Trash Day

Wild trip around the sun ahead.
Time to slam it down.
Things racking my peaceful head.
Going underground.

It's morning.
Again.
We're awake.
Again.
Let's all ride.
Again.
Hold on tight.
Again.

Kick the garbage out of they way.
Send it to the city dump.
Think today is your trash day.
Get rid of that chump.

E
DAE

AEx3
DAx3
E

20/20 Gonzo 18: Full Of Waste

One house manager had his pants pulled up to his chest, the oddest thing ever.  He talked fast, he stuttered, he smacked, he seemed unclean, he seemed washed out, he seemed someone to avoid.  Could only imagine the odor, was watching through the TV, but those around him kept their distance.  No shame in B.O., but it is an infringement on others, especially with anti-sweating deodorant products getting better and better, and readily available.  We pay our congresspeople enough to expect reasonable hygiene.

Diversions upon diversions, proof that hasn't been proved, ridiculous proclamations, theatrical flops.  Binders, post-it notes, cufflinks, microphones, a robe.  We the people, we know a Pinocchio, we know how rats operate, we can smell.  These are wasted days, but no one needs them anyway, this is not the people's branch anymore.  Yes my fellow Americans, these days are full of waste.

This next question came from the back row, the head honchos wanted to know, the public deserved the truth.  The card was passed along to the Chief Justice of the United States, he seemed confused, he conferred with his aides, he took a huge gulp of water.  He adjusted his glasses.  Then he read the question, directed to the President's lawyers.  "Why doesn't The Don ever look worried?"

20/20 Gonzo 17: Sloppy Joe Of The North

The constitution is nothing like apple pie and baseball!  This house manager must be on something.  First off, apple pie has light, fluffy crust, and next, baseball is more about steroids, surveillance, and TV contracts.  Still don't understand the vileness of the offenses, or the righteous reactions, or the ramifications.  It will all be made clear by spring, in the meantime the TV heads are cheering for their side, insulting the other side, and likely washing down lots of pills with lots of booze.

In a victory for male attire sanity and practicality, ties are out.  An unfunctioning burden literally wrapped around the neck, tucked under a collar, and in the way.  At least bow ties stay cleaner, and look especially sharp on those with moustaches, but somehow they add a clownish tinge.  Suspenders seem a thing of the past too, and rightfully so, gone the way of overalls, the athletic clothing revolution has done its thing.  As for females, their attire sanity and practicality is their own, nothing but admiration, appreciation, and support.

Iowa is about the most heavenly place on earth.  Green rolling hills, miles and miles of corn rows, the Bridges of Madison County, folks with big teethy smiles, and maid rites- the sloppy joe of the north.  The buses and vans have arrived, the expresses, the barn stormers, the presidential candidates who will save their lives from Oz.  The corporations are coming with their evil money and and their awful innovations and their dumb jobs, we are not in Kansas anymore.  Ready for the get down, ready for the show, watch the yellow brick road, the scarecrow will be there soon.

20/20 Gonzo 16: Blood Stained Hands

One if the house managers just plagiarized Mick Jagger by claiming the President is "practiced at the art of deception."  He did not, thankfully, go on to talk about blood stained hands or Mr. Jimmy or receptions, but clearly it was an intentional ripoff of You Can't Always Get What You Want.  This is the worst movie ever, the acting is awful, the cinematography is a joke, and whoever is in charge of wardrobe should be replaced.  These aren't legislators or statespeople, these are mostly thirsty lawyers.  Snore.

Pens for everyone.  For no good reason, it's not like an actual president used them, the pens had no worth.  Perhaps they were a reminder of all the praying that was being done, perhaps somber symbols of dastardly deeds done, maybe the ink was black, maybe the ink was blue, maybe they were purchased from the office supply budget.  Or the office party budget.  Either way, seems a waste, pens are so last decade.

A live video feed could work as good, this chamber is a bit stiff.  Everyone is having phone anxiety, everyone is tired of water, no one wants to drink milk.  This is insane!  Surely we can send in some food, no doubt we can pipe in some light music, and for the love of God, hopefully we can do something about the back drop, the brown marble has got to go.  Looks nothing like a modern workplace.

