Monday, December 14, 2009

Here's to a Wild Night and a New Road! by Richard Giberti

Here's to a Wild Night and a New Road!

Friday, October 9, 2009 at 12:52pm
It seems some of us are always chasing a high…

I wish it weren’t so, but it is – “life,” as it’s termed, with its usual daily activities, friends and family, seems so often muted to me.

I was in a group once and we were talking about why we do, or did do drugs – most had typical responses, “to feel energetic, or excited” or “to feel mellow, to chill.” When I was asked, the answer popped out without forethought, I said, “to feel normal.”

I guess right-brain disordered folk (ADD, ADHD etc.) are missing some chemicals that the normies have. When we take an “upper” like cocaine or amphetamines we temporarily reach chemical levels similar to the everyday joe.

I don’t “do” drugs anymore, too many consequences and not another “bottom” left for me to hit, but I have been known to pursue a thrill or two since my clean & sober timeline started. Well, ok, lots of thrill-seeking channeled through work, play and sports. The adrenaline does the job, kinda, sorta, temporarily, and the aching, gnawing hunger for “normal” recedes a little toward the back of my being.

But it’s still a high I chase.

Religion has helped me too, not exactly religion. Actually, most definitely not religion! Not it’s steeples and bells and stained-glass windows – not the conformity, not the traditions, not the governing rules, not the promises or platitudes either. Religion hasn’t helped at all – I lied. But there have been times it felt like I walked with God, and the two halves of my brain became one and my body dissolved and I was even more than “normal” and I felt free. It was as Paul Tillich alluded to in his “Courage To Be” treatise; for a moment I was able to transcend to the God above the God of theism and religion. I was allowed to transcend the part, and to transcend the whole – to just be.

It may not be till my eyes are closed in sleep, to awake no more, before I am “right” and at home within myself. It may be as Emily Dickenson said, “Dying is a wild night and a new road.”

I think this is what all my recklessness is leading to, what I have looked for on all my motorcycle rides, far-away missions and the high I have chased all my life. I won’t hasten death, but when it arrives, it will be sweeter than any lover’s tryst has ever been.

Until then I will be grateful for the many blessings in my life, my wife, my children, my friends, my health, for grace - ah, vive la grace. I will try to walk at sunset, perceive the wind as it plays against my skin, be moved by words & song, smile more often than not, and laugh at myself for being the fool I am.

To you out there that seem to always chase a high, good luck with that, and;

Cheers!

by Richard Giberti

Here's to a Wild Night and a New Road! by Rich Giberti

Friday, October 9, 2009 at 12:52pm
It seems some of us are always chasing a high…

I wish it weren’t so, but it is – “life,” as it’s termed, with its usual daily activities, friends and family, seems so often muted to me.

I was in a group once and we were talking about why we do, or did do drugs – most had typical responses, “to feel energetic, or excited” or “to feel mellow, to chill.” When I was asked, the answer popped out without forethought, I said, “to feel normal.”

I guess right-brain disordered folk (ADD, ADHD etc.) are missing some chemicals that the normies have. When we take an “upper” like cocaine or amphetamines we temporarily reach chemical levels similar to the everyday joe.

I don’t “do” drugs anymore, too many consequences and not another “bottom” left for me to hit, but I have been known to pursue a thrill or two since my clean & sober timeline started. Well, ok, lots of thrill-seeking channeled through work, play and sports. The adrenaline does the job, kinda, sorta, temporarily, and the aching, gnawing hunger for “normal” recedes a little toward the back of my being.

But it’s still a high I chase.

Religion has helped me too, not exactly religion. Actually, most definitely not religion! Not it’s steeples and bells and stained-glass windows – not the conformity, not the traditions, not the governing rules, not the promises or platitudes either. Religion hasn’t helped at all – I lied. But there have been times it felt like I walked with God, and the two halves of my brain became one and my body dissolved and I was even more than “normal” and I felt free. It was as Paul Tillich alluded to in his “Courage To Be” treatise; for a moment I was able to transcend to the God above the God of theism and religion. I was allowed to transcend the part, and to transcend the whole – to just be.

It may not be till my eyes are closed in sleep, to awake no more, before I am “right” and at home within myself. It may be as Emily Dickenson said, “Dying is a wild night and a new road.”

I think this is what all my recklessness is leading to, what I have looked for on all my motorcycle rides, far-away missions and the high I have chased all my life. I won’t hasten death, but when it arrives, it will be sweeter than any lover’s tryst has ever been.

Until then I will be grateful for the many blessings in my life, my wife, my children, my friends, my health, for grace - ah, vive la grace. I will try to walk at sunset, perceive the wind as it plays against my skin, be moved by words & song, smile more often than not, and laugh at myself for being the fool I am.

To you out there that seem to always chase a high, good luck with that, and;

Cheers!

