Sunday, June 14, 2015
Saturday, April 30, 2011
In You Endo
We're missing the point, really, although Jon Kyl alluded to it when he admitted that his 90% statement about Planned Parenthood 'wasn't intended to be factual'. That's the point,none of it is intended to be factual, it's just intended to be put out there, to cloud the water. That's just the way they roll. If somebody buys it, fine, if you're called on it, well, at least it's out there. Kyl, Donald Trump, Sarah Palin, Michelle Bachmann, they're all expendable, but they're all valuable to the GOP so long as they're willing to spout the bullshit. It creates a meme that becomes a part of our collective consciousness, bullshit or not. It's irresponsible, devious politics by inuendo, courtesy of Lee Atwater and George H. W. Bush.
Birthers, teabaggers, climate change deniers, Glenn Beck believers, 'don't-tax-the-job-creators'.... it's all just BS memes that stick in our collective psyches. Obama a socialist? Obama a Muslim? Obama a non-American? Obama anti-jobs? Obama a bad student? It's all the ridiculous, completely unsupportable absurdities that pass as fact in the FAUX world. But fact or not, the important thing is that it's out there. The old adage 'You get the government you deserve' can be a very scary proposition when you consider how hard most of us work at it, and the help we get from the 'fair and balanced' press.
Birthers, teabaggers, climate change deniers, Glenn Beck believers, 'don't-tax-the-job-creators'.... it's all just BS memes that stick in our collective psyches. Obama a socialist? Obama a Muslim? Obama a non-American? Obama anti-jobs? Obama a bad student? It's all the ridiculous, completely unsupportable absurdities that pass as fact in the FAUX world. But fact or not, the important thing is that it's out there. The old adage 'You get the government you deserve' can be a very scary proposition when you consider how hard most of us work at it, and the help we get from the 'fair and balanced' press.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Tea Party Punks
‘Crazy…’ goes the old ARS song, ‘These are crazy crazy crazy, crazy times. But I just don’t understand. CRAZY! Crazy times make a crazy man.’
I admit, it was kinda fun laughing at Tea Party crazies like Christine O’Donnell, Glenn Beck, Michelle Bachman, and Sarah P…..
But this is no joke, and it’s no fun. These people are actually inciting and encouraging violence against the government…….
After she won the nomination to the Tea Party / Republican Party ticket in Nevada, Sharron Angle said that if she didn't win, they may have to resort to 2nd Amendment remedies.
Former Arizona Sheriff Richard Mack has said “I pray for the day that the first sheriff in this country [takes] the shot heard ‘round the world and take out some IRS agents!”
Joyce Kaufman, who will serve as chief of staff to newly-elected Congressman Allen West of Florida, has said ‘If ballots don’t work, bullets will’. (Ooops, ‘liberal’ media pressure forced her out. Still, he wanted her, and she will still be a ‘consultant'.)
Stephen Broden, running in Texas’ 30th District in this month’s U.S.House election, told a local TV reporter that an armed uprising against the federal government is “on the table.” Broden is a senior pastor with the Fair Park Bible Church and a frequent speaker at tea party rallies. At at least one such event, Broden attacked the federal government as tyrannical, telling the crowd revolution was an option.
But what tyranny (tir′ə nē, noun …very cruel and unjust use of power or authority) are they protesting? If they’re really worried about tyranny, where were they when George W. Bush was lying us into war, trashing our economy and our civil rights, and signing more laws and executive orders amending the Constitution than any president in U.S. history.
And what ‘judicial activism’ do they oppose? Citizens United? Bush v. Gore? How about Justice Samuel Alito mouthing ‘that’s not true’ at the State of the Union address, or now, attending conservative political fund-raising rallies?
I mean, these people are nuts. Crazy. I don’t think they were at the Rally To Restore Sanity, if you know what I mean. It’s like the punk rock backlash against classic rock back in the 70’s. Anybody could get in; you didn’t have to be talented, didn’t have to work to hone your craft, you just had to be angry and disaffected. And more or less be a loudmouth. Classic. Fun, maybe, in popular music culture; ominous in governance.
One of the great calling cards of the party is a supposed reverence for the Constitution and a return to Constitutionalism, but they consistently display a lack of understanding of what is actually in the document (vs. what they THINK is in it). O’Donnell actually didn’t seem to realize that the audience was laughing at her when she repeatedly questioned her opponent, Chris Coons, when he told her the text of the constitution prohibited government from establishing any religion. ‘'You're telling me that's in the First Amendment?'', Ms O'Donnell replied in apparent bewilderment. As a candidate, Joe Miller of Alaska argued that the federal government has overreached into areas that should be run by the states, whether that was Social Security, health care, education or resource protection. Now that he appears to be losing his senate race against a write-in Lisa Murkowski, he asks a federal court to interfere in what should be an Alaskan affair. Some say that the Tea Party only reveres the ‘original’ Constitution, and maybe the first 10 Amendments (The Bill of Rights). The ‘original’ Constitution is the one which held that slaves were 3/5s of a person, one that did not grant the vote to women. So how do they show their reverence for that original? In the last session of Congress alone, Republicans introduced 41 constitutional amendments. None, of course, about inciting revolt and armed intervention. Crazy...
Maybe instead of voting with their guns they should consider voting with their feet, and walk away. Far away.
I admit, it was kinda fun laughing at Tea Party crazies like Christine O’Donnell, Glenn Beck, Michelle Bachman, and Sarah P…..
But this is no joke, and it’s no fun. These people are actually inciting and encouraging violence against the government…….
After she won the nomination to the Tea Party / Republican Party ticket in Nevada, Sharron Angle said that if she didn't win, they may have to resort to 2nd Amendment remedies.
Former Arizona Sheriff Richard Mack has said “I pray for the day that the first sheriff in this country [takes] the shot heard ‘round the world and take out some IRS agents!”
Joyce Kaufman, who will serve as chief of staff to newly-elected Congressman Allen West of Florida, has said ‘If ballots don’t work, bullets will’. (Ooops, ‘liberal’ media pressure forced her out. Still, he wanted her, and she will still be a ‘consultant'.)
Stephen Broden, running in Texas’ 30th District in this month’s U.S.House election, told a local TV reporter that an armed uprising against the federal government is “on the table.” Broden is a senior pastor with the Fair Park Bible Church and a frequent speaker at tea party rallies. At at least one such event, Broden attacked the federal government as tyrannical, telling the crowd revolution was an option.
