Rollin' Like Sisyphus

Good Music Friday — Come And Take Them Edition

Posted in Good Music Friday by Huckleberry on February 23, 2018

Once more into the Friday, my friends!
If I didn’t know better, I’d a sworn we’ve done this a time or two before.
Yes, yes, I know, that’s the talk of lunatics and dilettantes, but hey, Current_Year(FTW).
Between two gigs I’ve worked about 30 hours in the past day, but don’t bother checking my math on that. The lost hours are simply a mathematical abtsraction of quantum mechanics, and let’s be real, you can’t put Baby in a corner, all the way down to the strings.
Soon enough.
I have made a decision, though. Every time I see some loathsome cunt of a muppet on TV screaming about ending school shootings through “gun control” because ENUFFZENUFF, I’m buying another 80% lower. By my tally, I need to buy about 36 of them now, and that’s sad BECAUSE I AVOID TV LIKE THE PLAGUE, and yet, here we are.
A few more hours of work, including server setup and automated someflubberty and then there’s a bottle callin’ my name.
Have a great weekend.


Mutate With Me
Plastique Valentine
The Humpers
Epitaph Records | 1997


Good Music Friday

Posted in Good Music Friday by Huckleberry on February 16, 2018

It’s becoming more and more difficult to take the world at face-value anymore.
If you were to take the world at face-value, at least for the past 48 hours, you’d be expected to accept the contra-positive positions that the mentally ill should be indulged completely, so long as the illness manifests as a prediliction for transvestitism and engagement in carnal acts that by definition preclude procreation; but if the bastard instead wants to waive a gun around, well, that’s you’re problem now, fundies. You would also be expected to accept the contra-positive facts that the shooter, who’s adopted name is Cruz and who’s skin is six shades darker than anything you’d see at a Klan rally (you know, if it were still 1975), is conveniently an ALTRIGHTSHITBAGNEONAZINEOWHITEPRIDE guy despite his social media accounts bursting with images of hammers and cicles in a very specific arrangment meant, surely, to harken back to the halcion days of the Cold War Soviet Utopia.
AR-15s, apparently, are a scourge on The Body.
I accept nothing anymore.
I expect every single thing I am told from here on out is a lie, because all the evidence points that way, here in a world that can no longer reasonably be taken at face-value. And actually, this isn’t that hard to do really. Once I pretty much eliminated television and radio from the equation, I’ve had a pretty decent time the past few months just living my damn life.
The only reason I even found out about the shooting is that someone told me about it in that VERY CONCERNED WAY THAT ONLY GOOD, CONCERNED PEOPLE SEEM TO HAVE, BECAUSE WHY WON’T YOU INBRED HICKS JUST THINK OF THE CHILDREN ALREADY?
I’m callin’ it, ever early. Somewhere is a now-and-future empty glass just waiting for me, and then its on to the weekend, then another week, so on and so forth, until the last stretch of road is run and we’re off to better things.
Until that day, then.
Get ’em in, friends.


Had Me A Girl
The Early Years – Vol. 1
Tom Waits
Bizzare Records | 1991

Good Music Friday – Waitin’ On The PoPo Edition

Posted in Good Music Friday by Huckleberry on February 9, 2018

First week with the perk of formally working from home 3 days.
Damn has it been nice.
I think I made the right call.
On the downside, I had to buy a USB headset to teleconference into all of the meetings I was hoping to escape. That one backfired a bit.
But still, I reckon I’m shooting under PAR still, so let’s not count us out yet.
What has been going on in the news? I don’t even pay attention anymore. Every local news channel is wall-to-wall weaponized Trump Derangement Syndrome, and utterly useless. Its mostly 20 minutes of angry immigrants marching and complaining about something new each and every day.
Viva de oro estado.
In the past week, I’ve had to chase out a hobo camp from the hill behind my property. They wouldn’t budge until I came out with the Marlin, told ’em I had a permit to shoot coyotes, but if I miss, I miss. They packed up and took off, but I’m expecting a visit from the PD any time now, because the only people who have rights around here are the transients and the immigrants, unless the immigrants have been here for a while, in which case they can fuck off and die as well, as far as the powers that be are concerned.
Ok, so I’m out. Going to try to front load a bunch of my work so I can knock off about 14:30 local and get started on the weekend.
Get ’em in and have a great one.