The AA of Bill W. by Rich Giberti

Please don’t misunderstand me, I am absolutely NOT against ministers or church-going (I attend a fantastic Calvary Chapel), I believe they have their place and for the most part provide a great and needed service. I also believe that many, if not most recovering persons greatly benefit from 12-step meetings and a great sponsor ;)

Despite the form with which church and 12-step groups take, there is a better and more effectual path than mentor & meeting – paradoxically, it was Bill Wilson that said real freedom came from a “spiritual experience – in short, a genuine conversion.” I think Bill W. would shake his head in disbelief were he to listen to people claim a light bulb or door knob were their higher power. Neither of these (nor the church, or even a good man) can change our nature and remove destructive thirsts. In 1961 eminent psychiatrist Carl Jung reiterated this point to Bill W. in a letter, Dr. Jung wrote; “You see, "alcohol" in Latin is "spiritus" and you use the same word for the highest religious experience as well as for the most depraving poison. The helpful formula therefore is: spiritus contra spiritum.” Translated, the divine spirit is against (counteracts/defeats) spirits (alcohol).

Dr. Jung said that the (alcoholic or addicts) deep craving was the equivalent, on a low level, of the spiritual thirst of our being for wholeness; expressed in medieval language: the union with God.

After years of degenerate living, and following hard on the heals of 1929’s Black Tuesday, Bill W. had finally and irrevocably reached his “bottom.” According to the standard tale Bill’s life-changing experience went something like this:

After repeatedly failing to get his drinking under control, Wilson, trembling on the brink of insanity, called up into the sky, “If there be a God, let Him show Himself now!” Suddenly, a warm bright light filled the room and Wilson found himself standing atop a mighty mountain. A wind came to him, surrounding his body and moving through it. With its departure, Wilson fell back into himself and never touched another drop of alcohol.

Listen to how Bill W. described the events leading to his personal freedom:

“In December 1934, I appeared at Towns Hospital, New York. My old friend, Dr. William Silkworth shook his head. Soon free of my sedation and alcohol I felt horribly depressed. My friend Ebby turned up and although glad to see him, I shrank a little as I feared evangelism, but nothing of the sort happened. After some small talk, I again asked him for his neat little formula for recovery. Quietly and sanely and without the slightest pressure he told me and then he left.

Lying there in conflict, I dropped into the blackest depression I had ever known. Momentarily my prideful depression was crushed. I cried out, "Now I am ready to do anything - anything to receive what my friend Ebby has." Though I certainly didn't expect anything, I did make this frantic appeal, "If there be a God, will He show Himself!" The result was instant, electric beyond description. The place seemed to light up, blinding white. I knew only ecstasy and seemed on a mountain. A great wind blew, enveloping and penetrating me. To me, it was not of air but of Spirit. Blazing, there came the tremendous thought, "you are a free man." Then the ecstasy subsided. Still on the bed, I now found myself in a new world of consciousness which was suffused by a Presence. One with the Universe, a great peace came over me. I thought, ‘So this is the God of the preachers, this is the great Reality.’"

Isn’t this electric, ecstatic, peace & freedom inducing experience what most of us are seeking? Neither 12-steps, nor one thousand are the answer. It's not another painful, difficult, confusing relationship with either man or group we want, but a soul-satisfying, thirst-quenching encounter and subsequent friendship with God.

Imagine No John Lennon, It's Easy.... by Rich Giberti

Thursday, October 15, 2009 at 11:31am
Imagine --

John Lennon wanted us to give up all our possessions and religion to achieve a brotherhood of man. This revelation undoubtedly came to him while he had a net worth of over $150 Million and as he watched homeless people during his limo ride to & from the Dakota, that luxury apartment building in New York (or was it the slums of India?)...

This special touch of hypocrisy and self-righteousness earns this song 1st place on my most idiotic songs list.

Lennon? Remember he's the one that felt that The Beatles were more popular than Jesus, and that Christianity would vanish and shrink? Lennon? Where's he at? Interestingly, after his remarks, The Beatles never toured again, ceased to perform concerts, feuded and shortly disbanded.

Ask me and millions of other to truly imagine a world or our lives without Jesus and you'd hear an astounding chorus cry out, "Never!"

But imagine a world without John Lennon, it's easy, heck, we've been doing it for over 25 years...

Really, Really, Really Stupid Lyrics by Rich Giberti

Saturday, October 17, 2009 at 1:21am
Really, Really, Really Stupid Lyrics – ya got any? Add to the growing list of misery…

"There were plants and birds and rocks and things"
--America's “Horse With No Name”

Uhuh – dudes, you been smokin’ way too much mary jane. Sounds like you got a-hold of that Tai stick, laced with opium my best friend’s older brother got from a wacked out returning vet in the 70’s. I can just see this band's lyricist getting started listing what he saw and then just totally spacing out, then coming to and finishing the line with “and things.” Adam and James said you should have seen their first draft; “There were papers, rocks and scissors, man!”

"Seasons crying no despair, alligator lizards in the air"
--America's “Ventura Highway”

I hate the band America! Of all things for us Venturans to be remembered by…why not Pomona Freeway, or Pasadena Freeway, or even the Victor V. Veysey Expressway – these lyrics discouraged me so much I had to move away from Ventura.

