Another one of my favorite singers is gone

From the L A Times...

Yma Sumac, 'Peruvian songbird' with multi-octave range, dies at 86

Bursting onto the American music scene after signing with Capitol
Records in 1950, the raven-haired Sumac was known as the "Nightingale
of the Andes," the "Peruvian Songbird" and a "singing marvel" with a
4 1/2-octave (she said five-octave) voice.

The singer, with a persona matching her exotic voice, became an
international sensation in the 1950s.

Yma Sumac, the Peruvian-born singer whose spectacular multi-octave
vocal range and exotic persona made her an international sensation in
the 1950s, has died. She was 86.

Sumac, who was diagnosed with colon cancer in February, died Saturday
in an assisted living facility in Silver Lake, said Damon Devine, her
personal assistant and close friend.

Bursting onto the American music scene after signing with Capitol
Records in 1950, the raven-haired Sumac was known as the "Nightingale
of the Andes," the "Peruvian Songbird" and a "singing marvel" with a
4 1/2 -octave (she said five-octave) voice.

"She is five singers in one," boasted Moises Vivanco, her composer-
arranger husband, in a 1951 interview with the Associated Press.
"Never in 2,000 years has there been another voice like hers."

After Sumac performed at the Shrine Auditorium with a company of
dancers, drummers and musicians in 1955, a Los Angeles Times writer
observed: "She warbles like a bird in the uppermost regions, hoots
like an owl in the lowest registers, produces bell-like coloratura
passages one minute, and exotic, dusky contralto tones the next."

Sumac's first album for Capitol, "Voice of the Xtabay," soared to the
top of the LP charts. A handful of other albums followed during the
`50s.

With her exotic beauty, elaborate costumes and singing voice that
could imitate the cries of birds and wild animals, the woman who
claimed to be a descendant of an ancient Incan emperor offered
Eisenhower-era audiences something unique.

During her 1950s heyday, Sumac sang at the Hollywood Bowl, Carnegie
Hall and Royal Albert Hall. She reportedly made $25,000 a week in Las
Vegas and turned down offers to sing with New York's Metropolitan
Opera.

She was featured in the 1951 Broadway musical "Flahooley" and
appeared in the films "Secret of the Incas" in 1954 and "Omar Khayyam" in
1957.

Although details of her birth date and early life vary widely, Devine
said Sumac was born Zoila Augusta Emperatriz Chavarri del Castillo in
Cajamarca, Peru, on Sept. 13, 1922.

She later said she began singing when she was about 9.

After joining Vivanco's large group of native singers, dancers and
musicians, she made her radio debut in 1942; she and Vivanco were
married the same year.

In Argentina in 1943, she and Vivanco's group recorded a series of
Peruvian folk songs. By then, she was known professionally as Imma
Sumack (Capitol Records later changed the spelling).

In 1946, she and her husband moved to New York City, where they
performed as the Inca Taky Trio, with Vivanco on guitar, Sumac
singing soprano and her cousin, Cholita Rivero, singing contralto and
dancing.

After making her name as a solo artist, Sumac toured around the world
for several years in the `60s, but her popularity in America had
waned by then.

In 1971, she recorded a psychedelic rock album that was not widely
released, "Miracles," and "semi-retired" to Peru later in the decade
-- at least that's what she always said.

"That's the legend that she stuck with all through these decades,"
Devine, who runs the Sumac website yma-sumac.com, told The Times
shortly before Sumac's death. "She didn't want people to know she was
here and not working. The story was good for her. She's a very
eccentric woman. . . . Her whole career and life is based on her
mystery and so the facts and fiction is a fine line with her." Sumac,
however, did return to performing in 1984 at the Vine Street Bar &
Grill and the Cinegrill in Hollywood. In the early `90s, she toured
in Europe and continued to perform until 1997.

"The younger generation loves the music, loves Yma," Sumac told the
Tampa Tribune in 1996. "The new generation told me many times: 'Miss
Yma, we love you. Your music is something. It's out of this world.' "

Sumac, who was divorced and remarried to Vivanco in the late `50s and
divorced from him again in 1965, is survived by their son, Charles,
who lives in Europe, and three sisters, who live in Peru.

