Tag: Spotify

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“As The Cactus Patch Turns,”June 3rd, 2023


A Birthday For The Ages

It seems my oldest granddaughter, my only one, has obtained her driver’s license and is now eager to “Take to the highway, won’t you lend me your name, my way and your way seem to be one and the same.” ( James Taylor) For her birthday, which is today, we gifted her our 2008 Honda CRV. It’s a mighty little chariot with 167K miles and can hold its own against any new cars. She’s a bit fastidious, so I know she will care for her car and herself. Happy Birthday, sweet Madalyn. The only thing that would make a better day would be for your father to celebrate with us. I’m certain he is at Heaven’s portal watching you; don’t speed or run a stop sign, and don’t smoke cigarettes.

Planting For Dollars, Slave Labor, and Chicken Poop Fertilizer

When I started landscaping our property four years ago, I promised myself the foliage would be drought-tolerant and sparse, with more gravel and rocks than plants. Somewhere along the journey, my artistic genes kicked in, and the property became more of a canvas than a plot of soil. I have now done myself in, backed into a flora corner with no escape. The plants know me by name, call to me in my dreams and watch me as I meander around. It’s akin to “The Little Shop Of Horrors,” Feed me they scream as I beat them off my leg. One Chaste bush dared to grab my arm with a firm grip, demanding more fertilizer. My wife has no pity for me. I’m a doomed man. I have discovered natural chicken poop fertilizers, which is mildly repugnant, but the plants adore it.

Looking At Politics In My Rear View Mirror

In the past few days, I realized that I am done with politics. Both sides of our republic are equally to blame and are equally criminal. Our founding fathers, much less flawed than our current crop of grifters, had the forethought to see the future and what it might become; thus, the constitution and our laws that no one in the tidal basin seems to know, the first thing about. Payola, quid-pro-quo, back-scratching, good-ole-boy, kiss-ass, grab-ass, and insider trading is the rule of the day. Thanks to social media, our world is not a better place. Life before cell phones and the internet was manageable and somewhat more peaceful. I’m thinking limiting my television time to re-runs of “The Andy Griffith Show,” “The Dick Van Dyke Show,” and possibly ” Leave It To Beaver” would be beneficial to my health.

Read a Good Book And Improve Your Mind, Or Read a Bad One And Ruin It…

I’m halfway through a Biography of the great newsman Walter Cronkite. Watching him on television in my formative years gave me the lust for news, which I now find a curse. Uncle Walt, Grandfather Walt, whatever we chose to call him, was the real deal and gave it to us straight up with no BS. I am also trying to read a novel by Tom Hanks and I realize that Tom needs to stick to acting and reciting lines written by young hipsters; he is fooling himself if he believes he is an author. He ain’t Mark Twain or Truman Capote. I don’t see myself finishing the book and will likely sell it back to Half Price Books for almost nothing. ” The Killers of The Flower Moon,” a soon-to-be motion picture with Leonardo DiCraprio and Robert De’Craprio is the true account of how a group of greedy land and oil barrons stole the oil-rich land in Oklahoma from the Native Americans. Since I am of that heritage, I will enjoy this one. I also found my original “Roy Rogers” book from when I was five, so I may give that a re-visit, as well as “To Kill A Mockingbird.” I wrote a letter to the once great magazine, “Texas Monthly,” which my wife gave me a three-year subscription to, informing them that they are no longer the center of the universe and Austin is no longer a part of Texas. I miss Gary Cartwright, Stephen Harrigan, and Dan Jenkins; I also miss Bob Wills and Cindy Walker, as well as Billy Joe Shaver.

Spotify Has Liquified My Brain

My granddaughter introduced me to the popular streaming music service, Spotify. I am addicted. All the songs I love from my teen years are there, and the classic country music is endless. Patsy Cline, Haggard, Waylon and Willie and the boys. I’ve recently re-discoverd the beloved and talented, John Prine. What a loss to the world of music when he passed. “Angel From Montgomery” and “Clay Pigeons” are two of his great ones. Now, If I can figure out how to block anything by Taylor Swift and Beyonce, It will be a perfect companion.

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Things That Make You Wonder, WTH?


Is it just me, or have you noticed how old Bill Clinton looks these days, and he’s younger than Donald Trump? Could it be the baggage he is married to? Just saying he looks like he has died and been dug up a few times.

I have a feeling that AOC’s mother may have had a one-night stand with Fidel Castro on one of those girls’ only weekends.

This new bombshell regarding the DNC and Hillary spying on a presidential candidate and then president goes deeper than Watergate. Yet, our national news media is crickets and lightning bugs on the crime of the century. Where are Bernstein and Woodward? Those two guys won an Oscar and the Nobel Prize for destroying Nixon, so why are they so quiet now? I think Forest Gump did a better job.

After the half-time show at the Super football thang, I now consider American music completely dead. Rap is not music, and no one can pinpoint what it actually is, not even the rapper dudes. The decline of civilization comes to mind.

Vlad Putin will take Ukraine, and there is nothing anyone can do about it. The US is weak, Europe is weaker, and NATO has outlived its usefulness and purpose. Ole Puttie Poot is about as evil as Hitler and Stalin combined but wears better suits.

The young track star from Texas gets booted from the summer Olympics because of weed. Okay, there are rules; she broke them and paid the price. The 15-year-old Russian skater accidentally ingests handfuls of her Grandpa’s heart meds, tests positive for banned substances, and yet gets to compete because the committee doesn’t want to traumatize the delicate flower. Lots of commie love from the Olympic folks. No one really cares. Gas is up to $3.50 a gallon, and food costs 30 percent more than it did a year ago. That’s what Americans care about.

Baby Trudeau may be the biggest wuss to ever lead a country. A pretty boy with perfect hair and well-fitted suits doesn’t make you a leader. However, the US would be wise to learn from what is happening in Canada because it’s coming to a neighborhood near you. Who knew that a convoy of truckers could shut down a government and be considered a terrorist organization? The Taliban is watching the evening news and saying WTF?

Looks like Spotify is going to lose all their classic rock artists. Who cares? No one. They weren’t that good anyway. If you want to hear them, go buy some vinyl or a CD.

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“Spotify Don’t Need Him Around Anyhow”


“Hope Neil Young will remember, a southern man don’t need him around anyhow.” Lynard Skinnard had it right, and neither does the eastern or the western man. Sliding into rock and roll obscurity is a pitiful state. Joni Mitchell, one of my favorite singers from ” back in the day,” has joined the “has-been” wagon supporting old Neil. She’s been on that trip for a while now. Together, she and Neil can enjoy swooshing downward until they hit the pile of crap at the bottom of the celebrity slide. Eventually, everyone in rock music gets to ride it.

Old Neil was never one of my favorites. He can’t sing for squat and possesses a thirteen-year-old valley girl’s whiney, tinny voice. So, it’s puzzling why Crosby, Stills, and Nash asked him to be in their supergroup. Those three guys could sing like hashed out angels, so Young must have been there for his guitar chops and fancy fringed leather jackets.

Joe Rogan is the new big deal in town. A new age sheriff with lots of tats and a six-gun on each hip. He’s as cool as Clint Eastwood and has the literacy jive of Jack Kerouac. He calls it as it is and doesn’t coat anything with honey.

So, Joe Rogan is the guy that Neil Young and Joni Mitchell always protested against way back in their hippie-dippy days, and Biden, who is the personification of “the man holding them down,” with his kings’ scroll of mandates, is their new golden calf. Go figure that crazy town crap out. They canceled themselves.