"The Greatest Story Never Told" - the vintage21 "Jesus video"

I believe Jesus has a sense of humor, and I'd like to think that he'd find this bit of satire as funny as I do:

Recovering My Memories: Snookie

Here's a picture of me and our dog Snookie from the early 70s. Probably 74 or 75, but I can't really tell.

I don't have any idea what kind of dog she was. Mixed breed to say the least. Probably a mix or two of three or four  mixed breeds. She was considered to be my brother's dog, as I had a chihuahua. My parents had heard from somewhere or another that chihuahuas were therapeutic to people who had asthma, so they got me one. I don't know if there's any merit to that or if they'd just been duped. I didn't even realize I had asthma, for that matter. But she was a good dog and so was Snookie.

The most unique thing about Snookie was that she was rarely at home.  We lived across the street from a wooded area, pastureland for a bunch of donkeys. Snooky would go over there and wouldn't come back for days. I'm guessing she killed her own food, as she did seem to have a bit of a wild streak about her. She'd do that for a few days then next thing you know she would turn up on the front porch and stay for awhile. I don't remember ever feeding her dog food or leaving water for her. I don't guess it mattered because she always stayed nice and fat (relative to how she would have been if she weren't being fed).

There was this one time when me and my brother had a fool notion to collect a bunch of glass bottles and take them to the storm drain (?) in the road and break them all against the concrete inside. That storm drain was kind of like a hide-out for us. We played down in it all the time. We'd broken a bottle on the wall a time or two, but never had we gone all out and smashed a lot of them at once.

So we hauled all the bottles in a box down into the storm drain and let her rip. We got a kick out of the sound of breaking glass and the echo in the hollow drain. Before we're even finished, here comes Snookie, probably looking to see what all the commotion was about. She runs through the place, all through the broken glass. I don't remember, most likely don't want to remember, how bad she got cut up but I felt awful about it. Remarkably she healed up very quickly and next thing you know she's back out on the hunt.

I recall the day she died, I looked out of the back window onto the driveway and saw her lying on the concrete. I thought she was sleeping. Her head was turned away from me. I'm pretty sure this was in 1977,  maybe 78. I called out to her a few times and when she didn't move I knew she was gone. My memory is very fuzzy at this point. So much so that I only now seem to remember walking out just far enough to see a small trail of blood coming from the region of her head. I remember it now, because I'm almost positive that I didn't get far enough to see her face. It was the blood that made me realize she was dead. I got on the phone and called my dad and he came and took care of the body, which he buried in a spot next to a shack he'd built in the backyard (it's where my chihuahua wound up, as well as my own family's pet Pomeranian several years later). It shook my dad up quite a bit, but then he had been through hell the last couple of years before so it was just one more thing to deal with.

Recovering My Memories: the 1st computer

"Memories, like the shadows of your mind...misty water colored memories of the way we were." Is that how it goes? I may have forgotten. No, I've PROBABLY forgotten. You see, my memory isn't the most reliable function of my psychology. I'm not sure if it's always been that way or if it's a situation brought on by years and years of living in a subculture that was indifferent to the potential effects of it's central activity (</discretionary code>).

That subculture helped forge a sense of identity for me, even as it stole the memories it helped make. And so I know full well that I had a lot of good experiences, many good times, but most are still stuck in the moment in which they occurred. Where they will likely remain until the day I die. Then again I guess the trade off being all the bad "trips" that I'm spared remembering by the same process of brain cell annihilation.

Then comes the real horror...the possibility that I could develop Alzheimer's. I don't know if the killing of so many brain cells in the past makes more susceptible to Alzheimer's in the future. It's a sobering thought and definitely a good reason to repent of all those wasted years. I used to say, "well, the experiences I've had with the help of this drug are worth just about anything that might come about as a result of it"...which was a stupid mindset. The only thing more stupid was the fact that I made myself believe it. I was only trying to convince myself that I had nothing to fear and it would all be worth it in the long run. Things would even out, the good times and the bad, the risks and the rewards. All the while I knew better, but denial is an easy friend to keep.

