Fire and Rain

A couple of rainy days here in Texas.  But between cloudbursts, caught this shot of a crepe myrtle blazing up, undaunted.  The sky behind it was actually a rather dark bluish-gray, which made a striking background, but that didn't come through in the photo.

Gay Pride: 1970 to 2010

The Stonewall Riots took place on the night of June 27/28, 1969, and subsequent evenings.  The first parade commemorating the event was held in New York on June 28, 1970.  Hence, this year's festivities are the 40th occurrence of public celebrations of Gay Pride.

Your Head Trucker hates to admit it, but he has never once attended any Pride parade or event.  I've always been stuck in some homophobic corner of the Deep South where such things just didn't happen.

And truth to tell, from all the pictures I've seen of such things - not being the party boy type, not at all - it looks like something that might be fun to watch once.  Just to say I'd been there.  Like a visit to your fifth cousin's place back in Oldfuckfield, Mississippi.

Because fellas, and I've never told anyone this, it's always been something of a disappointment to your Head Trucker that we collectively have no stirring anthem (like "Lift Ev'ry Voice and Sing"), no splendid historical events (like the March on Washington, 1963) to reflect on, no noble leaders (like Dr. King) to inspire and direct our cause.  No grand monuments or lovely statues to remind us of a highminded past.

No, what we have are a few photos of angry kids and drag queens screaming at cops and being hauled off to jail in the middle of the night.  Grainy videos of a few unremarked protestors and some crowds of long-haired youths shouting their way down the streets in a so-what city. 

No, what we have are way too many memories of a dark, crowded barroom, anywhere, with grungy floors and ear-splitting music.  And in the dark, the half-forgotten ache of selfish desires and little intrigues and petty jealousies and the difference between love and what you settle for at 2 a.m.

No, what we have - is it still shown, anywhere? - is the AIDS quilt, which is truly monumental and truly, deeply moving.  But when all is said and done, much more of a heartbreak than an inspiration.

No, all we have is the small, modest memory of the weak standing up to the strong, the few against the many, the despised against the righteous.  And that is our nobility, and our pride.  It is enough; it has to be.

But even though this is not the kind of outfit I would have chosen to join up with, if I had any choice - it's mine, all the good and the bad of it, and it's yours too.  Things are what they are, we have to make the best of them.

And in this little eggshell of space and time we are given - we have to make our lives as true and good and beautiful as possible:  the trinity of supreme values, said the ancient Greeks.  I think we gay people are particularly suited to live out those values, in some ways much more so than our heterosexual neighbors whose minds and hearts are fenced off with barb wire from some very important aspects of life - and utterly deluded about others.

Talking with the ex-roommate a while back, we both agreed that the one commonality all gay men seem to share is a fundamental love of beauty:  creating it, discovering it, expressing it, some way or other.

In spite of all the hate and oppression, while we can let us celebrate what we are.  For of course, we exist only at the sufferance of the enormously larger heterosexual world:  the huge 95 or 97 percent.  The tide is running in our favor now - but having lived a good part of my life near the seashore, I well know that though the tide comes in sometimes, it also goes out.  No current is unchangeable, fellas - remember that.

But we're here now, we're queer now, let's rejoice now.  I don't feel like writing a more profound essay than this jumble of thoughts, forgive me; but here's a couple things to mark this 40th anniversary of Pride.

First, Bryan Safi with a comic take on where we've been and where we are:



Second, a look back at the origins of Pride with people who were there:



Finally, to show how far we have not come, lest anyone be deluded - here's the contrast, the cold, hard difference between most of us and the vast, vast majority of the 97 percent:  here is, all their crocodile-tear protestations to the contrary notwithstanding, what they celebrate and adore and idolize, what they build monuments to, what they glorify with every tribute and sanctify with every prayer, what they will always choose - given a choice, men and women alike - over and instead of us:  from the Rolling Stone interview that just caused an earthquake in Washington:

