jpaulgorman

  Enjoying this Alpine Monday. Skipped out, got my bills all paid. Seems the edge of America. Mountains and murals and cactus. Fire took out a block downtown. It's blocked off, it'll come back around. Harry's been closed for over a year. Only place I really wanna drink a beer. Golf course looks so serene. But it's closed on Mondays, gotta cut the greens. New wing at the Big Bend Muesem But it's closed on Mondays, my options running thin. Kept raining til the afternoon. When it clears out, gonna drive a loop. Ft. Davis to Mafa and back. A few stops, think I'll pack a backpack. CG DCG

  The West Texas Exiles were back at Viva Big Bend this year with two shows. Railroad Blues in Alpine at 11pm Thursday and The Gage Hotel in Marathon at 2:15pm the following day (A bloody mary gig there ever was one, the Gage is posh.)  I was angling for an interview, these words don't write themselves, besides, I had questions about Charlie, appleseeds, and counting days after their banging 1st show.  Due to streaming their collection of music the previous few days, I was familiar, in the know, and curious. Friday morning came quick, even for a spectating observer, I wondered how the band felt, this is not easy work.  The Gage was packed.  This was gonna be tight, this was going to require a different version of the band.  The Railroad Blues show was what you would expect, the Exiles are experts at late night enders.  They did 3 encores, including Not Fade Away with the lead singer of Two Tons If Steel featuring Trinidad, the drummer, literally vibrating the place, using perfect t

  Black Jack's Crossing Golf Course at Lajitas is the oddest thing, but in a fabulous way, the best of odd.  Thick, lush, grass islands surrounded by harsh, sparse, desert landscape.  Expensive beyond rational reason, but worth every dime.  I was, literally, the only golfer on the course, it was quiet out there, only buzzings and chirpings and hissings and a few echoing vulgarities--missed 3 foot putts are inescapable, even in paradise.  Overall, a boring 83 on the scorecard, no doubles or triples, no birdies, the rest pars and bogies, one penalty stroke, three putted 18. After an impressive supper at the resort's fine restaurant, I headed to Terlingua to catch the Viva Big Bend Music Festival opener at the Starlight Theater.  Dusk was close.  Keegan McInroe, from Ft. Worth, was the headliner.  He'd pulled together some locals and a horn player from Lubbock to form his nameless band.  They were odd, and they were hot. The Starlight Theater is magnificent, bigger than it loo

  It's just higher here.  The highest elevated golf course in Texas is located in Marfa, the Balmorhea pool has a high dive, the landscape between is high, green, rocky, cliffy, and dreamy.  Highway 17 connected the two towns, with Fort Davis in between.  It went through Wild Rose Pass, the "higher pass", used to avoid the floods by native tribes and military regiments.  "Famed for its wealth of wild roses," the historical marker read.   And actual oasis exists in Balmorhea, where locals float, snorkel, and swim in every season.  The temperature of the spring fed water remains between 72-76 degrees year round. It's the largest spring fed pool in the entire world.  The crystal clear water of the San Solomon Springs, also knows as Mescalero Springs, feeds the pool, which includes its own species of fish called Comanche Fish, almost minnow-like, found nowhere else on Earth. After the cool cooldown, I drove to Marfa to play some golf.  It had been a few days and

  Sitting on the hospital patio, I tried to feel what they may have felt, gazing off into the mountain scenes.  Healing, hopefully.  Late 1800's, a far away U.S. military fort, built to patrol and protect the old 600 mile San Antonio-El Paso Road.  Fort Davis, named for Jefferson Davis (Yes, that Jefferson Davis), established in 1854, before the country split over bondage and chains--I'm damn glad the Yanks won, damnit!  Ironically, the Buffalo Soldiers were later stationed here and went on to earn legendary American status. It was no use, though, they didn't have Miles Davis through an ear pod, or an ice cold koozied bottle of Spaten Oktoberfest, or a car ready to cruise back to a comfortable Alpine adobe.  I hadn't seen what they'd seen, I wasn't where they were, I could never feel what they felt.  Time and space move together.  These fort buildings and ruins were just bones, there was no life in them.  This was a museum now, and a good one, worth the $10 buck