"Lucky that my breasts are small and humble, so you don't confuse them with mountains"
--Shakira's “Whenever, Wherever”

Ahh yes, these lyrics really should be on this list. People really like this song; oh wait, they like the video. Shakira’s inclusion of these lyrics are both cleverly and philanthropically a fantastic nod to visit the war-torn Cambodian tourist resort called “Virtuous Woman's Breast Mountain” (it really exists in Cambodia, but the report is there weren’t enough virtuous woman in America to start a chain). P-Diddy, Snoop Dog and 50 Cent are rumored to be offering guided tours, the ad in High Times reads, “located about 400 Kilometers from Phnom Penh…” Who said today’s artists are all fixated on sex, drugs and money? Not Shakira, you go girl!

"There's an insect in your ear, if you scratch, it won't disappear"
--U2's “Staring at the Sun”

No way, no, no beep beep way. I’m not even going to dignify this song or its syphilitic lyrical offspring by providing a Mystery Science Theatre 3000 running dialogue. I’ll let Bono tell you the best way to fully and completely enjoy his chanté, he provides the answer in the very same song “don't try too hard to think... don't think at all.”

"Coast to coast, L.A. to Chicago"
--Sade's “Smooth Operator”

Lyrics like these are painful, really, ouch, oww, painful. That’s why her fans and followers are called…you got it – sadists. Forgetting for a second the fact that Chicago is not on an ocean coast, it still is a fairly long trip to get from LA (that's Louisiana in this instance) to the Windy City in time for a Thursday slow dance. If we can but set aside Sade’s being geographically and topographically challenged, this could have been a Beach Boys jam – “yo, Brian, I heard the swell’s killer in Chi-Town, grab your stick and let’s load up the woody now, let’s head to Chicago. Waa waa wipe-out!”

“Before the cream sits out too long, you must whip it… I say whip it, whip it good.”
--Devo’s “Whip It”

Anyone know the name and location of the dude ranch in Arizona where Devo actually saw this act and used it for the song and video inspiration? Honey, repeat after me, “when a problem comes along, you must whip it…” Ahh, I feel much better – who needs a drink or a shrink?

“You can say that I'm one curly fry in the box of the regular, messing with the flavor oh the flavor that you savor. Saving me for last but you better not eat me at all, living in a fast food bag making friends with the ketchup and salt”
--Jason Mraz’s "Too Much Food"

Look at a letter from Jason’s 1st grade teacher: “Dear Mr. And Mrs. Mraz; we are required to inform you that your son is special. He loves the sound of nonsensical rhyming words, and doesn’t appear to live in the same world as his peers. Please find an outlet for him, I would suggest hip-hop, rap or contemporary rhyming.” His rhyming is so awful it leaves me curled up in a corner of the room in a fetal position, banging my head against the wall.

“Oh tell your Aunt Louise, tell anything you please. Myself already knows that I'm okay. But don't tell my heart, my achy breaky heart. I just don't think it'd understand”
--Billy Ray Cyrus’s “Achy Breaky Heart”

Myself already knows? Dear ghost of rednecks past – no wonder Miley (who legally changed her name to Miley) is schizophrenic and wants to be somebody, anybody other than who she is.

"You're so vain you probably think this song is about you. You're so vain I bet you think this song is about you. Don't you? Don't you? Don't you?"
--Carly Simon’s “You’re So Vain”

A version that made sense would have to go along the lines of: You're so vain that, even if this song wasn't actually about you, which it is, you would probably think that it was. Not as catchy, but no longer batspit insane.

“I look at the floor, and I see it needs sweeping. Still my guitar gently weeps.”
--The Beatles’ “While My Guitar Gently Weeps”

Really? Why did his guitar weep? Was George so stoned that he picked up his guitar and used it to sweep the floor? To be honest, this is a great melodic Beatles song, which is one of those weird things everyone experiences, like a favorite pizza topping, or a favorite failed TGIF show. However, If George was too busy swapping wives with Eric Clapton to clean or create a coherent rhyme scheme, that's his problematic legacy.

“Obla-di, obla-da…”
--The Beatles’ ‘Obli-di Obli-da?’

Obla-oh-never-mind! The Beatles proved conclusively that there were two things they could not do: play reggae and feign enjoyment. “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da” was a ska track recorded at a point during the White Album sessions when the Beatles would happily have beaten one another to death if only they had had some clubs on hand. Worst Moment? The woefully unconvincing laughter in the final line: “If you want some fun — heh-heh-heh-heh! — take ob-la-di-bla-da!”

