HELLO FROM EAU CLAIRE, WISCONSIN:

HELLO FROM EAU CLAIRE, WISCONSIN - merchants slogan: "We don't have it but we can get it for you."

Friday, October 20, 2017

BE CAREFUL WHEN VENTURING INTO CYBERSPACE. IT'S A JUNGLE OUT THERE!

It was on Friday, September 15, that I suddenly became aware that cyber-thieves, scammers, hucksters, are not all in Nigeria and in addition, they are getting more sophisticated in their approach. I had driven down to Mondovi, Wisconsin, to play for the residents at The Home Place of Mondovi in mid morning. I was double gigging that day, but the second gig was at the Home Place of Durand, Wisconsin, and not until 6PM. So I returned home for two reasons: I had the time; I was having some sort of electronic problems with my amplifier.

While I was back at my office, I was also at the computer when I got a message through "Messenger" from whom I thought was a friend, Jim Smith, a fellow guitar player who quite often sends me videos of guitarists, so I didn't find it unusual. However, this time he sent, instead, a message asking if I had looked into getting that federal grant that he had told me about over a year ago.

Not wanting to appear to be completely ignorant, I wrote back, apologizing for not recalling that conversation, which, unfortunately, opened the door to my "friend" Jim, who wrote back to tell me that he had requested a federal grant several years ago to help him as a writer and to pay off debts, and surprisingly was eligible and did receive aa $90,000 grant from the federal government. He suggested that I do the same.

At this point, I had no idea that the real Jim Smith's Facebook account had been hacked and that I was not really communicating with the Jim that I know, but instead to a criminal hacker. So I asked "Jim" who I needed to contact and he told me that her name is Mary Habberfield, the person on charge of grant disbursements.

"Jim" then forwarded a link to her Facebook page, which I clicked on and up popped her home page, complete with photo and resume. No sooner had I gotten this up on my screen when "Mary" asked: "Good afternoon, sir. How can I help you?" So I explained that my friend Jim Smith had told me to contact her about a federal grant. She asked what I would be using the money for and I honestly told her I would be using it by applying the money to the Arts, reproducing my first album onto CD disc and any money left over would be used to help publish an autobiography I was compiling on my travels.

She said that I would first have to provide some basic information to see if I would be eligible and forwarded me the following questions: Full Name, Full Address, Telephone number, Married or Single,, House or Apartment, and if house, how much owed. She did not ask for my Social Security number, which made it more believable.

I submitted, she wrote back in a surprisingly short amount of time saying that she would have to enter my information into the system to see if I was eligible, and for how much. Within the hour, she wrote again, saying I was eligible for a federal grant of $150,000. Well, that didn't sit very well with me at all. That is a hell of a lot of money for the small amount of time she supposedly spent checking me out.

So before I answered, I messaged "Jim" again, telling him the large amount and that it sounded fishy to me. "Jim" assured me that it was on the up and up and how pleased he was that I was doing this and how surprised he was that I was able to get such a large grant, but good for me!

So, still thinking that I was talking to my true friend, Jim Smith, I recontacted "Mary" and asked what the steps would be. The more she told me, however, the more skeptical I became. First . . . questions: "What are your assets?" "How much in savings? "How good is your credit rating and do you have a credit card?" Boing! Up goes the first red flag.

"Why do you need this information?"

Then this: "Well, in order to fully process your grant for $150,000, you must first pay earnest money upfront to cover all inter-departmental paperwork, final approval, and express shipping of the check. That amount will be ten per cent of the total, ($1500) of which you can send the first $50 of earnest money to a Mrs. Rodgriquez, ( she then gave me a box number address) in Houston, TX with a money gram you can purchase through your local Walmart. Then Monday you can use your credit card to pay the rest."

Now I am really certain this is a scam but can't believe that a friend of mine would actually set me up for this! So I message "Jim" again, saying please call me immediately, as I am becoming very suspicious about this grant thing.

I get an immediate response: "I can't. I am in a meeting right now. But if there are problems, just keep messaging me and I will help you through it." "No", I say, "I need to actually talk to you in person. When is your meeting over?"

"Can't tell how long it will take"

"Well, can you meet me in person right after the meeting?"

"No, I already have plans."

I then write: "Please send me your phone number so that I can call you at a designated time."

Then he writes back: "I don't understand why you are having trouble understanding that this is legit. But then, again, when I applied, I was skeptical, too, and when the check was delivered, I couldn't believe it! Larry, take it from me, as your friend. You have nothing to lose."