The Anthem 2: Double Down On Mrs. B

Everywhere I saw them now, the Nebraska Furniture Market trucks, as I went back and forth on the great Sam Rayburn Tollway to and from my daily occupational responsibilities, passing their huge Texas location in the ever expanding suburbs north of Dallas.  Like a sign, like an announcement, like kind of weird.  Oh well, similar phenomenon to when you buy a new car, I thought.  Or shoes.  They were everywhere, rain or shine, even saw a picture on Twitter of a delivery in a blizzard in Des Moines.  This place makes an impression.  Over the previous week as I told folks of my anthem plans, many had declared devotion to the place, each with stories of satisfied experiences, notable memories, and overall affection.

I agreed.  As a 2 time customer myself, I had been happy each time.  A natural clearance browser, I once bought the very patio lounger I'm lounging on as I tap these words on a sweetheart deal.  I was there to buy a double recliner couch, with USB hookups, and durable leather.  A forest green flower print recliner and a fly silver make up chair for my youngest daughter, also from the clearance stock, completed my purchases.  Delivery was spot on, think they hit the window.  Only a USB input malfunction months later caused irritation. When my wife made communication with the warranty company, evidently there was some fine print about the USB hookups.  Other than that, it's been 5 of 5 stars in all categories.  Visited with my mom and the expedition and efficiency of the entire experience was outstanding.  A cool and comfortable black leather recliner that lights up, plugs in, and has all the things, including nifty compartments on each side.  She also got a breakfast table and chairs, with nice padding and sturdy construction.  She was thrilled, in and out quick, delivery date and time set.  I believe the delivery hit the window or I would have heard.

All these testimonials, and my own experiences and research, had me convinced the song I wrote as the anthem was complete.  No talking verse needed to be added, the harmonica would help it jump, double down on Mrs. B, the chorus was done, a folk song of heroic capitalism, focused on the customer, an anthem for this age, complete with a modern day Rockefeller.  After a couple of minor editing adjustments, the writing was done.

The decision to record the song completely solo was made quickly.  More control, less confusion, fewer distractions, grand prize money greed.  Plus, with a down home song, acoustic and sparse, lyrics articulated crisp, the less on the canvas the better.  Home recording, in the foyer, vocals and Ibanez hollow body classical guitar through my Yorkville standup PA, captured through a Zoom4 field recorder.  My preferred set up.  D harp fit perfect with the song, the D7 chord adding some Blues tone.  That was the plan, and that's how it went down.  Did two recordings, one with reverb effect, one with ensemble effect, both had distinct moments of lyrical and melodic hooks.  In the end, the ensemble version was chosen, it was the 2nd take and the harmonica was dialed in better.  Also, the first version of the song included an odd pronunciation of Warren.  It seemed a fatal flew, it was ditched.

Immediately, I uploaded the song to my Soundcloud page as required.  For the song image, found the famous Rose Blumkin motto that served as my title and chorus and used it.  Double down on Mrs. B.  Hopefully, NFM will give me a litigation pass since I'm borrowing their motto for their own contest.  Plus, it's in the folk and blues traditions to use whatever.  Her estate can surely have co-writing credits if it's possible, probably covered on one of the pages of the terms and conditions anyway.

Once posted, all seemed done.  Received affirmative overnight feedback from a few trusted sources then officially entered the contest early the following morning.  After screenshoting the confirmation of my entry, posted the song on selected social media medium, connecting to the NFM headquarters and using the preferred hash.  The Anthem is in, it's in the cloud, it's on the cloud.  The lyrics were attached.

Hop

The moon balls were mooning.
It was her only chance.
The other player was better.
But mentality changes things.

Thinking thinking curiously is wise.
Day by day sublimation.
Keeping with the rhythms.
Keeping time.

Sure about the fires, they warm up good.
Once the shot is decided, all in.
Partial aggression will not work.
This is good company.

Lines and angles.
Back and forth.
Side to side.
Move the feet, hop.

Point it out.
Smash the moon before it bounces.
Take it from the sky.
Make way for the sun.

EmAm

The Anthem 1: Hooks And Nooks

The appliance entrance was huge.  An impressive first impression of a retail experience.  The signs out front directed those interested in 'seeing what all the excitement is about' to the far east front doors.  The signs were helpful.  The Nebraska Furniture Mart is holding a contest to identify its anthem.  It's being facilitated through their 4 urban/suburban locations:  Omaha, Kansas City, Des Moines, and Dallas.  I was there to attend the Dallas area Launch Party/Packet Pickup, carefully following the instructions from their website.  The song was written already, during lunch the day prior.  After researching the story of the company and its culture, the song came easy.  With an almost 100 year old motto that serves as a nice chorus, and a story worthy of modern capitalistic folklore, it was really a fastball right down the middle.