But what tyranny (tir′ə nē, noun …very cruel and unjust use of power or authority) are they protesting? If they’re really worried about tyranny, where were they when George W. Bush was lying us into war, trashing our economy and our civil rights, and signing more laws and executive orders amending the Constitution than any president in U.S. history.
And what ‘judicial activism’ do they oppose? Citizens United? Bush v. Gore? How about Justice Samuel Alito mouthing ‘that’s not true’ at the State of the Union address, or now, attending conservative political fund-raising rallies?
I mean, these people are nuts. Crazy. I don’t think they were at the Rally To Restore Sanity, if you know what I mean. It’s like the punk rock backlash against classic rock back in the 70’s. Anybody could get in; you didn’t have to be talented, didn’t have to work to hone your craft, you just had to be angry and disaffected. And more or less be a loudmouth. Classic. Fun, maybe, in popular music culture; ominous in governance.
One of the great calling cards of the party is a supposed reverence for the Constitution and a return to Constitutionalism, but they consistently display a lack of understanding of what is actually in the document (vs. what they THINK is in it). O’Donnell actually didn’t seem to realize that the audience was laughing at her when she repeatedly questioned her opponent, Chris Coons, when he told her the text of the constitution prohibited government from establishing any religion. ‘'You're telling me that's in the First Amendment?'', Ms O'Donnell replied in apparent bewilderment. As a candidate, Joe Miller of Alaska argued that the federal government has overreached into areas that should be run by the states, whether that was Social Security, health care, education or resource protection. Now that he appears to be losing his senate race against a write-in Lisa Murkowski, he asks a federal court to interfere in what should be an Alaskan affair. Some say that the Tea Party only reveres the ‘original’ Constitution, and maybe the first 10 Amendments (The Bill of Rights). The ‘original’ Constitution is the one which held that slaves were 3/5s of a person, one that did not grant the vote to women. So how do they show their reverence for that original? In the last session of Congress alone, Republicans introduced 41 constitutional amendments. None, of course, about inciting revolt and armed intervention. Crazy...
Maybe instead of voting with their guns they should consider voting with their feet, and walk away. Far away.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Health Care Reform Debate
An Open Letter to The Grand Obstructionists:
So, Health Care Reform appears to be DOA. Congratulations, you should be ashamed of yourselves. The American people want, need, and deserve Health Care Reform, or at least informed debate on the subject, but all we get is the Keystone Caper you have brought the American government to be, and zero results. Mr. Lincoln’s dream of a government of, by, and for the people has, unfortunately, perished as you continue to carry water for the big-monied special interests at the expense of the American public.
Make no mistake, the people collectively are bearing the expense. We pay far more (16% of GNP - more than twice as much as any other modern industrialized society) yet settle for far less. In case you hadn’t noticed, health insurance premiums have more than doubled in the last ten years, and are only projected to continue to rise, exponentially. Yes, American medicine is among the best in the world, when it’s available, but that probably doesn’t mean much to the 22,000 Americans who die every year because they can’t afford to see a doctor. That doesn’t happen in any other modern democracy, because the society does not allow it to happen. We choose to allow it to happen. 22,000 deaths annually. Seven 9/11’s, every year. We also allow 700,000 or so bankruptcies annually because of medical expenses. Again, other societies don’t allow that to happen. Universal health care coverage – not socialized medicine – is a fact of life in almost every modern society today. Conversely, in our feudal system, which mostly benefits insurance companies (whose collective profits run in the Billions annually), roughly 15% of us go uninsured. It’s not about ‘Death Panels’ or ‘Government Control’, it’s about making sure your neighbors can see a doctor when they need to. Government doesn’t want to make health care decisions; a government of, by, and for the people is there, Constitutionally, to provide for the general welfare. Profit-driven insurance companies do want to – and do – make health care decisions. And, in padding their bottom line, they are taking from us all. When Americans can’t afford to see a doctor, it’s an expense we all bear, collectively. The deaths. The bankruptcies. The financial costs when companies are forced to close because they can’t afford to insure their workers. It all makes it hard to compete in the global marketplace. Health care, the way it is, the way obstructionist so fiercely defend, is consuming our economy and our nation as a whole. So, again, congratulations. Anything for politics.
About that ‘informed debate’. Try, if you can tear your eyes away from ‘FAUX NEWS’, to represent the peoples interests by informing yourself on the subject. A simple look at factcheck.org can probably dispel 90% of the hyperbole that passes for debate. T.R. Reid’s “The Healing of America’ should probably be mandatory reading for anyone who wishes to join the debate. Bottom line: quit celebrating your obstructive ways, put down the water pails and start moving some of the stones out of the passway.
And a PS to the Dem dang donkeys: Grow some. Stand up for your principles, instead of worrying about your re-election. Keep the message simple, and repeat it. And forget the super-majority; let ‘em filibuster and show themselves the fool. We, the American public, deserve honest representation even more than we need health care reform. Let’s roll.
So, Health Care Reform appears to be DOA. Congratulations, you should be ashamed of yourselves. The American people want, need, and deserve Health Care Reform, or at least informed debate on the subject, but all we get is the Keystone Caper you have brought the American government to be, and zero results. Mr. Lincoln’s dream of a government of, by, and for the people has, unfortunately, perished as you continue to carry water for the big-monied special interests at the expense of the American public.
Make no mistake, the people collectively are bearing the expense. We pay far more (16% of GNP - more than twice as much as any other modern industrialized society) yet settle for far less. In case you hadn’t noticed, health insurance premiums have more than doubled in the last ten years, and are only projected to continue to rise, exponentially. Yes, American medicine is among the best in the world, when it’s available, but that probably doesn’t mean much to the 22,000 Americans who die every year because they can’t afford to see a doctor. That doesn’t happen in any other modern democracy, because the society does not allow it to happen. We choose to allow it to happen. 22,000 deaths annually. Seven 9/11’s, every year. We also allow 700,000 or so bankruptcies annually because of medical expenses. Again, other societies don’t allow that to happen. Universal health care coverage – not socialized medicine – is a fact of life in almost every modern society today. Conversely, in our feudal system, which mostly benefits insurance companies (whose collective profits run in the Billions annually), roughly 15% of us go uninsured. It’s not about ‘Death Panels’ or ‘Government Control’, it’s about making sure your neighbors can see a doctor when they need to. Government doesn’t want to make health care decisions; a government of, by, and for the people is there, Constitutionally, to provide for the general welfare. Profit-driven insurance companies do want to – and do – make health care decisions. And, in padding their bottom line, they are taking from us all. When Americans can’t afford to see a doctor, it’s an expense we all bear, collectively. The deaths. The bankruptcies. The financial costs when companies are forced to close because they can’t afford to insure their workers. It all makes it hard to compete in the global marketplace. Health care, the way it is, the way obstructionist so fiercely defend, is consuming our economy and our nation as a whole. So, again, congratulations. Anything for politics.
