Sagauro NP West (Tucson)

What? Where? When? (PHOTO)

New short story intro

“I see myself as a character of William Faulkner. I have those kind of crazies. Not quite Christ-crazies like in “The Fable,” but maybe some Vardman Bundren crazies. I talk in that antiquated dialect at times, like my daddy did and his Pappy certainly did. But I am a product of the same times. I certainly peaked the year he died.

Daddy’s pappy lost an arm in his south Mississippi saw mill. Then he became a model. Pappy T. sat stoically for painters. I have a picture of Pappy that once hung in an art museum in New York City - hangs in my house right now. He – old Pappy - made enough money to raise ten children and send two nephews to medical school in Chicago. One of the nephew-doctors even signed Hank Williams’ birth certificate! Or was it Hank William’s death certificate? I forget.

Back to Faulkner, if you will. I worked with Mr. Faulkner in about 1958 restoring his small sailing sloop (the “Ring Dove”). We had it in dry dock in his yard, near the brick barn behind the big house – which he had always called ”Rowan Oak.” I said, “Mr. Faulkner, why don’t you just call it “Roanoke” like the town in Virginny? And he said “Don’t you worry about Virginny, ‘cause I’m going there” or something to that effect, and he did.

So we got that damned boat finished finally. By that time I was chewing cloves like Mr. Faulkner’s “Uncle Maury” ‘cause I was drinking a lot of liquor with him and his buddy Mr. Shelby Foote. I was actually drunk when we launched the boat. So was Bill (Mr. Faulkner). So was the old black man who watched and asked Mr. Faulkner, “Aint’s you the one who wrote that book?”

Jerks on the Loose (redneck, hillbilly a-holes): Photos

The stream in the Pisgah National Forest (today) - pristine, gin-clear, and icy as a mountain stream should be. It even looks like some of those beer commercials. Buuuusch!



The campsite on the FS-140 road right next to the same spot on the stream:





I picked up all of these assholes' trash and garbage. Enough to fill a large black lawn bag. The stinking bag is in the back of my truck until I can go to the dump.

BTW: I saw a KKK flag flying on US-178 near Rosman, NC, today. I'll try for a pic next time.

Pinyon pine smoke, Sirius' poop, and the DICK named Cheney:

I had an idea to make a fortune: import Pinyon pine chunks to the East Coast. The aromatic qualities of Pinyon pine are exquisite. I associate the smell with wealthy areas in Dallas, Texas. Summer smells, when the rich crank down the A/C and start a fire.

Dick Cheney’s well-fortified home in Highland Park (Euclid Ave) used to billow out high quality Pinyon pine smoke – the best. I know because my dog Sirius absolutely LOVED to poop in Cheney’s yard (‘course he got a Bill-Jac liver treat when he did), so I was there often. Cheney hated me (he growled at me once at the Starbuck’s at Highland Park Village), but all that went back to the Pentagon briefing room in 1991/92 (when I – a Vietnam air combat veteran - pinned him down on some little details on Iraq) and a sticker on my old Porsche 356 that he often saw in our neighborhood (Highland Park) in Dallas.

Anyway, I was skunked by Lowes. This winter Lowes is selling Pinyon pine chunks from New Mexico by the 1 CU FT bag - $9.98 (big bag, actually)! OK. I missed out. But I am now Lowes’ best customer for Pinyon pine. God, I love that smell. Smells like the Cheney home effluent in the richest Zip code in America: 75205 – ca. 1999!

Now, had I worked a bad PJ fire out West (Pinyon-Juniper), I might not like the smell so well. Who knows? But my fireplace now burns a chunk or two of Pinyon every week. Makes the neighbors know I KNOW how important the RIGHT smell is! Right? Or, Left? You be the judge!

Mac

FOR THE NEWBIES: DemoTex (Mac) is a photographer, fire lookout (USFS), and retired airline captain (MD-80 & B-737). DemoTex once worked for Kenny-Boy Lay as a Learjet and Lockheed JetStar-II pilot, and once flew George Bu$h II on said JetStar.