“Sitting on a cornflake, waiting for the van to come.
Corporation tee-shirt, stupid bloody Tuesday.
Man, you been a naughty boy, you let your face grow long.
I am the eggman (woo), they are the eggmen (woo), I am the walrus,
Coo coo, kachoo.”
--The Beatles’ “I am the Walrus”

Oh man, if you ever want to demystify the 60’s and the whole “turn on, tune in, drop out” era, go back and read the lyrics from the Liverpool boys. These blokes make Brooks and Dunn look positively Shakespearean. Now let’s go boot scootin’ boogie…

“He wear no shoeshine he got toe-jam football” or maybe

“He bag production he got walrus gumboot”, no? or maybe

"He got ono sideboard he one spinal cracker
He got feet down below his knee
Hold you in his armchair you can feel his disease
Come together right now over me”
--The Beatles’ “Come Together”

This gem was written during the infamous “Sleep-in” with Lennon & Ono. Nothing good could have ever come from a tumble in bed with either Yoko Ono, Timothy Leary and/or politics. You know, after being stuck so long in the same room (let alone the same bed) with Yoko, John must have called Leary and asked him to bring over the LSD. After meeting Yoko, Leary decided to turn himself in to the police, he was subsequently jailed and never ran for office under his slogan “Come Together.” The world indeed was a better place.

“I don't want to see a ghost, It's the sign that I fear most, I'd rather have a piece of toast.”
--Des'ree’s “Life”

A piece of toast!? What the... !? I'm scared of ghosts too, but a piece of toast – is toast to ghosts, like garlic to vampires? I know werewolves got all crazy from grains that grew fungi (Ergot poisoning) that turned into hallucinogens…but toast?

“Where you gone for tomorrow?
Where you gone with the mask I found?
And I feel and I feel when the dogs begin to smell her,
Will she smell alone?”
--Kurt Cobain’s “Anything”

Where you gone for? Whoa! I’m glad I only did heroin once and settled on coke.

“I want to ride my bicycle
I want to ride my bike
I want to ride my bicycle
I want to ride it where I like...”
--Queen’s “Bicycle Race”

Tsk, tsk Brian May, how could you, a modern poet, be a party to this tripe? By the late 70’s I came to expect Freddie “Cliché” Mercury to rip off artists, but ripping off Arlo Guthrie’s “I don’t want a pickle, I just want to ride my motorcycle” – couldn’t you have found a decent song to jack? At least Led Zeppelin had the good sense to rip off great tunes, from the old time great folk and blues artists; When the Levy Breaks, In My Time of Dying, Custard Pie, Dazed and Confused, Babe I’m Gonna Leave You, Gallows Pole, I Can’t Quit You Baby, Bring it on Home – Oh Willy Dixon and Muddy Waters, where have you gone?

“Your hair/It’s everywhere”
--Dashboard Confessional’s “Screaming Infidelities

I don’t care how you think about this line, it’s gross and weird in every context possible. Even in the context of the song, which is about a painful breakup, it’s creepy.

“Well, I am just a monkey man, I’m glad you are a monkey woman too”
--The Rolling Stones’ “Monkey Man”

I bet you didn’t know this was written as the theme to Planet of the Apes? Having trouble placing this song? Imagine you’re in a dentist’s chair with a 10-inch steel drill about to bore into your molars when this non-Muzak classic pipes in through the office speakers. The singer sounds like he could be your cross-dressing, patchouli-scented sixth-grade science teacher, whispering politely about being in love with you. Then the Monkey Man refrain sets in. Then you pray for the sweet, sweet relief of the drill.

“Thank you very much, Mr. Roboto. For doing the jobs that nobody wants to… Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto”
--Styx’s “Mr. Roboto”

Forwards, backwards, it still sounds stupid. You know that jerk in your school who could burp the alphabet? That’s what this song is like, burp burp burp mr. roboto.

“Uga chacka uga uga uga chacka”
--B.J. Thomas’ “Hooked on a Feeling”

If you want really classic lyrics, you must go back to the 70’s and listen to B.J. Thomas’s (I just love saying his name) “Hooked on a Feeling.” Here come the lyrics again, are you ready for this…? “Uga chacka uga uga uga chacka. Uga uga uga chacka. Uga chacka uga uga uga chacka. Uga uga uga chacka…” Really, it does that for ten seconds before normal lyrics start. And it's a great song, wink wink, tongue in cheek. Check out Hooked on a Feeling when some friends (who are totally altered) are over for karaoke, and get ready to Facebook tag them.

Oh there’s more, much, much more – but I’m tired and my family is leering at me and leaning in the direction of making a phone call, oh wait, I hear Noelopan VIX (aka Jerry Samuels) at the door! !aaaH-aH ,yawA eM ekaT oT gnimoC er'yehT".

Riding in the wheelbarrow -- do you really believe? by Rich Giberti

Sunday, November 15, 2009 at 7:48pm
The Great Blondin

Back in 1859 there was a performer named Jean Francois Gravelot. He was known as "The Great Blondin." This man was a stunt performer or "daredevil." He was a tightrope walker, and he would perform amazing death-defying tightrope stunts.

People would come from far and wide to see The Great Blondin perform. They were amazed at his skill and courage. Blondin's stunts were dangerous enough to make the weak hearted swoon and faint.

