Eat & Be Loud, America.
July 2, 2009 | 2 Comments
Oh my, the holiday is upon us. So, in case you forgot the drill, here’s your Broadsides’ checklist for Fourth of July survival:
1. Eat, you fat fuck.
2. Take the kids to eat too!
3. And drink!
4. Make noise, lots and lots of noise.
5. And to prepare for the noise you are about to make, mow your lawn twice a day and pretend your mower is yelling: “I fucking love America!” Don’t forget to smile.
6. Wave a flag and do not think about anything but waving that flag. Well, it’s okay to think about where you’re going to eat next. But then get back to thinking about your flag, and your meal, and your drink, and your noise. Fuck yeah.
7. Yell randomly. Just yell. Loudly. Whenever the fuck you want to yell (loudly).
8. Do not worry about the history of the day. That’s totally dorky.
9. If you find yourself thinking about George Washington, stop yourself. That is wrong. You should be thinking about Michael Jackson. Period.
10. If you find yourself thinking about Michael Jackson, stop yourself. Because he was a pedophile and a victim of our leisure.
11. Go to a teabagger party (oh hell, they’re back!) and proclaim — in a fit of patriotic glory (read: be loud!) – that you share their hatred for government waste.
12. And just when the teabaggers have barely stopped wetting themselves over the possibilities of having another member (what, that makes 4, right?), remind them that the largest amount of waste in the federal government’s budget is…(drum roll, please)…the military. Bring them home. Now. Fuck yeah.
13. Rinse and repeat.
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And do yourself a favor by clicking on some of her links regarding the history of the swimsuit, the “patriotic” beginnings of the bikini (to save fabric – duh!), and some other fun posts about wanting to bare it all on – yes – Independence Day.
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Here’s another cool link – via Elizabeth – about swimming and living near water.
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Just a thought:
The Vermont blogosphere is filled with drama queens. Such little fish in such a small pond making such a nuisance of themselves.
Children, please, please, please, keep it down out there. Or, better yet, give me some truth.
(And special note to Petey: I think it’s time to find a new hobby.)
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Speaking of Vermont blogs, I’m still polishing up my new adventure. Buckle your seatbelts. And, better yet, stay tuned.
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I’ve got more to say but I’ve got to go outside and yell something like: “Fuck yeah America and Michael Jackson and the noise we can make because if you complain we will kill you with more than noise!”
Ain’t it great to be 233?!
Sis-BOOM-bah.
Brain Drano
June 30, 2009 | 6 Comments
A lull in the action. A peaceful moment wrapped in the notion of: Now.
Right. Here. This sense of calm. Quick, someone fetch my rifle because something’s not okay. Honey, I’ll be up in the clock tower if you need me.
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Would your rather flip the switch or switch the flip?
It’s your choice.
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I prefer the $10 haircuts because I like the smell of cheap disinfectant when it’s rubbed close to my neck, ears and eyes.
The $10 cut is also very convenient when you’ve only got $11 in your pocket.
Here, sweetie, take it all.
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Online find of the day: E-flux.
Check out this first question in an interview E-flux did with the fabulous Raoul Vaneigem of Situationist “fame:”
Hans Ulrich Obrist: I just visited Edouard Glissant and Patrick Chamoiseau, who have written an appeal to Barack Obama. What would your appeal and/or advice be to Obama?
Raoul Vaneigem: I refuse to cultivate any relationship whatsoever with people of power. I agree with the Zapatistas from Chiapas who want nothing to do with either the state or its masters, the multinational mafias. I call for civil disobedience so that local communities can form, coordinate, and begin self-producing natural power, a more natural form of farming, and public services that are finally liberated from the scams of government by the Left or the Right. On the other hand, I welcome the appeal by Chamoiseau, Glissant, and their friends for the creation of an existence in which the poetry of a life rediscovered will put an end to the deadly stranglehold of the commodity.
Go to E-flux and read it all.
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Speaking of Obama and his merry band of Democrats who can’t shoot straight, the honeymoon appears to finally be coming to an end. Whew. But the middle-of-the-roaders who are now coming to grips with the obvious conclusion that Obama is not going to lead them to their promised land of “Ignorance is Bliss” will not maintain their kitten-like snarls for long. Nope, because sooner rather than later (read: election season) they’ll realize that issues are far less popular than candidates. And, damn it, they’re not going to risk a good cocktail party in the pursuit of a stupid issue. The war? Health care? Corporate welfare? Pfffft. They’ll love Obama (again).
I hate to say, “ I told you so,” but….
