July 2003

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Creuzfeldt-Jakob-Henley syndrome OR Mad Eagle disease...

Filed under: Imported

Steve Rector first heard about it in the coffee room at work. He was putting some squirrel heads into the microwave for lunch, he remembers, when one of the guys mentioned the mad cow disease story in the Owensboro paper. "I figured that if it was really bad, like the bubonic plague, it would be on TV," Rector says. So he started to watch the evening news, scan the local obituaries, and look for signs of strange behavior in local squirrels. Though he never saw or heard anything more, he was spooked enough to lay off brains for the first time in thirty years. But that was last year. Like most of the squirrel hunters I interviewed, he couldn't stay away for long. "I just thought, You gotta die of somethin'," he says. "First it was cigarettes cause cancer, then pesticides, and then the water you drink. But I been eatin' squirrel brains since I was six years old, and I ain't dead yet."

--From Noodling for Flatheads: Moonshine, Monster Catfish and Other Southern Comforts, by Burkhard Bilger

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Apparently the final chapter to Desperados, by John Einarson and Are You Ready for the Country, by Peter Doggett is "Rainy Day Music", by our own beloved Jayhawks. If you're willing to indulge the author in a flight of fancy, dig deep into your record collection; when I first read the above books, like any hillbilly who was alive but still soiling himself, giggling to Bert and Ernie, when the music was originally recorded, I went out and through means both legal and otherwise, augmented my music collection so I could listen along to the authors' theories, stories, and anecdotes. So I got caught in a shit storm of Cosmic Cowboy LA rock, with Bernie Leadon banjo Linda Rondstadt whine Sneaky Pete bent string pedal wah wah madness. You know what I'm talking about; the Byrds, Buffalo Springfield, and Flying Burrito Brothers started this weird hippie doper Cowboy music which David Geffen somehow managed to trade in for a sumptuous estate, more money than God, and a band full of terminal headcases, that all the original members of the scene wanted to kill, called the Eagles.

So anyway, if you imagine the whole thing as a great big layer cake, the top two layers being the hired bullshit and the shallow VH1 "Behind the Scenes" pap, you can lift those off and be left with the music; which, from about 1968 to 1973 was pretty damned good. If you haven't ever done it, I highly encourage you to downl...er, I mean go out and buy the complete early albums of bands like Poco, Pure Prairie League, The Eagles, Dillard & Clark, etc. Just be careful of Timothy B. Schmidt; that fucker ruined everything. But that's another blog.

So anyway, if you're me, Ethan Johns, or Steve Graffunder, you can open your copy of MusicMatch Jukebox and load these songs into your player:
Falling in And Out of Love, Pure Prairie League
Madman, The Jayhawks
Bitter Creek, The Eagles
Tampa to Tulsa, The Jayhawks
A Child's Claim to Fame, Buffalo Springfield
Tailspin, The Jayhawks
You might just shit your pants, or, if you've got more Brittney Spears CD's than you do fishing poles, the whole thing might go right over your head.

So anyway, if you live in Minnesota, you have your own personal suitcase of issues created by any combination of your older brothers' abuse, the long winters, and the lakefront home you don't own yet, that you project onto just about every Jayhawk album you own. On this effort though, in addition to all of that fine Northern kharma, Johns seems to have channeled the old man into an addendum that is both anachronistic and geographically misplaced, yet stunningly effective and sonically beautiful. Bernie Leadon doesn't just play banjo on "Tailspin," his spirit and those of his peers haunts this entire record. Funny, too, it almost all seems completely fortuitous, like Glyn through Ethan plus Gary & Tim, and about 30 years of roots insurgence and State Fair sweet corn, with ghosts like Leadon floating around like Nearly-Headless Nick, converged to make this record.

So anyway, I'm an alt country DJ that's been listening to the Eagles since I was 8 years old and I ain't dead yet.

Posted by Jack Sparks at July 30, 2003 9:20 PM

 

What the #$%& is a gafftopsail catfish?

Filed under: Imported

From the July 23, 2003 Mobile (AL) Register:
By David Rainer
Joseph DeGeer of Irvington failed a polygraph test and has been stripped of the title of master angler from last weekend's Alabama Deep Sea Fishing Rodeo.

"Joseph DeGeer was disqualified because of unfavorable results on the polygraph test," said Andy Cook, president of the Alabama Deep Sea Fishing Rodeo, which attracted more than 3,200 fishermen.

Rodeo policy requires that all first-place jackpot winners and competitors in the winning boats pass a polygraph test. The disqualification will cost DeGeer about $3,000 in prizes.

"I can't figure out what went wrong," DeGeer said. "I don't know why (the poly graph) did it. There was thunder and lightning outside, and I was nervous. That's the first time I've ever had to do something like that.

"I caught my fish legal. But I know that it says on the rodeo ticket that we're subject to the polygraph. That's the reason I'm not going to get a lawyer."

The Alabama Deep Sea Fishing Rodeo began using polygraphs in 1991, Cook said.

The rodeo policy does not provide for a second test to be taken if the first is not passed.

"Also, anyone on the leaderboard is subject to being asked to take a polygraph prior to receiving awards," Cook said. "Charles DeGeer, Joseph DeGeer's nephew, was also disqualified for a rules violation."

Rodeo officials would not elaborate on Charles DeGeer's disqualification, which led to him forfeiting second place in the competition for gafftopsail catfish and third in jack crevalle. Charles DeGeer could not be reached for comment.

---

There are parts of this country where lying about your stringer is a far worse crime than scraping #3 stickers off of rusty Firebirds or fabricating African uranium exports to Middle East dictators. It's important at these times for officials to trump any challenges with statements of blanket familial guilt, too, just to let the suspect know that there are always people watching, even in the choppy hurricane waters of the Gulf, just South of Alabama. This is Bubba Gump Shrimp country. Jenny's 1 through 12 are equipped with high-end Coast Guard surveillance cameras and Lieutenant Dan is omnipresent.

Luckily, when I catch the state record Dogfish, none of these concerns will occupy me. No one will administer a polygraph to a man claiming to have caught the state record of a species known to drink the 40-weight leaking out of a ten year old outboard like it's soda pop; if they do, the questions will center around topics such as lines of sanguinity and the whereabouts of Jimmy Hoffa.

All of this could be relevant to the fact that Pat Green was forced to use studio musicians on his latest release, "Wave on Wave," instead of his normal road band from Texas. The first 5 songs on the disk are just too slick for me after 6 or 10 listens. However, songs 6 thru 13 really bring out the sweat and guts of the Pat we all know and love. I'm really looking forward to his September 7th Show at the Fine Line now. Song 11 on the disk, "Elvis" is a real gem. Kind of a light-hearted look at "The King," which in and of itself can be as lethal as lying about your stringer, drinking your iced tea without sugar, or leaving your hat on anytime someone mentions Bear Bryant.

