Yeah, okay, I know I said I was busy, but a friend sent me this, and three things immediately crossed my mind. The first was, out of over 300 million people in this country, our choices for president add up to two. And when you get right down to it, it’s really a question of which bozo you thinks represents the lesser of the two evils.

The second thing was that I’m grateful to live in a country where this sort of thing can be created and viewed without fear of reprisal from the government.  Freedom of speech is a beautiful thing.  Even with all its problems, this country is still a far better place to live than most.

The third thing? Cheat post! But it’s a pretty funny cheat post, so I hope you enjoy it. I certainly got a few chuckles out of it.

For what it’s worth, this is also the very first time I’ve ever embedded a video here on MOR. Yeah, I know, big whoop.

-Smith

For once I have a legitimate excuse.  I’m working late every night this week, and by the time I get home, I’m just too darn tired to do much blogging.  Things are a little crazy these days around the old cigar store.

Without going into details, all I can say is thank God for Murphy.

Be back soon.

-Smith

Normally, I don’t like to let other people speak for me, but today I read this column by Howie Carr of the Boston Herald, and it’s as if he had read my mind. This is one of those rare times when I can honestly say that I absolutely, positively agree with everything he says here.

But before I hand it off to Howie, I want to make a few points of my own. First, I am not trying to defend cigarettes. Anyone who hasn’t lived under a rock for the last forty years knows that cigarettes are bad for you. But it’s unfair and just plain wrong to keep picking the pockets of smokers simply because they have become a politically impotent minority. Funny how you never see anyone suggest an increase in the tax on booze.

It simply amazes me how proponents of this tax manage to say–with a straight face–that this increase will simultaneously decrease smoking and increase revenue. Those who think they can tax tobacco out of existence are sadly deluded on two counts. First, there are three things that humans have always done: drink, smoke, and gamble. They have always been willing to spend money to do these things, and they have always been willing to break the law to do these things. Laws prohibiting these things have never actually stopped them, merely driven them underground and into the hands of criminals.

Secondly, they are truly deluded if they think the government really wants to eliminate smoking. Tobacco taxes are an integral part of any state’s budget. Without tobacco taxes, there would be a serious shortfall that would have to be made up with–guess what?–more taxes.

But there is such a thing as killing the proverbial goose that lays the golden egg. You can push people too far, and, judging from conversations I’ve had with people, we in Taxachusetts may very well be at that point. Governor Tailpipe tells us that it will raise $1.74 million in new tax revenue. Yeah, for New Hampshire. Live Free or Die? Well, New Hampshire may not be free, but they’re a hell of a lot cheaper than Massachusetts.

Howie mentions that the vote was 93-52, with 33 Democrats joining the 19 lonely Republicans in our state House. Had there been a Republican governor in the Corner Office instead of Governor Tailpipe, a veto could have been sustained.

Where have you gone, William Weld? Our Commonwealth turns it’s lonely eyes to you.

-Smith

One of the great things about living in Massachusetts is that it is impossible for me to pick up a newspaper and not find something that winds me up so much I want to blog about it. Unfortunately, I don’t always find the time to do so. So much insanity, so little time. And so, tonight I’m just going to wind up and let it fly. Here are a few things that are pissing me off right now:

Massachusetts Governor Deval Patrick: Don’t blame me, I voted for Kerry Healy. Unfortunately, the majority of people in this notoriously liberal state were sucked in by this fast talkin’ salesman. Where do I begin with this guy?

For starters, Governor Tailpipe is once again pushing legislation that would grant illegal immigrants the right to attend state colleges here at the substantially reduced, in-state tuition rate. He calls it a matter of “simple justice”. He really doesn’t seem to understand that the citizens of a state with one of the highest tax burdens in the country simply don’t want their tax dollars to provide free or reduced college tuition to someone who shouldn’t even be here in the first place. Of course, this should come as no surprise from a governor who also favors giving illegal immigrants drivers’ licenses.

