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People often talk about the benefits of planning. This includes preparation and foresight and a bit of cautiousness too.

And while all these things are important in one aspect or another, we are also ‘planning,’ to miss out on life-events if we don’t jus’ sometimes ‘go for it.’ So plan not to plan and throw caution to the wind – at least for one day and see where the breeze takes you.

(1996)

It’s human nature, I guess that people feel the need to complain. I do it all the time.

One of the best examples I can call upon is the weather. We are never happy with the condition that presents itself during the day.

Recently, I heard a newscaster complain that it was “too hot today.” I also remember that same newscaster, a few days ago, whine that it was ‘too cold,’ and that he could certainly use some ‘warmer weather.’

I, myself would quit complaining in an instant — but then I wouldn’t have anything to talk about.

The Seattle City Council is replacing Columbus Day with Indigenous People’s Day in the city. Meanwhile the Bellingham City Council is also considering an ordinance to recognize the second Monday in October as Coast Salish Day.

It appears that the possibility of an Ebola epidemic in this country jus’ might fit the Progressive movement’s plan to end this nation’s supposed colonial/imperialistic domination of the world. Could this be why the Obama administration refuses to close down air traffic between Africa and the U.S.?

After all, as USA Today reported April 1st, 2010, “The Obama administration has quietly scrapped plans to enact sweeping new federal quarantine regulations that the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention touted four years ago as critical to protecting Americans from dangerous diseases spread by travelers.”

Like they say: Never let a crisis go to waste – even if you have to manufacture it yourself.

It began the night before with Crystella standing in her usual Saturday evening spot, a street corner. She was hoping to earn enough to keep her pimp, Geoff happy, if not if would mean yet another beating.

“You lookin’ to party?” Crystella asked as the mini van rolled to a stop.

“Yeah,” shot back the male voice as Crystella stepped up to the side of the vehicle.

After more talk, she clamored into the passenger seat. The minivan then disappeared into the city lights.

Less than an hour later the same mini van pulled up to the street corner. That’s where Crystella got out without looking back as the van pulled away.

As she straightened her tube top, Geoff stepped from out of the shadows and grabbed her by the arm. Crystella knew better than to struggle as the man dragged her further down the nearby side alley.

He cuffed her across the face nearly knocking her down.

“Let’s see it, Bitch,” he demanded as she struggled to pull the cash from the small purse that once hung from her shoulder.

Geoff grabbed it from her as soon as he saw the money. He quickly counted what was in his hand.

“Where’s the rest of it?” he shouted as he slammed a first into her face.

The blow dropped the small framed woman to her hands and knees. Before Crystella could answer, Geoff kicked her in the ribs, sending a stab of pain through her body.

He stood over her as she tried to get back up on her knees. He continued to yell at her, demanding the money Crystella owed him.

In the distance came the sound of police sirens. As they grew closer, Geoff moved towards the alley way entrance to see how close they were.

Once he knew they were farther down the block, he turned his attention back to Crystella. However she was no longer on her hands and knees, neither she was jus making the corner at the far end of the ally.

He was already planning what he would do to her as he took off running after her.

By the time he reached the end of the alley way and raced around the corner, Crystella was now where in sight. Geoff continued rushing down the street towards a cluster of businesses on the corner ahead.

Crystella had found a hiding spot behind a low garden wall. She remained there curled in a fetal position under a wood deck, hidden by a large plastic garbage can.

For the next hour Geoff stomped his way back and forth looking for the woman. Crystella lay there another hour after hearing Geoff one final time.

Cold and stiff Crystella eventually decided to chance it and leave her hiding spot. She ventured up the stairs and tried the door knob.

It was locked; she stood still, wondering what next she should do before returning to the sidewalk. Crystella felt her heart leap into her mouth when she realized the darkened figure she was looking at was her pimp Geoff.

He recognized Crystella at about the same time she saw him. She turned and sprinted between the buildings as Geoff came rushing for her.

Then she saw a set of steps off to one side and having nowhere else to go, ran up to the door. It gave and she slipped inside slamming and locking Geoff outside the building.

Through the darkness, Crystella searched for a place to hide as Geoff continued to beat on the door. She rattled one door after another before finding one that was unlocked.

She huddled in the corner under what she believed to be table clothes hung up for storage, listening to Geoff pound at the door and call her vulgar names. Her fear of him refused to allow her to relax until after several hours of no longer hearing him.

Slowly the night-time melted away and small streams of light floated in from under the doorway. By this time, exhausted and hungry, Crystella had fallen asleep.

At first she thought she was dreaming as bit of song reached her brain. As she came more and more awake, Crystella recognized the music as a church hymn.

She struggled to get to her feet and feel along the wall next to the door frame for a light switch. The tiny uncovered bulb spread its brightness through out the small room where the choir stored their robes meant for special occasions.