July has also been "New Chick" month at The Other Side of Country. Always a day late and a dollar short, I got my copy of Eleni Mandell's new disk, "Country for True Lovers" the other day. It's hard to measure the absolute gorgeous quality of sound that's contained in "It's Raining" and "Don't Touch Me." Different songs about different things, but both evoke just a similar wall of color and scenery in me for some reason. I think it's really easy to get lost in her voice and presentation on the good songs. I'd rather see her in an old fashioned Country dancehall, but her August 21st show at The Seventh Street Entry should be very interesting.

Posted by Jack Sparks at July 28, 2003 11:06 PM

 

That time is gone...

Filed under: Imported

So the bar conversation always goes like this...You're on the radio? Yes. What kind of music do you play? Alt Country. What's that? It's the country music influenced by edgy rock like punk. My friend/cousin/girlfriend has an Uncle Tupleo disk, are they alt country? Yes.

So...what of Uncle Tupelo? Shall we bury them or create paperback college readers in praise of them? I mean really, what the fuck? They were probably four years too early or 15 years too late, depending on who you ask. So, what's the point?

Well, here's the point: the striking and meaningful art that can only come from the respect and love of two good friends.

I've been asked before to hold forth on Uncle Tupelo more than once, probably a thousand times more than once. So here goes. I always had a sneaky suspicion where my opinion lay, but it didn't take root until a few months ago. A buddy of mine sent me a boot of a little show that went down on May 1st, 1994. For those of you not in the know, May 1st 1994 was the last official Uncle Tupelo show ever. After 5/1/94, Jay and Jeff said, "Fuck this, I'm outta here." And, that was that. Game over.

Since then, a coupla hundred people have said shit like, "I was there," "I know them both," and "Damn man." All, VERY informative indeed. But, here's the thing. Music is poetry, and friends are friends, and, from everything I've read, everyone knew that was it, so let's examine the "Record."

The last 6 songs Uncle Tupelo ever played together were:
We've been had
Give Back the Key to My Heart
Everybody Knows This is Nowhere
Whiskey Bottle
Looking for a Way Out
Gimme Three Steps

Just throw out "Gimme Three Steps." As near as I can tell, that was Brian Henneman singing and playing anyway. It might as well be classified as a Bottle Rockets song (I might be way off there, shit, I don't know shit about shit). But, examine the last five songs minus "3 Steps."

We've Been Had
flashin their badges
just like the law of averages
nobody likes them
or where they're from
and every star that hides on the back of the bus
is just waitin
for his cover
to be blown

The last four lines of the stanza above are a well documented Jeff Tweedy dig at Jay. But, when you listen to this particular night, there's a kind of emphasis that doesn't appear on the studio record. True, everyone might just be looking for the dig, but, if you give it one, two, or six listens, there's no denying that Jeff is really laying on here.

Give Back the Key to My Heart
well you say i was the one
to blame, for the wrong that's been done
but you've got a friend name cocaine
and to me, he is to blame
he is taken life from your face
he has taken my place

In the studio recording, Jay sings alternate verses with the late Dough Sahm. But on May 1st, Jeff fills in for Doug, and on this particular verse, a strange kind of truthful moment erupts out of the open A's and E's. Jeff's "response" builds, and it has a kind of singular quality. You can imagine Jay either looking right at him, or, just chording it out, staring down at the monitor. Either way, the 2nd voice in this song is one of distance from the accusatory tone of the protagonist. You say it's my fault, but you're no gem either. The danger in imagining something like this is projecting what you think happened onto what really happened; but, if you assume they wanted to cut each others' hearts out at this point, when you hear them sing the chorus of this song together, it's pretty damned sad. Two old friends going opposite directions.

Everybody Knows This is Nowhere
everybody knows
this is nowhere

May 1st, 1994, St. Louis, Missouri, one last show in the hometown. Everybody knows this is nowhere.

Whiskey Bottle
in between the dirt and disgust there must be
some air to breathe
and something to believe
...
not forever
but just
for now

Jay has sung a lot of songs about booze during his career. But it's amazing how booze and destructive relationships can be interchanged. Jay can't see forever, and he doesn't care. Right NOW, 5/1/94, he's looking for a little room.

Looking For a Way Out
There was a time when nothing seemed to make much sense
Now that's turned more intense
And all the crutches you've kept around
Now we're nowhere...

Remember when you didn't have
To look ahead or behind you
There was always something right there to do
But now it's life in some kind of trap
Looking for a way out
We keep moving on that's what it's all about

There was a time
You could put it out of your mind
And leave it all behind
There was a time
And that time...

It would be REALLY interesting to know if Jeff was even playing on this song that night. There are elipses in the lyrics above at points where Jay doesn't finish the words. The romantic in me likes to think he was all choked up, or even better, white hot pissed off and couldn't believe the irony that this was the last song. "...life in some kind of trap/Looking for a way out..."

I know some people who know Jay and Jeff, grew up with them. In moments of wearing rose colored glasses, like any music fan, I've said, "What if?" And those folks have told me, "No way, not now, not ever." The point is, if you're new to alt country, Uncle Tupelo was seminal to the genre. Two best friends from St. Louis took all that roots history and added, melded, and alchemized the Clash, the Scorchers, Springsteen, X, The Smiths, and countless others into a beautiful fusion that was both vital and comfortable, like an old pair of shoes. I've often mused at about 3am on a weekend night that I probably could put together $250 or $500K for Jay and Jeff if they'd just do one more show, or, even better, kicked off the Tupelo reunion tour right here in Minneapolis. But, the thing is, Tupelo belongs where it was; the only way it would be worth two shits is if two old friends woke up one day and realized that while their solo accomplishments were real and meaningful, their collaborations were magical as well, and, they sat down and wrote 10 new songs together.

And what a damned shame that's never gonna happen. Because Jay Farrar and Jeff Tweedy are both talented enough to stick a giant goddamned knife in the back of the bullshit artists who are ruining American roots music right now. But, like Paul and John, Roger and Nick, Lucy and Desi, Abbott and Costello, Jerry and Dean, and Bill and Hillary, they're a little mad at each other right now. In closing, I'll just throw one more supposition at you that has come up with respect to this topic. A fresh faced listener asked me, "how many people do you think would go to an Uncle Tupelo reunion show if there was one?" Well, the first answer is, there will never be one. The second answer is, for shits and giggles, the St. Paul Police last year estimated that 4,000 people would show up for the one-night-only Gear Daddies show on West 7th outside the Xcel Energy Center. Weren't they surprised when 20,000 people just sort of "showed up?"