With the exception of the Indigenous American Tribes (and even their ancestors originally came from Asia), everyone living in the United States is either an immigrant, or the descendant of immigrants. I am the descendant of immigrants. The difference is my ancestors did it legally. They got jobs, learned the English language, and became citizens. So the operative word here is not “immigrant”. The operative word is “illegal”. An illegal immigrant is, by definition, breaking the law. When you’re breaking the law you have few rights; at best you have privileges. You certainly don’t have the right to make demands.

Truth be told, I consider myself a moderate on this issue. I really don’t blame anyone for wanting to live here instead of a shit hole like Mexico. I’m all in favor of devising a system that can help foreigners become citizens, and thereby encourage others to do it the right way as well. But all that said, I don’t believe in rewarding people for breaking the law. Apparently Governor Tailpipe does.

Moving right long, the Governor is just giddy at the prospect of signing a bill that would increase the tax on a pack of cigarettes to $2.51 per pack, making Massachusetts number two in the nation in this regard, behind only New Jersey. Cigarette taxes are like crack to the politicians on Beacon Hill. The eternal problem for politicians is how to raise taxes without getting themselves booted out of office. Raising taxes makes the voters mad, and voters can send them back to the Dreaded Private Sector quite easily if they get mad enough. Enter the tobacco tax. For your typical rapacious politician, it’s like a gift from God: they get to stick their grubby hands even deeper into someone’s pocket and still look like heroes to the soccer moms, since it’s usually not the soccer moms’ pocket that’s being picked. Really, it’s almost too good to be true if you’re a politician.

There’s only one problem with this gutless, cynical bullshit: it doesn’t work. Politicians breathlessly tell us “It’s for the children”. But the money doesn’t go towards education, at least not in Massachusetts. It just goes into the general fund to balance the budget. But it sure makes the soccer moms happy to believe that “it’s for the children”.

They tell us that the goal is to raise revenue, and to encourage people to quit smoking. Sadly, the liberal lemmings in this state actually buy this argument. What seems to elude them is the simple fact you can’t raise revenue AND reduce smoking. It’s one or the other. You can’t have both.

And in fact, it’s probably going to be neither. People aren’t going to quit, nor will the state raise the revenue it’s hoping to, since people are just going to buy cigarettes in New Hampshire or over the Internet. God forbid they should raise the tax on booze a few cents, but they won’t: that would actually take some guts.

The sheer hypocrisy of all this lies in the fact that a few months ago, Governor Tailpipe, Senate President Therese Murray, and House Speaker Sal DiMasi held a joint press conference to announce that there would be no new broad based taxes in Massachusetts this year. Of course, they were careful to mention that the cigarette tax is not broad based. Apparently they’re not aware that in this country there are still over 150 millions smokers. Sounds pretty broad based to me.

Further bear in mind that most (although by no means all) cigarette smokers come from the lower end of the economic spectrum. I find it supremely ironic that while the Democratic Party in this state loves to trumpet itself as the liberal, compassionate hero of the poor and working class, compassion for the poor evidently goes out the window when they smell a fast buck.

Next, we come to James Fagan, the Democratic State Rep. from Taunton. Having evidently decided that lawyers and politicians aren’t despised enough, Rep. Fagan apparently decided to fix all that. In a bizarre speech delivered from the State House floor, Fagan argued against a mandatory 20 year sentence for the rape of a child under twelve. I’m not even going to try to paraphrase what this nitwit said. Click here and listen for yourself.

Now, in fairness to Rep. Fagan, the video that is circulating around the internet does rather conveniently cut in at just the right point to make him look as bad as possible. What the clip doesn’t show is Fagan setting up his remarks by stating that he is talking about a hypothetical defense attorney, not necessarily himself (although I rather suspect that Fagan, a defense attorney, would not shrink from those tactics).

But even if we allow for that, he still showed remarkably poor judgment in the way he presented his argument. Beyond that, there are still some rather disturbing issues here. First and foremost, Rep. Fagan feels that a twenty year sentence for raping a child under 12 is “draconian”. All sarcasm aside for a moment, when I first read this story, my first reaction was, “only 20 years for child rape? That’s pretty lenient.” Now perhaps this was just Fagan’s defense attorney instincts kicking in, but that leads me to the inescapable conclusion that Fagan is really just another lawyer/legislator, bending the rules to suit his trade simply because he can.