Crystella laughed the thought, “A whore hanging out in church’s closet.”

Her thought was interrupted by the sound of a man’s voice. She sucked in her breath, fearful the voice she heard was that of Geoff’s.

But it wasn’t. Instead the tone was forceful yet comforting.

Crystella moved closer to the far door to listen. The man was talking about how everyone who enters the house of the Lord is welcomed.

She heard herself doubt what she figured was the pastors words. Still she couldn’t help but listen and feel that there was truth in what he was saying.

All too quickly the service came to an end and that’s when Crystella concluded she needed to leave the closet and find the front door of the church. No one seemed to notice as she slipped out the door and ducked behind a large curtain that emptied her onto the church floor.

Slowly she started towards the preacher, whom she could see was shaking hands and speaking to church goers. As she searched out to tap the pastor on the shoulder, she recognized the man he was speaking with as the ‘John’ she’d had sex with the night before in his minivan.

“Oh,” she thought, “it’s that kind of a church.”

Crystella stepped past the preacher and headed towards the double doors. She noticed some of the church goers looking strangely at her.

”Well what do you expect, dressed like a whore in church?” an internal voice exclaimed.

Not wanting to seem to be in a panic, Crystella calmly walked passed the gazing eyes and small whispering voices. She could hardly breathe as she pushed open the doors and stumbled out into the sunshine of a Sunday morning.

At the bottom of the steps she looked up only to see Geoff standing across the street from her. He had a menacing gaze in his eyes that caused her to tremble with fear.

That fear nearly caused her to scream when she felt someone touch her shoulder gently. Could Geoff have a henchman laying in wait for her to exit the church?

Crystella spun on her heel and jumped back. She came face to face with a woman who was holding the hand of a young child.
“I’m sorry,” the woman said, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s okay, I’m jus’ a little jumpy is all,” Crystella answered as she continued walk backwards.

“I’m Claire,” the woman offered, “I tried to stop and introduce myself to you when you came out of the closet, but you were too fast.”
“You saw me?” Crystella asked.

“Oh yes!” Claire, replied, “I see a lot of things people don’t realize.”

Crystella followed Claire’s glance across the street where Geoff was still standing. She was right — Claire’ saw more than Crystella realized she would.

“We want you to come to dinner at our home,” Claire stated.

Crystella shook her head from side to side, “No I can’t I can’t put you to the trouble.”

Claire smiled, “You’ll be no trouble. You can take a warm bath, I’ll get you some clean clothes and we’ll eat and have a nice chat.”

“Thank you, but…,” Crystella tried to refuse.

Claire cut her off mid sentence, “Besides, my husband knows how to handle trouble.”

Jus’ then the child screamed, “Daddy!”

He let go of his mother’s hand and dashed passed Crystella and into the waiting arms of a policeman. Claire moved towards him refusing to let go of Crystella’s elbow and kissed the man in the uniform.

“Crystella,” Claire started, “let me introduce you to my husband, Joe.”

As the two shook hands, Crystella glanced in Geoff’s direction. He was no longer anywhere to be seen and jus’ knowing that left her with a feeling of hope.

The news ain’t good. Harley, our Jack Russell mix has cancer and while he’s not in pain, tomorrow I will return to the vet clinic and have him put down. Oh, and he’s such a good dog too.

Yes, my heart is aching, though not fully broken yet. Ending the life of a family pet, however humanely, doesn’t get any easier no matter how many times you’ve been through it.

Harley came to us as a puppy, somewhere between three and six-months old. I was getting gas in my truck when he fell from the back of another pick-up, hitting the asphalt so hard I figured him for dead.

The asshole driving the truck simply looked back and kept on driving. So I picked his little body up and placed it in the cab of my vehicle.

Much to my surprise, by the time I finished pumping my gas, he was awake and trying to hide under the passenger seat. Then he threw-up, that when I first took him to the vet.

After the doctor gave him a clean bill of health, I brought him home. That was eleven-years ago.

While he is a very intelligent dog, Harley has always been a little mentally screwed up  (from banging his head falling from the truck.). He sometimes forgets who we are and barks furiously at us and he’s scared of the washing machine so much that he runs and hides in the bathtub if the door is left open.

Harley has barked at his shadow and his reflection in the mirror at times. He’s managed to get both his head and leg stuck in our fencing and somehow got atop our shed.

Admittedly, I have grown closer to Harley than any dog I’ve previously been privileged to live with and know. After all, he is as fucked up as I am and I think that’s why we bonded so well.

Frankly, I will miss his happiness each morning, every time I come through the front door, and how he thinks he’s helping me get dressed by getting under foot. Jus’ the thought of his not being here makes me cry and snivel foolishly.