Don’t Hang Up
Single A Side
The Orlons
Cameo-Parkway Records | 1962

Good Music Friday – Decisions, Decisions Edition

Posted in Good Music Friday by Huckleberry on February 2, 2018

I took the counter-offer to stay with the current employer for a lot more money, working from my home office three days a week, and a better title.
I should of tried the free ice cream machine at the prospective employer while I had the chance.
I’m not going to lie, it feels like a bit of a letdown to not actually be escaping leaving, but it is no small feat that effective this week, I’m making nearly double what I was last week for doing the exact same job.
And as a bonus, I may just get out of this shithole yet.
So #THEMEMO dropped just a little while ago. It basically makes clear what the honest amongst us always suspected — that the Clinton Machine, in conjunction with a fully armed and operational O Force One, are as crooked as 20 miles of Grand Canyon switchbacks, and somehow inexplicably dirtier.
So while it paints a stark picture of the criminal level of corruption used to, ahem, interfere with an election, I have to wonder at the provenance of it all.
The only way this makes sense for Clinton Co. to unleash is if it were deployed in enough time to sway the electorate. Yet for whatever reason, Clinton Co. half-heartedly tried to pitch it to an uncharacteristically uninterested media machine that hasn’t shown such a level of restraint since the Eisenhower era.
This feels like a setup.
Someone, somewhere, set up Clinton Co. for a wicked aikido move here, and it done boomeranged good.
Still, no one who deserves it will spend even a moment in jail, or prefereably, a gas chamber, because that is not the world we live in. In fact, operationally, I don’t expect much to change in the near term. The quixotic Russia probe will trundle onward, ever onward; the media and the left will simply pretend this changes nothing and trundle ever onward as well.
On a more granular level, I notice that the decline is still rolling under its own inertia, civic gravity being what it is and all. Crime is up here, homelessness is way up. I’ve discovered that the mayor of Los Angeles, a putz who’s father couldn’t convict OJ, the Rodney King cops, or the Menedez Brothers the first two times, has essentially weaponized the homeless and engineered a clever shell game to inflict them on the neighborhoods that didn’t vote for him.
It works like this.
The homeless in LA used to live downtown on a number of “skid rows.” Few noticed, because no one goes to downtown after sundown. In the past 18 months, the LAPD have been rounding up all of those homeless for sleeping on the street, then taking them to one of 5 newly appointed “homeless judicial processing centers” where they are booked for vagarancy then let out in the targeted neighborhood. Upon release, the homeless are told not to go back downtown, but to stay in the neighborhood they are released in. By doing so, they will not be harrassed or arrested by the police.
Barely a year and a half later, all of those neighborhoods are drowning in homeless people, including my own.
Nothing is ever an accident.
Not ever.
So I’m out.
I bought a bottle of Russell’s Reserve to celebrate, and I’m just about off to do that.
Have a bitchin’ weekend, and if you do nothing else, get ’em the fuck in.
Oh, yeah, there’s a super bowl being played in Minnesota of all places this Sunday, between two detestable teams in a year where I can barely stand the NFL at all anyway.
If I were a betting man, I’d say the Eagles cover the 5 points, and while this shit’s rigged not quite so bad as United States political machinations, its still rigged.
So the Patriots will probably win and backdoor cover, if you know what I mean, and I think you do.