I write back, knowing this next question will really throw him: "What does Joyce think about this?" (Joyce is Jim's wife). There is a long pause and then he totally disregards my question and says: "Look, Larry. I can't meet with you today as I am in Pennsylvania with investors."

Busted! Two reasons: the real Jim Smith was in a very serious auto accident several years back and does not work. There is no way he would be in Pennsylvania on a Friday afternoon "with investors".

"Okay, Jim . . . if I can't talk to you first I am bailing on this because it's a scam."

"you would be making a big mistake, Larry."

"Well call me then, and let's talk about it."

"As I told you, I am in a meeting. I will try to call you later if I get out in time. Why are you in such a hurry about this?"

End of conversation. I go to the house to get dressed for my second gig and my phone rings. It's a Pennsylvania number. I cautiously tap the phone on, but say nothing. What comes through is about 10 seconds of garbled sound, then a voice says "Can you hear me?"

I am already aware of this scam. A voice asks if you can hear it and if you say yes, it is recorded and then they use your voice to agree to whatever they want to bilk you out of. So I hang up.

Then I get a text: "You asked me to call. Why did you hang up?" I write back: Because I am on to you, Scumbag! You are an internet criminal and think you can take advantage of me because I am older. So fuck off!!!

Now its time to deal with his partner in crime, the "grant distributor", "Mary Hadderfield. I email her and tell her that I am aware of what she and partner are doing and to leave me alone.

She quickly writes back (even though it would now be after office hours if it were really a government office): I don't understand what you are talking about.

She then sends the resume again and at the end tells me she is quite hurt by my accusations. I give her the same good bye as I gave her partner.

So, if you think you are visiting with someone you know via your computer, remember this, and be careful, please!

Sunday, October 15, 2017

I AM ONE OF THE MILLIONS IN THE OPIOD EPIDEMIC

I am not even certain of the time line, but feel it important to share this. Almost ten years ago I was involved in a serious motorcycle accident which shattered my lower right leg in multiple places.

Two operations later, I was still in a great deal of pain and consulted with my physician several times, finally asking if there was some sort of pain relief that could be administered. The doctor mentioned Fentanyl but was hesitant to prescribe it as was just being marketed and might be very addictive.

Ultimately, I accept responsibility for finally talking the physician into allowing me to use duragesic Fentanyl patches to control the constant pain. I am in no way accusing anyone but myself. I used the patches, changing to a new one every three days for over nine years.

Within the last year, my use became more of a hassle, as I had decided, with a new physician, that I would start weaning myself from the drug, so the first step was to go from 75mg to 50mg patches. For some unknown reason, at least to my way of thinking, this caused all kinds of problems with my insurance coverage, and in addition to not being able to get refills with any regular schedule, the price of the patches increased substantially.

When the artist known as Prince died of an overdose of drugs, one being Fentanyl, I made my decision that I wanted out. Not realizing that the drug is considered to be 100 times stronger than heroin, and even though my doctor had told me that the withdrawal would be as long, slow process, I thought I could go "cold turkey". The date that I began my long journey back to normality is etched in my mind forever: April 11, 2017.

When the effects of not using the patches regularly struck me four days into the process, I went to a horrible place of pain that I have never experienced before. I ended up in the emergency ward, not once, but twice during the first month.

I was given Tramadol, which is also an opiod, but of a much weaker strength. The entire month of April is mostly a blur, although I do remember small rallies from time to time. I found that driving my car was out of the question, as I attempted it once early in May and it scared me so badly to be in traffic behind the wheel of what seemed to me to be this huge vehicle, that I didn't start driving again until months later.

It took a little over a month to get the drug out of my system and in that period I lost 22 pounds. I knew I was finally through the initial phase when the reduced dosage of one half a Tramadol made me instantly sick.

Once I was at that point, food tasted better than it ever had. I had always been a craver of sweets after a meal, but at this point anything with sugar I found to be totally unappetizing. There was a short period of feeling like I was going to be through with the hell.

Then the next phase began in earnest. I would have a day or two when I felt that I was operating at 60 to 75% full health, then I would suddenly plunge into two weeks of exactly the same symptoms I went through in the original withdrawal. I found I was battling on two fronts: the purely physical and in addition, the mental.

