammond M-2 Organ that I have used in performances for the past 8 years. She is a little shop worn and beat up, but regular maintenance keeps her sounding good.

I drove over to Garner with my little dog Griffin, to see my friend David. He is an engineer by inclination and training, and loves vintage equipment. He truly grooves on the old tube amp and tone wheel generators in Bessie Mae, a design largely unchanged since it first hit the market in 1936. Several years ago he added an output panel on the front panel that allows me to plug Bessie Mae directly into any amplification system. It had been declining recently, so he had volunteered to rework it.

We set up shop on his back porch, and he set to work with many mysterious and strange tools. Ancient meters and osciloscopes measured Bessie Mae's various components, and then he went to work with his seemingly infinite supply of old pieces and parts. To best facilitate this work, I played with his children in the yard; this was something I knew how to do. I would have been precious little assistance otherwise, perhaps somewhat less helpful than the children, ages 7 and 10.

Hours and hours later Bessie Mae was once more fully functional, and better than ever. I shoved her back in my truck, and headed back west towards Carrboro. I called my wife Wonderful to see where she was at. She was at that moment walking with her dog Bella at Jordan Lake. The traffic was kind, and I pulled into the lake parking lot just as the sun touched the horizon.

The Indian Creek Wildlife Observation Site on Jordan Lake is my quiet place, the source of serenity and sanity, and respite from my overly complicated and frequently unrewarding life. Griffin and I ran down the mile or so of trail to a small island just off shore. We waded across and met up with Wonderful and Bella just as the sun sank behind the trees on the opposite bank. we sat on a downed log and watched the sun's last light extinguish in a blaze of orange and red. Then we simply turned around to watch a waxing moon rise from the east.

The air was still, cool, and calm. The lake was flat, stretching out before us like glass. Just the four of us sat on our own little island undisturbed watching as the world turned a few degrees more. Wonderful and I talked of nothing in particular as you do after 20 years together. The dogs said nothing, which is what I like best about them.

After an hour or so we walked out, and went home. I cooked some pasta, and we watched a silly movie from the Red Box. The whole day I accomplished nothing of importance; just a few errands, minor surgery on an old instrument, and a walk under the moon with my wife. I did not make one cent, made no significant decisions, and did nothing to improve the world or my position in it. I simply lived this one day to the fullest. I can think of nothing more important to do on a beautiful day such as that.

Thank you, Joe

2007-11-16T12:33:00.000-05:00

Yesterday Wendy and I went to the funeral for Joe Herzenberg. I had debated whether or not I would go. Joe always teased me so unmercifully that I often thought that he didn’t like me. But that was just his way; I doubt he actually gave it much thought.
Recently, I have not received much good news. The election did not give the result I would have liked, no new job is forthcoming, the bills are stacking up again, and the truck keeps needing expensive maintenance. We have been to several funerals lately; last week Bruno and Dallas, this week Joe.
Life lately has been less than fun. I find myself responding to continued bad news with increasing grouchiness. During the campaign I focused on the positive, and forced a bit of optimism. Since the election, this has become harder to do, and Wendy and I have descended into negativity.
I spend my mornings doing those unpleasant tasks that need to be done, hunting on the job search, or replacing the bathroom floor. The afternoons are my time, walking with my dogs at the lake. I spend my evenings buried in traffic trying to scratch out a living in the one barely adequate job I have remaining. I come home about 11pm, and check email. Sometime after midnight I go to bed, so that I might repeat the process the next day.
All of this routine leaves me feeling rather empty most of the time, as I long to do something more meaningful and enlightening. There are times when I truly do not like myself, as my responses to the many small annoyances are occasionally out of proportion.
Yesterday was a time to step out of the routine, and remember the life of a man whose life’s work was improving his community and his world. We put on our dark clothes and drove through the rain (RAIN!!!) to pay our respects to another friend.
The rabbi sang in a clear voice as we took a seat at the rear. She said a few words of praise for the life that Joe lived, and then she said the words that I needed to hear. She said that we are all charged with the responsibility to “live like you like yourself”.
How did she know the trauma I was suffering? How did she know the difficulty facing those who feel themselves to be unaccomplished, or worse, irrelevant?
We sat and listened to a number of stories about Joe. We heard many Joeisms from loving friends, people who knew him well and loved every eccentricity. We heard of a life spent doing great things in a humble way. I left that funeral inspired to do more that matters.
At Margeret’s Cantina the Herzenberg family had graciously laid out a buffet for everyone who cared about Joe. We gathered with his many friends, and Wendy and I realized just how many mutual friends we had with Joe. I guess this is still a small town.
Thank you, Joe, for your inspiration. I know that your generous heart can not be replaced, nor can Chapel Hill and Carrboro soon find another character as distinctive as yours.
The younger politicians Joe mentored now have the responsibility to continue this selfless work.
As for me, Joe has inspired me to get more involved with my community. His many years of exemplary caring inspire me to do what I can. Now I begin the work of simply learning to like myself once again.

