Trouble with FM radio

No matter how many good songs are recorded, and no matter how many radio stations are up and running, you can always find yourself in a situation where there are no good songs playing. One can flip through every station, and the only two songs in the rotation at that time are "Bad to the Bone," and Carlos Santana.
Allow me to note that I don't have any big issue with "Bad to the Bone." George Thorogood and the Destroyers have earned their niche in rock n roll history. When I saw him perform in Mountain View, CA he boldly and selflessly stated, "If anybody is going to get arrested for rock n roll tonight, it might as well be me." There was no threat of any arrests for rock n roll that evening, but I don't think that bothered George one bit. He's just ready to go downtown in custody of the boys in blue for rock n roll, because that's how strongly he stands in conviction for rock n roll. I appreciate that. It's like someone in Canada saying, "I would die for my country." My original point was, if you are on a bar and you and a mostly naked chick are pouring tequila on yourselves on a school night and "Bad to the Bone" comes on the jukebox, so be it. Walking down the street on a sunny day, it can be a bit too much song for the moment.
Now for Senor Carlos Santana. The hombre who toca la guitar. It is an interesting fact that Carlos Santana was the FIRST musician to fuse two previously completely separate styles of music! That combination, as we well know, is the union of the completely obnoxious and the utterly unoworthy of listening to styles of music. It took a real innovator to have the heart and courage to bring those together. I guess San Francisco in the 60's was the perfect experimental time for such risk and invention.
Another bothersome element of Carlos' position in the music industry is that all different varieties of radio programs love to play his songs. He can be heard on programs dedicated to playing R&B, classic rock, rock, alternative, adult contemporary, and even blues! You cannot escape. He stands among Castro and Dr. Doom in the halls of megalomaniacal fame.
Any wise-ass who wants to point out that Carlos' touch, taste, and craftsmanship finally paid off when he sculpted the masterpiece "Europa," can consider themselves beaten to the punch. That is an amazing tune. Even the simplest of morons can create something beautiful I suppose. The poisonous licks and constant airplay of that song that goes, "Maria, Maria" alone undo all the good that "europe" did to lighten Carlos' filthy reputation. I hate Santana, and I love "europa." If Carlos has anything to say about this, let him step right up, and I am not scared of him.
In the end, I am just curious; is it too much to ask for the Commodore's "Night Shift" to be playing? Please?

If you weren't already, would you have what it takes to become Garrison?

I would neither encourage nor accept any person's attempt to define Garrison. So, I beg you forgive this old soldier for his ponderous musings.

A man of the Garrison's strength is not determined by the gauge of his weapon. No, rather, it is my conviction that a man of the Garrison's might is drawn from the Knowledge that he fires only upon those who would fire upon him.

The mission of the Garrison is a lonely one. And yet, in these times, I see there are comforts fortuitously falling upon the Garrisonites. Though, a Garrisonite who craves comfort is not truly worthy of the name, I feel that these small blessings may be due the respective Garrisonites after all.

Perhaps the mission, undertaken by so few brave souls, has been a war waged so long and so hard, that members of the general populace have taken note. Aye, taken note and taken heart to assist these daring men in what small way they can.

Originally, only with a centralized HQ, could the men of the Garrison stand back-t0-back and defend their ground. Only through countless artillery shells spent, could they seize advantage of a chance to take initiative and move the warfront outward. Garrisonites infiltrated foreign lines so deeply that no man had dared imagine such bold action possible!

The visions and terrors I myself have seen at the frontlines of the war the men wage... I shudder to think of such an impact as the tales I could tell would crush you with, dear reader. Rest well, knowing men of the Garrison toil at the Warrior's work, while you may live a life of frivolity and peace.

Prediction and probability are aspects of judgment that have long been stymied when applied to the wanton chaos that governs the Garrison. Nevertheless, those with a bent for prognositcation state a belief that the Garrisonites position themselves so that they may stand poised to conquer the Globe Entire! Only time and keen observation can tell what will become of Garrisonism United.

Modesty, temperence, certainty. Never have these concepts been spoken of as virtues among the Garrison. Nor shall they ever!

I tell you, Philosopher, that you will never determine a means to define the set of all things Garrison. Rather, one can only hear the facts, and deem a person, locale, topic, or event Garrison or not.

Write a blog in less than eight minutes!

A good friend of mine urged me to write more. I have less than 8 minutes to compose a blog. In the beginning, I believed that every blog must be nothing less than epic. I don't know why I specify that I believed that in the beginning, because I believe it now. My position on blogs has never wavered. Always, always write blogs that will be immortalized.

Like for instance, the blog of Dr. P that rose to the most envied spot in the hall of fame when he carved the following letters into stone:

"Tears. Welling. I said to myself, if you cry on this plane over this book, there’s no way you can go back to th Garrison. Fortunately another coworker who was sitting on the plane next to me was crying over “Bucket List,” so I could call him a girl and hide my own girlish tendencies."

A round of applause is appropriate at this juncture, gentlemen. Anything I could say would merely trivialize the beauty and indisputable truth of this statement.


Breakneck subject change: I realize I hate my job. This is probably not so troubling to anybody, but myself. It is probably generally believed that I always hate my job. People probably come to this conclusion, because for 3 of the 4 last years, I undoubtedly hated every job I've ever held. Maybe I have no ability to respect the hand that feeds me. Maybe I am too stubborn. Maybe jobs suck!

It struck a truly poignant chord in me when I realized that I hated the manic pace the job required, coupled the frantic, inefficient methods my co-worker/manager takes to solve them. One third of the time I work, she is not present. These days go fine, and I forget all about how I wanted to abandon my job and go to the park to get sun, fun and exercise. Then, the tumult begins again when she returns to work. One of my favorite things that she does is lean right over me and correct what I'm doing on the computer key-stroke by keystroke, mouse-click by mouse-click! It's brutallion stallion.

Maybe what I ought to do is quit with a moment's notice, and ride the wild winds Northward to the land of the Holy Cross.

-Sea-Dog.