"What are words for, when no one listens any more?"

I’ve been thinking about ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’, our country's National Anthem. 

Did you know the first stanza of the anthem is a series of questions?

"O say, can you see, by the dawn's early light, what so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming?

Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight, o'er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming?

And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air, gave proof through the night that our flag was still there;

O say does that star-spangled banner yet wave, o'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?"

The context of the lyrics change when you know they're questions.

According to de Wiki, "the lyrics come from 'Defence of Fort M'Henry', a poem written by American lawyer Francis Scott Key on September 14, 1814, after he witnessed the bombardment of Fort McHenry by the British Royal Navy during the Battle of Baltimore in the War of 1812. Key was inspired by the large U.S. flag, with 15 stars and 15 stripes, known as the Star-Spangled Banner, flying triumphantly above the fort after the battle."

As a Grade school kid during the 60's, every time the anthem was played we all sang it out. I felt a strong sense of patriotism and pride when singing it with a bunch of other kids. When was the last time YOU sang the anthem at a public event? If it’s been a while, there are reasons.

1. The anthem melody is difficult for regular folks to sing due to its wide range. 

2. People are embarrassed to sing aloud in public, worried they have a bad voice, can't stay on-key or might forget the words.

3. Event promoters like to have the anthem performed in different ways to spice up their show. Whether sung or as an instrumental, it might use the standard tempo, be slowed waaaaaay down, or changed up so it's almost impossible to sing along with. 

I can sing the ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’ really well, and was once given an opportunity to perform it in front of over a thousand race fans.

It was the final day of personal watercraft (jet-ski) racing at the 1996 IJSBA World Finals in Lake Havasu City, Arizona. The singer we’d hired to perform the anthem before the Pro Finals bailed at the last-minute due to illness. I was in the Announcing Tower when we got the news, and our Managing Director asked for a volunteer to sing it. I stepped up, sang the first line to him to prove I could do it, belted it out over the PA system on-key and without mistakes, and got a standing ovation from the crowd! 

My heart swelled to three times its normal size that day.

At U.S. sporting and public events, presenting 'The Star-Spangled Banner’ before the event begins is a time-honored tradition. It’s also common around the world for that country’s National Anthem to be played at the start of their events.

This past June, The Artist and I watched a big-time NASCAR race on teevee from Mexico City, and I witnessed the very thing that’s had me thinking about our National Anthem. 

The pre-race grid of cars was packed with American race team and NASCAR personnel, American drivers and their American families, friends, support staff and media. The race promoters played a traditional instrumental version of ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’, but none of the Americans on the grid were singing it. They just stood there, some with hands over their hearts, silent and waiting for it to be over so they could start the race.

The promoters then played an instrumental version of the ‘Himno Nacional Mexicano’, and it appeared that every Mexican fan in the grandstands were singing out their own anthem, loud and proud. The contrast was startling.

I've seen it happen over and over. Every time ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’ is played at U.S. public events, no one sings it. The crowd stands there, some with hands over their heart, silent and waiting for it to be over so the event can begin.

Why is that?

In my humble opinion, it’s about national pride.

I’m not talking about political ideologies or party affiliation or whether you agree with one side of the political spectrum or the other or whatever steaming social issue has you rage-tweeting or doom-scrolling until 2am. Those things have nothing to do with national pride.

Many 'Americans' have apparently forgotten what it really means to be an American in arguably the most successful democracy in the world.

Being an American is about a collective identity among a wide-ranging and eclectic Republic; one we all belong to. It transcends ideological turf squabbles and origin stories. It’s about an idea that different people can agree on a shared vision of hope for the future and working together towards that vision. 

That’s a big ask, especially now, but it's important.

You don't have to be a citizen to be an American. For example, our undocumented immigrant farmers and construction workers and gardeners and healthcare workers and cooks and office workers and painters and carpenters and mechanics and small-business owners and Moms and Dads and janitors and welders and arborists and teachers and food servers and secretaries and pet groomers and housecleaners and the rest are all a part of the American workforce.