Posted by Jack Sparks at July 28, 2003 2:38 AM

 

Count the clicks...

Filed under: Imported

A coupla folks have been asking me what my "hot" CD's are right now. That's always kind of a loaded question, because it's so subjective, but I definitely fall in and out of love with CD's over time, and probably get caught playing things to death on the show; but hey, it's my show, so gitcherownshow if you don't like it. Also, I'm gonna be a little prejudiced by things I see locally and national acts that actually take the time to come thru God's Country. Anywho, here's what I would call Dumbass Jack's Top Twenty Alt Country CD's right now:

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1. Decoration Day, Drive By Truckers
2. American IV: The Man Comes Around, Johnny Cash
3. Terroir Blues, Jay Farrar
4. Rainy Day Music, The Jayhawks
5. Balin, Fred Eaglesmith & the Flathead Noodlers
6. Live, Alison Krauss & Union Station
7. Blacklisted, Neko Case
8. Under the Table & Above the Sun, Reckless Kelly
9. ring, Big Ditch Road
10. ...the size of planets, Haley Bonar
11. Freedom's Child, Billy Joe Shaver
12. Live at the Charleston Music Hall, Ricky Skaggs & Kentucky Thunder
13. Bona Fide, The Gibson Brothers
14. The Lawless, Kevin Deal
15. Wallace '48, The Hangdogs
16. Cow Fish Fowl or Pig, The Gourds
17. Hollerin' At a Woodpecker, Ben Weaver
18. Crazy: The Demo Sessions, Willie Nelson
19. One Step Ahead, Rhonda Vincent
20. Cockledoodledon't, The Legendary Shack Shakers

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The thing is, ask me two days from now, and I won't probably be able to do this again in the same order. I think, however, that there are probably 12 to 15 core albums in this list that will consistently be there from week to week. So, maybe what you oughta do is just look at it as 20 CD's that are good right now, and current, and not look at the rankings so much. Or maybe, you just want to jump all over me in an email about what an idiot I am. I accept those as well. Res ipsa loquitur.

Oh and, fuck you Shania.

Posted by Jack Sparks at July 26, 2003 4:26 PM

 

Drivin' that train, high on cocaine...

Filed under: Imported

From Salon.com:
Interviewer: ...But now that I'm older, art can no longer change my life. Every movie or new rock 'n' roll group seems derivative of what I've already experienced...
Coulter: Right. That's why I love the Grateful Dead. You could listen to the same songs at a hundred different Dead shows and it would sound different.
Interviewer: You're a Deadhead!
Coulter: Oh yes.
Interviewer: You've been to different shows?
Coulter: Lots.

---

Someone full of wisdom once said that politics makes strange bedfellows. At first blush, you would think that meant that politicians are willing to hop into bed with anyone as long as it advances them politically. But, what it really means is that politicians and people involved in politics are stupid. Beyond hopping into bed with anyone, they'll also say anything, because there is such a disconnect between them and reality that they simply do not grasp what fools they are.

Case in point, Ann Coulter in this interview with Salon.com published today. A woman who professes virulent conservative opinions, spackled heartily with fundamentalist christian beliefs, and a touch of ol' Joe McCarthy, seems to think it okay to "follow" The Dead. I really can't work myself into a good ol' hillbilly rant on this one because it's so comical, I might die of laughter first. I think if Jerry, and thus the real Dead, were alive today, his first response to that would be, "Get off my side."

As the 2004 elections seem to be kicking off in July of 2003, I think what you should learn from this is that we've reached a point in America when ALL of our elected leaders, pundits, and insiders are the absolute bottom of the barrel. People like Coulter, and her counterparts on the liberal side as well, serve no purpose. Our national debate has become a circus of idiots discussing losers, and our elections are won by the candidates who AREN'T caught embezzling money from strawman corporations to pay for loveshacks for their college age intern-mistresses. I have voted in every election since I turned 18 in October of 1986; but these days I know that regardless of how I vote, I'm going to be the loser.

Posted by Jack Sparks at July 25, 2003 10:12 AM

 

rants, rambles, bits and pieces

Filed under: Imported

...that's when I found the bottle
and started smokin cigarettes
hey I started talkin' meaner
and then I, hiked up my dress
oh bless this mess
oh bless this mess

so don't tell me about the good world
about the finer things in life
don't tell me about your picket fence
and dog and lovely wife
please just give me a glass of red wine
and a six steel string guitar
if you want to preach the good life
then i'll meet you at the bar
at the barrrrrrrrrrrrrr....

Listen to "Bless This Mess" by Haley Bonar at midnight some night, or even better, at 10am on a Sunday morning. She sounds like she's about to break, and, she's trying to make you break too. I'm not sure where she fits as far as genres, but to make a comparison, she kind of sounds like a cross between Alison Moorer and Aimee Mann to me. As many of you know, I'm full of shit, so take that for what it's worth. But, "Bless This Mess" is one of my favorite songs right now. The above stanzas are the "lashing out" portion of the song, which is overall about growing up a good girl for yer mamma, then rebelling when you become an adult. I've seen her once at Seventh Street Entry, and now that I have the album in my grubby little paws, I would love to hear her with a full band to compliment her powerful, yet ghostly voice. Call me a convert to the cult of Haley.

Perfesser Al Kunz sent me an email about Rockzilla World going hard copy. I think this is a fabulous development if for no other reason than they will give some competition to No Depression, and keep them honest, hopefully. The writers for Rockzilla are all top notch characters who really dig the music and what they're doing, so if you've got a few extra bucks lying around you might want to sign up. And maybe, just maybe, this proliferation means that a magazine called "Real Country" ain't too far around the corner, subtitled "Country Music for People Who Know Nashville Sucks."

From Joe Posnanski, columnist for my beloved Kansas City Royals in the KCStar:

"Here's a little trivia question for you: Do you know how many teams in the last 50 years have blown a seven-game lead at the All-Star break? Go ahead. Take a guess. Twenty? Ten? Five? You have your guess?

The answer is two. San Francisco lost a nine-game lead in 1993 (actually, Atlanta took it away on the last day of the season after going an astounding 54-19 in the second half. The Giants won 103 games and lost the division).

And the Boston Red Sox famously blew a nine-game lead in 1978, a nightmare finished off by Yankees shortstop Bucky Dent, who hit the decisive home run in the one-game playoff.