Sell Cheap, Tell The Truth is immediately an anthem in its own category, melodic marketing velcro that reinforces value and trust, a lyrical lesson of continuing evolution and reality of a vision.  Mrs. B would, and will, likely dig the song, for the dearly departed hear our music.  It is true.  Now the place is owned by Berkshire Hathaway, Warren Buffet's company.  Guess that accounts for the $25k Grand Prize.  #NFMTheAnthem.  I expect to win.

The packet included 2 stickers, a small note pad, an informational packet, and a medium sized hardcard with important dates and social media encouragements.  All had The Anthem logo.  Another sticker for the guitar case is always a welcomed site, almost regardless of the sticker, I was intrigued further.  The packet was picked up at a table full of chips and dips, the smell of queso hovered.  Two friendly employees asked me if I needed a packet and gave me one when I answered 'yes'.  That was it, only shoppers were around, perhaps I was expecting something different.  There was a guy playing guitar and singing for tips on a stage set up under a huge Customer Service sign, seemed like it was a regular gig for him.  I wondered if he was entering the contest.  Seth Johnston was his name, he sat on a cajon and had a sign indicating he could play weddings and parties.  He had cards.  His tip jar was busting with ones, a few fives, and even a twenty.  He wore boots.  He could be some competition, but I'm confident in my song, especially after reading the Keys To Winning on page 3 of the Informational Packet:

1.  Compose a unique lyrical piece, but not a jingle.
2.  Capture the feeling of home.
3.  Find inspiration in our history.

Check, check, check.  Page 4 got more official, even wording that allows a cancellation of the entire contest if it's a bust.  Eligibility requirements, dates and deadlines, participation requirements, submission guidelines, initial judging, public voting, appearance requirements, licensing, publicity releases, competition modification possibilities, and even a conflict resolution clause involving an arbitration process on the 12th and final page.  Down for it all.

Thinking now about the song recording and feel like Red Headed Stranger vibe could work good.  Willie's raw and rough classic Columbia Records initially thought was only a demo tape.  It was released, as was, in 1975.  Less being more somehow.  Cheap for sure, but not in a trashy way, with an authentic sound, with hooks and nooks.  Will articulate an easy natural voice, easy on the twang, perhaps a harmonica part.  Percussive picking style, will go solo on this one.  Patio recording for sure, on the patio furniture I got from Nebraska Furniture Mart.

20/20 Gonzo 15: Frozen In Their Thoughts

Everybody watched the war.  TVs, iPhones, Androids, tablets, World War III, run for the hills, panic, freak out, stock up.  Rockets and laser beams, destruction and chaos, confusion with reporters on the scene.  Was a time when reporters cleared up the confusion, but no longer.  More about intrigue, frenzy, suspense, speculation, whip it good, then back to the studio panel of dumb experts, former insiders, and uptight stiffs.

World War III was over quick, thankfully, I should note.  No invasion, no draft, no electro-cyber attack blackouts, no gasoline shortages, and no American casualties at last count.  The SCUDS were duds, then they quit.  Best to stick with other strategies, best to keep the lights on, best to keep their heads.  The hackers, the drones, and the 2 trillion dollar army.

Some will never quit, the blame must be put on to something or somebody, or both.  Never can there be humility, faces have to be saved.  Minds are not changed, they are frozen in their thoughts, the brain naturally works to reinforce the conclusion already concluded.  With proper training and persistence, pre-determined conclusion thought patterns can be eliminated.  It can take years, decades even, but it will prevent all types of twistedness.

Sell Cheap, Tell The Truth

Mrs. B from Belarus.
Sold cheap and told the truth.
Started with 500 bucks.
Caught some breaks, caught some luck.
Now it's worth a billion or two.
Warren Buffet had a clue.
Absorb the lessons from Omaha.
Lessons not taught in Ivy halls.

Sell cheap.
Tell the truth.
Sell cheap.
Tell the truth.
Sell cheap.
Tell the truth.
Sell cheap.
Tell the truth.

