Froggy Went A Courtin, He Did Ride, Uhuh.

A couple of weekends ago Sid and Stacy called and asked me if I would like to go for a walk. Unfortunately my prescription for the anti-inflammatory Celebrex can no longer be filled unless I pay for it myself. So I declined. I'm sure that I will pay for it when my pain level reaches the $170 per month mark. When that happens only time will tell.

The walk destination was a location on the north end of Fir street known to me as 'The Paintball Field.' The name was introduced to me by my nephew Justin when he and his friends cleared some brush and dragged in some pallets and barrels as well as constructing some small huts to shoot from. I had called the area 'The Indian Ground' for reasons I can not prove but believed Wampanoags camped there.

Mackenzie, Sid and Stacy's youngest daughter, and one of her friends has been trying to resurrect some of the bunkers there and her parents wanted to see how it was progressing. I decided I could drive to the end of Fir street and walk down the short path with no problems. When I arrived Sid and Stacy led me to a small pond where frogs were croaking. This may not seem exciting to people who live near a lake or pond but I found it great, and I think Sid and Stacy did too. As w e approached the water it was pretty quiet, but once you stand still the frogs start croaking their mating songs. The sound rose to an amazing level that made me smile. I don't know why, but it was cool. I have never seen frogs on the island and I suspect that what we heard was actually toads but it's still nice to know that things are beginning to grow and thrive after the Winter.

I couldn't help being reminded of a spot that my family would stop for a picnic lunch in Connecticut named Frog Rock. Somewhere we have picture of me and my sister with my Dad dressed in Easter clothes standing in front of Frog Rock. Gotta dig that one out someday.

If you get a chance I suggest taking Sid and Stacy's walk. Head to the north end of Fir street to Cherrystone road and a few feet from there on the east side of the street you'll see a lightly worn trail. For some reson the path arcs to the left and you will probably see some uneven ground, just head toward the rocks and listen. I know of another curiosity on the Island for you. I call it the Three Sided Pen. It's down Bass Creek Path which is very wet. I brought an archaeologist down there to see what he thought. I thought it may have been a cemetery. There are carefully constructed stone walls more than 3 feet high. Small features indicate whoever built it knew there stuff. There are flat stones in many places placed on the top of the walls as cap stones. Along the bottom you can find small stones used to leave gaps in the wall, as if to add height with using less material. On the south side of the pen there is no wall. The ground is amazingly stone free. Leading me to believe it was for gardening or farming. Three large stones, about as big as watermelons are perfectly aligned in a north-south manner. I thought these were grave markers. Sticking a trowel in the ground near them revealed a very big boulder just under the surface of the soil. Apparently the rocks were markers so that anyone tilling the soil would avoid the unseen boulder. Another curiosity of the site is that it has the only old stone walls constructed on the island that run perfectly north-south and east-west.

If you wish to try to find the Three Sided Pen head down Bass Creek Path at the corner of Fir st and Mist Bay road (formerly Cove rd). After about 5 minutes of walking you will arrive at a more open area. As you reach there stop and look for 3 scrawny pines on the south side of the path. Just after them you may see a barely discernable deer run. Follow that south for about 2 minutes and the walls will appear in front of you almost magically. Now if you think that these directions are vague, my nephew Justin gave them to me and I found it. I gave them to Karl Pederson and he found it. When I went down there with the archaeologist he pointed out to me that we passed the three scrawny pines. So its not as vague as you might believe. Try and let me know how you fare.

Row, Row, Row Your Boat

Hey, it's raining. Alot. Cats and dogs. It's raining, it's pouring, the old man is snoring. And no, it's not raining men, thank God.

Our back yard is a pool. It has rained so much our 60 gallon fish pond has floated away. Really. I had pumped out the pond to clean out the leaves and these creepy little worms that thrive in there. They look like a drowned worm, but THEY ARE ALIVE! When the heavy rains came the water infiltrated between the pond's plastic liner and the soil. Displacement. Instant bouyancy. It's still in it's place, it's justn floating above the ground level and listing to starboard.

There rainwater flows from the backyard to the back of the house, channels itself to the north and finds the driveway. Along the section before the drive is a fine sediment. Clay I think. During the foundry builds I dropped quite a bit of the clay and sand mixture. Raindrops pummel the sand as the clay floats away and catches on any impedimets along it's path. The reddish mud looks out of place.