That's it. Two teams in 50 years. Every other team with this big a lead at the All-Star break -- 31 of them in all -- finished the job. Few even had to put up much of a fight. Those 31 teams won their divisions by an average of an overwhelming 12 games.

So, it's time for everyone to stop tiptoeing around this thing. This is no longer a long shot. This is no longer a crazy dream. The Royals are the favorites now. They are the team to beat. Sure, it's possible that the Twins or White Sox will put it together and make an Atlanta Braves-like run at the Royals in the second half. But it's much, much more likely that they won't. The Twins are a mess right now -- they seem to have lost the spirit and chemistry that made them so special the last two years.

And the White Sox have Carl Everett."

A certain Las Vegas Casino is going to owe me $1,000 when the Royals when the World Series this year. I can't wait to fly out and collect.

Posted by Jack Sparks at July 21, 2003 3:08 PM

 

50-50

Filed under: Imported

The reaction to the Toby Keith blog has been about 50-50, which is cool. Better to have an opinion on things than no opinion at all. I'd like to clarify one thing, touching on something both he and I wrote. If you look at the commentary before the lyrics, he said he wrote that song BEFORE 9/11. So, he was of the "Lynch 'em" mentality before our widespread terrorist troubles started. Unfortunately, I went to Law School and passed the bar back in the early 90's. Three years I wish I could have back. At any rate, one of the first things that becomes abundantly clear when you study criminal law is A) a lot of hardened crooks get off with next to nothing as punishment for what you and I would consider heinous crimes. What you also learn is that B) in the history of the world, where there have been "hang 'em high" and "put 'em in the ground to meet their maker" justice systems, a few of these crooks get the noose, and only the wealthy have any kind of fair and meaningful representation when it comes to the courts. That is to say, your mother the accountant, my father the firefighter, and Joe's father the teacher, would have all had to live in fear of an arbitrary and capricious legal system. There are religious zealot knuckleheads in the Middle East right now who want to kill me, my friends, and my family, and to that I say, let the bombs fall where they may. They started this war and we're going to finish it. I hope and pray everyday that it ends quicker than it looks like it's going to, because I'm tired of all the killing, but that's another matter. But make no mistake, here at home, I will scream until my dying breath about the erosion of our liberties, freedoms, and legal guarantees. The advocacy of lynching, whether in song, literature, art, or politics, is shortsighted and wrong. While the stories of Butch, Sundance, Aces n' Eights, Frank and Jesse, et al, are all romantic visions of what seemed like a freer time, when right was right and wrong was wrong, that version couldn't be further from the truth. There was no "justice" in Wild West justice, and that's that. For every scoundrel that was run down and hanged in a tree, at least one and maybe more were hung innocently, and without the due process that YOU YOURSELF would demand for any crime for which you were accused. It was just the kind of "answer for the wicked that he done" party that Willie's singing about in this sophomoric song, that Patrick Henry ran into and was facing when he said, "Give me liberty or give me death." Tell me, who's side are you on in that one? I'm all for puttin' "a boot in [the] ass" of anyone who flies two planes into skyscrapers full of people in the name of whatever. But turning the historical legal clock in this country back 150 to 200 years in the name of freedom and safety is a little thin.

Posted by Jack Sparks at July 19, 2003 10:37 AM

 

Shoulda been a cowboy, but you aren't...dumbass

Filed under: Imported

From TobyKeith.com:
I had this title forever, and when Scott Emerick came up with a neat little melody lick, the two just went hand-in-hand. The song was written prior to September 11th. It�s about justice, but more so about the law of the Old West. It truly depicts how I feel about our justice system today. I had the privilege of having an American icon and hero of mine sing on here with me: Willie Nelson. Awesome.

Beer For My Horses (written by Keith and Scott Emerick)
Well a man come on the 6 o'clock news
Said somebody's been shot, somebody's been abused
Somebody blew up a building
Somebody stole a car
Somebody got away
Somebody didn't get too far yeah
They didn't get too far

Grandpappy told my pappy, back in my day, son
A man had to answer for the wicked that he done
Take all the rope in Texas
Find a tall oak tree, round up all of them bad boys
Hang them high in the street for all the people to see that

(Chorus)
Justice is the one thing you should always find
You got to saddle up your boys
You got to draw a hard line
When the gun smoke settles we'll sing a victory tune
We'll all meet back at the local saloon
We'll raise up our glasses against evil forces
Singing whiskey for my men, beer for my horses

We got too many gangsters doing dirty deeds
We've got too much corruption, too much crime in the streets
It's time the long arm of the law put a few more in the ground
Send 'em all to their maker and he'll settle 'em down
You can bet he'll set 'em down 'cause

---

Main Entry: lynch
Pronunciation: 'linch
Function: transitive verb
Etymology: lynch law
Date: 1836
: to put to death (as by hanging) by mob action without legal sanction
- lynch·er noun

---

Justice without force is powerless; force without justice is tyrannical.

---

Sigh..."Find a tall oak tree, round up all of them bad boys/Hang them high in the street for all the people to see..." I am growing increasingly tired of this fucking yayhoo. The fact that he got Willie to sing the line about lynching troubles me to no end. Wild West summary execution by hanging, in fact lynching, is EXACTLY the behavior more readily associated with regimes like Saddam Hussein's and others that we as Americans have been so vigilant in exposing, opposing, and deposing. There was NO justice in Wild West justice, period. It's a romantic fallacy, perpetuated by many, but most notably these jingoistic knuckleheads on Music Row who have taken over the airwaves of "America's Music." Giving every man and woman access to a fair and impartial court system is THE bedrock of American liberty, the liberty this fucking dumbass Toby Keith so cavalierly sings about all the time. ADDITIONALLY, giving the men and women of Iraq, Afghanistan, and the other feudal, theocratic, and autocratic governments over there, access to a fair and impartial system of justice and government is the VERY reason we're there, if there is one shred of an altruistic and noble motive to it at all.

Not to put too fine a point on this fucking moron's concept of the Wild West, but Allen Barra makes a nice point about Wyatt Earp in his wonderful book, Inventing Wyatt Earp: His Life and Many Legends. The very kind of arbiter of "justice" that dumbass sings about, the truth about Earp is that what really scared his adversaries was that he was just crooked enough to back up his legal authority by whatever means possible. Contrary to movie portrayals, he was constantly in and out of the "law business," always looking to take advantage of opportunities to get rich quick, regardless of all the legal ramifications. Sometimes, he would take a legal job just to give the color of law to some of the things he was attempting.