'How'd I get screwed into going to this dinner?" demands Gen. Stanley McChrystal. It's a Thursday night in mid-April, and the commander of all U.S. and NATO forces in Afghanistan is sitting in a four-star suite at the Hôtel Westminster in Paris. He's in France to sell his new war strategy to our NATO allies – to keep up the fiction, in essence, that we actually have allies. Since McChrystal took over a year ago, the Afghan war has become the exclusive property of the United States. Opposition to the war has already toppled the Dutch government, forced the resignation of Germany's president and sparked both Canada and the Netherlands to announce the withdrawal of their 4,500 troops. McChrystal is in Paris to keep the French, who have lost more than 40 soldiers in Afghanistan, from going all wobbly on him.

"The dinner comes with the position, sir," says his chief of staff, Col. Charlie Flynn.

McChrystal turns sharply in his chair.

"Hey, Charlie," he asks, "does this come with the position?"

McChrystal gives him the middle finger. . . .

McChrystal takes a final look around the suite. At 55, he is gaunt and lean, not unlike an older version of Christian Bale in Rescue Dawn. His slate-blue eyes have the unsettling ability to drill down when they lock on you. If you've fucked up or disappointed him, they can destroy your soul without the need for him to raise his voice.

"I'd rather have my ass kicked by a roomful of people than go out to this dinner," McChrystal says.

He pauses a beat.

"Unfortunately," he adds, "no one in this room could do it."

With that, he's out the door.

"Who's he going to dinner with?" I ask one of his aides.

"Some French minister," the aide tells me. "It's fucking gay."

Tired Old Queen at the Movies: Elizabeth and Essex

Steve Hayes reviews the great Bette Davis and megastud Errol Flynn in this tale of love and betrayal at the court of the Virgin Queen:



The trailer, with the magnificent score by Eric Korngold in the background:



Nannette Fabray (who knew?) talks about her role in this picture, and the lead actors:



Here's a tribute to Hollywood's bad boy, with a perfect pairing of song and subject:



Oh, and um, sure looks like blood will tell:  here's Errol's grandson, Luke Flynn, modeling for Nautica.  Whadda ya say, fellas - chip off the old block?

Oil Slams Florida Coast

NASA satelite photo of the Gulf yesterday, click to enlarge for the breathtaking size of this spill:

A picture taken Wednesday on Pensacola Beach in Florida's westernmost county, where the sands are as white and as fine as granulated sugar:

The Pensacola News-Journal says the beach, which was closed but has now reopened, looks much better today now that clean-up crews have scooped most of the oil up with shovels.  But folks . . . this is just the beginning.  There's a shitload more where that came from. 

The PNJ quotes a local resident aghast at the scene:

"This is not just a body of water," she says angrily. "This is sacred. This is where we play as children. Where we learn to swim. Where we meet loved ones. Where we enjoy our grandchildren. Collect seashells, memories. Where the soul is replenished. This is sacred!"

FYI - according to InfoPlease, this is how many miles of coastline, general and tidal, are now imperiled:

Estimates of how much oil has leaked into the Gulf to date range as high as 6 million barrels, or a quarter of a billion gallons.  And counting.

The Exxon Valdez spill is estimated at 10 to 30 million gallons - far, far less.

Afternoon Drive: Summer Blond

Works for me, how about you?



Y'all have a good one, see you down the road.

Waitin' for the Weekend

Peterbilt says it all.

This Week in Texas

WFAA forecasts a little warm spell:

It ain't so bad. Yet. There's still July and August to come.  Meantime, think I'll run down to the swimming hole and chill out like this cowboy:

Looks nice and cool, don't it.  Who wants to go wimme?

Tired Old Queen at the Movies: Picnic

Steve Hayes reviews one of your Head Trucker's favorites, which shows the simple charm of small-town America at midcentury - and depending on how you like your bread buttered, the appealing charms of Kim Novak and William Holden too.

Lovelight: Groove Me, Baby

Some clips of young lovers that stir up thoughts of what might have been, could have been, should have been.



