TOBE WAZOO

I would like a list of the top ten jackasses responsible for fucking up the weather here lately. Those that are small enough in stature or too old to fight back, I will whup like a roustabout with a Napoleon complex working over a circus monkey. If God, Mother Nature, or even a prominent Secular Humanist makes the list (and falls into the acceptable opponent category) I will whup him or her mercilessly. My whole January was ruined by wet weather, high winds, and occasional freezes. This is the Rio Grande Valley, mind you, where middle income Minnesotans come to sunbathe in the winter. They bring their bikinis and speedos, and leave the overcoats in Minneapolis. Whether it’s Global Warming, the Wrath of God, or Just One of Those Things, it’s ruining the sunset years for me. I deserve peaceful pleasant sunset years before transmigrating to wherever an imaginary friend goes.

If Dick Cheney were told he would be spending his sunset years in a trailer park in Mission, Texas – he knows the area because he shot somebody near here recently – he would spend all his ill-gotten Halliburton booty on plugging the holes in the ozone layer and disabling every fossil fuel driven contraption on the planet. Likewise, the president would divest himself of oil and gas assets, put on a thinking cap with a propeller, and start building windmills.

This is bullshit. I’ve decided to quit arguing over who or what is responsible, and start using “extraordinary rendition”, the nifty new CIA tool, to get to the bottom of things. I’ll nab Mother Nature and whoever the hell else is on the fucking up my sunset years top ten list; stash them in a double wide in Donna, Texas. Then, I’ll run them through week long ear rattling washer/dryer cycles; make them watch reruns of Dr. Phil and Oprah; and dare them to play golf in icy drizzle and 40mph winds. Even if I’m not getting reliable information, at least I’m distracted, and getting a government engineered opportunity to vent frustration.

So as we careen towards the midterm elections, I come out of retirement to comment on the affairs of state . . . the state of affairs . . . the hairy fare we’re going to have to eat, roasted or raw when the month of Thanksgiving comes to town again.

What about immigration? U.S. Attorney General Albert Gonzalez recently announced that he didn’t expect any immigration reform legislation coming from Congress before the midterm elections. What a surprise.

Kinky Freidman was asked by a Dallas Morning News Reporter, “Are you sticking by your idea of paying Mexican generals to keep would-be illegals on their side of the border?” He answered, “No. The Mexican government must step up to the plate. Mexico is a rich country, and they should pay their fair share. My immigration policy is `Remember the Alamo`.” It’s a non-sequitur, but perhaps aptly aimed.

Kinky also said, "I was for Bush in 2004. He's a good man trapped in a Republican's body." This is either the funniest quip yet from Kinky, or proof in support of a conspiracy theory about all participants in Bob Dylan’s Rolling Thunder Revue Tour. They were kidnapped and rewired by brain police who eventually developed Dan Quayle and –yep – George W. (Also note BD interview in recent Rolling Stone). Paul is dead, and JFK was the only unarmed biped in Dealey Plaza. Since Rick Perry is a later model produced by the same crew, this year’s Texas Guv Match may be the 1st Battle of the Inanedroids.

Speaking of Immigration, Charles Bowden, a veteran of the entry without inspection experience recently wrote of undocumented immigrants that “We either find a way to make their world better or they will come to our better world”, Exodus, Mother Jones, Sep.-Oct. 2006. Pithy observation (not), but where’s the clue to the map?

A friend’s mother lives in México. She is eighty plus years old and has had a dozen wrecks driving back and forth across the border. She has yet to target a bus or family filled sedan, but the odds are in favor of such an encounter eventually occurring. I think Congress might better serve its constituents by first addressing the danger of her motorized legal entries into the U.S. rather than those illegal attempts by pedestrians. But, perhaps I miscalculate.