Make no mistake, if you make the heavy decision to go to war, then the object of the game is to kill your enemy before he kills you. However, the thing that ALWAYS gets lost in this situation that we're in is that these people are coming after us BECAUSE we have a secular justice system, and a constitution, that allows every man, woman and child regardless of race, color, creed, or religion, equal access to a pursuit of happiness. There ARE a lot of crooks out there who get off "scott-free" because of the social bargain we've made with our Criminal laws. Regardless of how you feel about terrorists and the Middle East, it is the absolute depth of stupidity to think that we should return to some six-gun, judge, jury AND executioner system of doing things. Our justice system MUST remain blind until sentencing; thousands of years of history are filled with the ABSOLUTE FAILURE of "hang 'em high," "put 'em in the ground to meet their maker" legal processes. For this reason, this is without a doubt, one of the most fundamentally misinformed songs I've ever had the displeasure of hearing, typical of someone with so much money, that he has a hard time believing there are folks who really rely on the system as it stands.

Finally, let me make it abundantly clear that I am not doing the most Un-American thing of all, and calling Keith, Un-American. It's my right to say his song is a short-sighted, jingoistic piece of shit, just as it's his right to sing it.

Oh, and listen to my show. I drive a pickup, am pretty well known for my barbecued ribs, support the right to trial by jury of your peers, believe in doing unto others as I would have them do unto me, and have never coveted my neighbor's ass.

...getting used to my copy of "...the size of planets," by Haley Bonar. I'm pretty usre I'm going to gush all over it on the show Sunday.

Posted by Jack Sparks at July 17, 2003 2:28 PM

 

I shot a man on First Avenue, just to watch him die...

Filed under: Imported

They are still burning the taxpayers for thousands of dollars to make films about "the dangers of LSD," at a time when acid is widely known--to everybody but cops--to be the Studebaker of the drug market; the popularity of psychedelics has fallen off so drastically that most volume dealers no longer even handle quality acid or mescaline except as a favor to special customers: Mainly jaded, over-thirty drug dilettantes--like me, and my attorney.

The big market, these days, is in Downers. Reds and smack--Seconal and heroin--and a hellbroth of bad domestic grass sprayed with everything from arsenic to horse tranquilizers. What sells, today, is whatever Fucks you up--whatever short-circuits your brain and grounds it out for the longest possible time...Uppers are no longer stylish..."Consciousness Expansion" went out with LBJ...and it is worth noting, historically, that downers came in with Nixon.

---

NEW YORK July 15, 2003 (Reuters) - Forest Laboratories Inc. (NYSE:FRX) said on Tuesday its quarterly profit jumped, driven by strong sales of its two drugs to treat depression.

The New York company said it earned $180 million, or 48 cents a share, for its fiscal first quarter ended in June, compared with $123.8 million, or 33 cents per share a year ago.

Analysts had on average forecast earnings of 48 cents per share, according to Reuters Research, a unit of Reuters Group Plc.

Forest sells the widely used antidepressant Celexa and last year launched a newer version of the drug called Lexapro. However, the company has suffered some setbacks to its pipeline of experimental drugs in the past year.

---

ST. LOUIS, May 14, 2003 (BUSINESS WIRE) -- Anheuser-Busch's mug looks to runneth over - with cash -- this year as the company raised an already robust earnings expectations another notch on Wednesday.

Anheuser-Busch (BUD) said that "the outlook for continued strong growth is very favorable" as it boosted its 2003 earnings per share growth target this year to 12 percent to 13 percent.

The current consensus estimate of analysts polled by Thomson First Call is for the company to earn $2.48 per share this year, up from $2.20. In 2004, the street hopes for earnings per share of $2.74.

The optimistic view reflecting higher revenue per-barrel expectations, the company said.

According to company president August Busch IV, "the pricing environment in the U.S. beer industry remains very favorable. Beer drinkers continue to trade up, and market activity has become much more focused on building brand equity."

The company is by far the 800-lb gorilla of its sector, with roughly half of the U.S. market and has been hitting double-digit earnings growth in every quarter for more than four years.

Shares of Anheuser-Busch gained 0.6 percent to $51.16 by the close; rival Coors (RKY) lost 1.2 percent to $52.56.

---

Without making grand sweeping statements, I think what's really worth noting is that increased sales of drugs that short circuit your ability to process bad news, and beverages that short circuit your ability to stay out of fist fights at family reunions coincided with massive radio consolidation, ridiculous pigeonholing of musical genres, and worldwide assaults by and against terrorists, at least the ones sitting on giant pools of oil, convenient to get us to Wal-Mart in our SUV's to pick up our uppers and replace our copies of "Up!" (pun intended), which we threw out the window the last time we listened at 1:15am, driving home from the bar after drinking too much Budweiser, because "It Only Hurts When I'm Breathing" made us cry so much we almost took the rest of the Lexapro in the bottle.

Not to make light of genuine physically rooted mental issues, but doctors are prescribing these things at astonishing rates, hence the increased sales. And, I defy you to find a generation that has boozed LESS than the generation before it. You can really catch the direction of the political breeze in your boxer shorts at 10am during the Price is Right when you examine a generation's or culture's "habits." Right now, our happiness, courage, and art all come in one can or another, and brother, the store just ain't runnin out of any of it. Don't get me wrong, there are people in this country who genuinely need Garth Brooks, every season of Survivor on DVD, copious amounts of booze and fistfulls of Valium to stay even; and to those people I say, "go with it."

But, you only have to stand around with a few thousand of your closest friends in a sweaty First Avenue, waiting for X to take the stage, watching Johnny Cash's video for "Hurt," while the Rebeccas and Heathers are spilling out of the Target Center after the Bon Jovi concert, full of happy pills and Diet Coke to help them concentrate on Algebra and the I-394 & 169 interchange, to realize that there are many realities in this world, the only difference being which crutch you choose. Some people buy shiny new titanium crutches, while others lean on Grandpa's old cane, pulled out of the closet, solid as an oak trunk. At first blush, the titanium crutches seem like overkill, and, Grandpa's old cane has a quaint authenticity to it. But then you realize that your mom or dad flinches every time you raise the cane above your shoulders.

Honesty is like raw chicken sitting out on the counter: there's a definite shelf life to it, then it gets made into a spinach chicken salad with raspberry vinaigrette, or chicken fried rice, or fettucine chicken alfredo. No matter what the hell you do to it, it still tastes like chicken, so why not just fucking fry it up and serve it with mashed potatoes? It might be a little worse for ya, but at least you're not trying to dress it up and sell it in pink lycra, fresh off the plane from Switzerland, harmonizer mic in hand, with dated receipts of terrorist purchases of weapons grade plutonium.