Good night, guys.  Sweet dreams.

Quo Vadis?

I don't know where to go from here

I don't know where the road will lead

Or even if there is a road

Or only a dead end

Barb wire and cross posts

Saying here but no farther

I should be afraid

But I'm too tired

Too lost to care

When you get to the place

Where you have to get out and walk

Even breadcrumbs would help

But if the birds ate them all

Then what?

Scintilla

Suddenly in the afternoon

A spark of joy

Quick

Catch it

Before it flies away

Where all the light goes

When you turn it out

It will not feed you

But you can feast on it

For a moment

All joys are

Like that

Necessarily brief

Briefly necessary.

Sunday Drive: When We All Get to Heaven

An old familiar Gospel tune, updated by Brad Paisley on his 2005 album, 5th Gear:

Waitin' for the Weekend

Texas Republican Apologizes to BP

All I can say is, it figures.  Now of course, if W had done the exact same thing, this dipshit wouldn't have uttered a peep. 

From Texas, I apologize to the rest of the country for the asshole remarks of this deepwater creep and all my other benighted neighbors here.

Here's the President's announcement about the compensation fund:



And finally, here's Rachel's take on what Obama should have said during his address to the nation Tuesday night:

Visit msnbc.com for breaking news, world news, and news about the economy

Update: The Vice-President's remarks on shithead Rep. Barton's comments:

That's Gay: Commercials

Bryan Safi goes undercover to investigate gay characters in TV ads:



Ah but in France, they're a little more open about teh gayz - as in this commercial for Mickey D's:

Yeah, I know it's like so 15 minutes ago - just haven't had a chance to post it until now.

Funny thing is, as charming and delightful as it is - some of the bitchy queens big-dog gay bloggers have barfed all over it for not being in-your-face enough. 

But I'm lovin' it.  Makes sense to me.  Thanks, McD - I'm gonna run out and get me a quarter-pounder right now.  Seriously.

Lovelight: In a Lover's Eyes

Good night guys, sleep tight.

Sunday Drive: Remember When

My buddy M. Pierre's continuing story of a day in childhood spent with his Aunt Chin puts me in mind of this song.  I remember being so small, so innocent, so trusting - once upon a time.  So very long ago now.  Lord, where have all the years gone?

Enjoy.

If you can stand the blatant heterosexuality, that is. Why oh why do those people have to flaunt themselves all the time and shove it down people's throats like this?

Tired Old Queen at the Movies: Laura

Steve Hayes on the suspenseful 1944 film noir classic:

Murder in the Smart Set is the backdrop for this week's film noir, Otto Preminger's LAURA, starring Gene Tierney, Dana Andrews, Clifton Webb, Vincent Price and Judith Anderson. Taking over directing duties when Rouben Mamoulian was fired, Preminger was Oscar nominated as Best Director for his very first assignment.

Tierney was the second choice to play the enigmatic Laura after Jennifer Jones had turned it down and Darryl F. Zanuck's choice, Laird Cregar was vetoed by Preminger in favor of Clifton Webb, to play the venomous Waldo Lydecker, a role that set him up for the next twenty years at Fox and made him an overnight sensation at fifty-five. The combination of a haunting score by David Raksin, Oscar winning cinematography by Joseph LaShelle, a chic wardrobe by Bonnie Cashin and the legendary beauty of Gene Tierney, helped LAURA earn its reputation as the "sophisticated who-dunit."

But "Laura" also remains one of the most romantic films of the era. What was the secret behind the beautiful girl in the portrait? What effect did she have on everyone around her? And why, if everyone adored her, did someone succeed in killing her? Everyone sees her differently, but who was she? These are the questions that plague detective Dana Andrews as an average guy who falls in love with a beautiful girl in a picture on the wall. "That was Laura, but she's only a dream...."