The anthem’s lyrics are about a specific historical event, but the passage of time has given them more context and meaning than Mr. Key could have anticipated. Singing it aloud, in public, celebrating our shared journey and vision, is an overt way to solidify a foundation of national unity and declare that we’re all in this thing together, no matter what.

As gonzo journalist Hunter S. Thompson would say, “This MEANS something, dammit!”

Every time The Artist and I attend a public event, you can bet that I’m singing our National Anthem, loud and proud. Occasionally someone else will join in, but I’m usually the only one around belting it out. I’ve even gotten smirks and dirty looks from people who think I’m showing off. Those people can fuck off, because they just don’t get it. 

Being an American is beautiful and complicated because democracy is also beautiful and complicated. It requires intelligence and dedication and honesty and hard work, and it doesn't require a piece of paper.

The next time you’re in a public setting and the 'Star-Spangled Banner' is played, don’t worry about your lousy voice or being on-key or forgetting a few words. Rejoice in the opportunity to vocalize your appreciation for the democracy we all share, one that is always a work-in-progress, one that is ours... if we can keep it.

"You know that being an American is more than a matter of where your parents came from. It is a belief that all men are created free and equal and that everyone deserves an even break." - Harry S. Truman

"A positive attitude may not solve all your problems, but it will annoy enough people to make it worth the effort." - Herm Albright

(Special Note: when I found this version of 'The Star-Spangled Banner' and listened to it a few times, I got a little choked-up. What can I say... it's amazing!)

Lead image, Gracias de Google images; 'Star-Spangled Banner' video by the United States Army Field Band and Soldier's Chorus, Muchisimas Gracias de YouTube;  America... FUCK YEAH!

Meaty, Beaty, Big and Bouncy

"History doesn't repeat itself, but it often rhymes." - Mark Twain (allegedly)

Two recent news headlines sent me into the Mr. Peabody's Wayback Machine.

The first was about legendary rock band The Who performing concerts at the Hollywood Bowl this coming August, as part of their 2025 North American Farewell Tour.

The other was a story about the aftermath of their 1976 concert at Anaheim Stadium in Southern California. Shortly after that show, the stadium's Groundskeeper was surprised to find over a hundred small marijuana plants sprouting in the outfield, the result of seeds dropped on the turf by concert goers.

At the time, stadium officials joked that the economic situation at the stadium was not so bad that they needed to start growing marijuana.

I attended that 1976 concert by The Who at Anaheim Stadium.

During my second year of junior college in March of '76, a classmate named Steve mentioned that he'd bought Who tickets for himself and several friends. One of them had flaked out and do I wanna buy the ticket? The $10 price was right so YEAH. The show would be headlined by The Who, supported by The Steve Gibbons Band, Little Feat and Rufus featuring Chaka Khaaaaan. 

 THE SET-UP

The night before the show, five of us met up at Steve's house at 9pm, jumped into a large station wagon and drove to Anaheim. Suitably high, we landed in the parking lot and got in line behind hundreds of others. The gates would open at 6am and the concert would start at 6pm.

 My canvas backpack held bananas, a Hickory Farms summer sausage, three joints, matches, binoculars, a pocketknife, and a leather bota bag filled with Mad Dog - Mogen David MD 20/20 fortified Red Grape wine, a college favorite. Bottled water wasn't a thing in the old days.

The first few hours of waiting in line were cool, with everyone partying, hitting on each other and hanging out to see THE WHO, MAAAAAN!!  Around 3am, a guy who'd been drinking Screwdrivers out of a plastic gallon jug began to spin in circles while projectile vomiting, spraying a 10-foot circle of boozy puke on everyone around him. Luckily, we were 15 feet away.

When the gates opened at 6am sharp, thousands of people poured out of the parking lot and swarmed the gates, so we became just a part of the mass pushing to get in.