The driveway collects into a makeshift pond at the edge of the street where the road grader has left a ridge. I go out and use the heel of my boot to open up a tiny canal, but the sticks that have fallen during the winter storms create minature beaver dams that bind up the whole works.

I remember as a kid I loved this kind of weather. We played in the mud and water working the rivulets like a 10 year old civil engineer. Creating dams from toothpick sized sticks and pebbles we would watch as the water pressure eventually broke through our construction projects. The idea was to make it last long, but not too long.

I have heard diesel engines straining somewhere on Fir street. Today, since I was already wet anyways, I walked into a backyard on Ebony street and saw the source of the commotion. A tractor trailer pumper was at the sewerage treatment plant and apparently pumping. I have heard this off and on for over a month. When I saw Beth Davis, the publisher of the Neighborhood News, she said it was "just maintainance." I'm sceptical. Warren Zevon said it all with, "Dad, send lawyers, guns and money. The shit has hit the fan."

They Said Come Dancing...My Sister Always Did.

I was driving (on the Neck) when a song by the 'Kinks' came on the radio. 'Come Dancing' was a hit for them in 1983. As I was listening to the lyrics I was reminded of West Island. I'm sure some people would think that i can make a relation between any subject and West Island, but I think this one hit the mark.



Back in the 1960's I remember the Community House at the top of the Hill on Causeway road looking a little different that it does today. First of all there was a telephone booth at the front of the building. Younger readers may have heard of, but never seen one. They were glass and aluminum and just large enough to take temporary in refuge during a rain storm. Of course there were times when we tried to fit as many people as we could in one.

The entry was different then too. There was no vestibule as there is now, there was an alcove we called the 'Way'. That was a good spot to huddle into during a windy or rainy day or just when we couldn't decide what to do next. As for the inside of the building, sparse is the word that comes to mind. There were bare rafters above and a bare concrete floor below. On certain nights when nothing was going on teenagers were permitted to use the hall for playing records and dancing. Everybody would grab their LP's and 45's and head up to the Hill and get together.

I was only about 8 or 9 but since the only was my sister could get out of the house on a school night was to drag me along. And so I went. Since I was less that 4 feet tall then, Roberta Snook, the tallest girl there would pick me up in her arms and dance with me. For the boys of the day one of the definitions of being 'cool' was to be able to play 'Wipeout' , with or with out a drum set. Pencils and hands were good enough, if you were good enough. Check that out here. I can't remember what the girls were doing to be cool, I was too busy trying to emulate the big guys, Dave Viera, Kevin Gilchrist and Sparky Barnett to name a few. My sister once manged to somehow talk my parents into having a party at my parents house featuring a live band! Quite a memorable event, indeed. Must have been her birthday. I do remember getting on the drum kit the next morning trying my hand at the skins. That may have been why there was never another live band at one of my sisters parties.

In later years I remember Kevin Gilchrist playing his folk guitar in front of the store and at least once an extension cord was run out for electric guitars.

Very laid back and fun days. Hmmm, now where did I put that box of pencils?

Punch (the) Drunk

Last week I happened to be driving on Belleville avenue in New Bedford. As I passed by the bottom of Beetle street I glanced over at R&B Liquors on the corner. I noticed the entryway window was cracked.

I worked there for a time, although I didn't want to. You see I had been laid off from Poyant's Signs and my unemployment benefits were about to run out. I let this fact slip to my landlord. He mentioned that he and his father had just bought a liquor store and asked if I wanted to work there. It's hard for me to say no to a job when my landlord knows I will soon have no income. So I became part of the R&B Liquors workforce.

At that time I was about 3 years into a period of sobriety. If it had been a few years earlier I would have had my dream job.

The neighborhood there is one of the toughest in the city. I witnessed a drive by shooting, during a snow storm of about 8" deep. There was a cast of customers that would have made a good comic strip. The drunks, hookers, gangbangers and homeless people made each day unique.

