Infowars.com quotes Dr. Hunter S. Thompson Jr. in comment #5: "We have become a Nazi monster in the eyes of the whole world -- a nation of bullies and bastards who would rather kill than live peacefully."
"Of course both Mitch & Jeffrey are right on," writes Post blogger dankinney in comment #4. "If I lived in Redstone however, I would insist upon the county providing some sort of service. It 's just flat out unfair for Redstone to pay anything for absolutely no service at all!
Even if it were just 3 or 4 runs per day. The county has a moral obligation to connect the geographically separated parts of the county to the rest of itself. For us in Woody Creek, we get a few runs in the morning once per hour then several in the evening again but only during the 'season.' We get absolutely zilch during the day & the 'off season.'"
When I am at work I listen to Sirius satellite radio on my computer. I have a subscription to Sirius because Jimmy Buffett has his very own channel, Radio Margaritaville.Not all my co-workers fully appreciate Buffett, and since I work inside City Hall for the Police Department, the Chief wants me to keep some slight resemblance of professionalism for the public whom we protect and serve, who wander up to the counter with a question or a complaint. I guess Toots and the Maytals singing I Shall Be Free might not be the best song someone hears when they’re asking why their brother was just arrested.
So I keep the station tuned to one of two channels: Spa and Watercolors. I have it playing on my computer at a very low volume. Most of the time no one is aware that there is music playing at all. Now and then you might hear a flute tune by R. Carlos Nakai or some soft piano touches. Some could classify what I listen to during the day as elevator music, except we have an elevator and there is no music playing in it. To me, elevator music is that distinct lame attempt at taking a perfectly good song originally sung by Fleetwood Mac and turning it into an instrumental with musicians who once played in Lawrence Welk’s band. That kind of music should be illegal to reproduce in any form.
We were decorating our office for Christmas two weeks ago. I searched through the channel listings on Sirius looking for some Christmas music. I couldn’t find a channel that featured all Christmas music. I ended up tuning back to the Watercolors channel.
Watercolors is described as “cool grooves and jazzy vocals blend into a lush audio landscape.” It could fall into the category of New Age. Spa, on the other hand, is a channel with “sounds for the mind and soul”; otherwise known also as New Age, with an occasional song by Sarah McLachlan or Simon and Garfunkle tossed in.
What I really want to listen to is an all-Beatles station. Can you believe there isn’t one? I understand that Sirius and XM radio have recently combined forces, for the most part. Maybe XM has an all-Beatles channel, but if so, then why hasn’t it blended over into the Sirius list? I mean, if Elvis and AC/DC and Bruce Springsteen have their own channels, why not the Beatles? Sinatra has his own channel. The Grateful Dead, Willie Nelson and BB King have their own channels.
There is one channel called The Bridge. It features a limited engagement of various artists. Led Zepplin is their current choice. They had Neil Diamond several months ago. I never pay attention to which artist the channel is featuring, since I don’t do much channel surfing. It’s a lot like cable TV: hundreds of channels, but only half a dozen worth tuning to.
But AC/DC -- 24/7? Seriously? Yet no Beatles? Siriusly?? Come on. I’m not even going to get into the Howard Stern channel or Martha Stewart’s own channel. I suppose they both have their avid followers, but what the hell does Martha Stewart have to talk about 24 hours a day? I want to hear the Beatles, dammit!
A few years back Ric Rock, a bartender at the Woody Creek Tavern, declared every Tuesday ‘Beatles Day.’ Some of us would bring CDs in for him to play. We had some rare live recordings or studio cuts to listen to. We’d sit at the bar and sing along. Someone would walk in and make a comment about whatever Beatles song was playing, and how long it had been since they heard that song. We would always say, “You can’t go wrong with the Beatles.” I hope someday someone at Sirius will realize that.
There aren’t many times when I miss Woody Creek, or Colorado for that matter. But the times I do wish I was there happen in the fall when the leaves are dropping from the trees, flying through the air and covering the back roads to Maroon Bells or Ashcroft. A very peaceful feeling comes over me when I am the only driver on an orange and golden pathway that flares up behind me in my rear view mirror. It’s almost magical.
Then there is Christmas in the Rockies. For 22 years, there has been no other song that meant more to me at this time of year than “Colorado Christmas.” It was written by the late Steve Goodman and made popular by the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band’s recording, with Emmylou Harris adding her touch to the background vocals. The song was the perfect soundtrack of my life back in 1986.
I was living with my husband in Southern California, impatiently waiting for the summer of 1987, when we could move to our new home in Steamboat Springs, Colorado. Our property awaited us for the log home we were planning to build. Our neighbors in Steamboat, who owned the property below us, were former co-workers of mine. They both left that hell known as Southern California two years prior and were living the life ‘happily ever after’ in Colorado. I could hardly wait to make the move.
My friends in Steamboat sent us a very personal Christmas present. They knew exactly how I felt, trapped in California, longing so much to be in the mountains. They knew what it felt like to wait, counting down the months and days, the way a prisoner chalks off the days until his release.