Run Johnny, Run
Crazy In The Head
Three Bad Jacks
Boston Krown | 2005

Good Music Friday — Almost Saturday Edition

Posted in Good Music Friday by Huckleberry on January 26, 2018

This has been one of those weeks where it just never ends.
Interview went great.
Turns out they aren’t Scientologists.
Then they offered me a lot more money than I’m making now, and a better work environment, only a few minutes away from the homestead, to do interesting work.
I accepted.
Then the current employer decided to trump their offer in order to keep me.
And they did trump the offer, at least as money goes.
Yet the shitty work environment would remain, as well as the horrible commute.
Since my plan is to ditch it all anyway to move to greener pastures in the next 18 to 24 months, maybe money is the ultimate concern here.
I am informed at 5:01PM Pacific Time today that a university I haven’t attended in something like 10,000 years, on the other side of the country, won’t release my academic information to the company performing the background check on me for the new employer whom I thought were Scientologists but thankfully are not.
So to sum up, I have two great offers, one of which I’ve already accepted, but is not as good monetarily as the other, but is far superior in every other way, but there may be background check issues for that for some reason, and I basically have to decide by Monday if I accept the offer for more money to stay at my shitty job, and commit to the awkward process of backing out of a signed offer acceptance for the nicer job, or if I stand pat, pray that there are no issues with the background check, and get on with livin’.
Since it’s officially DRINK O’ CLOCK, I’m out.
Have a great weekend, y’all.
Hopefully a better weekend than I’m starin’ down.


I’ve Got A Tiger By The Tail
Single S/R
Buck Owens
Capitol Records | 1965

Good Music Friday

Posted in Good Music Friday by Huckleberry on January 19, 2018

The one thing that has always sucked and will always suck is looking for a job while you still have a job. There’s just no fucking time for any damn thing.
I’ve got an interview lined up for Monday, but I just found out they’re scientologists, so that’s probably off.
Shit, it only needs to pay for 2 years, till I can pay everything off, secure a decent enough nest egg, and flee the sinking SS Kalifornia before high tide in Havasu Bay.
So sure, a moral dilemma, I suppose.
But fuck it, I’ve got a couple of days yet to hash it out.
Have a great weekend, y’all.


Live Performance
Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers
Winterland | 12.30.1978

Good Music Friday

Posted in Good Music Friday by Huckleberry on January 12, 2018

Nothing like coming off a vacation to only spend the ensuing week sick as a dog.
Damn flu.
Damn immigrants.
Shorter than short, I apologize, but I’m loadin’ up on some distilled medicine and then I’m out to slumberland.
Have a great weekend.


The Dark End Of The Street
You’ve Got My Mind Messed Up
James Carr
Goldwax Records | 1967

Good Music Friday

Posted in Good Music Friday by Huckleberry on January 5, 2018

Gettin’ my drink on.
Don’t know nothing else.
Get ’em in.