Services will be private.

One disconcerting experience!

I spent last winter working at a homeless shelter that opens from November-April each season. In the four months since the shelter closed, I've run into several people who had slept there. Thankfully, the lion's share of them now have places to live. But not all, as I was fiercely reminded a little while ago.

At 11:00 Sunday night, I was taking one of my frequent exercise walks in downtown Willimantic, CT. As I strolled past the public library, I noticed a woman sitting on the bench out front. I recognized her as a former shelter guest and stopped to say hello. Big mistake, as it turned out.

This particular woman had been quite a handful as she was both certifiably insane and quite unsanitary. (She refused to shower because she said she was afraid of getting raped.) So, imagine how I felt when she grabbed my hand and said, "I don't have a place to sleep tonight. If you let me stay at your place, you can have sex with me and I won't charge you money."

Now, I've been alone for quite some time, but I wasn't about to take that woman up on her offer. Rather, I lied that I now had a live-in girlfriend and that I really couldn't do anything to help her. I then high-tailed it out of there, feeling both repulsed and guilty. I would have felt far worse, though, had I taken that woman home with me and used her as a substitute for my right hand.

Perhaps you're thinking I could have let her crash at my place without having sex with her. Technically, you'd be right. However, I have three roommates to consider. I'm not sure they'd have looked too kindly on my having let an insane, homeless, unsanitary woman sleep on our couch. Besides, she then would have known where I lived and might have started habitually turning up on my doorstep. I have enough on my mind these days without adding that to my problems!

Still, I feel guilty as hell about having left that poor woman to sleep on a bench in front of the public library. But what could I do?

It's been four months since I worked at that shelter, but the experience haunts me still.

My Least Favorite Rock 'N' Roll Acts

When I began this list in June 2008, I figured it might contain about 25 artists. But the damned thing's now up to 70 acts! If your stomach can handle it, you'll find the list here:

http://rateyourmusic.com/list/goldwax317/
my_least_favorite_rock_n_roll_artists/

Sometimes you're better off not knowing

I wrote this on June 21, 2008, but forgot to post it until now.

Last night, I was enjoying myself at the 3rd Thursday Street Fest in Willimantic, CT, when I happened to bump into a guy named Rich. Not only had he lived next-door to me at my old place in East Hartford, but coincidentally also dated a woman named Dawn, with whom I worked for five years (1999-2004).

I'm still reeling from what Rich told me: namely, that Dawn passed away last November. Dawn was all of seven months older than me!

Seems she was at work one morning and suddenly stopped breathing. Since none of her co-workers knew CPR, by the time the EMTs arrived Dawn's brain had been without oxygen for close to seven minutes, and her heart had stopped.

They were able to get Dawn's heart pumping again, but she was brain-dead with zero chance of recovery. So the next of kin instructed Dawn's physician to pull the plug on her life support. At 42 (my age now), Dawn was no more, and her two teen-aged daughters were now orphans. (Dawn's ex-husband is a junkie scumbag whose sense of responsibility is about what you'd expect from someone like that.)

A few weeks ago, as part of my new job at a group home, I was trained in both CPR and First Aid. If Dawn's employer (a pharmacy) had been that diligent, she might not have died.

Suffice it to say, during the ten minutes or so that I spoke with Rich last night, my mood spiraled from upbeat and festive to bummed out and depressed. I still haven't fully recovered. Of course, it doesn't help that I'm out of anti-depressants and the State of Connecticut has kicked me off medical assistance, because with two part-time jobs I now make too much to qualify. Never mind that neither job offers medical benefits. But that's a whole other rant.

You can afford to see "Batman," so quit your damned whining!

The original letter to the editor:

Gas prices are high…foreclosures are soaring…people are losing their jobs…oh my! But “Batman” grossed more than $155 million in its opening weekend, and 7% of the population spent over a quarter of a billion dollars on movies this past weekend. Boy, the economy must be in terrible shape.

