Bucerias, Nayarit, Mexico - first two days

By Jack Brummet, Travel Editor

Casa Andrea (our home for two weeks)

Outside the Roman Catholic church in Bucerias on Palm Sunday (standing room only)

What did they cross out here?  My son Colum took this horseback excursion

a few years ago--an all day trip into the jungle.

Strange dust writings on a car from Oregon

My brother-in-law Eric Sanchez airs out his 'tats.

my niece Olivia Jane Sanchez

My nephew Otis Valentino Sanchez

A sad sign...

---o0o---

Shaggy Dog Story No. 14: The Clone

The Clone

There is a serious scientist, a staid and quiet--yeah, stuffy; a stiff-- fellow, who is working hard on perfecting cloning. Finally, after years and years of research, many failed attempts, and numerous disappointments, it seems he has succeeded. A few cloned cells are staying alive and multiplying.  After weeks of watching, the Petri dish is full of stable, living cells.

Months later there is a full, adult human male. He is perfect in every way. He is handsome like a film star and brilliant like a Mensa member. His only lack for perfection is his mouth – he swears incessantly. Everything the clone says is laced with four-letter words and expletives.

The scientist puts up with it as he continues to study the clone in various settings but he is embarrassed every time another scientist visits or assists in his studies. He tries time and again to get the clone to stop swearing but to no avail. He has nearly lost his temper a time or two, speaking sharply at the clone, but try as he might he just cannot stop himself. But the scientist is so mild-mannered he just cannot bring himself to raise his voice, which may be the only way to stop the language.

Some time has passed and the clone is allowed outside. The scientist takes him for a walk near the cliffs overlooking the sea, observing him closely at every turn. The clone has never seen anything like the vast open fields, much less the endless sea.

“#@#*!! Look at that @##@! water! And just #@$# look at all that @$&@#$ grass!", exclaims the amazed clone.

The scientist has had enough. He screams at the top of his lungs, “NO MORE! YOU MUST STOP SWEARING!!!!”

His sudden outburst so startles the clone that he jumps backwards toward the cliff. His foot slips, he reaches for the scientist, but it’s not enough. He falls …falls… to the bottom of the cliff. The clone is dead!

The scientist returns to the lab and calls the police to report what has happened. After investigating the scientist is arrested. But he is not arrested for murder. He was arrested for something else.

He was arrested for making an Obscene Clone Fall.

---o0o---

Titanium Sporkestra: I love these guys (and gals)!

---o0o---

Painting: Eve

[hand-drawn face digitally amended...]

By Jack Brummet

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Digital art: The Great Deceiver

by Jack Brummet

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Shagy Dog Story No. 13: The Big Hole

The Big Hole

Two guys are walking through the woods and come across a big, deep hole.

"Wow," said the first guy, "that looks deep." The other replied, "Sure does. Toss a few pebbles in there and see how deep it is."

They pick up a few pebbles and throw them in and wait. No noise. One guy said, "Jeeez. That is REALLY deep... here... throw one of these great big rocks down there. Those should make a noise."

They pick up a couple of football-sized rocks and toss them into the hole and wait... and wait. Nothing.

They look at each other in amazement. One gets a determined look on his face and says, "Hey... over here in the weeds, there's a railroad tie. Help me carry it over here. When we toss THAT sucker in, it's GOTTA make some noise."

The two drag the heavy tie over to the hole and heave it in. Not a sound comes from the hole.

Suddenly, out of the nearby woods a goat appears, running like the wind. It rushes toward the two men and then right past them, running as fast as it's legs will carry it. Suddenly it leaps in the air and into the hole.

The two men are astonished with what they've just seen. Then, out of the woods comes a farmer who spots the men and ambles over.

"Hey. You two guys seen my goat out here?"

"You bet we did!," one of the guys answered. "It was the craziest thing I've ever seen! It came running like crazy and just jumped into this hole!"