One drunk, named Billy Vodka was found frozen to death on the steps of a church a block away. It took two weeks for the police to find a living relative. Then there was Stinky Rat Piss, named for an obvious reason. He finally got a small room and started to bathe. The twin prostitutes Bonnie and her sister (I forgot the sisters name) were actually very nice people. Then there was Loose Bruce, he supposedly got the first part of his name because he would have seizures and just before they would occur he would get "loose," like he was about to faint. He never bothered anyone though.

One of the owners friends was named Mario. A twenty something whose parents were from Portugal. Mario had webbed feet, and would get called 'Aflac.'

At the store there were backroom deals going on nightly. Cocaine in the back room, crack in the cooler and weed at the counter. Football gaming tickets were delivered by one of New Bedford's boys in blue. I only worked days. Eventually the state police stopped in and gave a verbal warning to those involved.

I would often see customers crack open a pint of vodka (Kimnoff Vodka, I called it Kill Me Off) and drop it in the barrel near the door. Some guys actually chugged a whole pint in seconds.

One memorable slow morning a very drunk customer came in and just asked to use the bathroom. Since drunks tend to either miss the toilet or throw up I refused his request. He asked, "What the hell am supposed to do?"

"Go behind the factory I," told him. He said he would pee around the back of the building. As long as he was leaving I was happy. Until I noticed him standing in the entry, facing the wall looking down. I couldn't believe someone would actually do that!

I ran (well, moved as fast as I could) to the door and opened it. Before I could think I used my open hand to smack him on the side of the head. I didn't realise how hard I hit him until his head hit the glass entry wall. He was so drunk and surprised he fell over backward and rolled in a backward somersault all the way across the side walk and ended sitting upright on his butt with his back resting against his wife's Plymouth Volare front tire.

I felt a sliver of guilt about what I had done, but it was a small sliver. At the same time the guy was doing his reverse somersault a regular customer had just gotten out of his van parked across the street.

The drunk sat on the sidewalk trying to get up but had to pull himself up using the fender of the car for support. And of course he started spouting off.

"Hit me again," he said. "Go ahead hit me again!" I was unsure weather to whack him once more for good measure, but I remembered the old saying, "Never hit a man when he's drunk."

So I kept walking towards him to prevent him from getting a running lunge at me. Once more he taunted, "Hit me again!" I said, "Buddy I don't think you get the idea of a fight. I already hit you once, now it's your turn to hit me." Just at that moment the guy's wife got out of the car and pleaded,"Don't hit him." It sounded like she felt she had enough to do with him in his state of stupor and wasn''t interested in blood or black eyes.

So she poured him back into the car and drove off. The customer from across the street was laughing out loud saying,"All I saw was a guy come rolling out of the doorway and land on his ass, and the look on your face told the whole story." We had a laugh about it and he left with his purchase. It was a few minutes later that I noticed that the glass in the entry was cracked. Then I realised that I must have whacked him pretty good.

Whenever I drive by and see that still broken glass I can't help smiling about punching the drunk.

Bollux! Bloody 'ell! Brilliant!

I have discovered BBC America. And I love it. I started watching accidentally by stumbling on 'Top Gear', a show about cars. The show is sometimes hilarious, the episode where the three stars are given a set amount of money, in British pounds of course, to each buy a used Alpha Romeo. They are then given challenges, such as a timed race on a set course with points given for certain accomplishments. A certain amount of cheating takes place, mind you. Anyways it's worth a look if you have a chance.

Another show I've found is Gordon Ramsey's Kitchen Nightmares. Chef Gordon Ramsey attempts to help failing restaurant owners, both in Britain and here, to revive their dying business. Now personally I never liked Gordon Ramsey. I thought he was a pompous ass. Amazingly, by watching him berate slovenly kitchen staff and maitre'ds with more ego than charm I have gained respect for the man. I wondered "who does this guy think he is?" I found out he was a promising rugby player sidelined with a knee injury early in his career. After getting a job scrubbing pots in a kitchen he advanced himself to chef at 21 years old and has a string of successful restaurants in several countries.

By the end of the show the restaurants have turned the corner and everybody lives happily ever after. Or so one might think. Occasionally Ramsey returns to a spot to check up on them. Some thrive while some just sink back into ineptitude.