Clifton Webb is a wicked delight in this film and others that followed.  Online encyclopedia glbtq says this about him:

Webb's portrayal of the murderous aesthete Waldo Lydecker not only made him a movie star, it was also at once a summation and expansion of Hollywood's "sissy" characters. Sissies were a popular fixture of 1930s comedies and musicals, where the presence of effeminate character actors such as Franklin Pangborn and Edward Everett Horton instantly signified to audiences a sophisticated, sexually ambiguous world (the films of Astaire-Rogers abound with such characters).

The sissy was usually a fussy foil to the heterosexual star, female or male, a sexless comic figure who popped up briefly to liven things up with a bon mot or a raised eyebrow or a dramatic exit.

In Laura, the sissy retains all the old characteristics--sophistication, brittleness, cynicism--while adding a new element of suppressed violence and sexual passion that threatens not only the other characters but also widely held cultural assumptions about the passivity of the effeminate male.

Webb played this role to perfection; as Waldo he is at once droll and scary, capable of enormous pathos and vicious vitriol ("I should be sincerely sorry to see my neighbors' children devoured by wolves"). He is at once ridiculed and indulged by a straight policeman, standing in for society, who doesn't realize until it is almost too late that this sissy is also a killer.

Webb had the charisma and authority to single-handedly rescue the sissy from secondary roles; he is either the star or a major player in all of his films that followed.

The eternal puzzle of the sissy to straight society can be easily located in Webb's characterizations throughout his film career from 1944 to 1962.

Vito Russo reported in The Celluloid Closet that the pre-shooting script of Laura made Webb's Waldo Lydecker explicitly gay, a perverse Pygmalion to Gene Tierney's Galatea, but that many of these references were cut. Despite the film's conflicted view of Lydecker, Webb's nuanced portrayal makes it possible to read him equally credibly as both spurned heterosexual lover and woman-hating queen.

Here's a short clip of Webb at his most outrageous-queen best in Sitting Pretty (1948):

Unwanted and Unmentionable

The willful refusal to see any worth in human beings outside one's own kind is a species of that evil I wrote about the other day.

Two cases in point:  first, the mayor of Yuma, Arizona - figures - uses a Memorial Day speech to condemn the worthless "lacey-drawered, limp-wristed" fags who would ruin our military:



Yesterday, in a telephone interview with the local newspaper, the mayor said:  "As mayor I must respect the lifestyle choices of others, no matter how disagreeable they are with my personal beliefs or my personal moral standards.  I apologize for my comments at the Memorial Day service at Desert Lawn cemetery on Memorial Day."

Notice that the translation into plain English is:  It's a choice, a filthy nasty perverted choice, and I ain't changed my mind one bit.  So bite me,  faggots.

The Yuma Sun article, picking up on the mayor's reference to George Washington, correctly notes that Washington's chief of staff in the Revolutionary War was Baron von Steuben - who brought his French lover with him to the battlefields.  And did a helluva great job of warfare too.

Oh, you didn't hear about that in history class?  Really?  No wonder - teh gayz have always been erased from history - wiped off the page.  Repeatedly.  Deliberately.

Why?  For this simple reason:  you are just too shocking to explain to a 7-year-old.  As Congressdouche Ike Skelton, R-MO, House Armed Services Committee Chairman, makes so clear:

Don't even mention the gays - the kids might ask questions!

Okay, so now do you get the picture:  not only are you a worthless fag that everybody, including God, hates with a passion - but also your very existence is unmentionable in front of children. In fact, you have no right to exist, period, you disgusting creep.

That's evil.

The Persistence of Memory

Afternoon Drive: Stud on the Floor

No music this time, just a half-drunk cowboy showing off for the camera.  Works for me.  Big time.

Honk to my truckbuddy 'dave' in PA, who knows what I like . . . .   Y'all have a good one.

It's Unanimous: Iceland OK's Equal Marriage

Reuters:

The Althingi parliament voted 49 to zero to change the wording of marriage legislation to include matrimony between "man and man, woman and woman," in addition to unions between men and women.

