Ducks Are The Only Solution

Ducks. You've got to love 'em, right? Maybe?

Maybe this belongs with my Miracles of Modern Medicine
series - when I was a kid, the dentist 'supposedly' gave me
sodium pentathol. Why, I'm not sure. Most medical people
I've told about this reaction brush it off. Dentists gave people a
lot of stuff in the 60s - that's what the Beatles said, anyway . . .

I remember a red horizon that spread out in front of me,
then stretched up and over my head at a high rate of speed.
This went on for a bit (with the colours changing rapidly),
then I passed out. When I awoke, I was in a fog. But I knew
one thing: I MUST SEE REAL DUCKS --- RIGHT NOW ! ! !

Apparently I was hysterical, and adamant that DUCKS WERE THE
ONLY SOLUTION. My parents eventually drove to a house that
had a stream next to it where ducks were known to hang out.
I remember that when we pulled up, I bolted from the car before
it had even come to a full stop and ran onto the property toward
the ducks while my parents hastily tried to explain to the owner
what was going on. I stood among the ducks, chanting, ". . .ducks
. . ducks . . .ducks . . ." as if in rapture. Hey, maybe it WAS the
Rapture - there WAS all that special lighting after all . . . sorry if
you missed it !

I STILL love the little bastards. Even if, as my friend's wife pointed
out, "They eat maggots, you know". So what? I once saw a couple of
women on The Tonight Show who ate them, too - the "maggot-crispie
cakes" were my personal favourite from their "recipes".

My obsession has waned a bit over the years. I gave my son all the little
duck figures people had given to me over the years. I DID copy the
tape of the late 70s instrumental, "Ducks in the Distance" (the words
never got any further than having people yell "DUUUUCKS!") to CD
for posterity. Truth be told, we never really finished making the
damn thing. But someday my family will be looking for that
all-important third signature to put me away and will need any
additional evidence they can get. . . I try to be a good "provider".
Besides, other people were involved in that recording - they should
go away, too.

There was a duck pond at one of my jobs that was perfect for hiding
out from any additional work. Was that the ducks coming to my rescue
once again ? !

Even though our relationship isn't as intense as it was when I was a
child, I'm sure there's still some adventure for me and the ducks in
the future.

Yep, I love the little maggot-eatin' bastards. Just not for dinner.

Garbage Bins and The Easiest Job in the World

Since I moved to NH I've noticed a phenomenon: it rains or
snows every time you put the garbage out for pickup.
Well, OK, not EVERY time. 95% , maybe.

It's ridiculous. Even when there's a holiday and the trash is
collected a day later - the precipitation holds off for twenty-four
hours to accommodate "trash day".

My theory is that the blue container the city gave us for
trash somehow attracts water. They should ship thousands of
these dumpsters to draught-stricken lands. It would solve
their water problem within a month!

Not familiar with these dumpsters? They are bins large enough to
hold a week's worth of household trash. They make it possible for a
large truck to pull up beside the bin, grab it mechanically with two
big claw-like arms, flip it up and over the top of the truck to empty
the contents and then place the bin back on the ground. Basically,
they eliminated the need for the guy who used to empty the trash
cans into the back of the truck. Did they fire those guys? I don't know.
Maybe there are two guys in the truck now. But the big downfall of
being a garbage collector (having to handle the garbage) seems to be
going away.

But that's not the easiest job in the world - that has to be:
Weather Forecaster ! How many jobs have you had where you
were constantly WRONG, but you kept the job and earned more
and more each year? "Weather forecasting is very tricky here in
New England" is what one guy always says. I guess that makes it
OK for him to spread bad information year after year.

A friend of mine was driving through the Nevada desert years ago,
and the radio weather forecaster predicted:

"It's going to be another hot and dry one in the desert today."

I want THAT guy's job. Barring that, I'd like to drive through the desert
and drop off a blue NH trash dumpster - just to keep the guy honest!

I'm "Just the Bass Player"

I play the bass. Actually, several of them, just not at
the same time. "Why do you need more than one???"
...ah, the question I just don't understand. They sell
pencils in packs of 10, and nobody questions that.
You only use ONE at a time, right?

When I was in high school, I remember the aspiring
guitar players always telling me, "Bass is easier because
it only has FOUR strings, man - guitars have SIX..."

(Wow . . . so Yehudi Menuhin had nothing on that guy
from The White Stripes . . . I see how it works!)

Well, during the past 20 years, musical instrument manufacturers
decided to make the bass more attractive to these people.
Why miss out on their expendable cash?
Suddenly, everywhere you looked, basses were sprouting
extra strings: 5.....then 6.....then 7.....where would it end?
The highest number I saw was 9. Actually, there was a
12-string bass, but it was just a 4-string with two octave
strings beside each primary string. Not the same idea.

Over the years, I dutifully purchased a 5-string, then a
couple of 6-string basses. I quickly figured out that the
only purpose of a 6 was to play solos like a guitar player.
And, maybe I'm nuts, but I HATE BASS SOLOS ! I've
heard maybe two in my entire life that I thought were
interesting (one by Ron Carter, one by Amin Ali).
I figure my job is to lay down the bottom so the people
with the high, squeally instruments can play solos.