Another show is Gordon Ramsey's F Word. The show is part cooking and part variety show. The set is an actual restaurant seating 50 patrons. Groups of 4 guest cooks try to whip up a 'starter' or entree, a main course and a dessert. After each course the patrons decide if they feel the item was good enough to pay for...or not. In the end a tally is taken out of a possible score of 150 (50 starters, 59 mains and 50 desserts). Those guests who score highly earn a chance to return in a final. During the show Gordon follows the raising of his 4 lambs, one which meets a tragic end on the estate of David Beckham. They also follow the raising of some calves for veal. Along the way Gordon may explore why a certain food has fallen by the wayside, like tripe, or organ meats. Something I avoid, I can't stand the smell of liver cooking. C'est le guerre!

Towards the end of the F Word a guest diner, usually someone well known in Britain, but most are unknown to me, will challenge Gordon to a cook off. Be it curry chicken, chili or eggs and blood pudding the two dishes are offered for tasting to a table 5 and they decide the better dish. The winner is sometimes surprising.

One more tidbit of television programming is 'Survivors'. Not to be confused with the American show, this is about the lives of Britons who live through a world wide killer virus. Sounds predictable I know, but I like it for some reason. It could be because of Abby the central character who is looking for her son, Peter. The small group that is living in a country estate are lucky enough to have a wine cellar, grounds stocked with game and Range Rovers and BMW's. Not too shabby, eh mate?

Watching all the British shows has me thinking like a Limey.

"Now we're in the shit!"

"Bloody hell!"

"Hows yer mum?"

"Fancy a crisp?" Oh that's from the Geicio commercials, I think.

Anyhoo, if you're bored, give the BBC shows a try. You might find them brilliant.

Into The 21st Century

Well the earth and I have survived another another trip around the sun. My 49th birthday was last month and when it's that time of year it's time for me to shave and get a hair cut. Grace said I had the "Grizzly Adams look".

I'm fine with that. I like the self sustaining idea that Adams personified. http://www.grizzlyadams.net/
Of course Dan Haggerty is a little taller, a little stronger and just better looking than me. But animals seem to like me so maybe I could get along with a bear too.

That reminds me.
A bear and a rabbit are taking a shit in the woods. The bear turns to the rabbit and says,"Do you have a problem with shit sticking to your fur?"
The rabbit says "No."
So the bear picks up the rabbit and wipes his ass with the rabbit.

I have had continuous computer problems for about the past 2 years. My eMachine from 1999 was running Windows ME and most sites now just aren't compatible with ME. Sid and Stacey have helped me with (1) HP machine but it was inoperable. When the eMachine's power supply started being obstinate I perfromed a transplant and "It was alive!" Sid and Stacey then managed to get me a (2)used Compaq computer that was an ex UMass Dartmiouth machine. That worked flawlessly until I got an E-card virus, and it slowly sank into the dreaded "blue screen" condition. Sid and Stacey got me a another(3) ex UMass Compaq. It unfortunately suffered from sometime of hardware failure.

Shortly after Dee and Dave Cardin from Littleneck st offered me an (4)HP machine that had just been run through a reformatting. It refused to work for me, but suddenly cooperated. It runs Windows XP and everything seems fine with it, except it was lacking MS Works.

Well last week I saw an eMachine E725 laptop at Walmart for $300 and decided the cat can get neutered next month. I think he won't mind at all. Willy is fine now by the way. So I have finally moved in the 21st Century technology. I can't wait to lay in thhammock and read the Standard Times on my laptop. "Joe Cool." Beep when you drive by and see my butt hanging nearly to the ground while the hammock strains from my weight. The eMachine got some good reviews so I should be set for a few years, computer wise.

I now have no excuse as to why I haven't started writing about Max Fox and the run rubbers. Oops! I meant rum runners. It takes time to get used to the new keyboard.

Another joke. Last night at the Oscars Mickey Roarke said he once had sex with 14 women in one day. Tigers Woods commented, "Amature!"(I can't get a correct spell check on that word).

So if you were keeping track I now have 6 computers around the house. Time for Spring cleaning and a shave.

The town of Fairhaven is abuzz with the news that a movie titled "Fairhaven" will be shot here in the Fall. It really is exciting as they will be filming a scene....HERE...on WEST ISLAND!
How cool is that. Verrry cool indeed.