This was successful!

2007-11-14T13:10:00.000-05:00

I did not make a campaign issue of this; perhaps I should have.
This was presented to the Chatham County Judge on September 26, 2007.

Motion for Dismissal
W0195587-X
Charles W. Morton

On June 29, 2007, approximately 4pm, I was sitting comfortably with my wife and dog at my usual spot at Jordan Lake, within the Indian Creek Wildlife Observation Area. This spot is my quiet place, the meditative spot I have employed for my peace of mind for nearly 20 years. I have maintained this spot for 20 years on a volunteer basis, creating trails and a fire circle well constructed of rocks. I have hauled countless loads of trash away from this quiet place, and chased away all who would endanger the woods and its’ inhabitants.
I was initially drawn to this place all those years ago by the predatory birds nesting and hunting nearby. In those early years, motorboats were not permitted in this northern part of the lake so that eagles nesting nearby would not be disturbed. No motorized vehicles have been permitted in this area for over 30 years, in an effort to encourage wildlife in the area.
I am not the only one who regularly visits this area. The Audubon Society has maintained a loop trail and an observation deck on the southern part of the area for over 20 years, and it was in fact through them (and a friend who was then a member) that I first heard of the place. The northern part of the property has for years been popular as a swimming hole, and the generations of time-honored traditions that entails. My little spot is in between, and on those trails I have come to meet a variety of people who have become my lake friends over the course of 20 years.
This area is unique in this region for several reasons beyond the stunning array of wildlife to be observed there. Indian Creek boasts an interconnecting web of pedestrian trails that are clean and well maintained. The Audubon Society trial runs in a 1.5 mile loop. There is now a shoreline trail running from the Audubon deck about 1 mile north to a small pond. There are many trails in between, and all are well used, particularly on weekends. In all, about 400 acres have been carefully manicured by a loose volunteer network into the nicest cleanest shady trails around.
North Carolina unfortunately falls short in the management of its natural areas. Most trails around here are littered with bottles, bullets, and cigarette butts. Tires, car parts, mattresses, and appliances mar some of the finest scenery this state can offer. There are other trails on Jordan Lake I will simply not visit any more because of the deer carcasses strewn about each year during hunting season. Often, while walking with my little dog, we have heard gunshots, clearly some target practice drunkenly firing on bottles. I can show you areas of debris (broken bottles or clay targets) on my favorite place where all these abuses happened in prior years, despite the diligent watch of myself and others who deeply care about the health of our favorite trails.
These 400 acres of respite from the abuses of modern life is owned by the Army Corps of Engineers, taken by eminent domain from the families who farmed them 30 years ago. These woods are managed after a fashion by NC Wildlife Resources. Wildlife Resources seems primarily interested in revenue generation, by permitting hunting and fishing. Currently, the woods around Jordan Lake are being systematically timbered, with timber being sold in lots. When the timber sale at Indian Creek was announced, I was astounded yet not really surprised. Wildlife Resources sees this as an effective way to supply a variety of habitat for game animals, a goal with which I do not agree. Certainly the method of creating this habitat is open for debate. Many people do not agree that bulldozing sections of a fine North Carolina successionary forest is a desirable course of action.
The timber sale was announced, yet my repeated requests for documentation of the details of the sale have been ignored. I have not seen maps of the designated harvest areas, nor plans for the logging roads that will be cut through the area. Jeff Marcus, the manager of the site, agrees with me by email that the results of this type of timbering are quite ugly, and remain so for years. The debris piles lining wide shadeless roads that will replace our beloved paths will be impassable to years into the foreseeable future. The soft mulch of the paths will be buried under gravel roads, and instead of the trees I have watched grow for 20 years there will be stumps. While less than 20 percent of the total area is expected to be timbered, the entire area is closed to any public use for the duration.
I love this country as much as I love this land, but I regretfully do not trust my government. Public disclosure of decisions in the public trust in the management of publicly owned lands must be transparent and disclosed. These deals must not be made without scrutiny for very valid reasons. I do not know who is timbering the land, as Mr. Marcus will not tell me. I do not know how much money is involved, or the true extent of the timber harvest. Wildlife Resources seems to be hiding the conditions of the agreement, and this leads me to be suspicious of their methods and motivations.
So, June 29th we parked by the bridge, and walked parts of the property not scheduled for timber harvest. We walked down trails where no work was to happen. We stayed near the shore, for FEMA regulations do not permit clear cutting in 100 year flood zones. We looked around to assure ourselves that no heavy equipment was trespassing into the areas they were not to be. I was pleased to see that this was in fact the case, and that the disruption and deforestation was staying put within the areas where the trees were marked with blue paint. I did see some minor variance from the marked areas, but none of any real consequence.
When the Wildlife Rangers approached us, we did not evade them. We in fact waited patiently for them to come join us. I did not argue with them when they cited me for trespassing, nor did I give them any reason for great concern. In fact, I tried to be cordial, as they were only doing a job in which they believe.
I ask that this fact be recognized – that I also was doing a job in which I truly believe. I know I haven’t any legal standing, just like the jester who whispers in the ear of the king. I’m just a guy in the woods, pursuing a misguided love affair with the natural splendor of my adopted state. I am not the great and powerful Oz of all outdoors like NC Wildlife Resources. Love is not rational, nor dispassionate. They may control this land, but I know they do not love it. If they did, how could they destroy it?