"Nah", says the farmer, "That couldn't have been MY goat. My goat was chained to a railroad tie."

---o0o---

Faces 282 - "I couldn't even tell it was a rug"

by Jack Brummet

—o0o—

Digital art: Vortex

By Jack Brummet

click to enlarge

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ATIT Reheated: An open letter to my teenage son

By Jack Brummet, Music Editor

[From All This Is That, Friday, January 06, 2006]


No wonder we were crazy in the 60's. This "song" was a big hit on AM radio. A lot of parents thought it was a smart piece of writing (as opposed to, say, smarmy, reactionary claptrap). It was just flat depressing. But then that's the way it was. I remember a lot of heated arguments with angry adults, and teachers and Sunday school teachers over the war and protesting and burning draft cards. I even witnessed an actual father-son fight over the war.   It was especially strange since this song co-existed on the radio, and the charts, with a lot of amazing music.

The first part of the song, you think, "yeah, this guy is talking sense here."   But then, after a couple of minutes, he gets down to business.  And it is ugly business.  



An Open Letter To My Teenage Son


by Victor Lundberg

Dear Son:

You ask my reaction to long hair or beards on young people
Some great men have worn long hair and beards
George Washington and Abraham Lincoln
If to you long hair or a beard is a symbol of independence
If you believe in your heart that the principles of this country
Our heritage, is worthy of this display of pride
That all men shall remain free
That free men at all times will not inflict their personal limitations
Of achievement on others,
That demands your own rights as well as the rights of others
And be willing to fight for this right, you have my blessings

You ask that I not judge you merely as a teenager
To judge you on your own personal habits, abilities and goals
This is a fair request and I promise that I will not judge any person
Only as a teenager if you will constantly remind yourself that some of my
generation judge people by their race, their belief or the color
of their skin and that this is no more right than saying all
teenagers are drunken dope addicts or glue sniffers
If you will judge every human being on his own individual potential
I will do the same.

You ask me if God is dead
This is a question each individual must answer within himself
But a warm summer day with all its brightness
All its sound, all its exhilarating breathiness just happened
God is love. Remember that God is a guide and not a storm trooper
Realize that many of the past and present generation
Because of a well intended but unjustifiable misconception
Have attempted to legislate morality
This created part of the basis
For your generation's need to rebel against our society
With this knowledge perhaps your children will never ask
Is God dead?
I sometimes think much of mankind is attempting to work Him to death

You ask my opinion of draft card burners. I would answer this way
All past wars have been dirty, unfair, immoral, bloody and second-guessed
However, history has shown most of them necessary
If you doubt that our free enterprise system
In the United States is worth protecting, if you doubt the principles
Upon which this country was founded, that we remain free to choose our religion
Our individual endeavors, our method of government
If you doubt that each free individual in this great country
should reap rewards commensurate only with his own efforts
Than it is doubtful you belong here

If you doubt that people who govern us
Should be selected by their desire
To allow us to strive for any goal we feel capable of obtaining
Than its doubtful you should participate in their selection
If you are not grateful to a country
That gave your father the opportunity to work
For his family to give you the things you have and you do not feel pride
Enough to fight for your right to continue in this
Manner than I assume the blame for your failure
To recognize the true value of our birthright

And I will remind you that your mother will love
you no matter what you do, because she is a woman
And I love you too son
But I also love our country and the principles for which we stand
And if you decide to burn your draft card
then burn your birth certificate at the same time
From that moment on, I have no son.
---o0o---

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Seth Kinman's gift for President Andrew Johnson: The Grizzly-Bear Chair

By Jack Brummet, History Editor

A wild and woolly fur trapper from California—Seth Kinman—shot the bear and made this "Grizzly-Bear Chair" and gave it to President Andrew Johnson in 1865.  