And my response:

Regarding “Times Are Tough.” I was laid off from my last year-round, full-time job in June 2006. Despite submitting hundreds of resumes and applications, I’ve spent the last 26 months barely getting by on part-time, temporary and seasonal employment, not to mention the amazing generosity of my friends. I also am a diabetic who requires insulin every day. When I found a second part-time job, I was thrown off state medical assistance because I now made too much money to qualify. But since I managed to scrape together $8.50 to see “The Dark Knight” rather than spend another evening at home feeling depressed, that means I’m doing just fine and should stop my whining. Spoken like a true Dittohead!

Tennessee church-shooter Jim Adkisson was a victim, too.

Regarding the recent church shooting in Tennessee, whose perpetrator consciously chose a congregation that espoused liberal views, I can only say this:

Thank you, Rush! Thank you, Bill! Thank you, Sean! Thank you, Ann! Thank you, Michelle! Thank you, Tucker! Thank you, Laura! Thank you, Weiner (Savage, whatever)! Yes, a great big thank you to all those right-wing hate-mongers who infest the airwaves and have spent fifteen-plus years fostering the climate that led poor Jim D. Adkisson to think liberals and progressives are his enemies and deserving of death.

So, do you think the FCC will go after any of that right-wing filth like it went after ABC for showing Janet Jackson’s booby for one-tenth of a second? Don’t make me laugh.

No wonder people call them "pigs."

So the homeless shelter where I worked since November just closed for the season. Yesterday morning, my boss handed out tents and cots to the guests to hopefully get them through the next seven months until we can afford to reopen.

This afternoon, I was out walking my dog when I ran into a young couple who had slept at the shelter. They advised me that the day before, they were pitching their tent along the river when a cop came along and ordered them to take it down. As if that weren't enough, he wrote them each a ticket for $92. It's anyone's guess how two homeless people are supposed to come up with $184 to pay those goddamned fines.

The location they chose is way down the railroad tracks, nowhere near any houses or businesses. All this couple wanted was a place to sleep where they wouldn't disturb anyone. But Dirty Harry just wouldn't cut them any slack.

NWA was right: "Fuck Tha Police!"

The ASCAP Follies of 2008

Yesterday, this was posted to the listserv of a local collective to which I belong. Looks like the vampires are out to suck each and every last drop of blood that they can! Motherfuckers.


Hi folks,

I had a rather unpleasant phone conversation with an ASCAP rep today, and we will need to discuss this issue on Sunday.

We had received a contract from them recently, after having left messages saying that we were not going to enter into an agreement with them. I called the ASCAP person who sent the contract to let her know that we are not going to do this and that we had the documentation that we've been giving to bands to show that we've been very careful not to have ASCAP music played in the space. Before I even got the sentence out of my mouth, she interrupted me, saying that if an artist "slips up" we're liable, etc. It just went downhill from there. I'll spare you the details here, but she used all kinds of intimidation tactics including threatening to take us to court and implying we were trying to break the law. She essentially said it was impossible to have live music without the license from them, and when I said that ***** has been doing it, she demanded I repeat the name so she could write it down and follow up on them (I didn't), stated that if they got into legal trouble it was my fault because I mentioned them, and demanded to know names of other places that aren't paying the licensing fee. She also said that any ASCAP musicians who played their own songs in the space and were paid need to pay a fee to ASCAP and that somehow we are liable if they don't do that, and didn't directly answer my question of, well isn't that between you and them? It was kind of amazing. She was actually angry. If I hadn't experienced it, I almost couldn't believe that anyone could be such a total jackass about this. If there had been any doubt in my mind that these people are just legalized gangsters, it is gone.

Anyway, we'll need to write a letter to them stating that we are not entering into an agreement with them and we need to be VERY, VERY clear with musicians that they cannot play ASCAP music and that they are responsible for reporting their pay to ASCAP. We may even want to have a contract for musicians to sign just to cover our butts. And we also need to make sure that the CD's we play aren't ASCAP - we may need to think about the movies we show too.

Grrr.

The shelter closes in 2 weeks; I can't wait!

On April 15th, the homeless shelter where I've worked since November closes for the season--thankfully!

I never thought I'd express gladness over being out of another job, but the last five months of working with the local homeless population has taken a toll on me. My compassion is quickly drying up because a lot of those people have sucked it out of me like vampires. Here are some examples:

- A middle-aged woman who never showers and who I have had to admonish (more than once) to flush the toilet after she takes a shit.