But I didn't come here to bemoan my fate or express my fears of memory damage...or I should say continual worsening of memory damage that I hope does not lead to Alzheimer's. I don't think I could handle that. No, I wanted to start a series of posts that describe some of the memories I have left (not saying that the reservoir is close to empty, just that it should probably be more full). I like to think I'm a typical human being and that it's perfectly normal that I wouldn't have really BIG events to write about in posts like these. Most, if not all, will be just little things that come to mind, and that's really what I'm wanting to record here. The seemingly insignificant details that are likely the next memories to join the flock that have flown. I realize that writing such "trivial" moments could well come off as being narcissistic, but I don't guess I care. It's a blog and open to everyone, true, but really, I'm not under any false illusions that I've got some huge audience of readers out there who follow my every word. A couple of friends who check in when they can, and that's more than I would ask for. When I shut down my last blog I was hoping that this one would have a much more "personal" flavor to it. That's what I've been shooting for. Now I'm ready (at least I THINK I'm ready) to move it into even more personal territory and the truth of the matter is that this will take on the aspect, in part if not whole, of a chronicle, sort of an autobiography, something I can look back on in 10 or 20 years and say "Aha! I forgot all about that!" I do that sometimes with the old Listening Room, but there's so much content there that has nothing to do with me. Here I'm going to post stuff that I'm going to be interested in several years down the road. Jeez, I guess I should be writing all this as a "statement of purpose" page. I'll make a note of it.

For now, though, I'll start the ball rolling with recollections of our first computer.

A very young Bryan with a very old Compaq

We bought our first computer in 1999. I remember, because it was the year my father passed away and we were living in a run down hovel of a house. I became so obsessed with it that I would set it up in the kitchen of that tiny house so I could screw around online all night long without disturbing the wife and son. I was fascinated. More than once I stayed up all night long and well into the morning waiting for those websites to load snail-slow with a 56k connection.

It was a piece of junk Compaq PC with Windows 97. Oh, I shouldn't call it that. From the vantage point of today, sitting here typing on a decent laptop, it doesn't look like much (then again, though I DID use the word "decent" to describe this laptop, I would also designate it as every bit a piece of junk as the Compaq in several key areas). It was more than enough for me, as my knowledge of computers was EXTREMELY limited. Like expecting a 9 year old to read and understand "War and Peace". So it was, but at that level all I really needed to know was how to click on the Internet Explorer icon.

I spent considerable time on the Rolling Stone website at first. I'd read about it in the magazine. Had no idea about how to use the message boards. I remember writing a post on the Flaming Lips page. Probably some boasting that they were from Oklahoma...ah, I remember...I DID brag. I told of how they used to play acoustic shows at Shadowplay Records in Norman. I'm sure I made a point to mention that I knew the owner of the store quite well. I also posted on the R.E.M. page pining for the good old days when their music was good, complaining about the direction they'd taken. I got a couple of responses from that one. No surprise that they were both in disagreement, what do you expect from people who hang out on the R.E.M. page? Anyhoo, I soon bored of posting on band's pages.

I noticed that a lot of the conversations on the band boards were off topic (probably obvious, but not to this novice). I did engage in some of these discussions and became "friends" with a few regulars. Also found myself plagued with a few enemies whose only purpose for being there was to incite flame wars (Lysergic Aaron, Plokoon, these were a couple of the more incendiary).

It was 2000 by this time and I was a little (reiterate LITTLE) more familiar with the Internet. One night, likely coasting on a manic swing, I had an idea. Why not create a message board that was for NOTHING BUT "off topic conversation"? It would bring together posters from different boards and they wouldn't have to worry about discussing the bands from whose pages they came. Once again I stayed up all night putting the thing together. It wasn't just an R.S.V.P. affair. I set it up like it was a club and called it JACkory's Insect Lounge (JACkory was my user name and "Insect Lounge" was in tribute to a radio program of the same name that used to play underground music on the radio station at CSU back in the early 80s). We joked about being a gang that would protect the place and fight off unwelcome visitors. Somehow or other a "Clockwork Orange" vibe came into play and we began calling ourselves "droogs".