Iceland, a socially tolerant island nation of about 320,000 people, became the first country to elect an openly gay head of state in 2009 when Social Democrat Johanna Sigurdardottir became prime minister after being nominated by her party.

"The attitude in Iceland is fairly pragmatic," said Gunnar Helgi Kristinsson, a political scientist at the University of Iceland. "It (gay marriage) has not been a big issue in national politics -- it's not been controversial."

The prime minister's sexual orientation garnered far more interest among foreign media than in Iceland, where the attitude toward homosexuality has grown increasingly relaxed in the past two or three decades, Kristinsson added.

On Top:

Forty-nine of the country's 63 members of the Althingi parliament voted in favor of the law. The remainder abstained.  The legislation is groundbreaking in that it does not alter marriage to a gender-neutral institution, but instead includes “man and man” and “woman and woman” among the definitions of marriage.

The bill was introduced on March 23 and couples are expected to marry as early as this month. Marriage will replace Iceland's system of registered partnerships for gay and lesbian couples first enacted in 1996.

The legislation goes to President Olafur Ragnar Grimsson for his signature. Reports indicate the president will sign the bill into law.

And in Portugal, whose equal-marriage law came into effect last month, Agence France-Presse reports:

The first gay marriage in Portugal was celebrated Monday as a lesbian couple exchanged vows in a civil ceremony, one week after a law allowing same-sex unions went into force.

The divorced women, Helena Paixao, 40, and Teresa Pires, 33, were married in Lisbon before about 30 people.

The lesbians, who have two daughters from previous marriages and have been together for eight years, were also the first gay couple to submit a request to be married back in 2006, which launched the debate on legalising homosexual unions in Portugal, a predominantly Catholic country.

Same-sex marriage map of Europe (click here for the Wikipedia article): dark blue = equal marriage; medium blue = registered partnerships; yellow = under discussion; gray = not recognized; red = constitutional prohibition.

Canada and South Africa also recognize equal marriage nationwide.  New Zealand has civil unions, and Australian states extend limited rights to same-sex couples either through registered partnerships or unwed cohabition.

Glory

Click to enlarge.

I'm Not Making This Up

Swear to God.  And it's just starting to get warm here.

Title This

Ohio woman jailed after calling 911 demanding they send her a husband . . . .

. . . I can just hear a Village People song cranking up, can't you?

Tired Old Queen at the Movies: The Long Hot Summer

Steve Hayes dishes up a cool review of The Long Hot Summer - perfect timing.  He writes:

Passions flair in the heat of "The Long Hot Summer" (1958) directed by Martin Ritt. Paul Newman stakes his claim to stardom as a drifter out to tame a prim and proper southern belle played by his future wife Joanne Woodward. Anthony Franciosa and Lee Remick tantalize, tease and chase each other throughout the southern mansion owned by tycoon Orson Welles, who has an eye on seeing his family settled and settling down himself with local "B" Girl, Angela Lansbury. Based on short stories by William Faulkner and shot on location in the Deep South, "The Long Hot Summer" is steamy, sexy, playful and provocative. It's the perfect remedy for a long summer night and Paul Newman is the ideal "bad boy" to cozy up to and settle down with.

I never have seen this one, but I'm going to now.  Damn, what an incredible cast.  And Paul Newman shirtless . . . .

The trailer:

BTW, Johnny's totally cute, but like so many from the frozen Nawth has a bad case of accent envy. Well that's too bad - we cain't all be lucky enough to be born in the South I reckon.  Eachur haht out, Yankee boys. 

Grin.

Us versus Them

Quotes from two posts on Sullivan's blog illustrate the old, old story, the sorry human condition - which is the cause of so much suffering in the world and always has been.  And that, at the hands of "good" people too - like you and me.