As tempting as it is to think otherwise, even a child molester in entitled to a fair trial. More importantly, the rights of those falsely accused must be protected. But the other issue is, what do we do with an eight year old victim/witness? Should she even be on the stand at all? While there is certainly room for debate here, I think most people would agree that a child who has already been violently traumatized once should be spared the further trauma of what would await her if her attacker ever had James Fagan for a defense attorney. This was, in fact Fagan’s point. But the fear of further traumatizing a child is a compelling argument for changing the way that child would give evidence, not for giving a child molester a cushy plea bargain to avoid a trial

Ironically, Fagan was the solon who proposed legislation to lower the blood alcohol limit from .08 to .02, which could put drivers who have even one beer or glass of wine during dinner over the limit. Luckily, this bit of nonsense never made it off the ground. I guess in the world of James Fagan, having a beer after work is off limits, but throwing a child rapist in jail for twenty years? Draconian!

Well, that’s all for now, but rest assured, in Massachusetts, there’s always more where this came from.

-Smith

Last October, while I was in California on vacation, I was going through a crisis of faith, as many believers occasionally do. Maybe it was all that time I spent debating the atheists, but for whatever reason, I began to question my own beliefs. And so, on a chilly October night, while I was standing on a beach contemplating the sun setting over the Pacific Ocean,  I prayed, like many millions of believers before me. I asked God to give me a sign, a small sign, any sign at all, that He exists.

A few nights later, the Red Sox rallied from a 3-1 deficit in the American League Championship series to beat the Cleveland Indians, and went on to steamroll the Colorodo Rockies and win their second World Series in four years. Later, the New England Patriots ran off a perfect, first-in-history, 16-0 perfect season. Two Red Sox rookie pitchers have thrown no-hitters, one in just his second major league start, and another after battling back from cancer. And last night, after 22 years in the wilderness, the Boston Celtics won their 17th NBA Championship.

God is not only going out of his way to show me He exists, but He is clearly revealing himself to be a big Boston fan.

“But wait a minute”, you object, “the Patriots LOST the Super Bowl, remember? Where was your God then?”

Like all men of faith, I never let an inconvenient fact get in the way of my dearly held beliefs. To my mind, the fact that they lost simply validates the theology of Manichaeism.

“Hold on, not so fast”, you say. “What about the Bruins? They haven’t won anything in years! What’s your God doing for them?”

Oh, that’s easy, I scoff, secure in my faith: God, like all sentient beings with an IQ higher than the room temperature, doesn’t give a shit about hockey.

Finally you trot out your last, and seemingly most devastating argument: “Surely Lakers fans were praying for their team. Wasn’t God listening to them?”

The True Believer will already know the answer to this question:

No.

Obviously.

Ok, moving off this rather dubious metaphysical plane, I realize it may be difficult for some to realize just how big this is for the Boston sports fan. Bostonians, in all frankness, have suffered from a collective inferiority complex for a long, long time. The Patriots (or as they were formerly known, the Patsies) were, for years, the doormats of the NFL.

The Red Sox were like that girl in college who teased the hell out of you, but always ultimately left you high and dry. The Sox always played second fiddle to the New York Yankees. New York got Joe DiMaggio, Boston got Dom DiMaggio. New York got Babe Ruth. Boston got “No, No, Nanette”. The Yankees won 26 World Series. The Red Sox won two pennants.

And on top of all that, New York and L. A. are just bigger, glitzier, and occupy a more prominent place on the world stage. The really, really rich and famous don’t live in Boston. They live in New York or L. A.

But the one thing we Bostonians always had was the Celtics. “Celtics Pride” translated into Boston Pride. They perennially gave us a reason to hold our heads up. In 13 seasons between 1957 and 1969, the Celtics won the NBA Championship an astounding 11 times, including a mind boggling 8 consecutive championships between 1959 and 1966. They beat the Lakers in the finals seven times (eight, if you count the 1959 finals when the Lakers were still in Minneapolis). It was an unparalleled record of success that even the Yankees couldn’t match. No matter how bad the Patsies were, no matter how many times the Red Sox disappointed us, no matter how out of control our collective inferiority complex got, we always had the Celtics.