I stopped watching the weather forecasts when I moved to Minnesota. In the summer it's humid, in the Winter it's cold, and anything else, well, it's just a matter of degree. Next, I stopped listening to the radio, because there weren't any Country Music stations left, and there still aren't any today. Now, it seems, I have to stop watching the news and reading the paper too.

Posted by Jack Sparks at July 16, 2003 8:34 PM

 

Filed under: Imported

Posted by Jack Sparks at July 16, 2003 12:34 PM

 

Name the only baseball player to win 3 batting titles in 3 different decades...

Filed under: Imported

By BOB DUTTON
The Kansas City Star
ARLINGTON, Texas - It's amazing enough that Julius Matos had three hits Sunday, including a two-run homer, that helped the Royals head into the All-Star break with an 8-2 victory over Texas. The three hits matched a career high for Matos, and the homer was just the third of his career. Here's the really amazing part. Before the game, manager Tony Pena glanced at his lineup, turned to a group of reporters and explained. "I'm going to give Desi (Relaford) the day off," he said. "He's really hurting. So we'll play Matos, and he'll get three hits." True story. It's that sort of thing -- role players contributing and Pena's willingness to depend on them -- that explains why the Royals, losers of 100 games a year ago, have 51 wins and are leading the American League Central Division by seven full games. "There's a long way to go," Pena said, "but I like where we are right now. Because the more games we play, the better we're going to be."

---

�I picked up the phone. It was my friend Bruce Innes, calling from the Circus-Circus. He had located the man who wanted to sell the ape I�d been inquiring about. The price was $750.

�What kind of greedhead are we dealing with?� I said. �Last night it was four hundred.�

�He claims he just found out it was housebroken,� said Bruce. �He let it sleep in the trailer last night, and the thing actually shit in the shower stall.�

�That doesn�t mean anything,� I said. �Apes are attracted to water. Next time it�ll shit in the sink.�

�Maybe you should come down and argue with the guy,� said Bruce. �He�s here in the bar with me. I told him you really wanted the ape and that you could give it a fine home. I think he�ll negotiate. He�s really attached to the stinking thing. It�s here in the bar with us, sitting up on a goddamn stool, slobbering into a beer schooner.�

�Okay,� I said. �I�ll be there in ten minutes. Don�t let the bastard get drunk. I want to meet him under natural conditions.�

---

In private conversations with my rational friends, I've delineated a baseball philosophy that makes sense to all but a few. I've lived here for almost 11 (eleven) years now, and I've come to love the Twins as much as anyone. They've provided us all with some good and bad baseball, but, the one thing they've always provided was effort. Gardy has finally gotten around to some old school Tom Kelly baseball and started benching the quitters, so I figure if a resurgence is going to happen, it's going to be sooner rather than later. However, as with all true sports fans, there are rules to these things. I moved here, yes. And I love it here, yes. And I want to die and be buried or cremated here, yes. But you see, I was born in 1968, at St. Luke's Hospital, in Kansas City, Missouri. The opening day third baseman for the Kansas City Royals in 1974 was George Brett, and after that, I would claim no other team as my own. In the last 18 or so years, the Royals have broken my heart by not even showing up...162 games per season, all marked absent, with no note from their parents. But now, with 51 wins, a seven game cushion in the division, and the best new manager in baseball, it's time to dump the Twins until the season works itself out. Don't get me wrong, I was in straightaway centerfield for 2 (two) A's games and 1 (one) Angels game last year during the playoffs. I still have a soft spot in my heart for the Twinkies. But, I cannot in good conscience root for both teams with the situation as it is. The Royals are the ape at the bar in the casino with all the high rollers. They SEEM out of place, but they can sit up and drink from a beer schooner, and apparently, they're housebroken. I understand fully the ramifications of ACTIVELY ROOTING FOR THE TWINS TO LOSE: if they do not overcome the Royals and hold off the White Sox, there will be no playoff baseball to see in town this year. It's time to choose. For the past ten seasons I have been rooting for the Twins, except when they played the Royals. But now, the Twins must lose. Let the accusations fly. Rational baseball people know that the Royals have a lot of holes in their team. Rational people also know how many teams that are leading their division at the All Star break end up winning that division, too.

---

P.S.--When does the Yankee love stop in this godforsaken country? No, I'm not a Yankees fan, and, anyone who wasn't born in, raised in, had one parent who was born or raised in, or lived in New York for a majority of their adult life shouldn't be either. They don't develop talent, they buy it. THEY are what's wrong with baseball, and that wimp ass Commissioner has his lips so firmly planted on Steinbrenner's ass it makes me wretch. Roger Clemens, you weren't put on the All Star team originally because you aren't an All Star this year. You aren't even the best pitcher on your evil fucking team. You aren't even the second best pitcher on your evil fucking team. I don't care how many wins and strikeouts you've gotten over your career. This year, you're average at best. And while we're at it, let's look at your career. How about that year you took off in Boston, pouting, until they traded you to the Blue Jays, where you pouted again, until you ended up on the Yankees. Oh, and 6-6 in the postseason, where every game is a must win...average at best. This is why people hate baseball. This is why they don't watch the All Star game. Stupid, weepy eyed moves like this. I hope you get in the game against Barry Bonds at some point and he hits a ball so far it disappears into the Chicago night. You two deserve each other. And Bud Selig, you're an embarrassment. I HATE, H-A-T-E, the fucking Yankees. They aren't my team, and their annual, greedy, offseason, no holds barred, no amount too much, free agent grab doesn't represent any kind of America I know. While I'm at it, Fuck you too Chris Chambliss.

Posted by Jack Sparks at July 14, 2003 1:09 PM

 

I don't knows why I done it...