- A petite 33-year-old woman with a little-girlish face who enjoys playing up to the men and pitting them against each other. She'll walk up to Mr. X and say, "Mr. Y just called me a bitch." Next thing I know, I'm breaking up a fight between Mr. X and Mr. Y! For all I know, Mr. Y may not have said a word to Ms. Petite, but the chivalrous Mr. X just has to make a damned fool of himself to defend her honor.

- Any number of guests who cost the taxpayers thousands of dollars going through rehab or detox, only to finish the program and within days (or even hours) go back on the stuff that got them in trouble in the first place.

- Guests who sneak alcohol into the shelter and don't even have the decency (or is it the brains?) to hide the empty bottles and cans. Rather, they leave them lying around for the staff to find!

I could go on and on, but you get the idea.

A lot of those people are homeless because they are their own worst enemies. Far too many of them have a sense of entitlement, as if we are somehow responsible for getting them out of their situation. Yes, there are those of us willing to point them in the right direction and provide them with the means to improve their lives; but they have to take it from there!

Thankfully, I've also worked with a number of guests who looked at their homelessness as a temporary situation from which they were determined to escape ASAP and did just that. But they're not the ones I see every time I show up for a work shift.

Suffice it to say, after five months of working with this population, I think I'm fully qualified to teach middle school!

Sometimes they force you to be a prick

Tonight at the homeless shelter, there was a first for me: I threw someone out.

Recently, a new guest turned up: a stunningly arrogant and insulting 21-year-old. Granted, we were all pretty full of ourselves at that age, but this kid abused the privilege.

I do quite a bit around the shelter that I'm not required to do. For example, I've brought in a number of my personal DVDs and VHS tapes for the guests to watch. The other night, that kid was going through my movies and had something snotty to say about almost every one of them. A typical remark was, "This fuckin' Star Trek shit oughta go in the fire."

Other guests and staff member have had problems with the kid too, but I was willing to cut him some slack. After all, I reasoned, I was a lot like that at his age myself. Perhaps someday, I thought, he'll grow up and learn to be more sensitive toward people's feelings. Tonight, however, he pushed me way too far.

We have a rule at the shelter that once a guest has signed in for the night, they may not leave the property until the next morning. We have that rule in place because in past years, there were problems with guests leaving the grounds and coming back drunk or stoned and causing trouble for the staff and other guests. One guy, I'm told, even came back with a gun!

So when the kid asked if he could run out to Dunkin' Donuts for a Coolatta, I told him no and explained the above rule. He badgered me about it until I finally became exasperated and told him to get off my ass. Next thing I knew, he was gone.

Good, I thought. Maybe he won't come back. I should have been so lucky.

An hour later, he strutted through the door, a Coolatta cup in his left hand. I pointed at him and said, "You're not staying here tonight."

In an act of sheer cluelessness, the kid asked, "Why?"

"Why? Because you chose to break a rule after I took the time to explain it to you in detail! You want to symbolically give me the finger--fine! You're not staying here tonight. Get out."

"Where the fuck am I supposed to sleep?"

"That ain't my problem. You broke the rules, you did so knowingly, and you're not staying here tonight. End of story."

The kid was incredulous. "You're throwing me out 'cause I went to get a coffee?"

"No. I'm throwing you out because you think you can break the rules and get away with it. Now get the hell out of here before I call the cops."

He stormed out the door saying, "This is some fucked-up shit, man."

I still feel lousy about throwing the kid out into the chilly March night. But if I let him break the rules without consequence, then we'll soon have more guests who think they can do the same thing. And that simply cannot happen if we're serious about giving these people a safe place to spend the night.

Asshole bumper sticker of the week

Spotted as I drove home from the anti-war rally mentioned below:

The sticker sported the world-famous likeness of Che Guevara, but with a red slash though it. The caption read, "COMMIES AREN'T COOL."

The same fuckwad also had a "GIULIANI '08" sticker on his rear bumper. Believe it or not, though, it wasn't an SUV!

War! What is it good for? Absolutely nothing!!!