The board became very popular and was a staple in the RS community until the message boards were shut down (there are still people who believe that the demise of those original message boards can be traced back to the influence of the Insect Lounge...who knows, maybe it did). It inspired several "copy-cat" boards, as many of the Lounge's regulars decided they wanted their own version. Some were very good (JLLM's Beatnik Cafe), some not quite as much (Clicker's Cave). My board stayed fairly active through it all, even if there were some who defected. That was to be expected, what with the divisive nature of the new boards. A lot of people came around just to watch flame wars that I somehow got into. Immature, I know. Ridiculous for someone in his late 30s (God, I'm embarrassed to have to admit that). But I had fun.

I'll talk more about the Lounge at a later date. We were reminiscing about the first computer, remember?

I'd read about Live 365, probably in the same issue of Rolling Stone where I learned of their website. Live 365 seemed like a godsend. It may well have been. I wouldn't know because I couldn't get it to work. Really pissed me off. It wasn't too long afterwards that I realized that the reason it wouldn't work for me was because I had nothing but a dial-up connection. Then again, I was so computer illiterate that I paid something like thirty bucks for a "premium" version of Real Player, thinking I could listen to music with it. Ha. What a waste of money. 56k, oh how I miss you. I learned patience from you but you were a cruel teacher.

The one site I hung out during the very first days and weeks after buying the computer was called "the Party House". "Welcome to the Party House!" was the header. It was nothing more than a fancy chat room. You logged in and started in the front room. You could chat with the whole room or you could have a private conversation. Or you could go into another section of the Party House, maybe the bedroom or the kitchen, whatever, and there were people to chat with there. Inane chat. Typical chat. Mindless chat. I always figured it was a place where people hooked up for cyber-sex. Wait, did I sound like I didn't know this for sure? Sorry. It WAS a place where people hooked up for cyber-sex. Cyber-sex, my God, how much more pathetic does it get?

Believe it or not, it was my sister-in-law who brought the Party House into our lives. She had bought a computer a few months before we did. When my wife was visiting her she would go to the Party House and they would laugh and joke about it. It wasn't long before we got our machine that she showed the site to me. I'm not proud of the time I wasted chatting on the Party House website, but in my defense I would insist that I didn't know any better, such a noobie in cyberspace.

I'm not sure if the Party House is still around. I seem to remember looking it up out of curiosity some time back. I think it might have still been there, but it had changed considerably. (I just googled it...if it still exists it is NOT on the first page and I'm not gonna bother looking any further).

A few years later we gave the Compaq to our son and bought a Dell. It was a much better computer, even if it was another PC (XP OS this time). Not much later I had the opportunity to buy another  one and by then I really wanted a laptop. I got a VAIO with Vista Premium. People generally tend to hate Vista, but I kind of liked it. I can't really complain about it, other than it seemed like the keys were a little more difficult to press than should have been and there was a sharp ridge where my wrists hung off of. That kind of hurt.

A LONG story surrounds what happened to that VAIO and I'll definitely have to put that off until later. Suffice to say that I replace it with a HP Pavilion dv6. Also suffice to say that I'm NOT satisfied with it. It gets by, and that's about it. I wish I had a Macintosh, but I am not a rich man. I can't even afford to dump this one and buy a decent PC.

It's better than the Compaq, though. Which is great, but then again the novelty of the Internet has been worn out for a long time. Seriously, the only things I ever do on the computer anymore is check out facebook, listen to Spotify, check my e-mail and every once in awhile, when the mood strikes and the wrists aren't too sore, write a little something for this blog. I guess there are times when I'll do something else, but they get rarer and rarer every day. I used to love Stumbling, now I could really care less. So much Internet culture is worthless. The Internet itself is full of junk and misinformation, the comments and opinions of people who have absolutely no idea what they're talking about. So much hate abounds.

Ah, but my "Starred" favorites list on Spotify is a thing of beauty. 1381 tracks. Over 4 days worth of music. If for that alone I will not abandon the Internet.

When I Was Skating On The Thinnest Of Ice (just before it cracked)

I looked to the western sky at sundown and I saw it as the Canvas of God.

I stared into the deep infinity of the night sky and imagined every star a pin-prick in the fabric of the black horizon, offering tiny glimpses of the Light on the other side.

I came to realize that heaven was to be found in the moments after sleep consumes the intellect and just before dreams tease the spirit.

I feared inner peace and sought distraction to the point where distraction took the place of inner peace, and I was content with it.