About that ‘informed debate’. Try, if you can tear your eyes away from ‘FAUX NEWS’, to represent the peoples interests by informing yourself on the subject. A simple look at factcheck.org can probably dispel 90% of the hyperbole that passes for debate. T.R. Reid’s “The Healing of America’ should probably be mandatory reading for anyone who wishes to join the debate. Bottom line: quit celebrating your obstructive ways, put down the water pails and start moving some of the stones out of the passway.
And a PS to the Dem dang donkeys: Grow some. Stand up for your principles, instead of worrying about your re-election. Keep the message simple, and repeat it. And forget the super-majority; let ‘em filibuster and show themselves the fool. We, the American public, deserve honest representation even more than we need health care reform. Let’s roll.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Wizardly Gadgetry
A few years back, I gave my Mom an electronic gift certificate, something she could redeem online at an electronic ‘mall’. It was a lazy, last minute gift, but I thought, for the circumstances, it would do. It actually made her break down in tears, not in happiness or motherly love, but in frustration. The whole idea, even with help from my tech-savvy sister, was just too much. It overwhelmed her, her once agile mind reeling in the digital realm. Recently, my wife and I joked that the next TV we buy will be our last, simply because figuring out a new remote is just too much hassle. I don’t really need a remote that comes with an owner’s manual, has 23 programmable buttons, haptic feedback, or 802.11b/g Wi-Fi. Or a phone that takes pictures, for that matter. I don’t Tweet, and if congress is any example, I don’t want to. To varying degrees, we all let the world pass us by, just like all those true folkies who couldn’t go along when Dylan went electric.
I was always pretty good at math and technical thinking (even though that now is becoming a hassle, too), and wonder at the now 20-somethings who struggle with even the simplest arithmetic. They grew up with calculators - even on tests! – where I used a stubby No. 2 and an (even stubbier) eraser. I think the exercise served me well, but it can’t stop the onrush of time or the feeling that the whole world has ‘gone electric’. Still, I dip my toes in the electronic ‘pool’ now and then and I find that it ain’t all bad.
We recently moved (across an ocean and several state lines) but were able to keep our same phones and phone numbers, thanks to the ‘modern’ miracle of cell phones and roaming technology. We’re making it without a ‘land-line’, thank you very much, AND we’ve been spared the hassle of reprogramming our cells.
A while back, I read an article by a contemporary who was dissing the iPod; he just didn’t get what all the buzz was all about. And a co-worker, a self-proclaimed ‘audiophile’, couldn’t let go of the ‘realness’ of vinyl (like my Dad and ‘transistor’ radios back in the 50’s and 60’s). Me, an ex-audiophile of sorts, DO get the buzz and I LOVE my iPod. I recorded all my old vinyl (one last time) and now enjoy listening to tunes that I love that I’d never hear on the radio and never play myself (too much hassle), electric Dylan included. I’m hearing things I haven’t enjoyed in 25-30 years and it’s just, like, so groovy. I’ve played a little with the rating system and playlists on the iPod, and kind of set up a rotation of tunes. More favorite songs play more often, less favorite songs play less often. It’s a good way to manage a 4500-title catalog. I mix in some other little sound bites and podcasts (Bill Maher, news shows, This I Believe, 60-Second Science, etc.) and I’ve got my own personal ‘radio station’ that almost always amazes me/makes me smile/plays just what I want.
I was slow to come around to facebook, finally joining when it became the only way I could reconnect with some old friends. But it, too, has been amazing. An electronic town hall, or beach party, with only those you want in attendance. Like the old music, I’ve been able to connect with people I lost track of as much as 35 years ago! And no high school reunion dieting! One friend leads to another, and it’s amazing the ‘web’ we weave all throughout the country and around the world, with all our different connections, activities and interests.
So, yeah, I’m slipping behind and letting a lot go by. The little I’ve grasped onto, though, has truly enriched and revolutionized my life, even as it drains my bank account. Oh, well. (When I was a kid, you could get 5 GB for 25¢!!)
I was always pretty good at math and technical thinking (even though that now is becoming a hassle, too), and wonder at the now 20-somethings who struggle with even the simplest arithmetic. They grew up with calculators - even on tests! – where I used a stubby No. 2 and an (even stubbier) eraser. I think the exercise served me well, but it can’t stop the onrush of time or the feeling that the whole world has ‘gone electric’. Still, I dip my toes in the electronic ‘pool’ now and then and I find that it ain’t all bad.
We recently moved (across an ocean and several state lines) but were able to keep our same phones and phone numbers, thanks to the ‘modern’ miracle of cell phones and roaming technology. We’re making it without a ‘land-line’, thank you very much, AND we’ve been spared the hassle of reprogramming our cells.
A while back, I read an article by a contemporary who was dissing the iPod; he just didn’t get what all the buzz was all about. And a co-worker, a self-proclaimed ‘audiophile’, couldn’t let go of the ‘realness’ of vinyl (like my Dad and ‘transistor’ radios back in the 50’s and 60’s). Me, an ex-audiophile of sorts, DO get the buzz and I LOVE my iPod. I recorded all my old vinyl (one last time) and now enjoy listening to tunes that I love that I’d never hear on the radio and never play myself (too much hassle), electric Dylan included. I’m hearing things I haven’t enjoyed in 25-30 years and it’s just, like, so groovy. I’ve played a little with the rating system and playlists on the iPod, and kind of set up a rotation of tunes. More favorite songs play more often, less favorite songs play less often. It’s a good way to manage a 4500-title catalog. I mix in some other little sound bites and podcasts (Bill Maher, news shows, This I Believe, 60-Second Science, etc.) and I’ve got my own personal ‘radio station’ that almost always amazes me/makes me smile/plays just what I want.
I was slow to come around to facebook, finally joining when it became the only way I could reconnect with some old friends. But it, too, has been amazing. An electronic town hall, or beach party, with only those you want in attendance. Like the old music, I’ve been able to connect with people I lost track of as much as 35 years ago! And no high school reunion dieting! One friend leads to another, and it’s amazing the ‘web’ we weave all throughout the country and around the world, with all our different connections, activities and interests.