Despite a steady rainfall, yesterday from 6:00-7:00 p.m. Eastern U.S. Time, close to 100 people in small, isolated Willimantic, CT participated in a protest rally on the fifth anniversary on the start of the Iraq war. The rally took place at the intersection of Main and Jackson Streets, near what we informally call the Frog Bridge.

On Sunday, a bunch of us had gathered at the Wrench in the Works Collective up the street to make props. They included a 10-by-7-foot cardboard mouth, complete with blood-drenched fangs, with the words "WAR MACHINE" painted above the upper lip. Into the mouth we threw oversized dollar bills and a mannequin dressed in Army fatigues, among other things. In return, the mouth spit out oversized oil cans that bore such brand names as "Persian Gulf," "Ammobil," "Gunoco," and "Texxon."

We also had two protesters on stilts. One was dressed like Uncle Sam, except that she wore a skeleton mask and carried a faux scythe a la the Grim Reaper. She also had oil cans (real ones this time) tied to a string around her neck and periodically simulated drinking from them. The other stilt-walker was dressed like a hideous, nightmarish clown, but with a ten-gallon hat and a six-shooter. Gee, who could that have symbolized???

Somebody else brought a bullhorn, which I used to lead the throng in a rousing chorus of Edwin Starr's "War." Only I knew the lyrics, but my brother and sister pinkos were familiar enough with the song to shout "War!" and "Absolutely nothing!" at the appropriate times.

A half-hour before the rally, a couple of dozen folks gathered a mile or so up Main Street at Memorial Park for a march to the main event. Unfortunately, I couldn't participate as I've been having lower-back problems lately. I was at the rally, though, and damned glad to be part of it.

Sad to say, I've no doubt we'll be doing something similar on March 19, 2013.

A homeless woman I work with just had a miscarriage.

One of the guests at the homeless shelter where I work is a 26-year-old single woman (I'll call her Janet) with two kids her parents are raising for her. Janet also was five months pregnant with the child of another shelter guest when she had a miscarriage last week.

From her two previous pregnancies, Janet knew that she needed surgery during her second trimester or risk losing the baby. Unfortunately, for reasons known only to herself, Janet chose to keep delaying the operation until it was too late.

She and the dead child's father are both devastated. I feel so badly for them but can't do a damned thing to make them feel any better. All I can offer is a sympathetic ear and a warm place to sleep until the shelter closes for the season on April 15th. I only hope this tragedy doesn't drive them both back to heroin.

Did you know Buddy Holly was from New Hampshire?

I didn't know that either until last night.

This winter, I'm working four nights a week at a homeless shelter. Last night, I brought in my DVD of "La Bamba" for the guests to watch.

As the closing credits rolled, this one guy said, "Ritchie Valens--he was from Connecticut, you know."

My chin about hit the floor. "What are you talking about?"

"Sure," the guest continued. "And Buddy Holly was from New Hampshire."

"Not even close," I exclaimed. "Buddy Holly was from Texas, and Ritchie Valens was a Californian."

"I don't think so."

"Didn't you pay attention to the film? Alan Freed called him the California Kid!"

"Nah. Ritchie Valens was from Connecticut; I think Stamford. And Buddy Holly was definitely from New Hampshire."

I sighed. "And Louis Armstrong grew up in Detroit, two doors down from Bob Marley."

Why is it the more stupid and ignorant men are, the more they think they know?

AT&T Yahoo's Top 3 "News" Items

1. Britney's Hospital Stay Extended
2. Big Super Bowl Upset
3. Celebs Party Hard at Super Bowl

Is it any wonder I'm embarrassed to admit my U.S. heritage, even when I visit Canada?

I just noticed something on my cell-phone bill.

AT&T charges me 15 cents each time I receive a text message. Mind you, that's receive, not send.

I can see charging me for TMs that I send; but why should I have to pay for text messages that other people send me? WTF kind of bullshit is that?!

Update on the homeless shelter where I work

Haven't updated y'all as of late on life at the shelter, so I thought I'd let you know what's going on these days:

- One of our newer guests is a 40something woman with a debilitating physical condition--either cerebral palsy or multiple sclerosis, judging by what I've observed. It is truly heartbreaking to watch this woman, who refuses all offers of help, attempt something as common as walking in a straight line or pouring a cup of coffee. That she also is homeless adds insult to injury

- Last night, a male guest who had recently spent several weeks in jail on a trumped-up shoplifting charge was arrested again--this time for getting drunk and physically assaulting another male guest unprovoked. (At least the incident occurred away from the shelter.)