This present was wrapped in blue paper with white snowflakes designed to scatter across the paper. It was a small package; about the size of a cassette tape. I learned something new about my friends that Christmas. Music meant almost as much to them as it does to me. What they had chosen as their gift to us was a homemade bootleg tape of their favorite “Colorado” songs. I popped the tape into my stereo tape deck and those first few guitar chords of “Colorado Christmas” began to play. I had never heard the song before, but I knew right away it was the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band; the lead voice was unmistakable.
“Lookin' out the window of this Hollywood hotel
You'd never know that it was Christmas Eve
The billboards and the neon took the place of silver bells
And the temperature is eighty-four degrees.”
Oh, how true that was! I hated California. I hated the crowds. I hated the traffic. I hated the weather. I hated the smog. I hated everything about living in Southern California. I had no Christmas spirit.
“But all along the Rockies you can feel it in the air
From Telluride to Boulder down below
The closest thing to Heaven on this planet anywhere
Is a quiet Christmas morning in the Colorado snow.”
This verse did me in. Tears ran down my face and there wasn’t a thing I could do to stop them. It was Christmas morning in Burbank, California and I wanted to be in Steamboat. I wanted my mountains, the snow, the pine trees and aspens. I wanted my Colorado and there were no airline tickets under my Christmas tree that morning.
“But now the sun is setting in the California sky
And I can't find the spirit anywhere
So I think it's time for me to tell Los Angeles goodbye
I'm going back home to look for Christmas there.”
The song became my anthem for the next seven months. I played it for everyone who would listen. I recited the lyrics to people who wanted to know if I would miss California at all.
Since that Christmas Day in 1986, that song was my favorite, with more special and personal meaning to me than anyone I knew could understand. I wish I could have met Steve Goodman to thank him and tell him what a profound song he had written. Maybe I should have told the guys in Nitty Gritty, but I never did. I haven’t been able to listen to the song for three years now, for more reasons than can or should ever be explained in a blog. I no longer have a favorite Christmas song. I might be too old to even need one now.
Even though I do have a few occasional days of snow here on the Oregon Coast, my snowmen are made of sand now. My sandman holds a surfboard instead of a snow shovel. He wears a grass skirt and sunglasses.
Tonight I will be on a boat decorated from bow to stern with Christmas lights. We will form a parade in Yaquina Bay after dark. I’m right where I’m supposed to be.
While I have no regrets of leaving, there are still times when I miss Woody Creek, and Colorado in general. I’m glad they only happen a few days out of the 365 each year. I can happily live with that.
The Con Man welcomes William McKeen, the professor of journalism at the University of Florida at Gainesville, who has just completed his second book on Dr. Hunter S. Thompson Jr., "Outlaw Journalist: The Life and Times of Hunter S. Thompson." Among the questions asked: was he destroyed by drugs and alcohol--or celebrity? And what's his place in the pantheon of American writers?
There is something about the name Cape Foulweather that fascinates me. My mind races with thoughts ranging from the history of the area and wanting to know the facts, to images of a full length feature film of mystery and suspense starring Robert DeNiro, Al Pacino and Jack Nicholson. I wish there was an actual town of Cape Foulweather. I would consider renting a house there while I wait to purchase my sloop or ketch.
The name itself, Cape Foulweather, doesn’t bring the idea of a warm sunny day to the average tourist. The truth is that Captain James Cook discovered and named the Point in 1778 when he first sighted the mainland of North America on the Oregon Coast, and one of the sudden fierce storms, which greeted his arrival, almost put an end to his historical expedition. Captain Cook never set foot on land at Cape Foulweather and couldn’t wait for the storm to pass so he could set sail again and leave this area. I have just the opposite draw to Cape Foulweather, even if there are winds up to 100 mph a few times each year.
I leaped at the opportunity to sail to the Point after we scrapped the idea of our Wednesday Night Regatta in Yaquina Bay in Newport, Oregon when there wasn’t even the slightest hope of a breeze strong enough to fill the sails for us to race. We placed our bets on the wind currents out at sea, as unpredictable as they always are, once we left the bay under power and raised the sails heading north a few miles to Cape Foulweather. The sea was as flat as I have ever seen it. Barely a ripple slapped against the boat. We were under power while we tried to catch some wind. Finally a whisper of wind became just strong enough for us to cut the engine and use full sails. It was slow going and unusually quiet. Seagulls were passing us the way a Lamborghini zips past a Geo Metro with an 8 watt blow dryer motor.
It was a short trip, even at our slow pace, but it was enough time spent on the sea to remind me that I don’t really care much about regattas and racing as much as I do spending quiet time in reverie on the sailboat. Since 1965 I have had my share of fast cars. But that’s another story for another blog. Boats are in a different category for me when it comes to speed and purpose.