Filed under: Imported

From Box Socials, by W.P. Kinsella "Wasyl Lakusta, of the Lakustas by the lake, thinking of his old age, recognized good solid son-in-law material when he saw it, and did what he could to promote a match between the Little American Soldier and his daughter, Lavonia. Promoting the match mainly involved showing off Lavonia's cooking and showing off Lavonia. The oldest Lakusta girl, Sylvie, who was nineteen, took after her mother, and was as Wasyl Lakusta described her, "Not much good for look at, but pretty much good for strong." I don't think I've become a full-fledged writer of any sort, but I write enough that more than 1 or 2 people read what I write from time to time. I get asked a lot about it, where my ideas come from, why do I write like I do, etc., etc. I had a writing teacher in College who said that "the best writers are the best readers," so I tend to spit that out at people who want to start putting pen to paper. I'll be the first to tell you that, if you can write things out so others can read it, you get a lot of practical feedback on what's right or wrong with your noodle, and the whole process can be very therapeutic. I think, though, that what really puts you over the top and makes you step forward and write all the time and try to say SOMETHING to SOMEBODY is finding your own voice. Once again, though, the best writers are the best readers, so your own voice, I think, is your interpretation of the writers or books you read the most. For me, when my brain goes soft and I need to re-energize my keyboard (like this particular, rambling, screed of a non-blog today), I return to one or all of 3 books on my shelf. In no particular order, the first, above, is Box Socials, by W.P. Kinsella, the guy who wrote the book upon which the movie, Field of Dreams is based. Box Socials is: "...the story of how Truckbox Al McClintock almost got a tryout with the genuine St. Louis Cardinals of the National Baseball League, but instead ended up batting against Bob Feller, of the Cleveland Indian Fame, in Renfrew Park, down on the river flats, in Edmonton, Alberta, summer of 1945 or '46, no one can remember which, though the date in question has brought on more than one disagreement, which turned first to shoving match, then to an altercation, and finally a fist fight, though not a brouhaha, the general consensus in the Six Towns area being that it takes more than two people to staff a brouhaha, the fist fight though, usually resulting in bent cartilege of someone's proboscis, and blood spots on a Sunday shirt." I think I've stolen more style from this book in the past 8 or 9 years of my life than any other. Faulkner used to say you learn everything you need to know to tell a good story by the time you're 5 or 6, and I think his point is that your attention to detail and imagery is sharper when you're young, and your perspective as an adult, when harnessed properly can recall that detail and really flesh out your writing canvas. Or some such nonsense. Book two, is Catch-22, by Joseph Heller. The best way to ruin a good book is to turn it into a movie. I think Catch-22 is a real study not only in the absurdity of human behaviour, but also in the absurdity of language. As I return to this book time and again, I find the whole concept of the movie, starring Alan Arkin, futile. The punch lines and exclamation points in this book are explosive because the premises are so richly setup. If I could make a Top Ten Chapters in Novels Written in the English Language, the "Major Major Major" Chapter of this book would be Number One. The third and final book is Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, by Hunter Thompson. This book reminds me that there is an American dream out there, and that I should be suspicious of those who want to tell me what it is. If you have one Revisionist Historian bone in your body, this Novella/Diary will appeal to you. All 3 are just electric pieces of language to me, and they recharge me when I'm trying to say something about a subject that matters to me and I'm having trouble getting started. blah blah blah, this blog has been brought to you by Jack K. Sparks, idiot, friend of the people.

Posted by Jack Sparks at July 12, 2003 11:13 AM

 

Come'n lissen to muh story 'bout a man named Bill...

Filed under: Imported

From Powerball.com: A Missouri couple came forward Thursday to claim one-half of the $261.3-million US Powerball lottery jackpot and their spending plans were decidedly modest. William Walkenbach, a production supervisor, said he wants to "finally get me a tractor with brakes." Claudia Walkenbach, a substitute teacher, said she'd buy a new refrigerator to replace the 30-year-old model sitting in their kitchen in Hermann, a town of about 2,600 on the Missouri River. Neither purchase will make a dent in the two forms of payment the Walkenbachs can choose: $130.6 million in 30 annual instalments of $4.3 million, or a lump sum payment of $73.6 million. Both figures are before taxes. But as Bill Walkenbach, 53, said Thursday: "It hasn't sunk in yet." The couple bought their jackpot winning ticket, one of two sold in the United States, on Wednesday at the Hermann Fuel Mart in Hermann. Claudia, 52, had $5 left after buying a copy of the Hermann Advertiser-Courier newspaper and with the change snatched up five tickets with computer-selected numbers. The numbers in Wednesday night's drawing were 19-21-26-31-51 and Powerball 40. ...finally get me a tractor with some brakes... Will somebody explain to me what you need a tractor with brakes for when you just won $74 million dollars? I bet if some enterprising soul did a little research, he'd find that the Fiscal 2003 budget for the whole damn town of Hermann was closer to $74 than it was to $74 million. If I won $74 million, I'd piss on that old tractor, right before I doused it in gasoline and set the sumbitch on fire. I'd buy the gasoline at the Hermann Fuel Mart, which in case you were wondering from the story above, is in Hermann. Weeeeeeee doggie Mr. Drysdale, we rich.

Posted by Jack Sparks at July 11, 2003 2:45 PM

 

You don't have to twist the knife (rinse, repeat)

Filed under: Imported

Got my copy of Terroir Blues, Jay Farrar's new album, today.

I wish I knew what Jay was so bummed about all the time. Maybe it's just his voice. He might have the most melancholy voice ever. He probably doesn't get asked to sing "Happy Birthday" too often. It would most likely contain a prologue that went, "Candles burning/Hot wax rebirth/we're all dy-y-y-ing...(pause, quick minor chord riff)...Happy Birthday to you..." But that's really the beauty of Jay Farrar, isn't it? He doesn't have a cookie cutter voice; it really evokes emotion when he's singing. Throw in some ghostly guitars and whispy pedal steel fills, and you've got modern, post-gunfight music; everyone's dead, no one feels any better, and in a few weeks, no one will care. Take heart though, not everything on the album is dark and brooding. And, staying true to his album rock roots, Farrar has made it a good old-fashioned concept album, sectioned and connected by little, sub-minute snippets called "Space Junk I-VI." If I were given to hyperbole, I'd compare him to Brian Wilson and Roger Waters, but hell, we all know you shouldn't do stuff like that. If you're a music geek, you'll spend a lot of time unravelling this one. This is good candlelight, after-bar music, too.

P.S.--A guy named Ken Layne, who has a great site, read this blog and recorded his take on Jay Farrar singing "Happy Birthday" with my words. It's pretty damn awesome. Click to Listen

Posted by Jack Sparks at July 10, 2003 5:50 PM

 

London Calling, to the far away towns...