I came to realize that stress was my biggest enemy and also if I tried to do too much on any given day, I would suffer for it. It is very difficult for me personally to not stress out, so there were many days when I was certain that I still had not gotten "clean" of the drug itself.

I began to do extensive reading on the subject of "PAWS" . . . Post Acute Withdrawal Syndrome, and the facts that I found were another set back. At first the articles that I read led me to believe that within a few months the back and forth between feeling pretty normal to once again descending into the hell of pain would ease up, but the more I read the more I began to realize that the longer a person had used, the longer it would take to break through entirely. In my case, because I had used so long, I was led to believe that it could take up to three years before my life would return to normal, and in some cases, people find that even when they might feel good for months at a time, they will inevitably have recurring episodes.

I began seeing a behavioral therapist as often as I could and quickly learned just how many of us are really in deep trouble as my appointments were at least a month apart. I cannot say enough good things about the young woman to whom I was assigned. I could tell that she really cared about my well being and was a very good communicator.

Another aspect of recovery that I found very alarming is that at times, for no apparent reason, everything and everyone would make me lash out in unsubstantiated anger and my wife, Kim, who is my true shelter in the storm of life, would suddenly be confronted by this unruly, continually upset man who would say things that even he couldn't believe he was saying. I am now in my sixth month of recovery and for the first time, the "up" days are beginning to outnumber the "down" days and there is a direct correlation to the amount of stress and the amount of overextending myself that will put me in the "down" days. My personality is such that all of my life I have been going 90 miles an hour
or near nonfunctioning at all, so it is a continual challenge to find my parameters, to know when to say yes, when to say no.

I am back to performing my music again, which has always been great therapy for my soul, and to supplement my meager Social Security checks, I am a "car jockey" for the regional Toyota dealership, driving a new vehicle of a wanted color or style to a different dealership, and then returning in a vehicle that is needed at the regional dealership.

There are times when I still have difficulty with self-loathing issues, when I turn the anger on myself, but I have an amazing life partner who helps me immeasurably at those times. I know that I am far from being totally "out of the woods", but my life is better than ever before and I feel that this experience has made me into a better person.

I can tell you this with complete certainty. I will never use an addictive pharmaceutical again I read and hear of people who were users, got clean, then returned to using; to me, that is total insanity. I don't ever want to go through what I have gone through and am still recovering from, ever again. I wouldn't wish that descent into Hell on anyone.

At a point in my recovery when I thought I would never make it, our dear friend Sarah gave me a card that is still displayed prominently where I can see it every morning: It simply says: "When you are going through hell, keep going." I shall.

_________________________________________________________________________

Wednesday, October 11, 2017

PLAYING FOR AND DEALING WITH AGE

Last week I worked several gigs at area nursing homes. At all of them, I arrived so early that the directors of each thought that either they or I had made a time mistake. This brought back memories of when I was a younger man, in my fifties, and working conventions and banquets quite regularly.

I shall never forget the day I was to entertain a luncheon of senior citizens at what was then known as The Hoffman House in East Claire, Wisconsin Having worked "senior banquets" before, I knew that they always arrived way too early. I supposed the reason being that it must have been that this luncheon was all they were doing that day. So I decided, since they were to begin at noon, I would get there extra early at 10:30 in the morning to insure that I would have a clear path to bring in my sound gear and get set up before the hall outside the dining room became jammed with hungry people.

When I arrived, I was astounded to find the hall already jammed full of people! I went out to my van and brought the first load in, constantly having to say excuse me to even get them to step out of the way at least a bit. That was when I found out that the doors to the banquet hall had not been unlocked!

So I took my speakers in hand again, and put them back in the van, excusing myself yet again, as the seniors parted like the Red Sea and then closed behind me just as quickly.

I came back and and reconnoitered the entire outside of the banquet hall and way off to one side found an unlocked door.

About the time I was through bringing all my gear inside and was beginning to set up, the crowd suddenly came rushing in like a raging stampede. They had found the door that I had used! At the time, none of the wait staff was in the room. they had just finished putting out the salads at each plate and had returned to the kitchen.

The diners all sat down and commenced to eat their salads! It was at that point that the wait staff returned, mouths agape. The one nearest the stage was very upset. She looked up at me and asked: "Who let these people in here???"

"I don't know", was my reply. Well, it wasn't really a lie. I didn't "let them in", they just came in on their own, uninvited!

Now I have to laugh at myself because I have turned into a geezer who arrives way too early. Well, I would rather be way too early and have time to set up at a leisurely pace, than have the stress of rushing around, trying to make certain everything was operational.