This evening, Mary, Kyle, Kay and I will gather to pet Harley lovingly, tell him how much we love him and assure him that he’s a ‘good boy.’ I know – it’s for us people and not really him – but it might make us feel better anyway.

Nine o’clock in the morning comes early – much too early for such a task. I jus’ hope and pray that when I die, Harley will be on the other side waiting.

Is it okay for a man to cry over the death of a dog?

UPDATE 10/09/2012: Harley passed away comfortably and quietly in my arms at 9:20 am today. He was a VERY good dog and an even better companion.

Generally, I don’t do predictions, especially regarding politics. But I have to go out on a limb — complete with a saw in hand.

Hillary Clinton is going to run for the presidency in 2016. I based this on the fact that Leon Panetta in his new book, “Worthy Fights: A Memoir of Leadership in War and Peace” is criticizing President Obama’s administration.

After all, Panetta is a lapdog for the Clinton’s and the timing of the book is aimed at distancing Hillary from the Obama Administration. I think her 2016 campaign is gearing up to feed us the pabulum of “how great the Clinton era was for the U.S.”

I hope I’m wrong.

When I went to bed one evening, the U.S. was going to bomb ISIS/ISIL, but by the next morning it was a group no one had heard of, that had been attacked. In essence the U.S. made a gift of the Khorasan to the Republic of Iran, in hopes they will help fight ISIS/ISIL.

As this was happening Iranian officials were in New York for negotiations on Tehran’s nuclear program. Talks were dragging but following the bombing the negotiations suddenly improved.

And don’t be surprised if following the mid-term elections that the U.S. shares technology with Iran to help their nuclear program. After all a November 2013 agreement says, “The U.S. administration…will refrain from imposing new nuclear-related sanctions.”

After all, Israel remains a stumbling block to overcoming the 1916 Sykes-Picot Agreement and all part of a plan to “organize the Middle East.”

America’s society is at a real crossroads. And I’m afraid the outcome is no longer in this generations hands.

In Hong Kong, people are risking their lives protesting against the Chinese Communist government which wants the final say over who can run for elected office. Meanwhile in Denver, Colorado, high school students are walking out of class after being ‘forced’ to take a history course that teaches ‘conservatism.’

Roger Hart, manager of the popular Reno casino showroom act, ‘Paul Revere and the Raiders,’ says Revere died Saturday, October 4th at his home in Garden Valley, Idaho, from cancer.

In July 2014, Revere posted on Facebook that he was dealing with some ailments. Despite doctors’ request that he take a break, Revere and his Raiders still booked shows well into 2015.

Born Paul Revere Dick, he became known as “the madman of rock and roll” for his colonial wardrobe and onstage persona. The group launched its career in 1963 with its biggest hit coming in 1971 with “Indian Reservation.”

My first recollection of that song was in 5th grade at Margaret Keating School. My classmates and I were doing somersaults on a mat in class while the song played over and over much to Mr. Escola’s dismay.

Seventeen years later I would meet Paul Revere and the Raiders during a radio event the station I worked for at the time was hosting. Life has funny little interconnections like that from time to time.

Paul Revere and the Raiders served as the house band for “Where the Action Is” and made appearances on TV’s ‘Batman’ starring Adam West, ‘The Ed Sullivan Show,’ ‘Happening ’68’ and ‘American Bandstand’. From the 1970s through the 90s Revere was a staple at the Harrah’s Reno cabaret.

In 1988, Paul Revere and Bill Medley (of Righteous Brothers fame,) opened ‘Kicks’ in Reno, Nevada in March following a $400,000 make-over inside the National Bowling Stadium at 300 N. Center. The club got it’s name after the band recorded a song by the same name, releasing it as a single in 1966.

According to Wikipedia, “Considered one of the earliest anti-drug pop songs, “Kicks” was composed and released during an era in which pro-hippie, pro-experimentation, and other counterculture themes were gaining popularity on U.S. FM radio stations.” In 2004, the Rolling Stone’s list of ‘The 500 Greatest Songs of All Time,’ ranked the song at number 400.

As for clubs décor, it included the rear end of a ’59 Edsel jutting out of a wall, a guitar signed by Chuck Berry hanging from the ceiling, 200 framed photographs of the Raiders in action and tabletops that were over-sized replicas of the group’s hit albums. There was also a black-tiled bar lined with gold singles, flanked by large TV monitors showing old snippets from the shows they appeared on.

In the back was the ‘Junk Rock Cafe,’ claiming they had the second best hamburger in town. The only dessert available was Revere’s personal favorite — Hostess Twinkies — at 25 cents by themselves or a buck-25 with a glass of ice-cold milk.

Paul Revere was 76 years old.

Stop being scared to make a mistake.
Doing something and getting it wrong is at least ten times more productive than doing nothing.
Every success has a trail of failures behind it, and every failure is leading towards success.
You end up regretting the things you didn’t do far more than the things you did.