The Celtics remained a force to be reckoned with and a source of regional pride throughout the ’70’s and ’80’s, winning four more championships, including one more over the Lakers. But after their 1986 Championship over the Houston Rockets, the famous Celtics “luck of the Irish” began to run out.

The first ominous sign that the Leprechaun had deserted them was the unexpected death of their first round draft pick, Len Bias. Touted as the successor to Larry Bird, he died of a cocaine induced heart attack, ironically while at a party celebrating his being drafted by the Celtics.

A few years later, in July of 1993, Reggie Lewis, another rising young star, died of a heart attack brought on by hypertrophic cardiomyopathy at the age of 27.

What followed from then on were years in which the Celtics occasionally enjoyed periods of mediocrity, but more often just plain stunk. The glory years of the past seemed like the stuff of mythology. The Celtics were just one more basketball team, nothing special.

But today, that’s all changed. Boston is now home to arguably the best baseball, football, and basketball teams in the world. Boston is second best to no one. Sometimes God does answer prayers.

Sometimes He even says “yes”.

-smith

I’ve probably drunk more rum and tequila in the last week than I have in the previous ten years. Must be something in the California air that makes me crave strange, fruity drinks. I remember one rum soaked afternoon where I told the waiter that I didn’t care what he brought me as long as it was blue. I have a vague memory of it tasting like banana. Blue Banana? Who knows?

I have made one hell of a lot of candles.

Haven’t been near a computer much. Right now I’m stealing time on my little sister’s office computer (naughty, naughty Smith) to write this. I know I have quite a few comments to respond to, and I will get to them, but right now the candles are calling.

I’ll be home on Wednesday. It occurred to me that writing a post about my fear of flying might have been bad Karma, but what’s done is done. If you never see another post from me, you can draw your own conclusions.

-Smith

It’s not really a fear of flying.  It’s a fear of crashing.  At maximum takeoff weight, a jetliner can weigh up to 750,000 pounds, and the only things keeping it in the air are two thin pieces of aluminum and the theory of aerodynamics.  Somehow the idea of ending my life in a ball of fire and twisted metal with my arms and legs and entrails spewed all over the side of a mountain gets into my already over active imagination and does its worst. 

Of course, the worst part wouldn’t be the crash itself.  Chances are I wouldn’t even feel a thing.  It’s the anticipation that would be so awful.  The airlplane hurtling out of control.  The engines screaming.  The passengers sreaming.  G forces crushing you against your seat.  And worst of all, you have several long seconds, maybe even minutes, to be truly, truly terrified at the horrible death that you will soon be experiencing.

Yup, that’s me.  Steve Smith: afraid–no, make that terrified–to fly. 

By now my family has gotten used to the unpleasant change in my personality the day before I have to fly and they just stay the hell away from me.  The night before I fly I always have one of two recurring nightmares.  One is where the plane is jockeying down the highway, dodging cars and trying to find an opportune time to take off.  Once it does, it always attempts to fly under a bridge, but I always wake up just before the plane hits the bridge.  In the other dream, I am sitting on TOP of the plane as it’s cruising at 37,000 feet, desperately looking for something to hang on to.  It’s always one or the other, and to this day I have no way of knowing which one it will be, or why.

But I do not let my fear of flying prevent me from flying.  I would simply miss out on too much.  And, if the truth be told, I’ve gotten better about this as I’ve gotten older.  Now I’m only afraid of the takeoffs and landings.  The bit in between I’ve more or less learned to be ok with.  Usually.

Not this time.  For some reason, the plane hit an unusual amount of turbulence soon after takeoff and for the next hour I sat clutching the arms of my seat.  I did notice that none of the other passengers seemed terribly concerned about the extreme danger they were in, but I attributed this to the fact that they were simply too stupid to realize that they were all about to die the aforementioned fiery death.  As the plane bounced around the airpockets like a ping pong ball in a lottery machine, my mind was simply singing with fear.