Fighting My Way Back (Alternate Version)
Thin Lizzy
Vertigo Records | 1975

Another Cup Of Kindness, Yet

Posted in Current_Year(FTW) by Huckleberry on December 31, 2017

One more year off the calendar, ladies and gentlemen.
Drove out here yesterday evening, and my God in heaven, there were way too many people on the road up here. The Desert Redoubt is well off the beaten path, and yet, the small two-laner that cuts through the heart of the Mojave had so many SUVs and campers and RVs glutting it, I almost wondered if there was an apocalypse that no one bothered to mention to me.
In fact, as I sit here on the porch, trying to cogitate with some Rare Breed, I see a long trail of headlights slowly inching up that road way out there, where usually there is maybe a car every four or five hours.
But I suppose that is my problem alone.
Got here just shy of midnight, had dinner on the way. The wife remains in LA, and I’ll probably head back Tuesday, maybe Wednesday. Took a short hike this morning, then spent most of the rest of the last day of the year tending to the place. Replaced all of the security flood lights with integrated LED lamps. Swapped out the security cameras for 4K ultra HD cameras; set up a new DHR recording system for the camera feeds, as well as having them run in real time to a cloud server. The picture is great, and I expect the night vision capability to be a game changer; there is, though, considerable lag between the camera hub, my local network, and the cloud server. Internet service is horrible out here.
I brought up some chicken quarters I was going to smoke up today, but I got too sidetracked by everything I had to do to get it started, and besides, I’m not really feeling it tonight. I also brought up some potatoes, some bacon, and a few other things, so I’ll cook up some bacon potato bombs tonight to accompany the mild drinking, instead of the bacon, eggs, and hashbrowns I was intending for breakfast tomorrow.
Twenty Seventeen.
There is really not much I can say that could ever hope to capture this schizophrenic year, almost to the point where I don’t want to try, but come on. That way lies the path of cowards and scoundrels. Part of the issue is simply that I am in a somewhat foul mood, purely for personal reasons. There is really nothing quite like beginning a three-week vacation from a job that has been something akin to running back-to-back-to-back marathons wondering if you’ll even have a job to return to. It’s especially fun when you have job sites like Indeed and ZipRecruiter spamming your email with the job posting from your employer that is your job that they never told you they were looking to hire for, every day of your vacation.
So once again, personally, it looks like I’m heading into 2018 under a cloud of uncertainty.
And that is completely fine with me.
The only difference between a rut and the grave is a few inches.
As I sit here, watching the horizon, UCLA v Washington on the radio turned down low, I’m looking back on the year that was, and I’m trying to capture it in my mind somehow. And I’m not having much luck, I’m afraid. For everything that took place, good, bad, and otherwise, it all seems like noise of the least possible consequence. What was the larger story, Trump in office, or the derangement of lunatics obsequiescing while Trump was in office? Terror attacks? The growing fascination of socialism or that said fascination is born by those who insist Russia and its ex-KGB president is the greatest threat to them? The recovering economy or the outright disgust of the Punditariat that the economic recovery is occurring squarely in flyover country, for manufacturing real things, tangible things, instead of churning out more dimwitted creative-class Millennials who wallow in their supposed technical acumen but openly weep at the sight of a command prompt.
I suppose the biggest story for me is the one I long suspected yet am still surprised by — the judges of this country are out of control, clearly and undeniably. More times than I can count, judges in certain parts of the country blocked every possible action the duly elected president enacted simply out of reflex, and despite most of those blockage attempts getting swatted away by higher courts, their relentless and childlike adamance to stay the course would be charming if it weren’t so petulant. To the point where, were a concerned citizen given to thoughts of how to correct such a malady as he sips bourbon out in the desert on a fairly warm winter evening, those thoughts would hover almost entirely on instruments of yore, such as the guillotine, and the gallows, and those gear-driven things they used to draw and quarter apostates.
But alas.
As for the New Year itself, I am hopeful despite the growing uncertainty that surrounds me personally and surrounds us socio-politically.
I can feel it in my bones.
It’s going to be a great year. Even a good year. And, on balance, I think we’ll be better off at the end of next year than we are here at the end of this one.
I’m off to finish the game, and another book on the Texas Rangers in exile during the Texas State Police fiasco, while sit here and absorb the inexplicaly summer weather, however fleeting, before headin’ back inside.
I wish all of you and yours a Happy and Prosperous New Year.
See you in 2018.

Good Music Friday

Posted in Good Music Friday by Huckleberry on December 29, 2017

The last Friday of 2017.
I’d say I was sad to see it go, but it came and went so fast, I hardly knew it was here before it was gone.
Also, sadly, I’m still in LA, which is no kind of place to be.
Had a decent Christmas spent with family and a few friends, and despite choking on ash from all of the fires, it was a fine time. Although the brother in law kind of jacked up Christmas dinner, but we persevered.
So far, the vacation has been a bust, spent on all kinds of bullshit I don’t much want to spend it on. Puttering around the shop yesterday and today, though, so I feel better.
I’m going to try to head out to the desert redoubt tomorrow so that I can ring in the new year as far away from here as I can possibly get, but we’ll see how that goes. If I go, I’ll be going solo, as the wife has here traditional dinner plans for new year’s eve, and the nieces and nephews are either too old or too young for the Mojave Experience.
The solitude suits me just fine, though.
I’ll try to have my New Year’s Eve post up on Sunday if I can get to writing it on Sunday.
In the meantime, enjoy this last weekend of the Current_Year, 2017 edition.
Get ’em in.


Auld Lang Syne
Royal Scots Dragoon Guard