A Conversation Between Three Dogs: Part III

The pup was alert, his ears erect. His eyes scanned to and fro and his tongue bounced with each hasty breath. The elder dog lay on the ground at the bottom of the steps, basking in the bright, warm sunlight. The newcomer was nowhere to be seen.

"Where's Dude?" Rascal ignored the question, knowing his defense was only temporary. The question was guaranteed to be heard again, probably in less time than it took to draw a lazy breath.

"Rascal: Where's Dude? Do you know where Dude is?"

"I'm guessing he's on the back porch, hoping for a visit from his Lady Love."

"Lady Love? What's that mean?"

"Never you mind, Crease. It's beyond your years."

"You mean that white girl he's been after?"

Rascal opened her eyes, slightly lifted her head and glanced at the greenhorn pup, surprised at the understanding he had shown.

"I think she's pretty, too. Being around her stirs some feelings in me that I just don't understand." His last few words emphasized a frustration and puzzlement that he obviously felt sincerely. Rascal was speechless.

"I guess that would explain why he's been so mean to me of late. Guess he thinks I'm trying to muscle in on his girl."

"Perhaps," Rascal said. She slightly elevated her brow, an indication of her remaining surprised state, then lay her head back down. The sun was warm and inviting and she intended to enjoy it as much as possible. With her eyes closed and her head down, she spoke again.

"Creasy, you are just one surprise after another. Just when I think you are a clueless bit of dogflesh, you come up with something that shows me that there's ideas bouncing around in that head of yours other than an obsession for lickage."

"Thanks, Raz. I appreciate that." He had intentionally used the familiar nickname the family had given her, an overly familiar gesture. He hoped the intent wasn't misconstrued.

On the back porch, Dude laid in a position that almost completely blocked the path down the steps. He was determined that any passage from the house by this female vision of loveliness would be intercepted. He had endured numerous abuses, injuries and insults from the humans, but his love remained fixed on its target: Tilly, his lady love.

"She ain't comin' out, fella." The words came from the bulldog. They were heavy with a lisp that rendered some pronounciations almost unintelligible. Slobber flew in every direction when he spoke. His accent was decidedly northeastern, peculiar since his heritage was definitely more southern.

"I don't mind waiting."

"They's onto you, Dude. When they take you in, they're takin' her out the front door. When you go in the front, she's comin' out the back."

"Yeah, right."

"Any other reason you can figger they's takin' you in the house at all?"

Dude's countenance fell. Love had blinded him to an obvious truth. It was a truth so obvious as to be picked up by an ignorant bulldog with a pea-sized brain but to be entirely missed by him.

He quietly and sheepishly walked around to the front porch and climbed up, silently sitting next to Creasy.

(To be continued.)

 

A Conversation Between Three Dogs: Part II

Rascal relaxed on the front porch in typical doggish fashion: forelegs stretched out in front of her, hind legs folded beneath. Her dog chin rested on her front legs and her eyes would open from time to time, whenever a sound or her imagination would prompt. Her owners thought she was deaf, but she pretended not to listen to them unless it was absolutely necessary.

Dude rounded the corner of the house and climbed the steps, sitting next to Rascal. He snickered quietly, soliciting an interrogation as to the rationale initiating such jocularity. Rascal, the seasoned veteran dog, didn't bite. He snickered more intensely.

"I'm assuming you won't shut up until I ask you why you're laughing. Am I correct?"

"Yes, you are. So are you asking?"

"If I ask, will you cease this silliness?"

"Yes."

"Then I'm asking."

"Those two stupid dogs out back! I just get such a charge from goading them. They get worked into such a frenzy, and all I have to do is walk just out of reach." He referred to two dogs belonging to some of their family's friends. They were boarding here until the friends bought a home. One was an American bulldog, the other a mutt of questionable heritage and frisky temperament.

"Be careful, friend. That bulldog could eat you for lunch, belch, then have me for dessert."

"I don't see that happening. It'll be a cold day when he can break that quarter-inch cable."

"Still, tread carefully."

"I think I could take the mutt. She's the one I prefer harrassing."

At that moment, the pup rounded the corner. Full of zeal, tongue wagging, he bounded up the steps and tried to wedge his way into the conversation.

"Hey, guys: why are those other dogs so mean to me? What did I do?"

"Creasy: those dogs are wholly stupid. What do you expect? That big one barks at the wind. The little one is totally without discipline." Rascal, while tempted to remain quiet, felt obliged to offer her sage advice to the young one.