1. From a reflection by Robert Ebert on that school mural in Arizona:

I began up above by imagining I was a student in Prescott, Arizona, with my face being painted over. That was easy for me. What I cannot imagine is what it would be like to be one of those people driving past in their cars day after day and screaming hateful things out of the window. How do you get to that place in your life? Were you raised as a racist, or become one on your own? . . .  The hard-won social struggles of the 1960s and before have fundamentally altered the feelings most of us breathe, and we have evolved, and that is how America will survive. We are all in this together.

But what about the people in those cars? They don't breathe that air. They don't think of the feelings of the kids on the mural. They don't like those kids in the school. It's not as if they have reasons. They simply hate. Why would they do that? What have they shut down inside? Why do they resent the rights of others? Our rights must come first before our fears. And our rights are their rights, whoever "they" are.

2.  Sullivan recounts a conversation with a friend over the Israeli attack on that flotilla:

I grabbed some food the other night with a longtime Jewish friend. We had an honest conversation - the kind you cannot have on US television. He's a big liberal but strongly sided with Israel in this latest incident. Why? "They're my people." But you're an American, I countered, you're not an Israeli, let alone a supporter of Netanyahu. None of that mattered to him. His attachment to Israel was indistinguishable from his attachment to America, and, if push came to shove, Israel came first, right or wrong. This had been dinned into him since childhood. His iPhone was deluged with texts from relatives and friends all appalled by any criticism of the commando attack, and immediately seeing it as anti-Semitic or designed to end the state of Israel for ever.

To charge dual loyalty is described as a blood libel, a vile anti-Semitic charge, and it often is. But my friend was very frank about it and unapologetic. That's just the way it is, he said. It was deeply ingrained. . . .

No decent human being who has a grasp of history, let alone the enormity of the Shoah, can fail to have a deep sympathy for the Jewish people, Israel, and respect for its enormous achievements. But the fanaticism and emotionalism that many Jewish Americans have with respect to Israel is so intense that, for some, it overwhelms rationality, and makes a cool strategic analysis of America's national interest close to impossible. Their total identification with Israel is often emotionally as strong, if not stronger, as their identification with America. . . .

That tribal loyalty - my country, right or wrong - is a very human but very insidious thing.  As we have seen, it will cause "good," upstanding, devout citizens of this or any other land to perpetrate and justify every evil under the sun, not excluding the most extreme reaches of torture and murder and genocide.

It makes me remember a conversation nearly forty years ago with a great-aunt, now long deceased - the very upright sort of Sunday-go-to-meeting old-fashioned Southern lady.  She told me the story of how back in the 1920's in a small Arkansas town, a black man had shot her brother, the local sheriff, to death in some altercation.  Whereupon the entire town immediately turned out to hunt down the culprit and hang him in broad daylight in the public square.  About which my great-aunt said, with quiet pride, "I was there, I watched it all."  And never turned a hair.

Us versus Them.  If They get out of hand or overstep the line, no punishment, no retribution is too awful for Them, the nasty beasts.  Even elderly Southern ladies who crochet lace antimacassars and have their blue curls shampooed and set every Thursday afternoon agree, without the slightest hesitation.  Or shame.

A very human thing.  And very ugly.  The quiet cruelty, the everyday evil that we all are capable of, potentially. 

And yes, I mean evil in the full philosophical and theological sense of the word.  Evil is no monster of awful aspect and frightening mien - evil looks just like the people you see on the street every day:  driving to work, shopping for groceries, going to church.  Evil looks just like that man in the mirror, bud - just exactly like him.

Which is something none of us likes to realize or remember.  So on and on the long, tragic story of humanity goes.  Right here, right there, wherever we are, all over the globe:  except where those few scattered points of spiritual light shine through humble, chastened souls.

And I could tell you other stories - like the one of the old gentleman I happened to meet once when I was in high school who recounted with great amusement, laughing, how when he was a boy in rural Mississippi attending a one-room schoolhouse, they used to use the scalps of lynched Negroes as erasers for the blackboard - and swore to the truth of it.  Laughing.  He was a nice old guy, very friendly, would help a neighbor with any job, give you the shirt off his back if you needed it . . . . you, of course, being one of Us, not Them --

But I suppose you get the point.