I’ve been thinking about this offering for weeks. The old geezer, the two bit lawyer, washed up songwriter; he had a defining moment a few weeks ago. He got hurt, and maybe it was my fault that he got hurt. He was acting stupid. I was egging him on. That has been one of my central roles in our relationship, pushing him to excess. This latest episode didn’t give me the wicked satisfaction that all the others have. So, I’ve been thinking that – if it’s no fun anymore to push or trick the old fart into acting a fool – perhaps I should adjust my sense of self and the nature of our relationship. Maybe I should hang up the clown shoes entirely, put away the bunny ears, and take the rubber off my head. Maybe it’s time to quit trying to turn everything into a joke.

So there was this priest, the president of the United States, and a farmer’s daughter in the last spaceship to leave planet Earth . . .
You can interchange the characters and roles as you please.

I’m taking back what I said about Kris Kristofferson being an idiot. He may or may not be, but shouldn’t be judged so based on the criteria I have applied. As a matter of opinion, I believe he is an awful actor who has been in some god awful movies. However, I checked a filmography. He’s also been in a few good ones. But, he was awful in those.

He has written a lot of songs. Some of them are professionally crafted, and include catchy hooks. “Why Me, Lord” is not one of those. Also, if he had been denied the timing and faculty to pen “Sunday Morning Coming Down”, I feel the world would not have been deprived of anything notable. “Me and Bobby McGee” is a pretty good song, but there are days when I wish that Janis Joplin would have died before recording it. She sang it better than Kris Kristofferson, but inspired a maddening assault from relentlessly shitty imitators. Similarly, I some days wish that Chris Smither had been killed before he wrote “Love Me Like a Man”.

These are not generous thoughts. They come to mind in moments of suffering and resentment. When on the road and looking for saloons that give a decent pour, I have been ambushed – mid whiskey – by toxic renditions of these songs. Don’t go in the bar if the sign out front says “Tonite Open Mike” or “Blue Monday Jam ”. Then, a brief hatred surges in me. Uncivilized observations emerge about what the world would be better off without. Maybe Kris Kristofferson can’t be held fully accountable for the pain that “Me and Bobby McGee” has caused. He just wrote the song. On the other hand, being a Rhodes Scholar, he might have known better.

I’m not inclined to change my opinion of Kinky Friedman. Bad acting strikes me as silly, but not a threat to the public’s general welfare. A show biz personality assing around in politics usually causes trouble that can’t be avoided by just choosing not to watch. Kinky Friedman hasn’t said or done anything recently to persuade me that he is an exception.

I've been away for a while. Wish it had been longer. There are portions of rapture dished out on the high seas that never even get cooked up on dry land. A sailor who's a jogger is going to be conflicted much of the time. And, cable TV is out of the question when the sloop is on a port tack in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico. But, with a head full of boat drinks, one comes to love the sound of accordion or harmonica noodling. One might even hum along. But, boats and storms are fleeting. The 2006 Texas governor's race is forever. So, back to Kinky. He's lost my vote.

Why? He sounds like an idiot on the issue of border security and immigration. Maybe no more idiotic than the Minutemen, Dubya Bush, and Bill O'Reilly. But, hey, it's like saying the baby sitter's no worse than Michael Jackson. Check out these excerpts from interviews with the candidate:

Calling it the “Five Mexican Generals” plan, he said he would divide the Texas border into five sections and appoint a Mexican general to be in charge of each section.

Friedman said he would give each general $1 million to start with and reduce that sum by $5,000 each time an illegal immigrant crossed the border. “It’s cowboy logic,” he told the audience of about 200 people. “It’s common sense.” The Uvalde Leader-News
Sunday, 26 June 2005