- The other night, a co-worker observed three guests coming out of the bathroom. Their behavior strongly suggested they had shot up in there. One of the guests in question just spent two months in jail on a drug charge and now makes daily visits to the methadone clinic. She also has two young children, whom her parents are raising for her. And she's pregnant again, with the child of another shelter guest.

- A different co-worker recently caught a male and female guest having sex behind a clump of bushes outside the shelter. Later that night, the same co-worker caught them at it again, and again after that!

- I recently caught two guests passing a "40" between themselves after lights out. When I demanded the bottle, they became quite indignant but quieted down when I offered them the chance to sleep outside that night.

- On a more positive note, later this week the shelter is moving into a new space with a lot more room--which of course means accommodating a lot more guests. That's particularly good considering that on a bitterly cold night last week, we had to squeeze 21 guests into our current space. Since we only had 20 air mattresses on hand, I had to let one guy sleep in the armchair. He didn't mind, though, insisting that he was glad just to be out of the cold.

I swear, I could write a soap opera about that place! Of course, it would have to air on pay cable.

The insight and wisdom of William Kristol

From Tom Tomorrow’s This Modern World:

FAILING UPWARD

A small sampling of the wisdom and insight that has just earned William Kristol a weekly column in the New York Times:

Sept. 18, 2002: “[War in Iraq] could have terrifically good effects throughout the Middle East.”

Nov. 21, 2002: “[Removing Saddam] would start a chain reaction in the Arab world that would be very healthy.”

Feb. 20, 2003: “If we free the people of Iraq, we will be respected in the Arab world. And I think we will be respected around the world.”

March 1, 2003: “Very few wars in American history were prepared better or more thoroughly than this one by this president.”

March 5, 2003: “I think we’ll be vindicated when we discover the weapons of mass destruction, and when we liberate the people of Iraq.”

April 4, 2003: “There has been a certain amount of pop sociology…that the Shi’a can’t get along with the Sunni. There’s almost no evidence of that at all.”

April 28, 2003: “The first two battles of this new era are now over. The battles of Afghanistan and Iraq have been won decisively and honorably.”

March 22, 2004: “[Debates over an Iraqi constitution have shown] the willingness on the part of the diverse ethnic and religious groups to disagree—peacefully—and then to compromise.”

March 7, 2005: “The Iraqi elections of January 30, 2005…could be a key moment—perhaps the key moment so far—in vindicating the Bush Doctrine as the right response to 9/11.”

Nov. 30, 2005: “It is much more likely that the situation in Iraq will stay more or less the same, or improve. In either case, Republicans will benefit from being the party of victory.”

Aug. 13, 2007: “[Invading Iran] is not a bad idea.”

Mystery Science Theater 3000 meets Olan Mills

Just click the link, please? It's gut-bustingly hilarious--particularly if you remember the 1970s:

http://listoftheday.blogspot.com/2007/09/great-olan-mills-photos.html

Jan. 10, 1998: The day I became an orphan.

On Tuesday, Jan. 6, 1998, my surviving parent was diagnosed with lung cancer. Dad was 62 and had been smoking cigarettes for more than 50 years. It finally caught up with him in the waning days of 1997, when dad started coughing up gobs of blood the consistency of pudding.

On Thursday morning, Jan. 8, dad was unable to breathe and was rushed by ambulance to the emergency room. I got the call at work and drove to the hospital with dread in my heart. Dad lay on his back, an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose, breathing in labored wheezes. I don't remember much of what we talked about on that hellish day, but I'll never forget dad saying, "I'm not coming out of here alive."

At 5:00 a.m. on Saturday the 10th, dad went into cardiac arrest. After a team of doctors and nurses spent a half-hour trying to revive him, they gave up. My father was dead and I was officially an orphan. (My mother had passed away four Januarys earlier, but that's a whole other set of heartaches.)