__________________________________________


I have been frustrated for a long time, not having written any song lyrics that I considered valuable enough to keep. but September 1, 2017, my muse finally struck! As one ages, it becomes more and more difficult to actually look at what is supposedly your image in the mirror. What the Hell happened???

that's how I arrived at the inspiration for these lyrics:

"My Mirror Broke Down" lyrics, music written by Larry Heagle, copyrighted, September 1, 2017

Ma gave me that mirror when I was ten
Thought I'd look great ever since then
But my mirror broke down, yes, my mirror broke down
My mirror broke down, It just don't work for me

That mirror looked good when I was sixteen
The girls all smiled, if you know what I mean
But my mirror broke down . . .

It worked really well at twenty one
My, my, my, the gals sure were fun
But my mirror broke down . . .

When I looked in it at forty two
It made me look fat, nothing I could do
Cuz my mirror broke down . . .

At fifty five the glass was looking bad
It showed wrinkles that I never had
Cuz my mirror broke down . .

It got even worse at sixty six
So I took it to the glass man to get it fixed
Cuz my mirror broke down . . .

He checked it out and just shook his head
said there ain't nothing wrong, it's all in your head
But my mirror broke down . . .

So I gave it to a young man of twenty three
That fickle mirror'd been playin' with me
That mirror broke down
Yes that mirror broke down
that mirror broke down
But only when it looked at me.


Saturday, October 7, 2017

How Very Fortunate I Am

This morning, although not often enough, I want to express just how fortunate a life I have lived. I have been lucky enough to have taught hundreds of 8th and 9th Graders for over a decade before moving on to a more or less full time career as a traveling entertainer.
I have made some fast friendships with some of those now more than mature people and even still, while playing locally at area nursing homes and other senior facilities, I meet up with former students who happen to be visiting a parent while I am there.

When I realized in 1976 that I had lost my original enthusiasm for teaching, I also knew that I refused to be one of those teachers who, although, "burned out", continued on for as long as necessary to draw a good retirement.

I have always loved performing both music and comedy for people as I find it extremely rewarding and feel that over the years I have honed my craft enough that even though I am now on the down side of my 70's, I still have something to offer.

I cherish the opportunities that have been afforded me by my wonderful wife and partner, Kim Wilson, who works many hours to keep me booked into various senior centers as it is not only still very rewarding to me, but it is also a way for me to express my thanks to the Chippewa Valley and beyond for allowing me to spend time with all the people I have been accepted by and taken from over the past thirty some years.

when people ask me why I am playing at senior centers, I kiddingly tell them that I am just following my fans, rather than having them attempt to follow me.

I have also been very blessed to have had opportunities to open for some of the biggest names in the music industry, but two stand out best in my memory. The first opportunity I had to be an opening act for someone was for Emmy Lou Harris at the UWEC Field House, lo, those many years ago.

As I said, it was my first, and wouldn't you know, I committed a faux pas that I learned from immediately. My half hour warm up went well. The crowd kept applauding and wanting me to do more; a cardinal sin for an opening act! But I was an ignorant small town guy who didn't know that rule and went back on and did one more novelty tune.

As I went back through the darkness behind the stage, who should I come face to face with, but Emmy Lou! She, being a really classy lady as well as a class act, extended her hand and said: "Thank you. You did very well. The audience really enjoyed you." She could have and most others would have, rebuked me for what I had done.

I recently saw her on The Big Interview with Dan Rather and was struck by how similar her attitudes toward life are with my own. I love her to this day and always will.

Some years ago, (when you get to my age, everything is some years ago), I received a telephone call from Perla Batalla's Midwest booking agent, Andrea Hansen, who explained that she was good friends with a mutual friend, Dr. Judy Sims, of UWEC, and had asked her if she knew anyone that she could consider using as an opening act for Perla, as an Eau Claire stop would fill a gap between performances, and, thankfully, Dr. Sims recommended me.

Perla was performing at The Stone's Throw and would be arriving by rented car with her backup duo nmusicians, around 3 PM, so I wanted to be sure to meet her and do a sound check.

As soon as I met Perla, I was immediately struck by her warmth and openness. I remember her remarking, having just flown in from California, how, on the trip over from Minneapolis, she was just really taken with how green and beautiful western Wisconsin is.