So come on in, make yourself at home.
We'll help you out, we'll leave you alone.
Whatever you need us to do.
Keep you clear of the overpriced blues.
A couch, a chair, a floor, a bed.
Need an appliance, need to get fed.
Count on us, we'll do our part.
At the Nebraska Furniture Mart.

D7C
GC

GCx8

*written for Nebraska Furniture Mart Anthem Contest.  #NFMTheAnthem

Didn't Sleep Much Last Night

All night long, I thought of you.
All night long, I cried too.
Cleared my mind like you told me to do.
Didn't sleep much last night.

All day long, stared out the glass.
All day long, thought of the past.
Reality has shown me of the truth at last.
Didn't sleep much last night.

All week long, been low down and blue.
All week long, had a low down mood.
Accepted what alread knew to be true.
Didn't sleep much last night.

CGx3
DCG

20/20 Gonzo 14: Junkies Just Shoot Junk

In that summer of '80, when the creepy Ayatollah spooked everyone good and kept holding Americans hostage, against their wills, under threat of death, blindfolded.  Heat wave in Texas, London calling, peanut Jimmy and the Gipper calling each other names.  Death to America, death to all, they kept screaming, death to your flags, to ashes with your flags, fire to your flags, they hated our flags.  Like an Iranian high school pep rally without any women, the Revolutionry Guard team runs through the smoking mouth of a snake, ready to burn flags.  The tailgate parties have ended for most, the game has started and it is no game.

Huddle up and let's all decide to call him a crazed person, irresponsible, dumb, a phone calling, qid-pro-quoing, orange-faced billionaire monster who has the gall to threaten a promise.  Kill them before they kill you seems the strategy, and the robot drones don't miss.  Rough day at the Bagdad airport.  Heaven awaits, hell is right here, bones are just bones, the soul disappears.  Dear ole Iran, seems your vows were heard, your promises of death, your threats of terror.

Speaking for no one, merely an observer, a scribe of the times, on the glowing scene, watching from the front, listening to the rumbles, smelling the embers, anticipating the responses, seeing what is seen.  Long ago America was made their devil, they needed a devil to justify their mardyrs.  The dim will moan, the ashamed will cry, the lost will protest, the junkies just shoot junk.  Movies will be made, books and book tours, and book tour signings, free with a purchase of a book.  1980 was a fine year, sorry some had to miss it.

Beyond Singapore

Ancient people walked through here.

When they were alive. 

Art of Africa, art of Rome.

Leonardo da Vinci, nouveau, The Lonely City.

Surrealism, the Byzantines, the Renaissance.

Steampunk, Picasso, the Modernists.

No fear King Lear.

The Dunlop Tortex Sharp 1.14 mm.

More about Sophia Loren, about Mailer.

To Singapore and beyond Singapore.

Old maps, new cities, eternal heavens.

Downtown from the 2nd floor.

Free rides and historic parking spaces.

WWII eye witnesses, to hell and back.

From Pompeii to Babylon, the Cities of Eden.

The four corners, the pale blue dot, the seas.

Code girls, between silk and cyanide.

That mile high fever, that Pueblo revolt.

Dallas myths and La Reunion.

Generation of Swine, Volume 2.

Defining moments of the gilded age.

Orwell was an English rebel before 84.

The real deal, the eyes have it, patient zero.

Mind over meds, no second chance, atlas.

The monk in the garden.

Journals of Lewis and Clark.

The downward spiral of dumbness.

From so simple a beginning, Genesis.

EmAmEmG.

The Junkyard Court: Collezione Vantaggio

All attended, a table had been prepared.  An upstairs enclave, a darkened round, a nook with a slight cranny.  Music played overhead, the invisible sound systems of the modern world make everything seem movie-like.  Soundtracks of melody and comedy, and blues.  Wine was ordered and discussed and discussed and ordered.  It was admired, it was swirled in glasses, it was sniffed and gargled, it was drank.  Cheese came, with olives and dried fruit, with exotic grapes, with salami.  Bread with jam, then more wine discussion, certifications and travels.  A smooth crisp South African white filled my mouth with an earthy spice taste.  It was very good.  The legs hinted at the drinkability, and the aroma was enchanting.  Pitted olives are preferred, especially on a communal breadboard, but it was a minor indiscretion.  Mercy you, mercy me, it's all we'll ever need.  Then the meeting was called to order.  Keck, Joe Vita, BV, AJ, and I.  They all nodded, Keck quickly went downstairs to the head.  He came back with luxurious reports of the facilities.  We ordered more wine.