And Ralph Nader is now saying the same – poor fella. But now that it’s not election season and the ninny-liberals can’t blame him for “stealing” an election, perhaps we can all listen to his words with a bit more care. Here’s what Ralph’s email had to say to me this morning:
“I want my money back, President Obama!” That’s the title of Marie Marchand’s column in Common Dreams this week.
Marie Marchand says she gave $20 a week for seven months to the Obama campaign — plus $60 every once in a while for a t-shirt and sticker.
“I gave of my modest purse joyfully,” she writes. “I thought I was supporting change I could believe in, not more of the same bloodshed and war!”
She now feels betrayed. Millions of Americans are feeling betrayed.
They thought Obama as President meant change we can believe in.
They thought Obama as President meant withdrawal from Iraq.
They thought Obama as President meant standing up to Wall Street fat cats.
They thought Obama as President meant a living wage.
The joke’s on you, America.
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But the bad news is that people now finding the chutzpah to speak out against St. Obama will certainly be bah-bah-bahing like sheep again when the campaign machinery of 2012 cranks up the fear, fear, fear of “the other.”
Rinse and repeat, indeed.
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Reading: Carolyn Chute’s new novel, “The School on Heart’s Content Road.” I’m a Chute fan so I’m a sucker for almost anything she writes. She’s the real deal, living the good life of rural radicalism and churning out words to match her deeds.
Here’s a taste from her new book:
Be afraid. Poor people are lazy and immoral, and violence is on their fingertips for some reason, who knows the reason, it’s just their idea of fun. It’s always this way; they steal cars drugs money and gunnnnnz! They are filled with sex and rotten teeth and food stamps and Cadillacs and bad English! The men are bozos and incestuous. Poor women are all victims of poor, domestically violent men. But the big thing to remember is poor men for some reason all want to be armed and want to hurt hurt hurt kill kill kill. Here comes another one out of the court, shackled and in an orange suit for shooting three times in the air to scare his girlfriend, who had all the charge cards. Weeee are so lucky to have police and politicians to keep these poor and violent and lazy-for-some-reason guys off of you and your darling Brendan and Olivia and your golden retriever and your stuff.
Priceless.
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Obesity: Everywhere.
I thought Vermont was different.
Oh, of course, we use better (read: Vermont bought) sugar in our cupcakes. You can get it at Shaw’s up by the mall. It’s better there. And what a view! Of the hospital, and the men and women shackled to the tubes that say: We’re better too! Because it’s also better to be sick in Vermont.
And our video games are better because they are played here, in Vermont – the better state. And we like Tony Stewart because he races his NASCAR in Barre. Go, Tony, go – in Vermont!
I love the loveliness of self-love. I love me for being in Vermont. I want to kiss the mirror and say: You are lovely because you are Vermont.
I’m going to bake three hundred cakes and give them to three hundred kids for the Fourth of July in Worcester. And if anyone gives me money I will donate it all to next year’s class trip to Six Flags Over New York (oh-my-god, have you had their funnel cakes!?).
And none of it will bother me because being bothered isn’t what I’m looking for anymore. Not now. Not since I decided to love Vermont more than you apparently love Vermont.
You got any chocolate for that milk?
I love it.
Went There, Did That
June 29, 2009 | 7 Comments
This one’s for Boots & Petey…more lovely pictures of horses and father/daughter bonding.
Below are three of the photos from our horse-drawn wagon work yesterday at Cedar Circle Farm’s Strawberry Festival. Nearly 1500 people came out to pick strawberries, eat wonderful food, listen to some great music and — of course — enjoy the horse rides.
Thanks to Bel for being my co-pilot and to Stacy for making the trek with us and watching us go around and around and around all day long. The Belgian horses, Buddy & Jerry, did a fine job and certainly earned their oats after about 20 miles of wagon pulling.
A great day, for sure.
Strawberry Festival Horse-Wagon Rides
June 26, 2009 | 3 Comments
This Sunday – June 28th – I’ll be driving a team of horses at the ever-popular Strawberry Festival at Cedar Circle Farm in Thetford, Vermont. The festival – and the rides – will go from 10-5. Come on down and visit. I’ll be the guy who seems far too happy to be working.
Cedar Circle Farm, in case you forgot, is operated by our good friends, Kate & Will. I’ve known Will for almost twenty years, dating back to the meeting we had with the United Farm Workers after the death of Cesar Chavez to brainstorm on ways to join the farmworker movement with the so-called consumer movement (oh-how-I-hate-that-consumer-word).