So, yeah, I’m slipping behind and letting a lot go by. The little I’ve grasped onto, though, has truly enriched and revolutionized my life, even as it drains my bank account. Oh, well. (When I was a kid, you could get 5 GB for 25¢!!)
Sunday, August 16, 2009
The Great Adventure
How I Came Adrift On a Sea of Dreams
It germinated months ago, this adventure of the sea; and really, the seeds were planted years ago in a bed of rosy dreams. I have always thought I might like to learn to sail and someday retire on a sailboat and leisurely ride the winds of fortune. My beautiful wife Jessie, who suffers from motion sickness on a waterbed, has consistently supported and encouraged this pursuit. So when, last fall, a sailing friend, Kyle, said that he had a friend who had a boat in Southern California that he wanted to sail to the Puget Sound, I was disappointed that a work conflict kept me from offering my services as a crewman. Regretfully, I said, any other time I’d be glad to help. They started out from Newport bound for home, but weather and boat problems (my future foretold?) forced them to abandon the plan and they left the boat to winter in the Bay Area, with plans to take up again in late spring or early summer. Thus, my opportunity to crew the 32’ sailing vessel ‘Serenity ' arose and I could see myself a step closer to that dream. I’d dabbled with sailing in the past, but in preparation for the trip I actually took formal sailing lessons.
The last week in April, Captain Max (the owner), first mate Tom, my friend Kyle and I all piled in Max’s Chevy van Friday after work for the overnight drive to the Bay Area, Kyle and I doing most of the driving. We arrived at the marina at about 8:30 Saturday morning and, after a quick Burger King breakfast, began to ready the boat for our upcoming voyage. The Serenity needed some minor repair and installation of much added safety equipment (GPS, radar, solar panels, batteries, and autopilot) and there was much transferring of this trips essentials and last trips leftovers between van and boat and boat and van. Over the winter, the boat had had engine and transmission repair and Max had a new mainsail sewn. In the late afternoon, we went to Albertson’s for provisions and felt that, with the exception of refueling in the morning, we were ready to go. Max whipped up a tasty dinner and we turned in early, as no one had really gotten any sleep the night before.
Sunday morning broke beautifully and we were waiting on the fueling dock when they opened at 8:30. We filled our 35 gallon main fuel tank and also the four 5 gallon cans we had lashed to the side rails amidship (more about these later). We also had three 7 gallon cans stowed below the helmsman’s seat, for a total of 76 gallons of fuel to drive our sailboat. Max had guessed the diesel engine used about a gallon an hour, though the boat was new to him and he really didn’t know. We were hoping to make Coos Bay, Oregon in about three days, so along with sail power felt we had plenty of fuel. We motored through the Bay and out beyond the Golden Gate before we hoisted the mainsail, all the while enjoying the gorgeous weather and spectacular scenery – it was Opening Day of the boating season on the San Francisco Bay.
As we rounded Point Bonita and headed northwest, we faced a bracing northwest wind and choppy opposing seas. We continued to ‘motor-sail’ and it took hours for the Bridge to fade into the haze. Tom laid down in the afternoon and Max finally began to develop the watch plan we had been asking about. Kyle and I would have the boat ’til 6pm, Max and Tom would split the duties watching overnight. Off the bat, we were violating the premise of pairing one of the inexperienced hands with one of the ‘old salts’, but it seemed good that they should have the boat on the fist night and hopefully we’d settle in to a more formalized rotation soon so that everyone would know what to look forward to. The first inkling that the boat might harbor some hidden problems came early in the afternoon when the fresh water pump failed. Not to worry, though, we had bottled water and we could all go without a wash for a few days. Sometime during the afternoon, the bumps and the beef sticks began to overpower my natural instinct not to barf. I ended up being sick all night, heaving over the rail as Kyle manned the helm in the afternoon, aiming at the wildly heaving head as Max plowed on through the evening. Evidently, Tom suffered the same malady and was unable to stand his first watch. Just before turning in at about 11, I went out to check on Max. He handed me the wheel, said ‘track that star’, and disappeared. The boat was bouncing a lot, but it was a beautiful (if blusterry) moonlit night and I could almost ignore my queasiness. It was a little too rough for the autopilot, so I worked at trying to keep the boat pointed at that distant star – turns out the Serenity’s compass was unlighted, so it was just me, Mother Nature, and the steady hum of the diesel.
As my star set, I’d pick another and we sailed on through the night. The GPS showed that our course made good was 310 degrees, just what we wanted. You don’t move fast in a sailboat and it takes a while for the GPS to detect enough movement to figure out where you’re tracking. Certainly not a good steering indicator, the GPS summarized the track you’ve made and shows a relative position to your selected waypoint, in this case and imaginary spot in the Pacific Ocean off the coast of California.
The half moon slowly set and the night became darker. It was now impossible to read the water, but I could still use a star to turn us back on course when a wave bounced us off. Soon, though, that would change. The stars disappeared into the deepening fog and all I could see was the green glow of the GPS face. It became nearly impossible to hold a heading with no compass and no visual reference points. I was proud that I was able to continue tracking 310 degrees using only the past track information from the GPS, making small corrections and heading this way then that as the sea tossed us about. Not an easy world to jump into, as Kyle discovered when he came out to relieve me at 2:30 Monday morning. He initially spun the wheel from stop to stop, trying to get a hold of Serenitys center. The boat spun wildly out of control, the mainsail luffing madly as it vacillated between preventers. I kind of half explained to Kyle the process I had settled on, and he slowly settled into harnessing the beast. Max and Tom still nestled in the berths, not knowing or unable to care. I went below to join them in some much needed rest, pausing in the head for another quick purge. Strangely, it seemed to me, I always felt better after barking at the toilet. I plunged for the V-berth, which was sleeping quarters for me and Kyle, alternately banging head and tail as I careened through the bucking boat in the dark. Settling in, I leaned against the inside of the hull for stability and hoped I wouldn’t get sick again. Again, it was impossible to sleep and again Kyle and I were doing most of the driving. I hoped, too, for better conditions and time to relax and rest.
Mesmerized by the GPS glow, Kyle was having the opposite problem and found he couldn’t keep his eyes open and concentrate on holding us on course, I was apparently the only one who heard his calls for help and went to the companionway to see what he needed. When he explained, I hurriedly slogged back on my cold, wet gear and went out to relieve him. It was 4:30 and I struggled through that darkest hour just before the dawn…………..