All right. Now we just had a discussion on the border and the chaotic immigration. And you're in Texas, you're the governor, what do you do about the border?
FRIEDMAN: Well, my plan is to bring back like the Bracero Program (search) from 1944 that ran for 20 years where the Mexican government vets these people. I mean, they pay for it, and they get green cards, and they're actually legitimate. And then seal the border.
O'REILLY: Do you trust the Mexicans to do that?
FRIEDMAN: Well, we -- it would probably have -- it would be both sides, 679 miles-- fair to both sides. Definitely I would seal the border by bringing in the -- I think you're basically right about that.
O'REILLY: The National Guard.
FRIEDMAN: Bring in the National Guard, the Texas Rangers (search), the entire Polish Army, whatever it takes.
O'REILLY: Well, you could -- as Governor Friedman, you can call the Guard out and you can put the Guard right behind the federal Border Patrol. Arnold Schwarzenegger could do that tomorrow if he so desired.
FRIEDMAN: And I want them to help. I mean, good fences...
O'REILLY: Absolutely. That's what they're there for.
FRIEDMAN: ...Good fences make good neighbors, and, Mr. Fox, help us build that fence.
O'REILLY: Well, don't count on help from Mr. Fox because he's getting so much money from this illegal immigration back there.
FRIEDMAN: That's true.
O'REILLY: That's the scam. And don't count on the Mexican government vetting anybody because you can buy anything in Mexico, as you know, including a Green Card. All right, but you've got half of a good idea there, all right. And it was spiritual. I like that.
Now, when you take this on, are you going to attack the governor? Are you going to go in there and carve him up, or are you going to be spiritual in that? The O’Reilly Factor March 15, 2005

McDonald: I’ve got to ask you about immigration and the border.
Friedman: I’m conflicted about that one. I’m looking into it more. I’m just going to have to say "Read my lips: I Don’t Know Right Now." George W. has the same problem. I think he’s awfully conflicted about it. I think what I can do, immediately, is shine a light into the darkness of criminal justice and education.
Interview with Craig McDonald

Yep. He's an idiot. The Bracero program is universally recognized as a wholesale boondoggle that exploited poor immigrants mercilessly. Mexican farmworkers were screwed out of millions -maybe billions- of dollars. Kinky sounds right at home with Bill O'Reilly. He and Kris Kristofferson are living proof that one can be a hell of a songwriter and a pretty durn good C&W act and still be an idiot.

To be effective, a governor doesn't need to be witty and irreverent so much as he or she needs to be goodhearted and relentlessly anal-retentive. It would be refreshing to hear that the governor is a Kinky Friedman fan, but disturbing to hear that the governor is Kinky Friedman.

But now I must away to the marina, to hob nob with other ephemeral sea-faring imaginary friends.

Believers - that's what they are - put forth an argument for intelligent design similiar to one in a story I used to hear around this time of year. Hoping that Santa has been good to her, a child looks out her bedroom window on Christmas morning and exclaims, "There's so much shit in the yard, my pony must be around here somewhere!" Maybe so, maybe not. It is deductive reasoning, but not quite science.

So, after two months of waiting, I never heard nothing from the gubernatorial candidate. So, I guess not. It won't be happening. I'm stuck with b-jax, the maudlin lawyer. In the meantime, President George II has stirred the muck a little. A quote recently attributed to him in an article that is the featured link for now: The United States Constitution is "just a goddamn piece of paper". It's tough to joke about. It's almost as funny as Lousiana representative Richard Baker's comment about Hurricane Katrina, "We finally cleaned up public housing in New Orleans. We couldn't do it, but God did." Topping off the good news in affairs of state is the revelation that the president has been authorizing domestic spying by the National Security Agency without any application for judicial approval - warrantless interception of phone calls and email. Nixon was forced to resign partly due to his efforts to cover up simliar practices during his presidency. His mistake may have been to bother with denial. He should have bragged about bugging and burglarizing. That seems to be Bush's tack on this one. "Yeah, I did it. And, I'm gonna do it some more." It's the Oliver North angle. Wax patriotic. Tell Congress and the public to kiss your ass. Drift onto the lecture circuit and cable TV.

The cracker tried to keep Rosa Parks in the back of the bus. The new world order invited her to the front, gave her a big hug, tripled the fare, and cut out the bus driver's benefits and overtime pay.

Two political angles that seem to work lately: "Yeah, you need a rapin'. It's a charcter builder and for your own good. Here's a cookie." And, "Sure, I'm giving them a beatin'. It's so that you don't have to take one later. Besides, it's a character builder, and for their own good. Here's a cookie."