Facilitation is a cumbersome task.  The organization of mutual communication intent.  This must be established by an insistent voice.  The fact the gathering was called for the purpose of the 2019 Year End Vantaggio Board Meeting helped gain everyone's attention.  To start, each of the five would have a few minutes to discuss their visions, their ideas, their contributions to the advancement of Vantaggio.  The meeting had begun. 

Much had been accomplished going into the 3rd year of the 5 Year plan.  The formation of an iconic tennis brand, one that stood for excellence, one that stood for endurance, one that stood for slamming grand slam doors.  A logo that inspired, that popped like an international prism of colors, on all manners of surface, in the mud, on the grass, surrounded by cement.  Hard core.  Wristbands, of course.  The facilitation went fairly well, all contributed, speakers were mostly respected, listeners were mostly attentive, ideas were made better, tangents were plentiful and helpful.  Evidently notes were taken, but here is my recollection of each individual's contribution to the dialogue, in order:

Joe Vita:  Advocated a local approach, with a merchandising concept, concentrating on wristband fashion and funcuality.  Argle styles, a smaller size for women, move some product, get some revenue on the books, relationships.  AJ, an expert in tennis shop economics, supported the idea heartily.  He highlighted the per square foot value of the sales opportunity, specialized.  Shop owners had nothing to lose, he thought their capitalistic thoughts.  A very practical and controllable idea.  Keck was jumping at the bit, his idea was an expansion on Joe's.  He went next.

Keck:  With much hand gesturing and excitement, Keck explained his kit idea.  A box of some sort, shorter than a shoe box, each containing wristbands, socks, a shirt, shorts, and a bandana.  The Collezione Vantaggio, as it was later named.  Ambitious stuff from Keck, despite my doubts of feasibility and conclusion that it was a couple of years away.  Truth is, Vantaggio socks, shorts, and bandanas don't even exist yet, but it was the branding Holy Grail, the nirvana of our vision, beyond the horizon.  Keck, always ahead of the curve.  Consider the current trend of vintage tennis.  He was there 7 years prior.

BV:  When Bill spoke he spoke with undeniable authority.  He immediately declared a need to raise $5 million dollars.  Completely surprised I asked, "From who?"  Wine spilled from my glass.  "Investors!" he answered.  Immediately, the stakes were raised.  He agreed to be COO, with Joe and Keck continuing as Co-CEOs.  He will facilitate 4th Tuesday Business Review meetings.  4TBRs.  Quarterly meetings are irrelevant in today's world.  Winners have monthly meetings.  We all agreed.  AJ added "Ask for 5, get 2." and liked the boldness of BV's contributions.  For my part, I was named CMO, Chief Media Officer.

jpg:  I went next and immediately expressed my intention to continue with my tennis writings and journalistic pursuits.  The publication of The Fantastic Formalities Of Tennis had been a triple sub culture smash hit, but it needed some marketing juice and it seemed more of a beginning than an ending.  Observing never goes away.  It will be written down with process and persistence.  Word.  Also, as I already set into motion, my idea of Bandana Thursday at the Houston Clay Court Championships in early April was enthusiastically endorsed by all.  Guerrilla style interpersonal tactics seemed best, although there remains sensitivity to ruffling any River Oaks feathers.  The Vantaggio Bandana Happy Hour will become legendary.  Thanks, Amos.  We'll have to stay two nights.

AJ:  Approaching 10,000 listeners of his At The Net Podcast, AJ's influence on the emerging tennis culture is indeniable.  Former hiting partner of Yannick Noah, custom tennis racquet constructor, and broadcasting academic, his words were heard intently, his ideas were influential, his blessings and approvals were secretly craved.  He was gracious, he was inclusive, his knowledge was on full display.  His stories careened, his life was full of notoriety and accomplishments.  His star was still rising, he was convinced of the Vantaggio promise and potential.  He was a connector, a collaboratore.  We ordered more wine.

From there we finished up at the bar talking of travels and deals to come.  AJ amazed us with his impersonations, his Nick, his Nadal, his Novak.  A night of wine and song, of hope for the future, of toasting acoustics.  Impending appearances, planned sales calls, trade shows, social media strategies, groovy drills, and the 2020 tennis season.  Another ride on the Vantaggio side, down the T with extra pace.