Maybe it’s the fact that I’m older, wiser, and no longer in a hurry for my days to pass by quickly. Time seems to stand still when I’m sailing. I forget that there is already an influx of tourist traffic on Hwy 101. I don’t think about how long it takes me to drive home from Newport to Lincoln City. The sun doesn’t set until after 9pm here in the Pacific Northwest. It isn’t dark until well after 10pm, so my days are longer and my nights are very short. I don’t get much sleep and I can use all the siesta time kicking back on the boat, listening to a sail flap when it loses its wind now and then, and I have to do some quick tacking to avoid turning the engine back on.
One of my co-workers who has been sailing for over 25 years here told me he became a little bored with sailing. He said, “What can you do? You leave the bay, you go straight for a little while, then you either turn left or turn right. There’s nowhere to go.” I reminded him that it’s not the destination that matters. It’s the journey. Even if that journey only takes you a few miles to the left or the right. It’s a journey filled with valuable time that rejuvenates the heart and soul of expatriated Woody Creek dreamers like me.
Aspen Community Theatre is offering a free dance workshop hosted by Marisa Post, the director and choreographer for Aspen Community Theatre’s fall musical, Chicago. Synonymous with the show Chicago is the name of its brilliant director and choreographer Bob Fosse. Highly stylized, this dance class will explore the essential ingredients in the choreography of Fosse, including his dance roots in vaudeville, burlesque and jazz. The workshop will include a film history of vaudeville and burlesque, a session on how to follow choreography, culminating in a dance class designed to pull it all together. This class is perfect for actors, singers and dancers of all experience levels.
A new house cannot be built where an old one remains. The old house may be rotting, crumbling, a hazard to its occupants, but until it is brought down completely, and the debris cleared away, a new abode can not be built in its place.
This is why I support John McCain for president. There is no doubt that he will continue the disastrous policies and practices of the current administration. Indeed, many of his staff and advisors will be the very same architects of the old crumbling house we all now find ourselves living in.
Here's some interesting cockpit footage of a Learjet 60 coming into Sardy Field. Listen early on as the flight computer starts barking "Pull Up" as the jet drops over what must be Triangle Peak.
Wednesday, November 14th is Family Night for ACT’s fall production, “She Loves Me.” Treat your family, friends, and sweethearts to a wonderful night of music, comedy and dance. Reduced ticket prices for Family Night are $16 for adults and $12 for children (12 and under.) The show starts at 7 pm.
This romantic musical premiered on Broadway in 1963 with music by Jerry Bock and lyrics by Sheldon Harrick, the songwriting team behind "Fiddler on the Roof." The story centers on Georg and Amalia, two feuding shop workers who are unaware that they are romantic pen pals.
Performances will be held at the Wheeler Opera House November 14 – 17 at 7 pm. Tickets can be purchased at Aspen Show Tickets – 920-5770 – www.aspenshowtickets.com
Local actors Bryan Gonzales and Jennetta Howell join Michael Conniff on KNFO’s Con Games Monday, November 5th to talk about ACT’s Fall Production of “She Loves Me.”
Bryan plays Kodaly, a dashing clerk who woos his lovely co-worker, Ilona (Jennetta) then does her wrong. Jack Cassidy won the Tony for best supporting actor in a musical in this role in 1964.
When I am at work I listen to Sirius satellite radio on my computer. I have a subscription to Sirius because Jimmy Buffett has his very own channel, Radio Margaritaville.Not all my co-workers fully appreciate Buffett, and since I work inside City Hall for the Police Department, the Chief wants me to keep some slight resemblance of professionalism for the public whom we protect and serve, who wander up to the counter with a question or a complaint. I guess Toots and the Maytals singing I Shall Be Free might not be the best song someone hears when they’re asking why their brother was just arrested.
There aren’t many times when I miss Woody Creek, or Colorado for that matter. But the times I do wish I was there happen in the fall when the leaves are dropping from the trees, flying through the air and covering the back roads to Maroon Bells or Ashcroft. 
A very peaceful feeling comes over me when I am the only driver on an orange and golden pathway that flares up behind me in my rear view mirror. It’s almost magical. 
There is something about the name Cape Foulweather that fascinates me. My mind races with thoughts ranging from the history of the area and wanting to know the facts, to images of a full length feature film of mystery and suspense starring Robert DeNiro, Al Pacino and Jack Nicholson. I wish there was an actual town of Cape Foulweather. I would consider renting a house there while I wait to purchase my sloop or ketch.
I leaped at the opportunity to sail to the Point after we scrapped the idea of our Wednesday Night Regatta in Yaquina Bay in Newport, Oregon when there wasn’t even the slightest hope of a breeze strong enough to fill the sails for us to race. We placed our bets on the wind currents out at sea, as unpredictable as they always are, once we left the bay under power and raised the sails heading north a few miles to Cape Foulweather. The sea was as flat as I have ever seen it. Barely a ripple slapped against the boat. We were under power while we tried to catch some wind. Finally a whisper of wind became just strong enough for us to cut the engine and use full sails. It was slow going and unusually quiet. Seagulls were passing us the way a Lamborghini zips past a Geo Metro with an 8 watt blow dryer motor.