"Yeah, but what did I do?"

Rascal rolled her dog eyes beneath her nearly closed eyelids. Her fatigue with the greenhorn pup's simplicity exhibited itself in a heavy dog sigh. Dude looked away, choosing to stay out of the conversation. Creasy's attention was grabbed by a blowing leaf and he bounded off.

Dude broke a short silence. "Poor thing. Will he ever learn?"

"Yeah. He's still just a pup. He'll go under the knife and in a year or so, you won't recognize him."

"The knife? What...will they...what about me? Are they going to..."

"Yep. I reckon so. This family has no desire to raise breeding stock." Dude began to fidget, exhibiting unmistakable signs of anxiety. Rascal showed no outward sign, but she was grinning inside.

(To be continued.)

The Joys of Pipe Smoking

I am reacquainting myself with the joys of pipe smoking. Aside from the pleasures of the act itself, it has other fringe benefits. For one, it sets me at odds with the Pharisees in our midst. Some people tell me they are allergic to pipe smoke. Me? I'm not allergic to pipe smoke, but I am allergic to sanctimony.

 I'm not one who enjoys arguing, but I find myself unable to not argue when people (the Pharisees) state that I shouldn't smoke because it causes cancer. This assumption on their part is founded in ignorance. They wrongly assume that pipe smoking and cigarette smoking are the same thing, and therefore hold the same hazards. The anti-smoking  zealots spread half-truths and whole lies to support their cause. All the while, no one really knows what causes cancer. Sure, you can make correlations ("Man A smoked for 25 years and got lung cancer. Cigarettes must cause cancer.") However, this is turned on its ear for every person that smokes for 30 years and doesn't get cancer. Truthfully, the hazards for pipe smoking are minimal and are outweighed by the benefits, assuming that cigarette smoking does cause cancer.


The one thing that usually turns off guys that try pipe smoking is tongue bite. This is when you scorch your tongue with hot smoke from the pipe, smoke which also contains steam created when it is cooked off the tobacco. This is usually caused by overzealous puffing, an act of which I am frequently guilty. Overzealous puffing is usually thought necessary when the pipe is packed improperly and requires such puffing to keep it lit. Packing a pipe is an art unto itself, one which has received much study over the centuries.


Here's to a good puff now and then!

My Life as a Bottom Feeder

Life is made more pleasurable by the small things we enjoy. For some, it's sports (not me). For others, it's books. And for a select few, it's books about sports. For me, it's the bass guitar.
I've been sporadically playing the guitar since high school, yet I was never a really good student and never actually took lessons. I had no one with any measure of skill to play with or to encourage me to get better. While I liked the guitar better than the piano or the saxophone, both of which I had played earlier, I didn't really love it.

I love the bass guitar, and I'm making up for lost time. Here I am, hopefully in the middle of my life, and I finally find my musical destiny about 2.5 years ago. How cool! So, in celebration of my Love of Lowdown, I want to tell you about my guitars.
The first  picture is of the guitar I actually own. It's a Fender MIM (made in Mexico) Precision Bass. I got it for a song on eBay.

This next photo is of some other equipment that I'm now using, with one small addition. The guitar is a Fender American Standard Precision Bass, a better quality version of my guitar. The piece of equipment on the mike stand is a first-generation Line 6 Bass Pod, an effects unit. The amp in the background is a Mesa Boogie Buster 200 all-tube head and a Mesa Boogie Diesel 2x10 cabinet. Even at its lower settings, it literally rattles things off the walls. The next picture is if me playing a Rickenbacker 4003. I had this guitar and played it for many months, but finally gave it up to have the Fender A.S. P-Bass shown above at my disposal. Both of these guitars and the amp belong to a friend of mine who had the money,  and in a generous spirit, purchased new high-quality guitars for his brother and a friend to use (he actually plays the guitar, not bass). I am indebted to him for this kind act, as I rarely have extra money to spend, and almost never have this much of it.

The next picture is the effects unit I bought to replace the first-generation Pod above. It is the most recent addition to the Bass Pod family, the Bass Pod xt Live. It's a fine piece of equipment, the depths of which I'm only beginning to plumb.

Now since the only guitar I actually own is the MIM P-Bass, I've been planning my next purchase for some time. Since I presently have a good guitar to play, I'm not in a hurry, but I've been searching for the Holy Grail of Basses so when I'm able to make the leap, I'll know in which direction to jump. This is what I found...