Knowing from my own experience as a road performer, just how monotonous staying in hotels night after night is, I took a chance and asked Perla and Andrea if they would be interested in staying out in the country at my "office" bungalow, as I would love to make them one of my home made pizzas after the show, and they graciously accepted my offer.

Perla's performance, was stunning. It only convinced me further that she was a very warm and open person, not in the least haughty, as many can be. After watching her perform, we came out here in separate vehicles, I think, but this is hazy; Think that I left a bit early to get the pizza stone heated and to get started with the dough for a pizza Margherita.

It was a very special evening for me and after saying good night, I asked what time they would like to be up and that I would make them Popovers for breakfast. Imagine my dismay when months later, when I found out that Perla's husband, Claud Mann, is a world class chef, who at one time hosted the TBS program "Thursday Night: Dinner and a Movie", on which he prepared fascinating recipes during the running of a film. I was a big fan! Had I known, I would never have had the cojones to suggest baking for Perla! (I also found out at her concert at Cedar Avenue Cultural Ccenter that her mother is an incredible cook.)

That was the last I saw of her in person, but she has kept in touch with me both in e mails and she sends me her newest CD's, autographed. During our correspondence I would continually ask when she would be returning to Wisconsin and at one point was negotiating with Big Top Chataqua, but that fell through.

I made certain I was own her mailing list and watched closely for an appearance any where near us. When she released her CD saluting the music of Leonard Cohen, with whom she traveled the world over as one of two back up singers, she again, sent me copy, which I played over and over. I was really taken by "Bird On a Wire" which every time I listened to her sing it, gave me goose bumps.

She let me know that she was appearing with Leonard on The David Letterman Show, and although, most of the time, understandably, the cameras were focused on Mr. Cohen, I did get glimpses of Perla.

Then early this past September I found out that she was scheduled to perform at the Cedar Cultural Center, Cedar Avenue, Minneapolis, and I immediately ordered tickets on line, the kind that you print out so you have a hard copy immediately. Kim, at the time, was in New York City with her sister, Kristi, and our two good friends, Wes McClain and Bill Peisert, taking in Broadway shows, including Kim's all time favorite, Bette Midler, in Hello, Dolly.

The week before Perla's October 5th performance, I went searching the net for a very good Jewish Deli where we could celebrate Leonard Cohen's heritage, but could find nothing close by. So I decided we would try LaFresca, an upscale "Mexican" restaurant whose chef, trained in South American cuisine, as well as French cooking in Paris, and served dishes combining the two cuisines, celebrating Perla's Chicana heritage instead.

we left early so that we could have a leisurely dinner before the 7:30 performance. It wasn't until just after eating a fantastic dinner, while Kim had left for the ladies room, that I suddenly thought about whether we had remembered to bring the tickets!

Kim returned to the table and could tell something was on my mind. I said: "I'm afraid to ask you this: Did you remember the tickets, because I didn't until just now!" Her answer: "What tickets?" Just after she got back from NYC, still burdened with unpacking, etc, we talked about where to put the printouts so that they would be safe and we would remember where they were.

But neither of us did! Senior moment? So we fretted our way to the Cedar Cultural Center, making wrong turns most of the way, fighting parking lot ticket machines, but still managed to be inside by 7:20PM.

I explained to the lady at the ticket table that we had bought tickets online but forgot them. she asked whose name they were under, pulled out a spread sheet, went looking for the "H" section, and said: "Yes, here you are. two tickets purchased back in September." Sighs of relief.

Perla was magnificent, as usual, accompanied by her pianist, Michael Sobie, a very talented musician as well as an occasional harmony voice. What made the entire evening more special was that she took the time between songs to fully explain how and when Leonard had written them.

I was, of course, holding my breath, waiting for "Bird on a Wire" and when she told the audience how she came to first perform it on her own, it became very clear to me why I had considered the song so very outstanding to me.

Leonard was throwing a party and asked her to sing it at the party. Perla immediately rejected the idea as she has so much respect for his works and didn't think she would do it justice. But Leonard insisted that she at least give it some thought.

So a week or so before the party, she decided, just for Leonard, to give it a try, with her husband, Claud, accompanying on guitar.

Perla told us that after a week's practice she realized that she CAN sing it! She told Claud: "You know, I feel like I own this song." Claud's reply: "No, Perla, that song owns you." She sang it and brought tears to this old man's eyes.

It was an evening that no description I would provide would do justice. Kim and I talked about it much of the way home and still the next day.