Wildlife Resources has, in my opinion, sold these valuable resources for peanuts for far too long. Does anyone wish to help me stop this nonsense?

Good advice is wasted on those who do not wish to hear.

2007-11-11T11:27:00.000-05:00

Benjamin Franklin wrote sound advice and sage wisdom in Poor Richard’s Almanac for twenty five years, and rose to fame as a result. His pithy sayings and wise quotations have endured for 250 years only because of the great truths they contain. His essay, The Way to Wealth, written at the end of those years, is essentially a compilation of quotations of which Franklin is obviously proud. As to whether or not such advice is useful or realistic, that always depends on how welcome that advice may be.
It was true in Franklin’s time, and it is true in ours, that people only hear what they want to hear. Often good advice and wise council are ignored in the rush to attain that hotly desirable end. I know that I have benefited from much good advice, and would have benefited from much more had I only been willing to listen. I can think of no human ever who cannot say the same.
Of all the quotations contained within this article, the boldest kernel of truth is contained in the following: “The artificial wants of mankind thus become more numerous than the natural” and “By these, and other extravagancies, the genteel are reduced to poverty, and forced to borrow….” I t would seem that Franklin is speaking here of the modern age. He could never have envisioned such extravagancies as the Cadillac Escalade or cruises to Aruba, but how many of our friends and relations have mortgaged the house for just such silliness?
Fitfully this wealthy nation squanders its’ opportunities in the pursuit of immediate gratification. We cheerfully elect cowboys who will grant us tax relief and invade nations on the nickels not yet earned by those not yet born. I can only wonder what Benjamin Franklin might say after reading today’s paper. Such wisdom would likely not gain notice in a modern society unless shouted at Hannity and Combs during primetime at the end of a gun. Surely we have reached an age where logic and reason are nearly treason.
I personally am glad that Ben Franklin lived 250 years ago, and not now. I suspect he would be rotting in Guantanimo Bay, or worse yet – Air America. Thankfully, he lived in a time when homespun good common sense might be recognized for what it is.

Arguing with Uncle Chuck is not for the sober.