I sought to deny myself thoughts, beliefs, experiences…to sacrifice them to a code I thought prohibited them.

I tried to do the right thing when most of the time I hadn't a clue what the right thing was. I learned that "the right thing" has more to do with luck than any result of good motives.

I celebrated diversity and sought to tear down the walls of intolerance. I firmly believed that you should do unto others as you would have others do unto you.

In regards to how others lead their own lives I added this amendment" "Mind thy own business".

I closed my eyes and thought "This is all there will ever be". And so I taught myself to love darkness.

I opened my eyes and thought "This is all there will ever be". And so I taught myself to love light.

A guru led me into a place within myself that was neither light nor darkness and he told me "This is all there will ever be". He told me that if I wished to find it again I must empty myself and surrender to the Supersoul. It was then that I realized I knew nothing.

I wanted to be a philosopher. I wanted to be a priest. I wanted to be a hero. I wanted to be a famous rock star. I wanted to be a mentor. I wanted to be a scholar. I wanted to be a Marine. I wanted to be a champion. I wanted a lot of things. Too many things.

I listened to a great man's words…."You can't always get what you want, but if you try sometimes you just might find you get what you need." And so I tried.

I noticed that the numbers on calendars never went backwards.

One morning I saw a storm brewing in the eastern sky and I gave God a high five.

I was told that "good things come to those who wait"…I'm still waiting to see if that's true.

I willingly lost myself in the dreams of others, then felt used and manipulated when the credits began to roll.

I satisfied my soul with poet's nonsense.

I was content with someone else's song.

Memories kept me from believing that all the things I thought were real were vapors all along.

I spent all my life searching for the meanings of some things I was never meant to know.

A strange thing, that the more I really loved someone the less inclined I was to tell them how much. As if "they should know by now" was good enough." Many were the times such logic turned against me and proved me an idiot.

I proposed that loving someone grants them entrance into your heart, where they will dwell until the day you die. I like to think that, of all the foolish notions I've entertained, this one is an unshakeable truth.

in REPEAT mode REPEAT mode REPEAT

Whenever I hear that song I'll get a lump in my throat
The size of a grapefruit
It will be your voice I hear gliding through the melodies
In my mind's eye I won't try to hide
Your head tilting back with the high notes
Your own eyes closed, squinting, holding back
A look of pure ecstasy and passion deep as any
Union remembered or forgotten
You sing and you make the song your own
So it is your own and I would not take it from you
Even if I could
Even if I wanted to

The sound drowns and I won't turn it down
It fills the room to overflowing
I fall back into your favorite chair and watch
You skim the waves
I color the empty space blue to give you something to sink into
When you fall
Sinking as the noise subsides
Reaching for my lifeguard arms
With the first line of the second chorus
I pull you down and draw you near
Ease you into your favorite chair
You won't mind, we can share

I've got the song in "repeat" mode and it's played 6 times now
Every single spin my head begins to swim
Doesn't get old, just sinks in deeper
A knife, a nail, sharp enough but painless
It's just a needle for my weakest vein
Injects the feeling I had the very first time I heard it
The first time I saw you hold a microphone to your mouth
Saw you move to and fro to the beat of the music
Already lost, five minutes and nine seconds out of time and space
All of the world's existentialist quandaries forgotten and powerless
You took me with you
Or more like you let me follow, by the tail, hold on for dear life
Knowing that when we burst through the other side
The words and music would be branded into our brains

I could leave it on "repeat" all night long
It never gets old

Still, the next song on this playlist is awesome
You really should hear it

King Tongue: "Waiting for the Rain"

It's time to share another video from the archives...this is King Tongue performing an original composition entitled "Waiting for the Rain". Actually we wrote it around the same time Head were breaking up but it's the same song. Recorded in 2000 at Charlie's Fire Lake steak house in Tecumseh, Oklahoma, the "event" was a wedding reception which hopefully explains the presence of small children walking to and from the "stage". They seem to really enjoy the music. Probably more than the adults there did. From left to right, that's me playing bass guitar and singing, Charles Casey in the middle banging on the drums, and Gregg Dobbs on the end doing that thing he does with the guitar.

"Waiting for the Rain" © 2012 by James Arthur Casey. All rights reserved.