Photo:  Barry Somers Photoblog.

The Secret Powers of Time

Present-hedonists rock!  This explains a lot.



Honk to Andrew Sullivan.

Oil Spill Hits Florida Beaches

It makes me ill to think of what all that oil will do to Florida's beautiful sugar-white sand beaches and turquoise waters.  At one time I used to live just 15 minutes from the Gulf down that way - so it feels personal to me.



What's about to be lost:

Photo:  visitpensacolabeach.com

Lovelight: Turn Me Loose

Possibly NSFW, but what the hell.



'Night guys, sweet dreams.

Procrastination Is a Virtue

Skinny, motivated, disciplined people with their right angles and straight edges and bottom lines do not see what is most important in life.  Look what I almost cut down for a weed a couple of weeks ago.  Joy.

Do click to see the fine details.

Sex and Faith

Andrew Sullivan:

I certainly don't think that sexuality is my prime focus here, though it is surely apposite. Would I prefer to live in a world where sex was a form of ownership of men over women, when it led to constant disease and appalling death-rates in childbirth, where every sexual act could lead to pregnancy, where gay people were hanged or persecuted or forced into lives of untold misery and pain? No fucking way. And do I think that Christianity's sexual doctrines are a corner-stone of the faith? Not in the slightest. Jesus was uninterested in these matters. True faith is not fixated on sex; it has left sex behind - along with money and wealth and pride - in the pursuit of the divine. The only people fixated on sex are those who wish to use its power to control others.

Just One More

I saved the best for last.  Pumpjacks are a very common sight in these parts, it sure says Texas to me - even though these particular ones are in Oklahoma.  Headed home, I spotted the scene and slowed the truck way down while M. Pierre took the pic.  Awesome.

Click to enlarge.  MP calls them grasshoppers, which I never thought of but I can see why.

Sunday Drive: By the Rivers of Babylon

I heard this song one time on television some thirty years ago and immediately fell in love with it.  And then for all those many years could never find it again, and didn't know who had recorded it.

But the words weren't hard to remember - taken from Psalm 137, and the bridge from Psalm 19.  Plus the tune was so catchy, I couldn't forget it.  Happily, a couple of years ago I rediscovered it on YouTube:  so  here you go.  Seems appropriate after your Head Trucker's woods-and-water excursion this week.  And I'll just bet this will have you toe-tapping around the house this Sunday morning too.  Enjoy.

Green River

A few more pics from our trip to the woods.  First, some critters we encountered, starting with a herd of bison:

Then as we were on our way out of the park just before sunset, we came around a curve and OMG right there in the middle of the road was this young buck.  So I slammed on brakes and my buddy grabbed his Nikkon.  Of course the deer wouldn't stand still to pose for us, but M. Pierre managed to get these shots as the little cuss ambled off into the woods:

And then of course there was our little duckbuddy, who would have posed all day long for us I think.  Absolutely no fear of people, apparently; M. P. splashed water on him and got within about 3 feet to take these snaps, but duckbuddy was like, Whatever.

Speaking of, um, duckbuddies - of course, where there's water, there's always the story of the one who got away:

Damn, I shoulda used a stronger line.  He sure was friendly though, and not afraid of people.  He'd let you walk right up to him, splash water on him, whatever.  Wish I'd had something to feed him with.

And finally here's a little montage I threw together with the only possible song:  an anthem for us Southern boys.  (John Fogerty isn't Southern - but he should have been.)

If you didn't grow up running the woods and creeks and swamps, swinging out from a tall tree on an old tire hitched to a rope and dropping twenty feet into the water, raising a cloud of dust on a red dirt road in an old rattling truck, and drinking beer at midnight on the riverbank with a buddy in front of a log fire while you listen to the hoot owls and whippoorwills sing - man, I feel so sorry for you bud.