2007-11-11T10:47:00.000-05:00

The last argument I engaged in was with my buddies out at the lake, and regarded as usual politics. Several of my friends are involved in local politics, especially my buddy Will, who has run twice now for local office as a libertarian. Needless to say he has some strong opinions, which are often reinforced at the lake by volumes of beer. While these arguments are usually a lot of fun, still some patterns evolve that seem to reflect the patterns and modes of argument I find myself involved with elsewhere.
Recently, we have been debating at the lake a number of current issues. Chief among them are the response to the hurricane, the upcoming November elections (particularly the Carrboro mayoral race, and the contention for the 3 open seats on the Board of Aldermen), and of course the war.
Will usually leads the right wing contingent on all issues, ably backed by Larry and few elderly passers-by. I usually represent the eastern liberal elitist position, backed up Harry, Harold, and Wonderful when she’s around. Often Wonderful takes a hard line stance against the radical right in our midst, and a few times I think she was ready to push Will in the lake.
I am particularly subject to the Democratic syndrome of wishing to hear all points of view on a topic. It is the particular hell of the liberal that I am open-minded towards other’s opinions. Wonderful and some of my friends are not as tolerant of other’s opinions, especially when they just won’t shut up about it. I often find myself in the role of moderator, trying to find some consensus on the matter at hand before someone starts throwing rocks (one of Will’s favorite tactics, but he does it all in fun).
Wonderful and I both sit on the Carrboro Appearance Commission, in fact Wonderful chairs the commission. We see before us a parade of proposals, some more controversial than others. Recently, the issue of allowing taller buildings has come back to haunt us, as the first of these to be completed turned out fairly ugly. I had some strong opinions on this building, particularly the final revision that primarily caused the ugliness. Although I argued strongly with the architect on this, my instincts to build consensus allowed me to let the revision stand when I was the lone dissenting vote. Often I find myself pushing the committee towards a conclusion, and refereeing the debate much like I do at the lake.
In particular, one of the commission members has strong opinions on utility plans, particularly overhead lines. He also has difficulties with meter placement on buildings, and the newly required pressure relief valves at the street water connections of large buildings. Wonderful does not think this is within the Appearance Commission’s purview, and I often have to intervene or she WOULD push him in the lake (if only one was around at the town hall!)
I have the problem of strong opinions AND the instinct to create consensus. It is rather more difficult to construct an argument when one is not quite willing to dismiss the opponent’s position as bunk. Sometimes I am thankful for my large size, and that I look meaner than I am. That often helps steer the consensus my way, especially if the opposition thinks I might push them in the lake. I would have liked to soak that architect, but he stayed dry. Next time, I bet he builds something a little more attractive too, but that may not be my doing. Also on the Appearance Commission is a Realtor who is stuck with a few units he can’t sell there. I TOLD YOU SO!

Written 9/9/2005 and originally published elsewhere.

Charlie's Private Little War

2007-11-11T10:43:00.000-05:00

On the National Mall in DC there is a wall that lists the American soldiers killed during the Viet Nam war. Not all of the casualties are there of course, as some soldiers were listed as MIA, and others were injured in various ways. Every once in a while, a few names are added to that wall, as remains are found and identified in Viet Nam.

My friend Charlie is not on that wall, as his body survived his tour of duty there. He sustained no injuries, and received an honorable discharge. He has never sought any treatment at any VA hospital. By the standards of the US Army, Charlie was a successful soldier who went on with his life after war. Charlie is not a casualty of war, as the army sees it.

That, unfortunately, is not the Charlie I knew. He and I met about 1980, when he arrived in North Carolina with his long time girlfriend. They had been together for several years at that time, and followed her family south away from the frozen north. Charlie was a brilliant mechanic, who instantly diagnosed and repaired my elderly automobile the first day we met. This act of altruism was rare for Charlie, who didn’t trust anyone. For whatever reason, he liked me.

Charlie had a deep suspicion of people in general and government in particular. When I asked him why this would be, he often started to tell me stories of his war experiences. He never finished them, though. He would always choke on the subject, and disappear into his bedroom. He would not come back out, and it was the end of the evening for us all.

Charlie preferred to live in remote places; the farther away from everything the more it suited Charlie. He tried to work as a mechanic several times, but dealing with people every day was something he just could not do. As far as I know, the last job he held ended about 20 years ago.

Charlie’s mood swings were in fact very frightening. He would drink heavily, and smoke a lot of dope and tobacco in an effort to feel relaxed. The tension always overtook him eventually. He could not contain a rage that was deeply seated within him. After several years of friendship, I kind of gave up. Charlie was not going to change, and I was a little tired of hearing the same rants interrupted by rage.

I always liked his girlfriend a little better than Charlie. She is an intelligent, professional woman who dedicated nearly 30 years to nursing Charlie through his irreparable hurt. We fell out of touch about 15 years ago, when they moved to California as she followed her career.

Recently I heard from her brother that they had finally broken up. I don’t know the circumstances, but when I saw her at her mother’s funeral a few years back it was apparent that she was losing her patience with Charlie. She finally left him late last year, and moved in with a sister in Los Angeles.

Word came today that Charlie took his own life last Friday. It was no surprise. Obviously, Charlie was unable to live without his lifeline.

Charlie’s body survived Viet Nam, but his heart and soul died there. He never sought treatment at any VA hospital, because he was afraid of them. His distrust of the US Army ran so deep, there would be no way he could entrust himself to their care once more.

I don’t know what Charlie was before he was drafted at 18. I do not know what kind of life Charlie could have had without his Viet Nam experience. I do not know what it was that Charlie saw in Viet Nam that he could not deal with 35 years later.

I don’t know how many Charlies are in Iraq or Afghanistan right now. I do know that many of them will never be on a casualty list either.

Written 6/17/2007 but never previously published.