Kyle had said to get him up a 6:30, but I didn’t have the heart and kept on driving ‘til he got himself up at about 7:30 to relieve me. Still no Tom. Still no Max. One more puke, one more stumble/crash and again I looked forward to a long down time.
I woke – I think I was asleep – in the early afternoon to a splitting headache and a knot on my head from my previous attempts at traversing the inside of the boat, which by now was strewn with debris in a sort of trash stew. The knot and the headache were a nice compliment to my continued queasiness. And I was just in time for our ‘next challenge’. Max had told me he had decided to put in for repair and rest and – guess who – Kyle was at the wheel. The boat was a mess, but none of us had the time or the energy to care. We had come about, and were tracking northeast, the wind and the seas still not really cooperating. We had made very little headway toward our ultimate target but a least we were headed for port. It had been a very long day and a half. Tom was up at last and he and Kyle talked about trying to add some fuel to our tank, but wanted to wait a little while to see if we might have conditions improve and the boat jump about a little less. Unfortunately, there was no fuel gauge, Max’s estimate was a little off, and we ended up waiting too long. We had been motor sailing for about 30 hours on our 35 gallon tank when we ran out of gas. The wind was down a bit; the seas were still rolling, but at least with the mainsail up, Kyle could maintain steerage. We broke out the three 7 gallon cans (Max wanted to use these first because the fuel in them was older), poured them in the tank and tried a restart, but the little diesel that had run for 30 hours straight wanted a rest. We put up the jib to help the mainsail and continued back toward the coast. Everyone was weary. Max came up with a watch plan that would have me at the helm from 7 to 11, then Tom ‘til moonset at about 2:30, when Max would take his turn at the darkness. Kyle got the night off after driving most of the day. Kyle had given me some Dramamine for the quease and Aleve for the splitter and I laid down to let it all take effect. When I got up for the evening watch, I felt much better.
These were most likely the best few hours I’ll ever experience on a sailboat. We were about 25 miles off shore when I took the wheel, headed just south of Point Arena and the shelter of shore. We had been enroute for 34 hours, and were approximately 100 miles northwest of the Golden Gate. Hopefully in the morning, we’d be able to make our way around the point and into the marina at Arena Cove. The sea calmed, the wind settled into a nice steady 15-knot northwesterly and everyone settled in for a (finally) peaceful rest. I had a chance to fine-tune the sails, play with the GPS, watch a freighter pass headed out to sea, and gawk at the wonders of nature on a star-filled, moonlight night off the coast of Northern California.
Max got up around 10:30 and came out to keep me company. I saw Tom get up around the same time and thought, ‘good, it’ll be a smooth shift change’. Tom was still struggling with the willies, though, and didn’t come out ‘til after 11:30. We were inside 10 miles from shore and needed to loiter off shore until we had some light, so the three of us tacked the boat back to the northwest before I turned in around midnight. It was the calm before the storm.
I got up at dawn after a fitful rest – the kind of rest you get when you’re dead tired and the world’s coming apart. Sometime during the night, the wind had whipped to gale force, the seas got angry, and the little boat trembled. The darkness was filled with constant creaks and groans as lines tried to pull fittings from the hull, cracks and booms as the boom slammed from preventer to preventer, the sail blew full and released, and the waves pounded the hull. Max and Tom had talked about tacking back to the northeast during their watch change but didn’t, either because conditions were too rough or because Max still hoped to make it north of Point Arena when we did turn back around. Sometime during the night, they had furled the jib and reefed the main to better deal with the gale. We still needed to put in, and the sooner the better, but when I got up Max was hunkered down and the boat was hove to 35 miles off shore. As the sky lightened, Max and I decided to get under way again and head once again for shore. I took the helm and we jibed about to the northeast in the 20-25 foot seas. They had actually tacked west-southwest in the night, and the boat drifted further south while it bobbed after the heave-to. There was no way we could make the Point now, but we headed off toward the coast. Kyle came out and suggested we try the engine again, and it started. Lucky it did, it helped me keep headway as I attempted to steer into the heavy swells out of the north. Max assured himself that Kyle and I had the boat and went below.
One of the waves that had pounded us during the night broke loose the gas cans lashed to the port railing. The cans stayed attached to the boat, but hung down in the water. Now, an occasional wave washed over the cockpit and there was constant heavy spray coming over the bow or one side or the other. The boat seemed to heel as much as 60-70 degrees at times. Because of the direction of the wind and the swell, most of the spray came over the port rail. Every time it did, it carried a little diesel fuel with it from the cans hanging in the water, so I was constantly being sprayed with the mixture of fuel and salt water. Because of the seas, there was nothing we could do about it. It was all quite a handful, the wind and the breaking 25-foot swells seeming to come from all directions. Kyle attempted to relieve me at one point, but I was determined to carry on. I hoped to get us to within 20 miles of shore before I relinquished the wheel, but when Tom came out at about 10, I turned it over to him with 21.7 miles to go.
Although reefed, the mainsail couldn’t stand up to the constant pounding and, little by little, began to separate from the mast. By the time shore was sighted in mid-afternoon, it had completely failed, so we were riding on our little four cylinder alone. We rolled out a little of the jib to help steady the boat and added another can of fuel to the tank, just to be sure. We approached the shore approximately 7 miles south of Point Arena and attempted turn north and motor around the point, but the diesel would have nothing to do with the seas and started losing power. We had to come back around to the south and searched the charts and the shoreline for a safe anchorage. Tom could only keep the engine at barely above idle now and we decided to put out an alert to the Coast Guard, advising them of our position and situation, though requesting no immediate assistance. We stayed about a mile offshore; searching for safe harbor, but the surf was pretty high and rough and prevented us from making an approach. We just hoped the engine held out. At about 3 o’clock, we were about 40 miles north of Bodega Bay, the nearest real shelter to the south, the only direction we could travel. We decided to go for it, and for the next four and a half hours Tom motored us south, riding the wind and the waves and nursing the engine along. It was still a rough ride. At one point Max, a big man, crashed across the cabin and landed on top of me, pulling the center table out of the floor as he came. The night before he had taken out the overhead support that went up from the galley counter near the rear of the cabin. (And earlier yet, he had stepped through the flooring in the galley, where now a 1-foot square opening exposed the driveshaft.) About an hour north of Bodega, the engine started a clanking that quickly formed the three of us not driving into a precision pit crew. We thought it might be something on the driveshaft, or low engine oil. Kyle quickly checked the driveshaft and we cleared the way to the engine and broke out the oil and fashioned a funnel out of a gallon jug. By the time we got the oil into the engine, the clanking had stopped, but left us all the more uneasy.