If you would like to hear her perform, please call the Cedar Avenue Cultural Center, Minneapolis @ (612) 338-2674. Perla told me that if enough people call and ask when she will be returning, the possibility will be much more likely.

Sunday, March 22, 2015

RAPE WISCONSIN . . . ELECT SCOTT WALKER

I haven't blogged in quite some time; truth be told, state and national politics have driven me into a deep depression. Only the correct medications have helped keep me from ending it all.

I truly do not understand what is happening to my once progressive state. How could so many of my fellow Wisconsinites be taken in by a man who is easily the most egotistical,self-serving demagogue to ever come down the pike???

From the get go, Walker made it very clear ON TAPE, TELEVISED, speaking with his billionaire donor, Diane Hendricks of Rock County ABC supply, with this telling conversation:

Hendricks:
“Any chance we’ll ever get to be a completely red state and work on these unions and become a right-to-work state? What can we do to help you?”

Walker replied: “Well, we’re going to start in a couple weeks with our budget adjustment bill. The first step is we’re going to deal with collection bargaining for all public employee unions, because you use divide and conquer.”

Yesterday I received an e mail from my old friend, Dr. Ron Keezer, musician and etcher extraordinaire and the article he sent really NAILED IT:

Citizen Dave: Scott Walker and the politics of resentment

Credit:David Michael Miller

If Scott Walker were in governor's school he'd be earning an "F."
Let's look at the record.
He promised he'd create 250,000 private-sector jobs in his first four years. Less than half that number were actually created, and Wisconsin underperformed most Midwest states as well as the national average.
He promised he'd balance the budget. He produced a projected $2 billion deficit for the 2015-17 biennium.
Failing at his employment goals, last year he touted an $800 million tax cut as the way to create jobs. Minnesota's Democratic Gov. Mark Dayton didn't follow Walker's standard ALEC policy playbook. The result? Unemployment in Minnesota is 3.7%, while the unemployment rate in Scott Walker's "open for business" Wisconsin is 5.2%.
And while Wisconsin legislators struggle with that $2 billion deficit, liberal Gov. Dayton's Minnesota just can't agree on what to do with their almost $2 billion surplus.
Walker's refusal of Medicaid expansion under the Affordable Care Act will cost our state $345 million over the next two years and result in 81,000 fewer Wisconsinites being covered. That's right, we're paying more to cover fewer people.
He turned back $810 million, again of our own federal taxes, that would have gone to a high-speed rail system knitting together Chicago, Milwaukee and Madison. That system would have been up and running now for over a year if he hadn't narrowly won election in 2010.
So just between Medicaid and rail alone, Walker has turned his back on over $1.1 billion in federal resources that will just be spent in some other state. Did I mention he's running a $2 billion deficit?
In any school he'd be failing. In any private company he would have been fired a long time ago. If he were a city manager he'd be sued for malfeasance in office.
So, how did this guy who the record shows is incompetent or reckless or both, get elected to begin with, become the only governor in American history to ever survive a recall, and then win reelection to a second term, all in the space of four years?
Answer: He knows how to play on people's resentments.
Let's start with high-speed rail. Walker was actually open to the idea early on in the 2010 Republican primary. But when one of his opponents went hard against it, Walker responded immediately with absolute statements saying that he would turn down the federal money. It became a significant wedge issue, playing on resentment of Milwaukee and Madison in the rest of the state.
Act 10 was all about playing on resentment toward local teachers and "Madison" bureaucrats (but really state and municipal workers all over Wisconsin) in the wake of the Great Recession. Rather than trying to put in place policies that would build up private-sector workers' pay and benefits to equal or exceed their public-sector colleagues, Walker sought to drum up hard feelings between private- and public-sector workers, who should have been on the same side.
The Medicaid refusal is all about capitalizing on resentment of working-class whites against working-class African Americans. Medicaid is often heard as code for black and urban.
Walker's attacks on the UW and the Wisconsin Idea are intended to highlight the differences between those with university degrees and most Wisconsinites, who don't have one, at the expense of all the economic development that comes with a strong higher education system and a better-educated workforce.
And last year's senseless tax cut was mostly about keeping government in a constant state of fiscal crisis so that cutting programs will always be on the table. Walker doesn't want fiscal stability. He wants to gut government. In this way he plays on the resentment of the very idea of government.
So, Walker seeks to divide rural against urban Wisconsin, better-educated Wisconsinites versus blue-collar workers, private-sector employees versus those in the public sector, white Wisconsinites against their black fellow citizens.
My point is that if you want to look for the secret to Scott Walker's success, don't look to the higher human values of the common good. Instead, examine the politics of "divide and conquer." Walker succeeds by employing a remarkable and laser-like focus on exploiting and inflaming human resentments.
This is not the kind of man to be leading Wisconsin, or Wauwatosa for that matter, or any private company or, God help us, the United States of America.