People LOVE high, squeally notes. No one knows why,
but it's true. Ask your local dog.

Many times, I've been brushed aside by horn players
who figure I'm "Just the bass player". This would be
fine if my name was Justin, but since it isn't, what authority
could I have?

Real life correlation: No one appreciates a good bottom end
until it's not there! (Sorry, I had to go there)

The first time I brought a 6 into my guitar repair shop,
the repairman (an excellent bass player himself) said,
"You didn't ..... WHY??? What do you expect to do
with that?"

Turns out the repair guy was right. I've been trying to sell them off
for about a year and I'm still stuck with one. I NEVER
play it on gigs. And now that the raincoat has popped
open on the extended-range trend, I can't find a buyer.

So maybe there's a bit of hope for rhythm sections - but
I could use the extra cash from the sale . . . heating oil
warms the house longer than burning basses!

Live Free (the Lie)

I live in southern New Hampshire, or "Massachusetts" as
my wise-ass more-northern friends like to call it. It seems they're
jealous that even though we live in the same state, my town gets
wild perks like free kindergarten and street plowing. Most of
the rest of NH likes to call Massachusetts "Taxachusetts".

You may know that NH's state motto is "Live Free or Die".
The people here are rabidly anti-tax. The fact that NH has
no sales tax seems to be a big deal. Any political candidate
that even mentions implementing a sales tax is shunned immediately.

Maybe it's because I grew up in another state (the real Massachusetts)
that I was able to figure out that all that's happening up here is denial:
the state simply calls a "tax" something else; usually a "fee".

I pay more in property tax (yes, they DO still call that one "tax") than
my father pays for a bigger house with more land in MA. Hmmm....

It costs an exorbitant amount to register a car here - and that's
with a clean driving record. But the registry has an even bigger
scam going: vanity plates.

It seems that the same folks who refuse to pay anything that smells of
a tax-for-service will happily shell out an annual "fee" to express their
"wit" on their cars. The plates cost an extra $25 per year (PLUS a $5
"reflectorized plate fee" - whatever that means). But THAT doesn't
seem to bother people. You can't go as far as the corner store without
seeing a vanity plate.

And why not? Who WOULDN'T pay the extra money to tell the rest of
the drivers on the road that they are "2EVL4U"? (seems like a stretch, anyway!)
How about "2SPOYLD"?? (Note: up here you can't tell if the
misspellings are to enable the message in 7 characters or if the people
just never learned how to spell correctly.)

How about "2CRAZY" - yeah, that's just what I want to see on that
motorcycle in front of me.....very reassuring.

Or this one:
"4GUNS" (and I kid you not: the OTHER license plate on this car was a
NH House of Representatives plate !!!)

The worst thing about THAT plate is: most likely, we, the NH
"fee payers", are probably paying for it! Talk about vanity.....

The Miracle of Modern Medicine 2

You know those medical procedures and tests everyone hates? Root canals,
teeth cleaning, MRIs? I think I actually like that stuff. I find them interesting
enough to block out whatever discomfort they're supposed to cause.

Last night I was thinking about that while I was inside the MRI chamber.
The technicians called me at home before the test to ask if I was
claustrophobic. Then at the actual test they gave me a panic button
to push if the tight space "freaked me out".

I don't know - compared to my daily life, the chamber was a good place
to unwind, even with all the clicking and buzzing.

Root canals....I'm fascinated by the feeling of the files inside the tooth.
Doesn't bother me at all.

The other day an ear specialist jammed a scope so far inside my ear
that I could have sworn it was touching the other side of my head.
Still, it was "interesting".

Shots, drawing blood.....no fear.

On the other hand, a lot of country music has been known to scare the hell
out of me. I think it's the hats.

The Miracle of Modern Medicine 1

About a week ago, my son dropped a hammer on his finger.
No - he didn't do it on purpose, so you can bypass that old
"what did he do THAT for?" question.

We brought him to his doctor, who ordered an x-ray. The x-ray
showed a fracture. The finger was put into a splint to hold it in place.

We were then scheduled to visit the famous kids' hospital in the 'big'
city. My son and I spent 4 hours there the other day. A new x-ray was
taken and lots of paperwork was filled out. The end result being: the
finger is fractured. It is healing. AND THAT'S IT.

Somewhere around hour number three, it dawned on me that modern
medicine works something like this: if what ails you isn't going to
kill you SOON, it will heal by itself. If death is imminent, the doctors
may try something. Either way, it's billable.

Who? And Why Should We Care?

Let's clear up the second question: You probably shouldn't.
But what the hell.

Who am I? I'm a musician, currently playing in a blues band.
My "actual" job is stay-at-home dad, which I've been doing now
since 1999. It's a lot more work than any of the other jobs I've had.
The product is better, though.

Mr. Lugubrious Starts Blogging

The excuse: for a long time now, people have been telling me I ought to write down my weird perspective on life. I don't know why - maybe they just want hard evidence when they decide it's time to put me away, without having to wait for those pesky psychological profiles!

So, here goes.

Thanks to Rick Larrimore for the blog name. I have no idea why he thinks it applies to me.