It took us almost 2 hours to get within eyeshot of the gates. Everyone was being searched as they went through, with lots of alcohol and drugs being confiscated and tossed into dumpsters. Right before they reached the gate, people would take a final chug of booze out of an alcohol-filled gallon jug, then hand it overhead to those behind them. It was hilarious to see dozens of jugs being passed back to waiting hands, over and over as they got closer to the gates. The jugs seemed to float over the crowd.

My backpack had the bota bag and joints in the bottom and my flannel, the food and other stuff on top. Lucky for me the Security Dude only glanced inside and passed me through. When I finally got in, I'd been separated from my group. I wouldn't see them again until after the show when we gathered at the wagon for the drive home.

The Concourse was jammed with people streaming towards the field for a spot as close to the stage as possible, located at the wall in Center Field. I didn’t want to spend all day in that mess, so I scoped out a great vantage point on the second-level grandstand tier, right behind Home Plate, with a perfect view of the whole place. This seating choice would prove to be super-smart.

After a squirt of Mad Dog, a toke and a snackie, I settled in for a very long day. I scanned the crowd to try and find my group, but it was pointless. Far better was scoping out all the cute girls, watching the circus and staying high all day.

SNAPSHOTS

One: It became obvious that most of the people around me were winging it. They ran out of money right away because the beer and hot dogs were expensive, so they'd walk around begging for food. I was glad to have a bunch of bananas, and the summer sausage was a perfect protein to accompany the fine wine. I made sure not to flash my grub stash to entice beggars, but I shared my joints. There were always lit fatties being passed around to help maintain a constant Gumby head from so many different kinds of weed.

Two: Early that afternoon while scanning the mass of humanity on the field, I noticed a long-haired dude leaning heavily on a barricade next to a row of outhouses. He was wearing only shorts and sandals; his head was hanging down and he seemed to be very wasted. After a bit I noticed that he’d fallen to the ground. For the next two hours, I saw him there on his back, seemingly unconscious and broiling in the sun, with people stepping over him as if he didn’t exist. Finally, someone noticed he wasn’t moving, and he was carted off in a stretcher by paramedics, who had to push through the crowd to get to him and then push their way out.

Three: A few hours before the show began, I went to find a bathroom, finding only crowds of people and long lines. I kept looking and found one with a short line that seemed to take forever. Once inside, we saw the urinals were clogged and overflowing. People in some of the stalls were doing drugs and fucking, not even bothering to close the stall doors. A guy in line yelled SCREW THIS!, dropped his pants, took a dump in one of the sinks, splashed water on his ass and left. OK then… I pissed in an open sink and left too.

Four: The show started with a forgettable set by The Steve Gibbons Band, a UK-based group. Little Feat sounded good but seemed out-of-place in a stadium venue. Rufus with Chaka Khaaaaaan were brilliant and had the crowd dancing, waving their arms and singing along to their mega hit ‘Tell Me Something Good’. I watched their entire set with the binoculars and Chaka Khaaaaaan was a great stage presence in paisley bell bottoms, feather boas and a huge Natural hairdo tinted red.

Five: When the Who finally hit the stage, the place erupted in a frenzy. Fans were holding up signs that read ‘BEHIND BLUE EYES’ and screaming that request between each song, but the band never did play it... I wonder why? Dozens of people tried to climb the stage, only to be grabbed by Security goons and hustled off to the sides. When the band broke into ‘Won’t Get Fooled Again’, the whole stadium seemed to be shaking. Our grandstand tier began to slowly bounce up and down because so many people were jumping up and down to the beat.

I was in the first row of seats at the handrail and watched the rail move up and down almost a foot. YEAH… NO. I scrambled up to the mezzanine, where the gap between the concrete tier and mezzanine floor also opened and closed. I watched the rest of the show from the mezzanine, convinced the whole tier would collapse. It didn’t. 

I was sailing in a blur of weed smoke, Mad Dog and rock music.