Needless to say, we hit it off instantly. He was radical and nuts and…well…you know the rest. Besides being an amazing farmer, Will’s never resisted the necessity to put his body/life/reputation at risk in the pursuit of protecting the myths of nonsensical living or being.
I shared a handcuffing experience with Will a couple of years ago when we found ourselves amongst the few Vermonters willing to demand that newly-elected Vermont Congressman Peter Welch follow through with his pre-election anti-war promises by – what?! – voting to stop the funding of the Iraq War. Will brought Grace Paley (R.I.P.) and her husband and partner in all-things-activism, Bob Nichols, to the “event.” Grace’s health was bad then but Bob jumped right in and took the cuffs with us after Welch refused to even meet with us about the issue.
I know, I know, I Love Vermont, Too!
Now shut up and sit down.
Last spring, we had Will & Kate over for dinner and in the midst of a fabulous conversation he rather flabbergastedly called out: “I’m still looking for one other radical farmer out there. Where are the people who understand the connection between justice and farming?”
That’s why I love him.
Come on over for a ride, my friends.
[If you want to learn more about the festival, go here and find the link – via PDF – to the Strawberry Festival. Last year, over a thousand people attended. Giddy-up.]
Friday Photo-Blogging
June 26, 2009 | Leave a Comment
First up, river respite — with the new tubes from Vermont Tire:
And then the garden (note to Boots: notice the flowers on the potatoes…):
Bel & the day’s spinach harvest:
Proof of strawberry consumption:
Daddy Day Camp Interrupted (kind of)
June 25, 2009 | 1 Comment
All praise to the threat of rain. Whew. Because it got my sorry ass out of the fields and off of the hook for that not-so-glorious summer pastime of haying. Ugh. There’s nothing like hay chaff and seeds sticking to sweaty arms and legs. Yum.
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The really bad news is that Daddy Day Camp had a setback as a result of … oh hell, I always have trouble with this word…work.
But we did manage to extend our camp hours into the evening last night and have yet another guest lecturer. This time it was none other than our esteemed and ever-so-fashionable neighbor, Ruby. I like Ruby – a lot. In fact, Ruby recently admitted how much she likes me. On a walk down our road with her father recently, she declared: “I love you, Michael.”
Yep, Ruby’s at that age where she loves me. Better yet, she’s at that age where she understands me. She’s two. And we’re buddies.
Okay, okay, I think she likes my horses more than me but I’m not going to make it an issue – yet. In fact, now that I think about it, she also likes my eleven-year old daughter more than me, too. And my wife, And our dog. But – hey – I’m on the Ruby Radar so I’m just fine with it.
Unlike our first guest lecturer, Ruby didn’t offer up any political rants or come armed with a six-pack. Nope. She came with a swagger and two simple words: “Ride. Horse.” Yes, they were uttered as if they were two one-word sentences.
And so we did.
Ruby, however, wasn’t scared like guest-lecturer-number-one. In fact, she was fearless. Which, of course, led all of the possible fear that could have existed to be channeled directly to her father who had the daddy-like task of keeping an eye on her.
“Please hold on, Ruby,” Chris repeated to his newly minted cowgirl for a daughter.
But, like guest-lecturer-number-one (this should tell you something, Dylan), Ruby rode Black Bart, named – by the way – after the Simpson’s character. Ruby taught us that no matter what was happening around her, giving Bart the “go” command was a whole lot of fun. The command, by the way, is a simple kiss to the air. And off he goes. Very. Slowly.
Because, truth be told, he really should be called “Fat Bart.” He’s half Percheron, half Canadian (a saddle horse bred north of the border), and, if there was another half left, I’d say half Labrador. As in: He’s more pet than beast – just like I like ‘em. 1500 pounds of pet, that is.
Thanks for playing, Ruby. We learned a lot. But, please, don’t ditch me when your emotional age passes mine in a few years.
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Before being called to sit on a tractor for hours on end yesterday, Bel and I managed to train our faithful dog, Buddy, how to sit still in a kayak.
The trick? Duck tape.
Just kidding.
The real trick? Doggie-genetics. The little fella just listens to me, unlike anyone or anything I’ve ever encountered except perhaps Big Jim. Truly, I’ve never had a dog – especially a mere one-year old – come to me when I called him.
In the past, when I called a previous dog of mine (rest in peace, all of you), it was akin to me walking about the yard and yelling any random word or – depending on the syllables at hand – a combination of words.
“Come lunch meat! Here porcupine! Hello marmalade! Get over here Situationist!”
Whatever. It didn’t matter.
But not Buddy. The dog just comes. Weird. Is there something wrong with him? Oh no, there I go again.