Then a happy thought found its way into my terror stricken brain: alcohol.  They don’t serve Bushmill’s on Jet Blue, sadly.  But desperate situations call for drastic measures, so I settled for Glenlivet.  The flight attendant also seemed blissfully ignorant of our shared peril.  He beamed a perfect toothpaste commercial smile at me as he brought my drink.  “Does this happen a lot?”, I asked.  “Oh, sure, just some turbulence.  Nothing to worry about.  Happens all the time”.  Another megawatt smile, followed by a curiously knowing look. “I’ll keep your tab open.  We’ll settle up just before we land.” 

By the fifth Glenlivet, I noticed that the pilot’s flying skills had improved considerably, and the airplane was cruising along quite nicely now, thank you very much.  I had Thomas Tallis on the headphones, and Arthur Conan Doyle in my hands, and a newfound serenity about flying.  I think I’m on to something here.

While Googling for pictures for this post, I came upon this rather interesting article, which in fact puts the whole fear of flying thing into perspective.  I agree with almost everything the author writes. 

Except for the part about alcohol.  Maybe they’ll even serve Bushmill’s on the next flight.

-Smith

I’m off to California for ten days. I may or may not blog, depending on my mood, and whether or not I can browbeat my little sister into letting me use her computer.

I will probably make a lot of candles by day, and party my ass off by night.

For those of you who care, I have responded to just about everyone’s comments. As always, please know that I am always thrilled when someone leaves one, even if I am at times slow to respond.

One notable exception is the Be Afraid post. This is mainly because I honestly and respectfully differ with some of the comments. This is not to say they’re not valid or well put; they are. Nor is this to say that I don’t welcome differing opinions, I certainly do. As many of you know, I love debate.

But I do feel as though I need to think this issue through a little more before I respond. The comments were obviously well thought out, so I feel I owe it to those who commented to leave equally well thought out responses. So I’m going to ponder this issue a bit more, probably while lounging on some California beach, before I return and run logical circles around all of you.

Assuming, of course, I ever return at all.

-Smith

Today, May 24th, is an important one in the history of rock ‘n roll. Not only is today Bob Dylan’s birthday, but it is also the day of the passing of someone who was often compared to him, Gene Clark.

Gene who, you ask? It is amazing to me how obscure this immensely talented songwriter has become. He is, perhaps, the greatest songwriter no one has ever heard of.

You have, of course, heard him sing. When you listen to The Byrds’ “Turn! Turn! Turn!”, the voice you’re hearing is Gene Clark, double tracked. Oh, you say, HIM! Sure, I know him. That was his name?

Gene Clark’s all too short life ended on May 24th, 1991, from a bleeding ulcer brought on by a lifetime of alcohol abuse. During his life he was overshadowed by bandmates David Crosby and Roger McGuinn. But in a 27 year career, first with The Byrds, and later as a solo artist, he gifted the world with some of it’s finest songs.

His best songs were marked by a mournful beauty. Here is a list of some of my favorites. For those of you with an iTunes account, every one of them is well worth the price of the download.

To begin with some of his work with The Byrds:

“Feel a Whole Lot Better”: Easily his most famous song. Gene didn’t write love songs, he wrote breakup songs, and no one did it better. David Crosby once quipped that every time Clark broke up with a girlfriend The Byrds got a new song out of it. Ironically, it was Tom Petty’s cover of this song in 1989, and the subsequent royalties it generated for Clark, that ultimately led to an acceleration in his bad habits which contributed to his untimely death.

The World Turns All Around Her: An early, far more obscure Byrds tune. What makes this song interesting is how Clark deftly changes keys, entering into a moody, almost modal minor key by the third line. One of his early gems.

My Love Don’t Care About Time: A classic. One of the hallmarks of the Byrds style at that time was their strong vocals. Unlike many rock ‘n roll bands, these guys could sing, and they harmonized like a church choir. It’s all here: interesting lyrics (he was often compared to Dylan as a lyricist), gorgeous instrumentals, and very strong vocals. One blogger has called it “the perfect song”.

“Set You Free This Time”: One of my all time favorites. By the time he wrote this, he was already showing signs of moving beyond the archetypal Byrds sound, and creating something uniquely his. Once again demonstrating that the comparison to Dylan was justified, the biting lyrics provide an interesting twist on the classic breakup song.