Filed under: Imported

I'm going to revisit an old question I posted on this site in my Top 100 Songs of Country. If Buck Owens embraced the Beatles, why didn't George Strait embrace the Clash? Realistically, this thought isn't specifically aimed at the artists in question; rather, it's a question of cross-pollination in Country Music from about 1982 to the present. Back in the late 60's, all the way up to the late 70's, the different music genres borrowed pretty liberally from each other. The differences between George Harrison's guitar on a lot of those early Beatles' songs and Don Rich's guitar on a lot of early Buck Owens material are pretty negligible. But, this question is more global than just guitar riffs and chord changes. Cantwell and Friskics-Warren in "Heartaches By the Number," attempt to deflect criticism of inclusion of Tony Bennet, Bing Crosby, Shania Twain and some others in the canon of Country Music by saying if country music hadn't embraced some outside pop influences, it would have died. And you know what? They're exactly right. But, that BEGS the question, why didn't George Strait embrace the Clash, or even a little more toned down, Bruce Springsteen? That is to say, how has Country music insulated itself from more current influences since about 1982? The answer to my question really has a few parts to it. First, George Strait wasn't the guy to do it. Obviously, he's a pretty straightforward country performer. He probably doesn't possess the range or creativity to incorporate those outside influences into what he's doing. That's no knock on him. I really like Strait and his music. Second, it comes down to Garth Brooks. If Country was going to get dirty, he was the lump of clay to do it with. However, they chose Elton John and Billy Joel over Joe Strummer and the Boss. And, once the formula made money, the creativity went out the window. Everyone wanted to pout at Christie Brinkley in a black cowboy hat after that. The third nail in the coffin was the stratification and consolidation of radio. Once Brooks' success insulated Country from creativity, rigid demographics insulated it from COUNTRY. I really laugh every time some Program Manager from a Major Country Radio station in a metro area says things like, "we play all sorts of things," and "I don't tell my DJ's what to play." The fact is, there IS a very rigid set of criteria for getting on Country radio and it's killing the music. (Thanks to Perfesser Al for helping me flesh out the above two arguments on the radio) So now the question is, is country killing itself because it's adhering to the sounds of John, Joel and the "Long Run" version of the Eagles? I wonder what Cantwell and Friskics-Warren would say? I'm prejudiced, but I think the answer is a resounding "yes." The bright spots are the collaborations between pre-Strait/Brooks artists and the younger set. Johnny Cash with Rick Rubin, Willie Nelson hooking up with Lost Highway Records and their stable, and the recently announced team of Jack White and Loretta Lynn (I want THAT album to come out NOW!). The sad thing is that these fantastic efforts are being done by folks who won't be around much longer. What will happen when they're gone? The whole episode of Country that has been Garth Brooks' and Shania Twain's careers, while lucrative, has been one massive fuck up, which the art and music will be digging itself out of for years to come. P.S.--Here's a great column on The Eagles

Posted by Jack Sparks at July 8, 2003 11:34 AM

 

It's the downloading, stupid...

Filed under: Imported

I got on the New Yorker's website to follow up something I read in the Strib this morning about more hand wringing from the music industry over declining record sales. To quote the bit: "Over the past two years, sales of recorded music in the United States dropped by more than a hundred million units; worldwide, the record business has shrunk sixteen per cent since 2000." The bad guy, as always, is the "Internet." As one of the producers points out, if restaurants and hotels suddenly were free, would those businesses survive? But that's really the hole in his argument, isn't it? If you have access to a downloader of some sort, think of a song right now, then go see if you can find it and download it. I'll save you the trouble, the answer, about 8 times out of 10, is "yes." So, far all intents and purposes, all music is free now and has been for about 2 or 3 years, and the result is a SIXTEEN per cent drop in the record business. I'm not going to say downloading isn't hurting the record industry. The problem is really twofold. Part II is further down in the press release. One of the quoted producers has a teenage girl from Europe that he's going to make the "next big thing." Gotta get her on the Today Show and the cover of Teen People. Just slap a band together and have her sing about boys and bubble gum, and not really being daddy's good little girl. One need not look any further than the overexposure of Brittany, the ultra-slutification of Christina, and the weird and unexpected dumbing down of Liz Phair and Jewel to find our second culprit: there's a decided quality vaccuum in the RECORD industry, not the music business. The morons who run big labels decided to go the cotton candy route a few years ago, and are now "surprised" that people aren't running out to buy exactly the same crap by people who look exactly like the people who put out the crap originally. Ask me why I buy a record. I want to know who's playing bass. I want to read the lyrics. I want to read a little story by the artist about why he/she put this album together. You see, the real death of the music industry happened when the bean counters decided to get cheap. Back in the hallowed days of vinyl recording, the album cover and liner notes were almost as important as the album....nope, gotta cut that. Hey, that's all right, we still have good bands that write their own music and play their own instruments...you know, if they own all their music, that's less money for us, we should really weed them out of our stables. No problem, popular music has always thrived on talented singers with something special, like Madonna...you know, she's kind of controlling and difficult, can we maybe find some robots that will do what we tell them and not ask questions? If free were really the ONLY and overarching problem, I think you'd see a much more dramatic decrease in sales. Somewhere down the line, the suits have to wake up and realize that the record buying public with disposable income wants its music back.

Posted by Jack Sparks at July 5, 2003 10:47 AM

 

The West Bank Shuffle...

Filed under: Imported

BETHLEHEM (Rooters) - In a surprise move, the State Department acting in conjunction with the United Nations, dispatched every woman from Missouri named Tammy to the West Bank to aid in the peace process. "It's hard to find my kind of thigarettes in this town," said Tammy James, 42, formerly of Cape Girardeau, who's missing two front teeth.

"I only been here 3 days," said Tammy Jones, 31, formerly of Joplin, "and my neighbor Mahmud has reported me to the city because my lawn ain't mowed." Her statement was all the more impressive because a 6 inch tall parcel of grass had almost magically sprung up overnight around the house she chose to squat in with her 5 children in this normally arid region. "I told Mahmud that Travis took the dang lawn mower when he runned off with Tammy Phillips."

"She's just lookin' for attention!" shouted Phillips, 36, of Sedalia, from across the street, her black bra sweating through her white tank top in the sweltering July heat. "Travis has always loved me, and besides, half them kids ain't his anyway. Ask her!"

The President outlined his bold new "Tammy" initiative for reporters in the White House press room yesterday. "These women will make life miserable for turrists who refuse to lay down their weapons and accept peace," he said. "The sudden appearance of trailers, outdoor laundry machines and broke down Camaros should radically drive down the value and desire for this land. I'd rather have them fighting over who HAS to take it, than who WANTS to take it."

In a related incident, an impromptu bass boat and M80 party in celebration of the coming 4th of July weekend was dispersed from a cove of the Dead Sea. The transplanted Missourians ceased their activities without argument when it was explained to them that revving enginges and minor explosions didn't go over too well in this part of the world. "It's gonna take a lotta work to get all that salt water outta my hunnert-twinny horse Merc," said John-John Soames, 38, formerly of Belton.

Jack Sparks drives a Chevy pickup and has a 180 bowling average. God Bless America this July 4th, and be sure to tune in to The Other Side of Country on the 6th, when at least one of your children will have minor burns on his/her fingertips. If you don't have children, get the neighbor kids in a big group and hand out zippos and bottle rockets until you've accomplished your mission.

Posted by Jack Sparks at July 1, 2003 8:20 AM

 

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