From the north, the approach to Bodega Bay takes you around a hook that separates the bay from the open waters. Tom was trying to cut a fine line between getting too close to the rocks as we rounded Bodega Head and staying too far clear, where our wounded little engine wouldn’t be able to fight back up north after we made the turn. As we came closer and closer to shore, the boat began to surf the 10-15 foot waves that were angling to the southeast. Tom, Kyle and I were all on close lookout as we approached to within about 100 yards as we rounded the cliffs and the rocks. Tom had Kyle go forward and ready the anchor in case the diesel gave out altogether, which it seemed like it might. Once again, after our pit crew oil service, it had began the clanking, then again the clanking stopped. Just as the sun was setting, we limped into the marina. As we approached a slip, Tom pulled the throttle back to idle and the engine quit. It had been another long day and a half since we had made the decision to put in; 3 days of motoring, sailing, drifting and surfing since we had left our last tiedown. We were about 40 miles north of San Francisco.
I learned, and/or relearned a lot in those three days. As I already knew, Kyle Davis is a good companion to have when you set out on an adventure such as this. Thanks, Kyle; you may not have been glad to be there, but I was glad you were. I also learned:
The value of heaving to.
Watch out what grows in beds of rosy dreams.
Don’t leave port planning to be out at night without a lighted compass.
Take the Dramamine first.
Don’t trust a guess when fuel is critical.
How a crew can finally come together when faced with disaster.
Use the fuel on the rail first, regardless of age.
Don’t breakfast at Burger King.
Also, I learned sailing is often cold, challenging, exhausting, frightening, and frustrating. Even in the best of conditions, it’s gonna be wet. My hands were constantly water-logged, so that I couldn’t have played the guitar I brought along even if I had the opportunity. Sailing, I found, is not really compatible with my first two loves; Jessie and making music. We won’t be buying that floating retirement home anytime soon, tho’ I think I’ll continue at least with basic certification. Mostly, I learned how some dreams die hard and some evaporate like the dew on the bowsprit in the morning sun.
This 'adventure' is actually several years old now. Max ended up having 'Serenity' trucked up to the Puget Sound, where she lies today. I did complete basic sailing certification and earned a license, and I have had some great times sailing since this mis-adventure, particularly around the Hawaiian Islands. But this trip lives on in infamy, so I wanted to document it here. Sail On, Sailor......
It germinated months ago, this adventure of the sea; and really, the seeds were planted years ago in a bed of rosy dreams. I have always thought I might like to learn to sail and someday retire on a sailboat and leisurely ride the winds of fortune. My beautiful wife Jessie, who suffers from motion sickness on a waterbed, has consistently supported and encouraged this pursuit. So when, last fall, a sailing friend, Kyle, said that he had a friend who had a boat in Southern California that he wanted to sail to the Puget Sound, I was disappointed that a work conflict kept me from offering my services as a crewman. Regretfully, I said, any other time I’d be glad to help. They started out from Newport bound for home, but weather and boat problems (my future foretold?) forced them to abandon the plan and they left the boat to winter in the Bay Area, with plans to take up again in late spring or early summer. Thus, my opportunity to crew the 32’ sailing vessel ‘Serenity ' arose and I could see myself a step closer to that dream. I’d dabbled with sailing in the past, but in preparation for the trip I actually took formal sailing lessons.
The last week in April, Captain Max (the owner), first mate Tom, my friend Kyle and I all piled in Max’s Chevy van Friday after work for the overnight drive to the Bay Area, Kyle and I doing most of the driving. We arrived at the marina at about 8:30 Saturday morning and, after a quick Burger King breakfast, began to ready the boat for our upcoming voyage. The Serenity needed some minor repair and installation of much added safety equipment (GPS, radar, solar panels, batteries, and autopilot) and there was much transferring of this trips essentials and last trips leftovers between van and boat and boat and van. Over the winter, the boat had had engine and transmission repair and Max had a new mainsail sewn. In the late afternoon, we went to Albertson’s for provisions and felt that, with the exception of refueling in the morning, we were ready to go. Max whipped up a tasty dinner and we turned in early, as no one had really gotten any sleep the night before.
Sunday morning broke beautifully and we were waiting on the fueling dock when they opened at 8:30. We filled our 35 gallon main fuel tank and also the four 5 gallon cans we had lashed to the side rails amidship (more about these later). We also had three 7 gallon cans stowed below the helmsman’s seat, for a total of 76 gallons of fuel to drive our sailboat. Max had guessed the diesel engine used about a gallon an hour, though the boat was new to him and he really didn’t know. We were hoping to make Coos Bay, Oregon in about three days, so along with sail power felt we had plenty of fuel. We motored through the Bay and out beyond the Golden Gate before we hoisted the mainsail, all the while enjoying the gorgeous weather and spectacular scenery – it was Opening Day of the boating season on the San Francisco Bay.
As we rounded Point Bonita and headed northwest, we faced a bracing northwest wind and choppy opposing seas. We continued to ‘motor-sail’ and it took hours for the Bridge to fade into the haze. Tom laid down in the afternoon and Max finally began to develop the watch plan we had been asking about. Kyle and I would have the boat ’til 6pm, Max and Tom would split the duties watching overnight. Off the bat, we were violating the premise of pairing one of the inexperienced hands with one of the ‘old salts’, but it seemed good that they should have the boat on the fist night and hopefully we’d settle in to a more formalized rotation soon so that everyone would know what to look forward to. The first inkling that the boat might harbor some hidden problems came early in the afternoon when the fresh water pump failed. Not to worry, though, we had bottled water and we could all go without a wash for a few days. Sometime during the afternoon, the bumps and the beef sticks began to overpower my natural instinct not to barf. I ended up being sick all night, heaving over the rail as Kyle manned the helm in the afternoon, aiming at the wildly heaving head as Max plowed on through the evening. Evidently, Tom suffered the same malady and was unable to stand his first watch. Just before turning in at about 11, I went out to check on Max. He handed me the wheel, said ‘track that star’, and disappeared. The boat was bouncing a lot, but it was a beautiful (if blusterry) moonlit night and I could almost ignore my queasiness. It was a little too rough for the autopilot, so I worked at trying to keep the boat pointed at that distant star – turns out the Serenity’s compass was unlighted, so it was just me, Mother Nature, and the steady hum of the diesel.