“Changing Heart”: The Byrds did a reunion album in 1973. While most critics found the album disappointing, they agreed that Clark’s two songs, “Full Circle”, and “Changing Heart”, were easily the album’s high points. “Changing Heart” is a catchy, rock/country fusion number that shows Clark’s melodic gifts at their best.

His solo career was marked by critical acclaim, but not a whole lot of commercial success, largely due to his reluctance to tour due to a fear of flying. Here are some of my favorites:

“Lady of the North”: The solo album “No Other” was neither a critical nor a commercial success. This had a crushing effect on him, as he (rightly, as it turned out) regarded it as his magnum opus. Ironically, nowadays it is regarded as a lost masterpiece. “Lady of the North”, while perhaps a little over produced, is still one of his finest songs, with its soaring vocals and poetic lyrics. On his gravestone, the words “No Other” form his only epitaph.

“Gypsy Rider”: Late in life he teamed with Carla Olson to record an album entitled “So Rebellious a Lover”, which turned out to be his best selling album. He had also recorded this song several years earlier a a demo (released posthumously on the “Gypsy Angel” album), and the two versions played side by side offer a striking comparison of his voice in his earlier and later years. By the time he recorded this version, the years of self abuse had had their effect. But in some ways, his voice is actually better, at least for this song. It is deeper, rougher, and tinged with the world weary melancholy that was at the core of his soul. Olson’s harmonies are haunting in this version.

“Kathleen”: In 2001, Evangeline Records released a collection of demo’s on an album entitled “Gypsy Angel”. While inconsistent, as one might expect a collection of demo’s to be, there are two truly standout songs here. “Kathleen”, while yet another song about lost love, is unique in Clark’s output in that it is told from a third person perspective. It is a heartbreakingly beautiful ballad about a woman who waits for her husband to return from sea. The starkly simple arrangement of Clark’s voice, guitar and harmonica perfectly convey the woman’s anguish and sorrow. Probably my favorite Clark song.

“Your Fire Burning”: Fair warning: the recording quality is not great on this, as it, too, was a demo from “Gypsy Angel”. Clearly this was a work in progress, as it does tend to meander a bit. No doubt Clark would have cleaned it up had he lived. But for all that, Clark’s uniquely mournful and melancholy style is on full display in this song. Knowing what we know about his life and death, when he sings the lyrics, “I can never replace/The time that I didn’t know/You were trying to love/Someone out of control”, it is almost too painful to listen to.

Every one of these songs, and many others as well, is worth a 99 cent download. He deserves to be more well recognized. Someday, I hope he will be.

-Smith

It was all going so well, too. But all of a sudden, my little ship of life sailed into some stormy waters. I won’t bore you with the details. You have your problems; you don’t need to hear about mine.

As usual, the blog got the short end of the stick. Blogslackery is my stock in trade, but this hasn’t been blockslackery, this has been total blog neglect. I get that. I have treated the people who have supported me in a very shabby fashion indeed. Those who take the time to leave comments deserve to have those comments acknowledged, and I have not done that. I have been a bad blogger.

I am (as many of you have probably figured out) manic depressive. I offer this as an explanation, not an excuse. The events going on in my life have been such that I have found it difficult to muster the energy to even get out of bed and live my life, let alone write creatively.

A well intentioned fellow blogger suggested that perhaps a hiatus might be in order. In fact, that’s how this post started. It was going to be my farewell (for now) post. “Dear friends, it is with a heavy heart that I write these lines…..”

And then a thought hit me, out of the blue as it were…

FUCK THAT.

Yes, there are things in my life now that suck. A lot. Yes, I feel like shit and there are days I don’t even want to get out of bed. There are days when I have to force myself to remember that I will not find the answer to my problems at the bottom of a bottle of Bushmill’s.

I will not be silenced by my own demons. I have things to say, and a unique way of saying them. I will write what I want, I will express my opinions, I will be heard.

Depression, you can KISS MY ASS!!

And to those who cared enough to give me some tough love (and you know who you are), I have two things to say:

1) You’re all a pain in the ass.

2) I thank you. With all my heart.

Sorry, kids, you’re stuck with me.

-smith