Cold-hearted as it may sound, we both got a break. By dying of cardiac arrest that cold winter morning, dad was spared several months of slow death by lung cancer--a fate suffered by his kid brother just three years before. And I was spared the hell-on-earth of watching it happen.

For various reasons--out of which I got more than 1,200 manuscript pages in the '90s--my father and I had grown apart. It was entirely my doing as I had begun to change in my early 20s. After a lifetime of pretending to be somebody I wasn't in the name of keeping peace in the family, I finally said "to hell with it" and started to be the person I really was--the only raving left-winger in my highly conservative working-class family.

Dad never understood or particularly approved of the Real Me, but I was his only offspring and he still loved me--even though I spent several years openly expressing my newfound anger and resentment toward the man for having given me a childhood rife with alcoholism and domestic violence. When dad left Connecticut for his Nevada retirement home in 1993, we had a tearful farewell and the tears were genuine on both sides.

In the spring of 1995, I visited my father in Nevada. His health was obviously deteriorating. As such, I decided to move out there to keep an eye on him. I didn't especially care for the desert, but I hadn't relocated for pleasure.

In February 1996, dad suffered a stroke. Though just a mild one, it still had a devastating effect on his ability to do things like speak clearly and write a check. For the next six months, I did my best to look after dad single-handedly and with no professional training in that sort of work. But dad saw the strain it was taking on me. Although he didn't want to leave Nevada, we subsequently relocated to Florida, where we had relatives who had offered to help us out if we moved there.

Turned out, though, neither dad nor I could stand Florida. So at my request, we returned to Connecticut in the spring of 1997. Dad, who believed himself to have Seasonal Affect Disorder, really didn't want to move back north, but agreed to do so for my sake. I think the man knew he didn't have long to live and wanted to do right by me. If so, he succeeded.

In the ten years since my father died, I've had what I'm guessing would be the same thoughts many adults have when they lose a parent. Should I have done more to bridge the gap I had single-handedly created between dad and me? If so, could I have done it without reverting to the severely compromised person I had been before my early-20s awakening? Thankfully, dad bore no overt resentment toward me over those things, particularly after his relocation to Nevada and the subsequent, unexpected, death of my mother. But I still can't help having those thoughts, even at this late date. They don't eat away at me or anything, but are still on my mind.

Having lost both parents, my grandfather and two uncles all during the month of January, I dread this month every damned year. It also doesn't help that it falls in the dead of winter, my least favorite season.

I can't believe it's been a whole decade since I lost dad. Where the hell has the time gone? And will I ever find the happiness and peace of mind that eluded my poor father for his 62 years of life? All I can do is wait and see.

Rest in peace, dad. Christ knows you earned it.

Once again, the farty Old Left tells an oppressed group of people what's best for them.

http://www.peopleforchange.net/index.ph ... 33524&st=0

At the above link, there currently is a discussion—or should I say, a pissing contest—about atheism. As usual, the non-atheists are presuming to tell us what atheism is or should be, and how we obnoxious old atheists ought to comport ourselves. Here’s an example, followed by my response:

There are people who just use atheism as a banner to march under to promote some agenda that sounds much more like a religion that it does anything else, and as a weapon for bashing other people around and an excuse to express anger and hostility.

Your observations are accurate, but will not be tolerated by some of the self-described "atheists" because it is heretical to their doctrine, every bit as much as what they say is heretical to the fundies.

We MUST choose up sides, it MUST be done on the most shallow and superficial basis, we MUST battle with one another to the death over whose doctrine is correct, and we MUST see everything through the lens of two and only two doctrines.

It is a fucking religious war, and has nothing to do with "atheism." One side claims that all "religion" is "wrong" and that they are "right." Yeah. That is a religious war. New religions never claim to be religions, they claim to be "the truth." So to say "we aren't the religious ones! They are the religious ones! Religion is bad! We are the non-religious ones who know the truth!" is just the same old steaming pile of bullshit we get from any sect of true believers and strident doctrinaire zealots. Hanging a sign around one's neck - "official not-religious rational person" doesn't fool anyone.

No one has ever magically become rational or non-religious merely by proclaiming oneself to be. In fact, I find that people so proclaiming about themselves is a pretty damned good sign that their proclamation is false.