As my star set, I’d pick another and we sailed on through the night. The GPS showed that our course made good was 310 degrees, just what we wanted. You don’t move fast in a sailboat and it takes a while for the GPS to detect enough movement to figure out where you’re tracking. Certainly not a good steering indicator, the GPS summarized the track you’ve made and shows a relative position to your selected waypoint, in this case and imaginary spot in the Pacific Ocean off the coast of California.
The half moon slowly set and the night became darker. It was now impossible to read the water, but I could still use a star to turn us back on course when a wave bounced us off. Soon, though, that would change. The stars disappeared into the deepening fog and all I could see was the green glow of the GPS face. It became nearly impossible to hold a heading with no compass and no visual reference points. I was proud that I was able to continue tracking 310 degrees using only the past track information from the GPS, making small corrections and heading this way then that as the sea tossed us about. Not an easy world to jump into, as Kyle discovered when he came out to relieve me at 2:30 Monday morning. He initially spun the wheel from stop to stop, trying to get a hold of Serenitys center. The boat spun wildly out of control, the mainsail luffing madly as it vacillated between preventers. I kind of half explained to Kyle the process I had settled on, and he slowly settled into harnessing the beast. Max and Tom still nestled in the berths, not knowing or unable to care. I went below to join them in some much needed rest, pausing in the head for another quick purge. Strangely, it seemed to me, I always felt better after barking at the toilet. I plunged for the V-berth, which was sleeping quarters for me and Kyle, alternately banging head and tail as I careened through the bucking boat in the dark. Settling in, I leaned against the inside of the hull for stability and hoped I wouldn’t get sick again. Again, it was impossible to sleep and again Kyle and I were doing most of the driving. I hoped, too, for better conditions and time to relax and rest.
Mesmerized by the GPS glow, Kyle was having the opposite problem and found he couldn’t keep his eyes open and concentrate on holding us on course, I was apparently the only one who heard his calls for help and went to the companionway to see what he needed. When he explained, I hurriedly slogged back on my cold, wet gear and went out to relieve him. It was 4:30 and I struggled through that darkest hour just before the dawn…………..
Kyle had said to get him up a 6:30, but I didn’t have the heart and kept on driving ‘til he got himself up at about 7:30 to relieve me. Still no Tom. Still no Max. One more puke, one more stumble/crash and again I looked forward to a long down time.
I woke – I think I was asleep – in the early afternoon to a splitting headache and a knot on my head from my previous attempts at traversing the inside of the boat, which by now was strewn with debris in a sort of trash stew. The knot and the headache were a nice compliment to my continued queasiness. And I was just in time for our ‘next challenge’. Max had told me he had decided to put in for repair and rest and – guess who – Kyle was at the wheel. The boat was a mess, but none of us had the time or the energy to care. We had come about, and were tracking northeast, the wind and the seas still not really cooperating. We had made very little headway toward our ultimate target but a least we were headed for port. It had been a very long day and a half. Tom was up at last and he and Kyle talked about trying to add some fuel to our tank, but wanted to wait a little while to see if we might have conditions improve and the boat jump about a little less. Unfortunately, there was no fuel gauge, Max’s estimate was a little off, and we ended up waiting too long. We had been motor sailing for about 30 hours on our 35 gallon tank when we ran out of gas. The wind was down a bit; the seas were still rolling, but at least with the mainsail up, Kyle could maintain steerage. We broke out the three 7 gallon cans (Max wanted to use these first because the fuel in them was older), poured them in the tank and tried a restart, but the little diesel that had run for 30 hours straight wanted a rest. We put up the jib to help the mainsail and continued back toward the coast. Everyone was weary. Max came up with a watch plan that would have me at the helm from 7 to 11, then Tom ‘til moonset at about 2:30, when Max would take his turn at the darkness. Kyle got the night off after driving most of the day. Kyle had given me some Dramamine for the quease and Aleve for the splitter and I laid down to let it all take effect. When I got up for the evening watch, I felt much better.
These were most likely the best few hours I’ll ever experience on a sailboat. We were about 25 miles off shore when I took the wheel, headed just south of Point Arena and the shelter of shore. We had been enroute for 34 hours, and were approximately 100 miles northwest of the Golden Gate. Hopefully in the morning, we’d be able to make our way around the point and into the marina at Arena Cove. The sea calmed, the wind settled into a nice steady 15-knot northwesterly and everyone settled in for a (finally) peaceful rest. I had a chance to fine-tune the sails, play with the GPS, watch a freighter pass headed out to sea, and gawk at the wonders of nature on a star-filled, moonlight night off the coast of Northern California.
Max got up around 10:30 and came out to keep me company. I saw Tom get up around the same time and thought, ‘good, it’ll be a smooth shift change’. Tom was still struggling with the willies, though, and didn’t come out ‘til after 11:30. We were inside 10 miles from shore and needed to loiter off shore until we had some light, so the three of us tacked the boat back to the northwest before I turned in around midnight. It was the calm before the storm.
I got up at dawn after a fitful rest – the kind of rest you get when you’re dead tired and the world’s coming apart. Sometime during the night, the wind had whipped to gale force, the seas got angry, and the little boat trembled. The darkness was filled with constant creaks and groans as lines tried to pull fittings from the hull, cracks and booms as the boom slammed from preventer to preventer, the sail blew full and released, and the waves pounded the hull. Max and Tom had talked about tacking back to the northeast during their watch change but didn’t, either because conditions were too rough or because Max still hoped to make it north of Point Arena when we did turn back around. Sometime during the night, they had furled the jib and reefed the main to better deal with the gale. We still needed to put in, and the sooner the better, but when I got up Max was hunkered down and the boat was hove to 35 miles off shore. As the sky lightened, Max and I decided to get under way again and head once again for shore. I took the helm and we jibed about to the northeast in the 20-25 foot seas. They had actually tacked west-southwest in the night, and the boat drifted further south while it bobbed after the heave-to. There was no way we could make the Point now, but we headed off toward the coast. Kyle came out and suggested we try the engine again, and it started. Lucky it did, it helped me keep headway as I attempted to steer into the heavy swells out of the north. Max assured himself that Kyle and I had the boat and went below.