As a side note, Andrew Johnson is a far distant relative of mine on my father's (Brummet) side.  Of course, if I was related to a President, it had to be the first one who was impeached.  He became President following Lincoln's assassination, and was a controversial, and probably incompetent President.  He was also one of the sourest looking Presidents of all time.  Like his brother-in-history Bill Clinton, he was impeached in the House, but acquitted in the Senate.    One of President Johnson's last important acts as President was granting unconditional amnesty to all Confederates on Christmas Day, December 25, 1868, just after after the election of Ulysses S. Grant.

---o0o---

Sonnet (with a sidebar on the Embassy Theater)

This is a sonnet I wrote for my wife many years ago, tossed aside, and recently resurrected, and revised.

The Embassy Theater mentioned is the same one in the snapshots below--it was located at 3rd and Union in Seattle.  By the late 70's/early '80's, it was operating as a porn theatre.  It closed sometime in the 1980's, and is now an excellent music club--The Triple Door.

The Embassy in the 1930's

And, The Embassy in the later years

Sonnet


By Jack Brummet


It didn't matter where as long as they did.
Even the five dollar a night Glen Hotel
With twelve hours to cling on the ancient springs
Over The Embassy blue movie house.
He watched her fall asleep that rainy night
And he became a friend of the world.
Three years later, he shuffled off the bus
In NYC and threaded himself through
A surging gauntlet of hands and eyes.
He snagged her in a flying bear hug.
She steered him to the southbound IND
Into those incognito years in Brooklyn
Where they learned we don't make love, love makes us.
It didn't matter where as long as they did.
                 ---o0o---

Shaggy Dog Story No. 14: Hallowe'en

Shaggy Dog Story No. 14 - The Hallowe'en Story Photo by John Haslam. This work is licensed under a Creative Commons 2.0 Attribution license. Bob Hill and his new wife, Betty, were vacationing in Europe. They were driving in a rental car along a rather deserted highway near Transylvania. It was late at night and raining very hard. Bob could barely see the road in front of the car. Suddenly, the car skids out of control. Bob attempts to control the car but to no avail. The car swerves and smashes into a tree. Moments later Bob shakes his head to clear the fog. In a daze he looks over at the passenger seat and sees his wife unconscious with her head bleeding. Despite the rain and unfamiliar countryside, Bob knows he has to get her medical assistance. Bob carefully picks his wife up and begins trudging down the road. After a short while, he sees a light. He heads towards the light, which is coming from a large, old house. He approaches the door and knocks. Several minutes pass. Finally, a small hunched man opens the door. Bob immediately blurts, "Hello, my name is Bob Hill and this is my wife, Betty. We've been in a terrible accident and my wife has been seriously hurt. May I please use your phone?" "I'm sorry," replied the hunchback, "but we don't have a phone. My master is a doctor so come in and I will get him." Bob brings Betty into the house. An older man comes down the stairs. "I'm afraid my assistant may have misled you. I am not a medical doctor. I am a scientist. It is many miles to the nearest clinic and I have had a basic medical training so I will see what I can do. Igor, bring them down to the laboratory." With that, Igor picks up Betty and carries her downstairs. Bob follows closely behind. Igor places Betty on a table in the lab. Bob collapses from exhaustion and his own injuries, so Igor places Bob on an adjoining table. After a brief examination Igor's master looks worried. "Things are serious, Igor. Prepare a transfusion." Igor and his master work feverishly but to no avail. Bob and Betty Hill are no more. The Hills' deaths upset Igor's master greatly. He trudges up the steps to his conservatory, which houses his majestic grand piano. It is here that he has always found solace in times of trouble. He begins to play and a stirring, almost haunting melody fills the house. Meanwhile, Igor is down in the lab tidying up. His eyes catch movement and he notices the fingers on Betty's hand twitch, keeping time to the haunting piano music. He watches with amazement as Bob's arm begins to rise, marking the beat. Then Betty and Bob both sit up straight. Igor is beside himself. He dashes up the stairs to the conservatory, bursts into the room, and shouts: "Master, Master! The Hills are alive with the sound of music!" ---o0o---