  No need for loose plans, they were already ingrained.  My wanderings out to the Hook of Texas seemed hard wired for some reason.  Their own rituals, checklists, hot spots, and views.  Solo this trip out, I missed my daughters everywhere I looked.  They talked the whole way last year, the entire 8 hour drive, the time flew, everything was new to them, the Monahans Sandhills blew them away.  Alone this year, I biked a loop, I ate a quick lunch, I was grateful, I found Revolution Road 1776, and I sped south. But first, a quart of oil for the old, black 2011 Toyota Camry.  A fine, fine automobile.  Air still conditions, roof still moons, seats still bucket.  Bike fits in the back seat.  217k miles seems imminent.   I drove into Alpine late afternoon, clouds were gathering, the sun was whipping them up, the mountains made them swirl, it was glorious.  My spirit jumped, it still had hops, it just missed the competition.  Hiked up Hancock Hill in the early evening, rode over to Alpine Count

  "Nothing to see, nothing to hear, nothing to say.  We got it figured, though, there wasn't any fish smell within the entire interior perimeter.  It was all on the up and up, just your typical, everyday, goober boy taking shots from a sloped roof.  To anticipate that scenario is a bridge too far, who could predict the future.  We're only humans, theys, thems, and thats." To defend the conclusions, they took no questions.  "How dare you question the conclusions.  These things matter, we're doing investigations and we can't comment on investigations as we're doing them.  Don't you see, don't you hear what I say?"  To this, I flipped him the bird, I was there for answers. The press room was a mess, it was built for mourning, we weren't supposed to be thanking God.  But we mourn anyway, they're shooting at us now.  The fire chief is dead.  Only the lone shooter knows.  And all the others.

  Break out the drones, this guy just won't go down.  Humiliate him, get his money, call him ugly, sic the agents on him, dish out the dirt, pop a cap through him, he's in Milwaukee the next day.  What we have here is a failure to appreciate.  The final 20% of his life is gonna be exhausting, but you never know.  No one knows. The other team just keeps it coming, mush cycle after mush cycle.  The tater tots are getting crispy.  The emotions in that locker room are whacked.  Some are distraught over the unsuccessful assassination, the unsuccessful assassin's family needs support, too.  They say. What's so sad about peace, love, and understanding?  Peace, that feeling of stillness.  Love, that welling up inside.  Understanding, caring a bit less.  The fun has just begun, the rest of your life awaits.

  Eat right, move around, talk to people, get out and about.  Make the rounds, slap some backs, kiss some cheeks, swoon.  Story time is next, you don't have to talk during story time.  Just listen and nod, don't forget your crooked smile, it makes you look human. Here's your cookie. Nothing to notice here, if you haven't noticed by now, no need.  Dignity only matters to a point, then survival and defense take over.  Tired of taking one for the team.  The intellectuals are the dumb now, the suckers know the answers.  Truth is fleeting. The real doctors will eventually get through and a hero is born.  Left disabled by a decayed brain, he will milk the sympathy to its nub.  His family will gather.  After much thought, prayer, and hand wringing, our President will...  Well, anyway. 

  Approach the old man slowly.  If possible, don't surprise him.  Ignore the smell.  Shake his hand if you want, but I don't.  Eww. Nod approvingly when he mutters.  Laugh when he snickers.  Ignore the spit.  Don't ever ask him a question, never ever.  Got it? Other than those things, everything is normal.  Except his memory and other various thoughts.  Ignore the freeze.  Comes with the territory, tell no one.  Sharp as a tack.

  The scab is off.  Hurts like heck, but we're on our way to wellness.  Amazing the way our collective bodies heal.  Too late now, it's a bleeder, find a band-aid for a few days, take it easy, another smaller scab will appear.  Eventually, this final scab will fall off and our new flesh will take over. The scar will never go away, it's with us 'til the end.  As a reminder.  The original accident, easy to avoid, but predictable, looking back.  As all things are predictable, looking back.  History is for learning lessons and inspiration, nothing more, nothing less. Could've been worse, actually.  The blade just missed a major artery and the vital organs seem intact.  Our eyes are fine, lungs seem to work, gotta heartbeat that can't be beat.  We still have our ways of flushing out the waste, soon we'll save tons of cash on diapers. They are full of shit.