**************************

NAILED IT!


The problem with my fellow citizens is not that difficult to discern. Nobody READS anymore. We have become a state of half-wits who don't really give a shit what is going on around them as long as they can watch FAUX News, (which they actually believe is really news!), and get the latest "smart phone" to stick in their ear.

Want to make you Sunday a real Funday? Read this article on our beloved governor's favorite masturbator:

http://wepartypatriots.com/wp/2012/05/16/walkers-billionaire-divide-and-conquer-backer-diane-hendricks-isnt-paying-state-corporate-taxes/

If this doesn't piss you off, then you are absolutely getting what you deserve: LESS AND LESS OF EVERYTHING.

Monday, January 26, 2015

I MAY BE SEVENTY THREE YEARS OLD, BUT I AIN'T DEAD YET!

AS I grow older, I begin to realize that some activities are in the rear view mirror; my sex life for instance. (Oh my God, he's gonna talk about it!) Well, actually, I'm going to talk about the lack of it. First off, don't misunderstand. My wife is an absolutely perfect mate. None of the cessation of sex in my marriage has anything to do with her.

Let's face it. At 73 years of age, and rapidly approaching 74, things don't work like they used to. As someone once said "Making love to a 73 year old is like trying to shoot pool with a rope. And the more I think about Viagara and all those other "helpers" all I can think of is how very ugly a seventy three year old man must look with a raging erection.

Then there's the sleeping disorder that I have. I didn't know that I had one for years, but I finally went in for the overnight sleep test. When morning finally arrived, I got together with the nurse who had administered the test. She told me that I really have a sleep problem called apnea.

Apnea is when, for no apparent reason, I just stop breathing. She told me at one point she almost came into my room to jolt me awake because I had stopped breathing for nearly a minute.

So now every night after ablutions, I have to put my teeth guard in (TMJ), and then strap on my mask, replete with machine and long coiled hose. Anybody want to make love to the alien?

So now, I think about sex. If ever some guy tells you that he doesn't, no matter how old he is, he is bull shitting you. The other day, while driving for Markquart Toyota, I was thinking about various things when suddenly the following "movie" began running in my head.

I believe it was in the year 1972 while I was still struggling with my first marriage. I received a telephone call from one of Eau Claire's long standing grocery store owners. I had already been hired to do a 45 minute set of comedy for the retail grocers of Eau Claire, and I assumed that this is what he wanted to talk to me about. Turns out, I was wrong.

He explained that in addition to my show, they had hired an "exotic dancer" and that she lived out in my neck of the woods, near Elk Lake, so would I be willing to pick her up before coming into town to set up for the show and to escort her back home afterwards. Truth be told, it wasn't the fact that I lived near her that prompted the call . . it was more of a "I can't be seen with an exotic dancer" type reason.

Well, another truth to be told, I kind of looked forward to being her escort as this would probably be a once in a life time opportunity, which now that I think back on it . . it was. He gave me the address and the telephone number and asked me to contact her, which I did.

On the designated evening, I left the house and drove to her address. I didn't even have to get out of the car. She appeared, locked her door, and made her way around to the passenger side. I am not going to lie. She was a beauty. Short woman, raven black hair, which she had up, wore up in a bun, and of all things, she was wearing a business suit. I am talking the three piece with a neatly tied neck tie. As we drove towards Eau Claire's west side, we chatted.

She told me that she is a college student at UWEC, majoring in business. I told her that she looked good in a suit. She not only looked fabulous, but she smelled great, too; not too much perfume at all, but just a devastating hint. We were immediately comfortable in each other's presence as we had something in common. We were both in "show business".

Cocktail hour went by quickly as she sat next to me at the bar and we continued to talk. I do remember that she pointed out my wedding ring and said, I thought with some disappointment: "You're married".

The grocers meantime had their share of booze on an empty stomach and were close to "roaring". You know, when the volume of conversation keeps getting louder and louder as everyone strains to hear each other.