And Blondin was quite a showman. You were sure to get your money's worth when you saw him perform. And he really knew how to stir up the crowd. He would begin his stunts by talking to the audience and working them into a frenzy.

Well, the story is told that at one particularly spectacular stunt, where Blondin would attempt to cross the Niagra River on a tightrope, he yelled a question to the crowd. He asked, "Do you believe that I, the Great Blondin, can successfully cross high above this river on a tightrope?" And the crowd yelled back, "We believe! We believe!" Then Blondin began his crossing, and to the thrill of the crowd, he made it safely. The crowd went wild. They clapped and cheered and yelled all the more.

Then Blondin asked the people, "Do you believe that I, The Great Blondin, can again successfully cross over the Niagra River on this tightrope -- this time while pushing a wheelbarrow?" The crowd enthusiastically yelled back, "We believe! We believe! We believe!"

So seeing their enthusiasm, Blondin yelled to the crowd: "Who among you is willing to ride inside of the wheelbarrow and allow me to push you as I cross on this tightrope?" The crowd went silent. No one said a word. All that could be heard was the sound of the wind blowing....

What is the point of this story? Well, how many of us shout and sing that we love the Lord and that we believe in Him and will do anything He asks, yet when He says, "Follow Me," we don't move. When He says, "Obey," we continue doing whatever we want. And when He says, "Let me show you the way," we act as though we don't even hear Him.

If Jesus is your Lord, let Him carry you. Trust Him to lead the way. Give your life completely over to Him and let Him guide you and direct your steps. He won't let you down!

(I heard this story today in church, this analogy for trust profoundly affected me and I wanted to share this. I truly can say that the God I serve has never let me down, and has faithfully and lovingly cared for me for many, many years. Thanks Pastor Robert Furrow, Calvary Chapel - Tucson.)

The Calcutta 'Coaster by Rich Giberti

The Calcutta 'Coaster

goin’ down again – i was like :DD and then I was :) and then went to :( and now i’m flipping back n forth between :@ or :[ or :s – i know the :) will come back and eventually the :DD, but i hate the streets of calcutta cyclothymic ‘coaster ride when you just drop over the edge and the g-forces jam your guts up into your throat…

this is what it feels like to me - it's not bi-polar, but it's bi-polar's ugly cousin - you know, the one that ends up owning a gas station or creating a software program that makes a ton of money, but you say, "who" when their name is mentioned...

cyclothymia ties in so well with addictive behavior and crazy, thrill seeking, people craving-avoiding, mini-funk behaviors that never, ever really stop - like a roller coaster. it's like, yeah!! lets go to batman or ghostrider or jurasic park - yay! run like crazy, smiles all over the place and then the funk starts - what? why's there a line? i'm here, it's me, there's not supposed to be lines! is there a shorter branch, hmmm... and everyone says chill-out, calm down or just talks and laughs and waits in anticipation or talks about the last ride and i'm stuck in my cranky-butt mood waiting in line. and the line is still a line and i'm still cranky butt surrounded by happy aliens. but oh wait, i'm near the front and am a happy camper again!! then the ride - yay the ride - i hate the ride, i really do

but i love one moment of the ride and i live for that one moment and endure all the rest just to experience that moment over and over and over again...

you get in and they give you a little whoopee to get you going, but you know it's coming and not the real thing so it isn't any fun and actually annoys me and on a bad day really pisses me off, but i digress - the false jolt and then a few wow-wee twists and turns and then it comes - it really comes, the true high, the true gut churning climb, the back-breaking 60, 70, 80 hour weeks of all out life consuming passion put into a project or a new something-or-other addiction and up we go, chug-chug-chug-chug-chug, up we go and the spring is getting wound tighter and then the drop - oh the drop really sucks too - i hate the line and i hate the little false starts, and i hate the build-up of the climb and i hate the drop...

what?? how can i hate the drop? that's when the screaming and grabbing and the adrenaline kicks in...i know, i know - but i hate the drop too. you say, well what's left? what's left, what's left? only a non addict or a non-cyclothymic would ask...

what do i love then?

i love that very, very brief interlude between going down and going up, one split second when the g-forces of acceleration and de-acceleration cancel each other out and it feels like weightlessness, nothingness, non-existence - and that to me is bliss - sheer, utter, complete bliss.

so now i feel :| and maybe almost :) since i've written and got that out there, but i'll feel :( and :0 and >:( and :@ soon enough... but through it all i have an anchor <>< that has kept me from goin off the rails entirely...whew

p.s. why the "calcutta 'coaster"? in third world countries (of which i've seen my share), abject poverty so often coexists on the same patch of sidewalk as does ecstasy - you literally can walk by a man in tattered clothes with missing limbs and/or open sores, and take two steps and there is another man with eyes closed and hands raised with a look of joy on his face, take another two steps and a dead child is dead and abandoned amidst the litter, and on-n-on...