One of the waves that had pounded us during the night broke loose the gas cans lashed to the port railing. The cans stayed attached to the boat, but hung down in the water. Now, an occasional wave washed over the cockpit and there was constant heavy spray coming over the bow or one side or the other. The boat seemed to heel as much as 60-70 degrees at times. Because of the direction of the wind and the swell, most of the spray came over the port rail. Every time it did, it carried a little diesel fuel with it from the cans hanging in the water, so I was constantly being sprayed with the mixture of fuel and salt water. Because of the seas, there was nothing we could do about it. It was all quite a handful, the wind and the breaking 25-foot swells seeming to come from all directions. Kyle attempted to relieve me at one point, but I was determined to carry on. I hoped to get us to within 20 miles of shore before I relinquished the wheel, but when Tom came out at about 10, I turned it over to him with 21.7 miles to go.
Although reefed, the mainsail couldn’t stand up to the constant pounding and, little by little, began to separate from the mast. By the time shore was sighted in mid-afternoon, it had completely failed, so we were riding on our little four cylinder alone. We rolled out a little of the jib to help steady the boat and added another can of fuel to the tank, just to be sure. We approached the shore approximately 7 miles south of Point Arena and attempted turn north and motor around the point, but the diesel would have nothing to do with the seas and started losing power. We had to come back around to the south and searched the charts and the shoreline for a safe anchorage. Tom could only keep the engine at barely above idle now and we decided to put out an alert to the Coast Guard, advising them of our position and situation, though requesting no immediate assistance. We stayed about a mile offshore; searching for safe harbor, but the surf was pretty high and rough and prevented us from making an approach. We just hoped the engine held out. At about 3 o’clock, we were about 40 miles north of Bodega Bay, the nearest real shelter to the south, the only direction we could travel. We decided to go for it, and for the next four and a half hours Tom motored us south, riding the wind and the waves and nursing the engine along. It was still a rough ride. At one point Max, a big man, crashed across the cabin and landed on top of me, pulling the center table out of the floor as he came. The night before he had taken out the overhead support that went up from the galley counter near the rear of the cabin. (And earlier yet, he had stepped through the flooring in the galley, where now a 1-foot square opening exposed the driveshaft.) About an hour north of Bodega, the engine started a clanking that quickly formed the three of us not driving into a precision pit crew. We thought it might be something on the driveshaft, or low engine oil. Kyle quickly checked the driveshaft and we cleared the way to the engine and broke out the oil and fashioned a funnel out of a gallon jug. By the time we got the oil into the engine, the clanking had stopped, but left us all the more uneasy.
From the north, the approach to Bodega Bay takes you around a hook that separates the bay from the open waters. Tom was trying to cut a fine line between getting too close to the rocks as we rounded Bodega Head and staying too far clear, where our wounded little engine wouldn’t be able to fight back up north after we made the turn. As we came closer and closer to shore, the boat began to surf the 10-15 foot waves that were angling to the southeast. Tom, Kyle and I were all on close lookout as we approached to within about 100 yards as we rounded the cliffs and the rocks. Tom had Kyle go forward and ready the anchor in case the diesel gave out altogether, which it seemed like it might. Once again, after our pit crew oil service, it had began the clanking, then again the clanking stopped. Just as the sun was setting, we limped into the marina. As we approached a slip, Tom pulled the throttle back to idle and the engine quit. It had been another long day and a half since we had made the decision to put in; 3 days of motoring, sailing, drifting and surfing since we had left our last tiedown. We were about 40 miles north of San Francisco.
I learned, and/or relearned a lot in those three days. As I already knew, Kyle Davis is a good companion to have when you set out on an adventure such as this. Thanks, Kyle; you may not have been glad to be there, but I was glad you were. I also learned:
The value of heaving to.
Watch out what grows in beds of rosy dreams.
Don’t leave port planning to be out at night without a lighted compass.
Take the Dramamine first.
Don’t trust a guess when fuel is critical.
How a crew can finally come together when faced with disaster.
Use the fuel on the rail first, regardless of age.
Don’t breakfast at Burger King.
Also, I learned sailing is often cold, challenging, exhausting, frightening, and frustrating. Even in the best of conditions, it’s gonna be wet. My hands were constantly water-logged, so that I couldn’t have played the guitar I brought along even if I had the opportunity. Sailing, I found, is not really compatible with my first two loves; Jessie and making music. We won’t be buying that floating retirement home anytime soon, tho’ I think I’ll continue at least with basic certification. Mostly, I learned how some dreams die hard and some evaporate like the dew on the bowsprit in the morning sun.
This 'adventure' is actually several years old now. Max ended up having 'Serenity' trucked up to the Puget Sound, where she lies today. I did complete basic sailing certification and earned a license, and I have had some great times sailing since this mis-adventure, particularly around the Hawaiian Islands. But this trip lives on in infamy, so I wanted to document it here. Sail On, Sailor......
Friday, April 17, 2009
Smiling Potatoes of Death
I had a friend who, unwittingly, started me on what is turning out to be a life-long ‘hobby’ years ago. Jon Anthony was a lawyer by trade but, more importantly to me, he was also a drummer extraordinaire. He was, in his college days, a member of a touring band. I’m a mediocre guitar player and singer and together we made various attempts at forming a rock band, never getting that far because of various pressures of work, family, etc. A bit quirky, Jon – seriously, I think – insisted that our band would not be successful unless we named it the Smiling Potatoes of Death. I just didn’t get it, and said I could come up with a thousand names better than that. Thus the on-going hobby. Jon stuck to his guns, though, and nothing I could come up with could compare (in his mind) to the SPoD. I don’t play publicly much anymore, and am long past dreaming of fronting a successful band (actually was in a couple of pretty good ones, but that’s another story), but every once in a while I still stumble across what I think might be a pretty good name for a rock band. Sometimes I even remember it and write it down.
Jon passed away last year, and the drumming world is poorer for it. But my quest for a better name goes on. Another friend once suggested Lukewarm Shit (not quite HOT, I guess), and we always joked about the crowd we’d attract if we put up posters around town about the next appearance of a band named Free Food. Following is a pretty long (but not-quite-complete) list of band names I've come up with, which I will continue to add to occasionally. Feel free to offer suggestions. And Rest In Peace, Jon Anthony.
Jon passed away last year, and the drumming world is poorer for it. But my quest for a better name goes on. Another friend once suggested Lukewarm Shit (not quite HOT, I guess), and we always joked about the crowd we’d attract if we put up posters around town about the next appearance of a band named Free Food. Following is a pretty long (but not-quite-complete) list of band names I've come up with, which I will continue to add to occasionally. Feel free to offer suggestions. And Rest In Peace, Jon Anthony.
Smiling Potatoes of Death | Lost Souls Balloons Slow Roll |
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