The supper club waitress summoned them to sit as dinner was served. My new friend and I were not invited to partake, and if I had been, I would have declined as I don't like to perform on an empty stomach. Instead we continued to chat while they ate.

After dinner was finished and the introductions and awards were handed out, it was my turn. I did a really good show and had them banging on the tables. After I finished to strong applause, I read the introduction she had written and given to me and she made her appearance, carrying a boom box containing her music.

I cannot recall the music. Had you asked me that night I couldn't have told you because like all the other men in the room, I was immersed and mesmerized by her. I will tell you right now that she did the best strip tease I have ever witnessed, and I have seen more than a few in thirty some years of being on the road. She did not rush at all, but danced, fully clothed, for quite some time, until I could feel the tension growing between her and her all male audience.

Then she started to undress, very, very slowly, in time to the music. First she unbuttoned her suit coat, removed it; then undid her neck tie, danced over to a table of grocers and, grasping both ends of the tie, looped it over a head and did the"drying off with a towel" move. Next , she reached up and with one smooth motion released a cascade of beautiful long, black hair, all the while pulsing to the music. That is as far as she got when the animal noises began from the audience.

Next she lifted her skirt to reveal silk panties and, oh dear, a garter belt with real nylon stockings! She danced slowly, removing each stocking with delicate hands, then slowly slipped each one off into her hand. Both times she executed the lasso move with the stocking, whirling it overhead and then let it fly into the rapt crowd.

Next she began slowly unbuttoning her blouse, revealing a frilly black brassiere. She removed the blouse entirely and tossed that into the crowd as well. She was working these guys into a hot mass of manliness. She danced with her skirt and bra in place for what seemed like hours, then turned her back, unhooked her bra with one hand (I've always marveled how women can do that) and then turned, covering her breasts with the loose bra for several measures, and then that also went into the crowd. She was really good. She covered her breasts with her hands while she danced and threw her raven mane about.

She finally revealed her pert breasts with (as Detroit rocker Bob Seer so sensually described in "Night Moves"):

She was a black-haired beauty with big dark eyes
And points all her own sitting way up high
Way up firm and high

By now, the dollar bills and fivers were fairly flying in her direction. She danced topless, then removed her skirt. Someone got a hat and retrieved all the bills, filling the hat entirely. She danced furiously in only her panties and then . . . she was all done. This was met with yells of disappointment and "take it off" in unison. But she remained resolute. Even after they emptied the hat and passed it around again, she would not give in to their ardor.

She gathered up her strewn clothing and disappeared into the ladies room. Then she came out and sat back down next to me. Looking straight ahead, all I could say was "incredible . . . absolutely incredible."

Then the grocer who had hired me came over with a handful of cash in one hand and the hat full of cash in the other. He told her that the grocers wanted here to have all the cash for being such a "good girl".

Taking her home was quite different from our trip into town. Neither of us said anything. When I reached her driveway and parked the car, she reached over and shook my hand, thanking me at the same time. Then she did something I was not expecting. She enclosed my hand in both her hands and rubbing my hand gently, she said: "You have really nice hands." She paused, as though waiting for me . . . then she said, "well, good night." and she was gone.

All the way home I could hear her saying "You've got really nice hands." And you know what? I can still hear her voice saying that, clear as a bell, every time she comes to mind.

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Sunday, September 28, 2014

Sorry I haven't kept up with the blogging. Aw, hell. Who am I kidding? I'm not sorry at all! I used to blog all the time . . . almost every day. That was then. This is now. A whole lot of things going on at the same time. Tends to make you shuffle priorities. But I was thinking yesterday while I was battling all the "It's the weekend" idiots on Highway 94,that it's time to write.

Would someone please explain to me why what appears to be most of Minnesota is in exodus at illegal speeds into my home state?

Every car . . . well, that is an exaggeration . . . every other car roaring down the interstate, passing everything except the other vehicles with Illinois plates, was from the "Land of 10,000 Lakes". WTF? Who are these people? Don't they have a home in Minnesota? Their license plates would indicate that they do. Where the hell are they going in Wisconsin?

I drive "professionally" for Markquart Toyota/Scion, taking one car of a particular color to a dealership in a distant city, dabbling in some paper work at the dealership, retrieving a different car of another color, changing over the dealer plate, and then, after a thorough inspection for any bumps, dents, or paint scrapes, a quick inventory to items listed on the window sticker, I then drive the "swapped" vehicle back to Markquart Toyota/Scion.