The Dilemma of the Little Drummer Boy by Rich Giberti

The Dilemma of the Little Drummer Boy

Part 1 - Why so sad little drummer boy? "One night, some desert bandits crept into my life, killed my reputation, litigated my savings away and just burned the place down. Luckily, I escaped and since then, I've had a hatred and mistrust towards people for what they had done... all I have is a lamb named Baabaa. (story to continue)

Part 2 - Why even sadder little drummer boy? "Baabaa! no Baabaa! Baabaa has been trampled on..."

Part 3 - As he neared his tiny friend, the little drummer boy realized Baabaa was dying. in that instant a flicker of the constant, gnawing hatred for his fellow man crossed his face; then just as quickly that look changed to confusion -- what should he do?

Part 4 - He had vowed to never ask for help, neither of man and certainly not of God... but Baabaa...

Part 5 - Not too far away a crowd had gathered -- not for him or his friend, no one cared about them... but for something, someone else. He approached the crowd with the broken Baabaa in his arms and asked an important looking man, "Sir, you look important, and powerful, can you help us?" The man looked on in pity, but turned away, turned back towards the focus of the crowd. "Sir, please! You must help!"

Part 6 - The powerful and important man spoke gently to the drummer boy, "I am just a man, and these are mere people. We cannot help you or your little friend, even with all our hearts we wished to." Sad, lost and broken, the drummer boy turned to go; and as he strode off the man spoke, "we cannot heal, we cannot cure, we cannot save - but there is one that may help..." He knelt and began to pray, for Baabaa and more importantly, the little drummer boy...

Part 7 - As the man prayed, silently and sincerely, so too did the drummer boy. The little drummer did not see the angels weep, or all of heaven rejoice, but he would later swear that he heard God laughing with delight. The little drummer's heart was filled with joy and love. And he knew at last that the hate he had carried there was wrong. As all hatred will ever be wrong. For more powerful, more beautiful by far than all the eons of sadness and cruelty and desolation which had come before, was that one tiny, crystalline second of laughter.


*Edited and revised by Rich Giberti (from the original 1968 Bass & Rankin story)

The Dilemma of the Little Drummer Boy

The Dilemma of the Little Drummer Boy

Part 1 - Why so sad little drummer boy? "One night, some desert bandits crept into my life, killed my reputation, litigated my savings away and just burned the place down. Luckily, I escaped and since then, I've had a hatred and mistrust towards people for what they had done... all I have is a lamb named Baabaa. (story to continue)

Part 2 - Why even sadder little drummer boy? "Baabaa! no Baabaa! Baabaa has been trampled on..."

Part 3 - As he neared his tiny friend, the little drummer boy realized Baabaa was dying. in that instant a flicker of the constant, gnawing hatred for his fellow man crossed his face; then just as quickly that look changed to confusion -- what should he do?

Part 4 - He had vowed to never ask for help, neither of man and certainly not of God... but Baabaa...

Part 5 - Not too far away a crowd had gathered -- not for him or his friend, no one cared about them... but for something, someone else. He approached the crowd with the broken Baabaa in his arms and asked an important looking man, "Sir, you look important, and powerful, can you help us?" The man looked on in pity, but turned away, turned back towards the focus of the crowd. "Sir, please! You must help!"

Part 6 - The powerful and important man spoke gently to the drummer boy, "I am just a man, and these are mere people. We cannot help you or your little friend, even with all our hearts we wished to." Sad, lost and broken, the drummer boy turned to go; and as he strode off the man spoke, "we cannot heal, we cannot cure, we cannot save - but there is one that may help..." He knelt and began to pray, for Baabaa and more importantly, the little drummer boy...

Part 7 - As the man prayed, silently and sincerely, so too did the drummer boy. The little drummer did not see the angels weep, or all of heaven rejoice, but he would later swear that he heard God laughing with delight. The little drummer's heart was filled with joy and love. And he knew at last that the hate he had carried there was wrong. As all hatred will ever be wrong. For more powerful, more beautiful by far than all the eons of sadness and cruelty and desolation which had come before, was that one tiny, crystalline second of laughter.


*Edited and revised by Rich Giberti (from the original 1968 Bass & Rankin story)

Sunday, October 18, 2009

Really, Really, Really Stupid Song Lyrics

Really, Really, Really Stupid Song Lyrics – ya got any? Add to the growing list of misery… by Rich Giberti

"There were plants and birds and rocks and things"
--America's “Horse With No Name”

Uhuh – dudes, you been smokin’ way too much mary jane. Sounds like you got a-hold of that Tai stick, laced with opium my best friend’s older brother got from a wacked out returning vet in the 70’s. I can just see this band's lyricist getting started listing what he saw and then just totally spacing out, then coming to and finishing the line with “and things.” Adam and James said you should have seen their first draft; “There were papers, rocks and scissors, man!”

"Seasons crying no despair, alligator lizards in the air"
--America's “Ventura Highway”

I hate the band America! Of all things for us Venturans to be remembered by…why not Pomona Freeway, or Pasadena Freeway, or even the Victor V. Veysey Expressway – these lyrics discouraged me so much I had to move away from Ventura.