Since I have not specifically attacked religion here, or mouthed the correct anti-religion doctrine and dogma, this post will be construed as “apologizing for religion” and place me in the camp of the evil ones spewing heresy and blasphemy.

*****

“We MUST choose up sides, it MUST be done on the most shallow and superficial basis, we MUST battle with one another to the death over whose doctrine is correct, and we MUST see everything through the lens of two and only two doctrines.”

Kindly cite a single quote where I said anything similar to your unwarranted accusation.

You want to know what's really going on? After centuries of ostracism and discrimination, we atheists have finally said, "Enough!" and are being open about our views. If some people can't handle it, that's their problem, not ours.

Some 40+ years after the Civil Rights Movement, there still exist Americans who seethe with fury when they see a white woman in public with a black man. (My late father was one such American.) But at least now, society no longer considers it acceptable to act on such negative feelings, even verbally. Someday, society (however grudgingly) will grant the same basic human rights to us atheists. I only hope it happens during my lifetime.

Until that day, the thin-skinned and the petulant will continue to have their little temper tantrums. I say, let them! Like their racist, sexist and homophobic forebears, they're part of a dying breed anyway.

In honor of the new year...

...here are my favorite songs by year, going from 1948-1989:

1948: GOOD ROCKIN’ TONIGHT – Wynonie Harris
1949: DRINKIN’ WINE SPO-DEE-O-DEE – Sticks McGhee

1950: I’M MOVIN’ ON – Hank Snow
1951: MY REVERIE - The Larks
1952: LAWDY MISS CLAWDY – Lloyd Price
1953: BABY, DON’T DO IT – The “5” Royales
1954: GOOD ROCKIN’ TONIGHT – Elvis Presley
1955: TUTTI FRUTTI – Little Richard
1956: THE TRAIN KEPT A-ROLLIN’ – The Johnny Burnette Trio
1957: WHOLE LOT OF SHAKIN’ GOIN’ ON – Jerry Lee Lewis
1958: JOHNNY B. GOODE – Chuck Berry
1959: WHAT’D I SAY – Ray Charles

1960: GEORGIA ON MY MIND – Ray Charles
1961: TURN ON YOUR LOVE LIGHT – Bobby “Blue” Bland
1962: DO YOU LOVE ME (NOW THAT I CAN DANCE)? - The Contours
1963: SURFIN’ U.S.A. – The Beach Boys
1964: WISH SOMEONE WOULD CARE – Irma Thomas
1965: A CHANGE IS GONNA COME - Sam Cooke
1966: HOLD ON! I’M COMIN’ – Sam & Dave
1967: THE DARK END OF THE STREET – James Carr
1968: THINK – Aretha Franklin
1969: KICK OUT THE JAMS - The MC5

1970: WAR – Edwin Starr
1971: WHAT’S GOING ON – Marvin Gaye
1972: ROCK AND ROLL - Led Zeppelin
1973: SUPERSTITION - Stevie Wonder
1974: YOU HAVEN’T DONE NOTHIN’ – Stevie Wonder
1975: NO WOMAN, NO CRY – Bob Marley & The Wailers
1976: ANARCHY IN THE U.K. - The Sex Pistols
1977: LOVE AND HAPPINESS - Al Green
1978: (WHAT'S SO FUNNY 'BOUT) PEACE, LOVE & UNDERSTANDING - Elvis Costello
1979: LONDON CALLING – The Clash

1980: FUNKYTOWN – Lipps, Inc.
1981: THE ADVENTURES OF GRANDMASTER FLASH ON THE WHEELS OF STEEL - Grandmaster Flash & The Furious Five
1982: I LOVE ROCK ‘N’ ROLL – Joan Jett & The Blackhearts
1983: LITTLE RED CORVETTE – Prince
1984: WHEN DOVES CRY - Prince & The Revolution
1985: SUN CITY - Artists United Against Apartheid
1986: WALK THIS WAY – Run-D.M.C.
1987: U GOT THE LOOK - Prince with Sheena Easton
1988: GET OUTTA MY DREAMS, GET INTO MY CAR – Billy Ocean
1989: WALK THE DINOSAUR – Was (Not Was)

Beyond that, I'm really not sure. Sorry!