"Well, with one hand pickin' your pocket; one rubbin' your lover's behind. I am the anointed custodian of your welfare and the sanctified wine." Don't You Know You Need Protection by TB Wazoo and the Elected Officials

I was recently escorted out of a cocktail party after trying to recruit guests to arm themselves and go up into the hills. The host later said that he had me extradited, uh . . . excavated . . .thrown out . . . because I kept breaking into his secret stash of designer tequilas that hadn't been set out for the dining and dancing pleasure of the common partygoer. Some people have a nose for things. I have the ears. I can hear fine spirits singing, even from a great distance, and even when their song is camouflaged by loud hi-fi caterwauling (even C&W or Hip Hop). Even when watching a baseball game that interests me on a big screen TV with bone penetrating surround sound, I can hear the beckoning cadence of a tasty single malt scotch or lovingly distilled bootleg mezcal. As Miles Davis once said to Bonnie Raitt, "It's my thing." But, I digress.

I'm sure I was booted from the gathering of left leaning civilians because I was getting a little scary and fucking with their buzz.This doesn't offend me. I have kicked myself out of a few of my own parties for doing just that. But, the train of thought carries one to the crossing where "serious as a heart attack" intersects with "just kidding", and standing at the X-O crossover is Kinky Friedman, a man of several talents, one hat and a cigar; Kinky Friedman is seriously running for governor of Texas. If he gets elected, I want to be his imaginary friend.

My roots spring from a little schoolyard ditty that bastardized the Beverly Hillbillies TV show theme, "Let me tell you a story about a man named Jed. Poor motherfucker wore a rubber on his head." That's from what the idea of me got started. An amalgamation erupted from that bit and other 1950's TV vagaries, cartoons, and variety shows.

I'm a little younger than Kinky, but I like cigars and demonstrative headgear. Right now, I'm the imaginary friend of a fellow, another musician. But, this guy never finished any rock & roll race in the money and eventually wandered off the track. I've kept him dancing in dreams for a while, but he's grown up now, and no longer needs an imaginary friend. I've read that Kinky Friedman has pets and sidekicks, compadres and cohorts. I'm betting that he needs an imaginary friend. I know for a fact that having an imaginary friend is good in politics. It helped Bill Clinton. Didn't do much for Gary Hart, though.

So, the chisme circulating is that Kinky Friedman really wants to be governor, is seriously running, and is accumulating a no shit out to win staff of campaign hoo haws. So is he serious enough to take on an imaginary friend? An imaginary friend is like a condom in the candidate's wallet, just having it in there makes a visible impression. The gender of the candidate and other factors might obscure the analogy, but I digress.

This is my song, my gauntlet, my apaloosa and my fugue. Let me be the wind that gives ambience to the whispers regarding your sanity, Kinky; let me be your friend. "Take me on", the catchy little pop tune goes. Come on, sing it with me for the children, "Doo De Wop".

Tuesday, August 23, 2005

The consideration of the concept of self seems to be essential to the practice of both organized and disorganized religion, and so Shakespeare once said about me, “Tobe, are you really in there, or is somebody just shitting me?”

I was not the right person to answer that question then, and am no better equipped to take a swing at the pill right now.

So, is it me or is it BASF (who doesn’t make me but just makes me better looking)? I don’t know, although according to the teachings of the illuminati with whom I am affiliated (as best I can tell) I do know but just don’t KNOW that I know. So, I’m trying to find out. But, not trying too hard, because that’s another tenet of the faith to which I subscribe: try too hard and you’ll just make it worse. It’s the spiritual equivalent of scratching too much when it itches. I mean, scratching in public like a professional athlete is okay if you just tug and pinch nonchalantly and strike a pose, but really getting committed like you’re working with a weed hoe is bad form. But, I digress.

This is my song, my moment of liberating confession, my whoopee, my heart bared, my self unmasked, and my job if I catch on.

So, my best to the world, and Ooooo La Oooowee!

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