Crank it up. 

Make an on-line slideshow at www.OneTrueMedia.com

It was a helluva lot more fun than standing around some grungy old barroom half the night where you can't even hear yourself talk, that's for sure fellas.  I tell you what.



P.S. - Okay, so like with all fish stories, I lied about the nekkid guy.   I actually kiped that pic  from my truckbuddy Ultra Dave.  But it makes a great story anyway, don't it?

More from Pork Boys' Day Out

Come to find out, the other Pork Boy clicked off 458 pics with his Nikkon the other day while we were in the woods. He hasn't gone through all of them yet but he did send me some today, and I'm not posting the really good ones - he's got first dibs on them for his own blog.

But here's a few of your Head Trucker getting high . . . and low . . . and sorta sideways too. Whatever.  Click to enlarge.

After the picnic, we started scouting good photo ops.  First, though, we took turns changing into our swim clothes in the truck.  Sorry, I didn't think to take any pics of that.

 

Many long and winding trails later, your Head Trucker had to stop and cool his tootsies in the 40-degree water.  It was great . . . .

I don't care what you say pardner, I ain't getting one step closer to that goddamn edge!

And here's why, right in front of me.

Still and all, sunset on the mountain was awful purty.

Man, lookittem birds flying yonder.

Two buddies sharing a little wine kool-aid on the mountain top when the sun goes down is a fine thing, yessir it is.  And see what a pretty bottle we found to carry it in?

M. Pierre sees the bottle and says, "Mon Dieu, I am so thirsty after climbing up this mountain.  Hurry up and pour me some, couillon!"

Waitin' for the Weekend

In this Texas heat, it feels so good to come home and get out of your sweaty clothes . . . .

In Memoriam: Rue McClanahan

The Emmy-Award winning Oklahoma native died at age 76 at New York Presbyterian Hospital today, following a stroke.  Here's part of a recent interview in which she discusses "Golden Girls," and her fellow cast members.  If you can believe it, the producers originally wanted Betty White to play Blanche, and Rue to play Rose.



Skip past the annoying buzz to the :20 second mark.

Pork Boys' Day Out

View Chickasaw National Recreation Area in a larger map

So the ex-roommate called and said why don't we get the hell out of this sweltering heat and run up to Oklahoma for the afternoon, and I said let's go buddy.

Not far up the highway is Chickasaw national recreation area (a mouthful of a name, why the hell not just call it a national park?) where it was at least ten degrees cooler and lots and lots of cold, clear water:  springs, creeks, waterfalls, swimming holes.  Just lovely.

So we loaded up my truck with ice coolers and sandwich fixin's and wine, which is illegal in national parks although guns are just fine strawberry Kool-Aid, and off we went.  And it was just as nice as you might imagine:  cool and green and refreshing, with bamboo, bubbles, birds, bison - and lots of redneck girls with tattoos and cellulite.  Plus a few tattooed, half-nekkid redneck men for visual relief.  Thank God.

Some pics below to give you an idea of the water and woods, click to enlarge.  Us old boys wore ourselves out tramping around through the woods, so I'm too tired to show or say more tonight, but we did get some good pics with my little Kodak and his much finer Nikkon, so stay tuned for more scenes tomorrow.  Also a video or two maybe.

And an explanation of why we call ourselves the Pork Boys.  If anyone's interested.

Bamboo trail.  Yup.  In Oklahoma.  Go figure.

Pleasant little foot-high waterfall where we made our picnic on this side of the creek.

Downriver from the little waterfall, the people in the distance are walking down the creek bed, which is not very deep, or standing atop another, larger waterfall.

"And what the hell are you staring at?" he grunted.

Notice there is nary a railing on this sheer rock ledge at Bromide Hill, only six feet wide and sloping downwards, which is a signposted tourist attraction.  Which I suppose is Oklahoma's approach to population control.  Or something like that.

Oh and we did make a new friend while we were up there - who became our, um, duckbuddy for the day.