So, not surprisingly, Buddy did the whole kayak thing perfectly. Bel and I were fully prepared for a swim, even talking through a plan to stay close to the shores of the Wrightsville Reservoir and just “have fun” with whatever little swim we expected to take.
But there was no swim, only a wickedly fun kayak with “The Three ‘Ds’: Daddy, Daughter & Dog.” No complaints, my friends.
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The trick, however, is to make all of the above look and sound like – oh no, here comes that word again – work when the lady with the full-time job arrives home in the evening. The lady, of course, is my wife and Bel’s mom, Stacy.
All praise to you, sweetie. And also to the women’s liberation movement which, of course, led to guys like me to be able to stay home while the women pursued professional achievement.
Yee-fucking-hah.
Camp Dad, Day Two
June 23, 2009 | 5 Comments
I did it. I tired the child out. After about three hours on a horse, Bel said: “Can we just go inside and rest now.”
Music to my ears.
She’s been riding Black Bart bareback the last couple of days, learning to get her balance at a trot. There’s no better way to get in rhythm with a horse than bareback riding. It forces you to use your “seat” more than anything else. And it’s absolutely beautiful to watch. Just don’t ask me to do it – ouch. Eleven-year olds seem to do it better…
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Guest Lecturer at Camp Dad: Yep, we also got a visit from my long-time friend Dylan today. He popped in to say “hi” and catch up on old times. I met Dylan in my Walden days when he was a mere middle-schooler. His father, Gary, taught me the ways of the wild and did a damn fine job teaching Dylan the same.
Dylan’s a recovering carpenter, having spent years building houses for the rich and famous in Stowe (hey, it pays), but has now moved onto a more “regular” job (read: benefits). Good for him.
Today’s visit included a story about one of the last houses he worked on for the CEO of Union Carbide. Yes, of Bhopal “fame.” Dylan knew his patience for building houses for bastards was over when they helped move a plaque into the newly constructed 15,000 square-foot house that featured this message from the officials of Bhopal: “Thank you for the $250 million contribution to our relief efforts.”
Kill and maim thousands, cough up a couple hundred million and get thanked via a plaque? Nice world, huh? And what kind of person would proudly display such a plaque? Oh yeah, a CEO who retired at the age of 52 to live in a 15,000 square foot mansion in Stowe. What happened to “no justice, no peace”?
Many years ago Dylan and his dad taught me how to hunt: Skip the bullets, enjoy the woods. His father bought me my first and only hunting rifle – a Browning 308/pump action – as a gift. But it was also to make sure I could participate in the hunting tradition of getting up early to hang with the fellas, walk the woods and collect the tales of the wild (“you know what I saw!). Good times, indeed.
But the best news of the day is that we got Dylan to take his first horse ride. After reporting that he was “scared to death” of horses, we let him know Black Bart was just the horse for him.
So up he went – without a hitch. I’ll let you decide how nervous Dylan looks:
Good day, for sure. Thanks for the visit, Dylan.
Lame Blogging
June 22, 2009 | 1 Comment
Sorry, Camp Dad opened for business today so I’ve been busy saddling horses and teaching the fine art of gardening. These are the days to remember. Weird weather and all.
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Weekend Top Ten
1.) Loud rock with Jack on Saturday night. We needed that.
2.) Running into my old buddy Gary. He taught me what being a friend really meant.
3.) Kayaking at Wrightsville with the family.
4.) A big Daddy-O meal with the family on Sunday night.
5.) Horseback riding.
6.) Tasting our first strawberries.
7.) Meeting the youngsters who are living in the cabin I built 15 years ago.
8.) Tasting our first carrots.
9.) Meeting a dog wimpier than ours.
10.) Listening to our daughter listen to Velvet Underground in her room.
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About that ATV thing: The Vermont Agency of Natural Resources has extended its deadline for public comments on its new proposed rule to allow ATVs on state land. You now have until July 6th to let them know that it is an absurd idea. You know, almost as absurd as firing up a chainsaw in a public building.
Comments should be directed to: Warren Coleman, ANR, 103 South Main Street, Waterbury, VT 05671. Email your comments to: ATVRULE@state.vt.us.
A simple message (“do not open up state land to ATVs”) is all it takes. Do. It. Now. And, better yet, make your friends and family members do it too.
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You get what you pay for.
Hint, hint.