"Lucky that my breasts are small and humble, so you don't confuse them with mountains"
--Shakira's “Whenever, Wherever”

Ahh yes, these lyrics really should be on this list. People really like this song; oh wait, they like the video. Shakira’s inclusion of these lyrics are both cleverly and philanthropically a fantastic nod to visit the war-torn Cambodian tourist resort called “Virtuous Woman's Breast Mountain” (it really exists in Cambodia, but the report is there weren’t enough virtuous woman in America to start a chain). P-Diddy, Snoop Dog and 50 Cent are rumored to be offering guided tours, the ad in High Times reads, “located about 400 Kilometers from Phnom Penh…” Who said today’s artists are all fixated on sex, drugs and money? Not Shakira, you go girl!

"There's an insect in your ear, if you scratch, it won't disappear"
--U2's “Staring at the Sun”

No way, no, no beep beep way. I’m not even going to dignify this song or its syphilitic lyrical offspring by providing a Mystery Science Theatre 3000 running dialogue. I’ll let Bono tell you the best way to fully and completely enjoy his chanté, he provides the answer in the very same song “don't try too hard to think... don't think at all.”

"Coast to coast, L.A. to Chicago"
--Sade's “Smooth Operator”

Lyrics like these are painful, really, ouch, oww, painful. That’s why her fans and followers are called…you got it – sadists. Forgetting for a second the fact that Chicago is not on an ocean coast, it still is a fairly long trip to get from LA (that's Louisiana in this instance) to the Windy City in time for a Thursday slow dance. If we can but set aside Sade’s being geographically and topographically challenged, this could have been a Beach Boys jam – “yo, Brian, I heard the swell’s killer in Chi-Town, grab your stick and let’s load up the woody now, let’s head to Chicago. Waa waa wipe-out!”

“Before the cream sits out too long, you must whip it… I say whip it, whip it good.”
--Devo’s “Whip It”

Anyone know the name and location of the dude ranch in Arizona where Devo actually saw this act and used it for the song and video inspiration? Honey, repeat after me, “when a problem comes along, you must whip it…” Ahh, I feel much better – who needs a drink or a shrink?

“You can say that I'm one curly fry in the box of the regular, messing with the flavor oh the flavor that you savor. Saving me for last but you better not eat me at all, living in a fast food bag making friends with the ketchup and salt”
--Jason Mraz’s "Too Much Food"

Look at a letter from Jason’s 1st grade teacher: “Dear Mr. And Mrs. Mraz; we are required to inform you that your son is special. He loves the sound of nonsensical rhyming words, and doesn’t appear to live in the same world as his peers. Please find an outlet for him, I would suggest hip-hop, rap or contemporary rhyming.” His rhyming is so awful it leaves me curled up in a corner of the room in a fetal position, banging my head against the wall.

“Oh tell your Aunt Louise, tell anything you please. Myself already knows that I'm okay. But don't tell my heart, my achy breaky heart. I just don't think it'd understand”
--Billy Ray Cyrus’s “Achy Breaky Heart”

Myself already knows? Dear ghost of rednecks past – no wonder Miley (who legally changed her name to Miley) is schizophrenic and wants to be somebody, anybody other than who she is.

"You're so vain you probably think this song is about you. You're so vain I bet you think this song is about you. Don't you? Don't you? Don't you?"
--Carly Simon’s “You’re So Vain”

A version that made sense would have to go along the lines of: You're so vain that, even if this song wasn't actually about you, which it is, you would probably think that it was. Not as catchy, but no longer batspit insane.

“I look at the floor, and I see it needs sweeping. Still my guitar gently weeps.”
--The Beatles’ “While My Guitar Gently Weeps”

Really? Why did his guitar weep? Was George so stoned that he picked up his guitar and used it to sweep the floor? To be honest, this is a great melodic Beatles song, which is one of those weird things everyone experiences, like a favorite pizza topping, or a favorite failed TGIF show. However, If George was too busy swapping wives with Eric Clapton to clean or create a coherent rhyme scheme, that's his problematic legacy.

“Obla-di, obla-da…”
--The Beatles’ ‘Obli-di Obli-da?’

Obla-oh-never-mind! The Beatles proved conclusively that there were two things they could not do: play reggae and feign enjoyment. “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da” was a ska track recorded at a point during the White Album sessions when the Beatles would happily have beaten one another to death if only they had had some clubs on hand. Worst Moment? The woefully unconvincing laughter in the final line: “If you want some fun — heh-heh-heh-heh! — take ob-la-di-bla-da!”