Modern country music in the ring

Notice he wasn't wearin' black back when this picture was taken

Yeah, Johnny! That's the way I feel about what passes for country these days. Most of it. If only you were still around to provide a little perspective.

But since that's not looking like it's going to happen anytime soon, I've got another idea:  MMA cage matches between modern country music stars.

Eric Church vs. Keith Urban, that would be a wager easily won.

Montgomery Gentry vs. Rascal Flatts: three men down, two riding Harleys to the honky tonk.

Trace Adkins vs. Toby Keith, since guns aren't allowed in the ring you would be smart to put your money on Adkins because, face it, he is one big, tall mother lover. He's survived a gunshot wound to the abdomen, in case you didn't know, so it's obvious who has the advantage in this match.

Tim McGraw vs. George Strait, well, it's bad enough that Tim buys his cowboy hats at Big Lots or that George is probably at least 20 years older, the fact of the matter is that George Strait is the king. One pop to the noggin and McGraw will learn a whole 'nother meaning to "Live Like You Were Dying".

We could do a special "C&W Veterans Match" and pair up George Jones and Merle Haggard. They're both past their fighting years, you have to cut them some slack. George has overcome a lot of obstacles. He's beat alcoholism, he's beat cocaine abuse and he even beat a couple of his wives (not verified). A formidable opponent. But on the other hand Merle Haggard just got out of the hospital having whipped pneumonia or some other potentially deadly malaise, so that SOB is TOUGH! And obviously he's still at the top of his game, so I have to lay my wages at the feet of the "workin' man". Sorry, Possum.

Zac Brown vs. Scott McCreery: surprisingly enough I think Scotty would win, simply because I don't see Zac as the kind of man who would strike a kid. Not just out of respect for the "right thing to do" but even more out of respect for the law. He's obviously a tough guy, but I doubt he wants to find out just HOW tough behind prison walls.

Sugarland vs. Lady Antebellum...I think that one will be a tie. The Antebellums certainly outnumber the Lands three-to-two but once that Sugarland dude gets his wacky signature hat knocked off he will be pissed to the gills and a force to be reckoned with. He could very well, in such a state of righteous anger, pull down a good 2/3s of the Ladys, but that one guy with the tattoo might be able to fend him off for a few minutes at least.

Taylor Swift vs. Martina McBride...Reba McEntire vs. Sara Owens...Rodney Akins vs. Dierks Bentley...Brad Paisley vs. Alan Jackson...Billy Currington vs. Big & Rich...What a great bill! The mat will be spattered with blood and Tennessee whiskey when the last cowboy has gone home. A lot of superstars will leave the arena on stretchers and even more will require extensive first aid from qualified paramedics. And I don't mean band-aids and alcohol. I'm talking about stitches, splints, neck braces, IVs, the works. Some will never make another country music video for the rest of their lives. Many will take the stage with a limp from now on. As for the winners? A chance to pray for Keith Urban's recovery. Membership in a tiny, exclusive, elite club of people who have prayed for Keith Urban's recovery. New-found respect from fans who won a lot of money betting on them. Another chance to write the perfect country song, somehow incorporating their victory into the mix with momma, trains & getting drunk. Respect. Winner take all. Until the casino hosts another C&W cage fight extravaganza.

And when the bell has rang for the last match of the last C&W MMA cage fight in history, there will be only one man left standing. He'll have knocked the hat off Tim McGraw's balding head. He'll have bought Josh Turner a ticket for that long, black train and stood at the station to make sure he got on. He'll have put Hootie back in the Blowfish. He'll have put Kenny Chesney in a Jimmy Buffet tribute band and made sure he never played in Nashville again. He'll hide Willie Nelson's weed and laugh to watch him frantically searching for it. Cruel. He'll have made Blake Shelton scream so hard, so loud and so long that he will forever lose his voice. And he'll keep kicking ass until he's 100 years old, when he'll retire and go back to roping cows on the range. "I was a young troubadour when I rode in on a song," he sings, words were never spoken as true as they, "I'll be an old troubadour when I'm gone." That'll be a long time to come. Until then, watch and be amazed as GEORGE STRAIT wreaks havoc on the state of country music in these times.