Music Man Bongo Five-String Double-Humbucker - When I discovered this guitar, I knew I was onto something. Every review I've read about it gave high marks on tone and quality, with the only complaints being directed at its looks (it was designed by BMW's design group). I think it looks pretty cool, yet it's unconventional looks might grow old on some. It retails at around $1400, which, believe-it-or-not, is middle ground for professional-grade production bass guitars. As the more astute readers might have surmised, this is the inspiration for my username.

Music Man StingRay Five-String Double Humbucker - Once again, a double humbucker (for more tonal flexibility) and a five string (that low B-string is awesome!). Music Man makes great guitars. Their first bass guitars were developed/designed by Leo Fender, the man who invented the fretted electric bass guitar back in the 1950's. This guitar is awesome. It is technically the same as the Bongo Five, but is more conventional in appearance. The double-humbucker is a new option for the StingRay. It has typically had a single humbucker since its inception. With the addition of this option to the lineup, I left the Bongo Five in a lurch, transferring my love to this guitar. The price is about the same. In my research period, I have frequently spent time at Guitar Center, playing these beautiful instruments. The other day, I went in and saw they had a StingRay 5 HH in stock, so I sat down and had some fellowship with it. We parted dear friends, promising to get together in the future.

So now you know. Having already established myself as "Bongo5," I figure I'll keep this name rather than adopt StingRay5("StingRay5" is taken, but I do own "StingRayFive").
Thanks for coming by...

Where's the grave of Nick Beef?

I realize that this reference is absolutely lost on most of you who would read this.

Today I revisited a popular tourist destination on the east side of Fort Worth.

One day, early in my tenure as a death services merchant, I had a service at Rose Hill Cemetery. Rose Hill's family services flunky was at the grave afterwards, waiting with me for the cemetery workers to come and close the grave. I asked him,"Where's Oswald's grave?"

He replied, "Well, we've been asked by the family not to give out that information. Would you like to know where the grave for Nick Beef is?"

"Sure," I said. He gave me directions and I found it. You may not have guessed this, but Oswald's grave, coincidentally, is right next to Nick Beef. What are the chances of that?

The wintery grass around the grave is mashed flat. It is certainly the most visited grave in that cemetery, and probably in the whole city.

Reports say that the marker has been stolen repeatedly. Most recently, it was cemented in the ground, but that wouldn't stop a determined thief, 'cause it's a small stone. This appears to be a newer stone than the first one I saw.

Note:  Factually, the Family Services Flunky may have mentioned the grave on the other side of Oswald, somebody named Hays. Not having perfect recall of the event, I have inserted the name of Nick Beef, who resides on Oswald's other side.

Pearls of Wisdom for the Up-And-Coming Generation

Not knowing anything interesting to post on my xanga since Autumn's untimely demise, I've decided to offer some advice to the younger generation. Having already lived through the hardest part of my life (I hope), I would hope to save some of you guys from repeating all of my mistakes.

I realize that this may be a totally foolhardy venture. Young folks aren't known for their willingness to listen to, much less heed, advice from their seniors. I was there once. I understand. I, too, once thought I didn't need to hear from anyone older, and therefore more out-of-touch with reality, than myself. Later, it became obvious that these were the notions of ignorant, impetuous youth, not wisdom. Hearing this will convince no one, I'm sure. I offer it just the same, because I know it's good advice. Ignore it at your own peril.

Pearl #1 - Cultivate discipline early in your life .

It's a lot easier than trying to later in life when you realize that you're an undisciplined oaf. Learn to control your urges. Say no to yourself. When I say this, I mean all your urges. Make yourself skip a meal when you want to eat, just to prove you can. Forego the fun thing for something productive or helpful to someone else. Be the master of your appetites.

 

Pearl #2 - Always think before speaking.

This is a hard one to master. It's not necessarily a bad thing not to speak at every instance. If you can't think of anything worthwhile to say, don't say anything. I'm not necessarily referring to hurtful things. I'm also referring to stupid things. The thing which will most quickly prove that you are a  fool is your own mouth.

Pearl #3 - Learn contentment.

If you can't be happy with what you have now, you will never be happy with what you will have later. Never.

(more to come)

Down and Out in Fort Worth

This sign is at the intersection of 12th and Rosedale. The other day, I saw a woman relieving herself next to it. She was leaning against the sign, relieving herself, with her clothes still on. She appeared to have been living the hard life on the streets.

It was sad. I didn't know what to do. Probably nothing to do.