“Sitting on a cornflake, waiting for the van to come.
Corporation tee-shirt, stupid bloody Tuesday.
Man, you been a naughty boy, you let your face grow long.
I am the eggman (woo), they are the eggmen (woo), I am the walrus,
Coo coo, kachoo.”
--The Beatles’ “I am the Walrus”

Oh man, if you ever want to demystify the 60’s and the whole “turn on, tune in, drop out” era, go back and read the lyrics from the Liverpool boys. These blokes make Brooks and Dunn look positively Shakespearean. Now let’s go boot scootin’ boogie…

“He wear no shoeshine he got toe-jam football” or maybe

“He bag production he got walrus gumboot”, no? or maybe

"He got ono sideboard he one spinal cracker
He got feet down below his knee
Hold you in his armchair you can feel his disease
Come together right now over me”
--The Beatles’ “Come Together”

This gem was written during the infamous “Sleep-in” with Lennon & Ono. Nothing good could have ever come from a tumble in bed with either Yoko Ono, Timothy Leary and/or politics. You know, after being stuck so long in the same room (let alone the same bed) with Yoko, John must have called Leary and asked him to bring over the LSD. After meeting Yoko, Leary decided to turn himself in to the police, he was subsequently jailed and never ran for office under his slogan “Come Together.” The world indeed was a better place.

“I don't want to see a ghost, It's the sign that I fear most, I'd rather have a piece of toast.”
--Des'ree’s “Life”

A piece of toast!? What the... !? I'm scared of ghosts too, but a piece of toast – is toast to ghosts, like garlic to vampires? I know werewolves got all crazy from grains that grew fungi (Ergot poisoning) that turned into hallucinogens…but toast?

“Where you gone for tomorrow?
Where you gone with the mask I found?
And I feel and I feel when the dogs begin to smell her,
Will she smell alone?”
--Kurt Cobain’s “Anything”

Where you gone for? Whoa! I’m glad I only did heroin once and settled on coke.

“I want to ride my bicycle
I want to ride my bike
I want to ride my bicycle
I want to ride it where I like...”
--Queen’s “Bicycle Race”

Tsk, tsk Brian May, how could you, a modern poet, be a party to this tripe? By the late 70’s I came to expect Freddie “Cliché” Mercury to rip off artists, but ripping off Arlo Guthrie’s “I don’t want a pickle, I just want to ride my motorcycle” – couldn’t you have found a decent song to jack? At least Led Zeppelin had the good sense to rip off great tunes, from the old time great folk and blues artists; When the Levy Breaks, In My Time of Dying, Custard Pie, Dazed and Confused, Babe I’m Gonna Leave You, Gallows Pole, I Can’t Quit You Baby, Bring it on Home – Oh Willy Dixon and Muddy Waters, where have you gone?

“Your hair/It’s everywhere”
--Dashboard Confessional’s “Screaming Infidelities

I don’t care how you think about this line, it’s gross and weird in every context possible. Even in the context of the song, which is about a painful breakup, it’s creepy.

“Well, I am just a monkey man, I’m glad you are a monkey woman too”
--The Rolling Stones’ “Monkey Man”

I bet you didn’t know this was written as the theme to Planet of the Apes? Having trouble placing this song? Imagine you’re in a dentist’s chair with a 10-inch steel drill about to bore into your molars when this non-Muzak classic pipes in through the office speakers. The singer sounds like he could be your cross-dressing, patchouli-scented sixth-grade science teacher, whispering politely about being in love with you. Then the Monkey Man refrain sets in. Then you pray for the sweet, sweet relief of the drill.

“Thank you very much, Mr. Roboto. For doing the jobs that nobody wants to… Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto”
--Styx’s “Mr. Roboto”

Forwards, backwards, it still sounds stupid. You know that jerk in your school who could burp the alphabet? That’s what this song is like, burp burp burp mr. roboto.

“Uga chacka uga uga uga chacka”
--B.J. Thomas’ “Hooked on a Feeling”

If you want really classic lyrics, you must go back to the 70’s and listen to B.J. Thomas’s (I just love saying his name) “Hooked on a Feeling.” Here come the lyrics again, are you ready for this…? “Uga chacka uga uga uga chacka. Uga uga uga chacka. Uga chacka uga uga uga chacka. Uga uga uga chacka…” Really, it does that for ten seconds before normal lyrics start. And it's a great song, wink wink, tongue in cheek. Check out Hooked on a Feeling when some friends (who are totally altered) are over for karaoke, and get ready to Facebook tag them.

Oh there’s more, much, much more – but I’m tired and my family is leering at me and leaning in the direction of making a phone call, oh wait, I hear Noelopan VIX (aka Jerry Samuels) at the door! !aaaH-aH ,yawA eM ekaT oT gnimoC er'yehT".

submitted by Richard Giberti

Friday, August 14, 2009

Over a year? Really?

I've had lots to say and have said lots - but it never ended up here. Hmmph - the social interaction still seems kinda lonely and desperate, though I just think that the perception is generational...

Today's gen is more exhibitionist, they want to be seen and heard, as if their voice is lost in the wind and they think that media recognition somehow makes them truly visible and lasting - which it doesn't. Sad.

Make or do something worthwhile, something lasting - impact the world for good. This will leave a footprint, an impact that will last when you are long, long gone.

Heck, just plant a tree.