Friday Night Music Blogging
June 19, 2009 | 2 Comments
My thoughts exactly:
Piano mood:
For Dan B.:
Best. Song. Ever (turn it up):
And this one isn’t too bad, either:
Look who’s playing Lamb Abbey tomorrow night:
See you there. And don’t worry, I’m not bringing the chainsaw. Well, unless Jack does something to piss me off…
These Things On My Mind
June 18, 2009 | 4 Comments
Oh great, now my horses are turning on me. This morning, in an attempt to beat the rain and catch up on some fieldwork, I harnessed up Big Jim and went to work harrowing my pasture. But, while being swarmed by flies, I’m pretty sure Big Jim had this to say to me: Get a fucking ATV.
Or maybe not. Perhaps he just wanted to go back to the fly-free barn.
Yeah, that’s it. I’m just getting paranoid.
Bear with me, folks.
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And while I remain stuck on the ATV theme, let me add this: A big tip of the hat to Rep. Tony Klein (D-E. Montpelier) for speaking out (via being quoted) in an op/ed in The Bridge regarding the Agency of Natural Resource’s (ANR) recent ATV decision. Specifically, Klein voiced his suspicion – and opposition – to the timing of the ANR’s decision, as in: Right after the legislative session ended and, worse, without giving them a heads-up before they ventured home.
Said Klein: “It was outrageous of them not to inform us. I can only think that they were either naïve or devious.”
Bravo to Klein.
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Klein’s response was much better than the milquetoast response wannabe gubernatorial candidate Senator Doug Racine gave to WDEV’s Mark Johnson when asked about the new ATV rule. Since I was deep in the woods with my headphones on at the time I heard it, let me paraphrase: “I’m running for higher office and I’m scared to death to take a strong stand because I’m a liberal but I’m hoping that both sides can work it out because I’m really for both sides because I’m that kind of a guy at a point in my life that just happens to include a run for a higher office that I’ve wanted for years since losing several elections ago and having to return to selling Jeeps at my family’s auto dealership. So, to recap, I am for looking like I care for both sides and that both sides will, in turn, care for me.”
At this point, I believe Johnson was found slumping over his microphone, only to be revived by the smell of Vermont Coffee Company coffee, whereby he launched into a live-ad and regained his footing.
Again, congrats to Klein.
[Disclaimer: Klein loved Snarky Boy.]
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Breaking News: This just in from the Broadsides Newswire: Boots Wardinski has informed the ANR that he is adding an addickdum – um, I mean, addendum — to his testimony against ATV riding on Vermont’s state-owned land and forests.
According to a just-received email from the otherwise bored Wardinski on a rainy day, he’s just sent the following message to the ANR (grammatical challenges included):
i would like to add to my monday testimony. obesity, which is rampant among atv users, reduces penis size.
– boots wardinski
Me thinks Boots is getting obsessed with all things naked.
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Never trust someone who’s too lazy to capitalize things that should be capitalized. You know, like names and the beginnings of sentences. So much for that Dartmouth education, huh Boots?
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Speaking of the newswire, here’s something totally predictable: Former U.S. Senator Tom Daschle is now telling the Obama Administration that they should drop the “public option” in their health care proposal in order to increase the chances of its passage. Yes, the same Tom Daschle who has garnered millions of dollars in lobbying and speaking fees from private insurance corporations since his forced departure (read: he lost) from the Senate.
By the time this charade is over, a health care plan that could possibly pass will read something like this:
We, the Members of Congress, propose a new national holiday in honor of the private insurance corporations who have worked tirelessly and patriotically to process large sums of money in exchange for medical services to American citizens, provided that all the necessary paperwork and premiums have been properly submitted.
Change we can believe in, indeed.
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Speaking of health care, Senator Orrin G. Hatch, Republican of Utah, said it best when he described the Democratic health care plan like this: “The most liberal bunch of gobbledygook I’ve seen in my life — a complete liberal mishmash of ideas.”
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Knock-knock.
Who’s there?
A liberal.
A liberal who?
Oh, did I say “liberal”?
Yes, why?
Because I didn’t want to offend you.
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You get what you pay for, folks.
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But while I’m on the subject of liberals, can we please stop with the “Twitter is the revolutionary tool of today” bullshit. I mean, come on. Put your thinking caps on, people. And, if you still need a primer, go read Jeremy Scahill’s excellent words here. And, please, keep reading his excellent blog.
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It’s okay, we’re all just a needle in the hay.
Speaking of which:
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This one is for my friend, Wes:
And if you don’t get it (or know him), go here: Integral Psychosis.
Cheers, Wes.
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And, finally, The Books:
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Just stuff.
Have fun.
Be real.
Pat the pony.
Hug the rail.
Fan the flames.
And
Fuck
The
Power.
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