EPILOGUE

When the Who’s set ended, the hordes began to leave the stadium. It took me about an hour to get to the wagon, and soon all the others found it too. Steve was angry that I’d separated from the group, claiming that I’d ditched them on purpose. We all crashed out on the drive back and then he was mad about being the only one awake in the car.

It took almost a week for my gut to recuperate from eating all those bananas and a whole summer sausage in one day. You’d think the Mad Dog grape wine would be a good natural laxative but noooooooooooo.

I’d gone to a few other big concerts while in college, notably Frank Zappa and the Mothers of Invention, Todd Rudgren’s Utopia and Alice Cooper. The New Year’s Eve Zappa show was great; the ushers in the stands took our booze bottles and emptied the contents into large plastic cups so we wouldn’t hurt anyone.

The Rundgren show was a surprise. His guitarist had an injured hand, so it was announced their set would be given over to Dr. John, who turned in a really cool performance.

Alice Cooper’s show was loud and fun and weird. He was guillotined on-stage for the final encore.

Lead image, Gracias de Google Images;  Alice Cooper 'Under My Wheels', video, Muchisimas Gracias de YouTube.

Cast Your Fate to the Wind

A few months ago, Hummie Mom started building her nest in the potted Ficus, about five feet from our den’s sliding glass door. The Artist watched her progress, both pleased and worried.

The Artist: “Those tree branches aren’t very strong, and the spot she’s chosen is really exposed and visible. What if a crow spots the nest and grabs the eggs like that one time time?”

Me: “Well… I reckon we just gotta trust her natural instincts and hope for the best. At least the feeder is only about a foot away from the nest and will be very convenient for her.”

Over the next week Mom fabricated a lovely nest, well-anchored to the slender branches, and then laid two small white eggs in the downy bottom of the nest. The last time another Hummie Mom built a nest there, she laid only one egg, which was a sure sign it probably wouldn’t hatch. It didn't.

Mom spent the next few weeks planted in that nest, leaving only to feed or avoid us when we opened the sliding door. We learned to s-l-o-w-l-y open the door so as not to spook her, but she'd always fly away when we stepped out. Every time I walked through the side yard by the tree she'd split, so I made squeaky hummie sounds to say ‘Hello’ because I knew she was nearby. 

I’m weird that way.

We watched the nest, waiting for the eggs to hatch like expectant parents. A stormy weather front moved through the area, causing the branches to dance around in the wind. Mom hunkered down and hung in there, protecting the eggs. After a few days, The Artist asked me to have another peek to see what was going on. Using a stepladder, I peered into the nest and was relieved to see two tiny bebbehs nestled in the found down. YES.

Mom sat in the nest most of each day for a week. Then we watched her feeding the kids, their tiny yellow beaks wide open, begging for more, with Mom zipping in and out all day. She might be gone for an hour or longer, knowing their warm little bodies could handle her absence. She looked almost regal when she plopped on top of them for a rest. At one point, she added about a quarter inch of height to the top of the nest to accommodate her growing family, the room addition a totally different color of found materials.

One day a severe windstorm hit our area.

As we watched the 50 to 60mph winds lash at the trees outside the den that evening, we worried about Mom and the kids. It was already dark, so using a flashlight we could spot the nest. The tree branches were being whipped around in the wind and the nest looked like a bouncing ball. If they were meant to survive the savage weather, they would. Nature can be like that.

The next morning, the nest was still there but Mom was gone. The Artist noticed a strange clump on another branch near the nest and asked me to have a look. On closer inspection, the nest appeared to have been snagged by an adjacent branch. I grabbed the stepladder to see if the kids were okay.

The kids were gone.  Were they launched into the windy oblivion by a snagged nest catapult? Did one of the local crows, who sometimes fly through the side yard, pluck them out as a tasty snack? I looked around the yard for little birdie bodies, to no avail. Mom didn’t return to the nest. 

The Hummie family was no more.

We were bummed that we wouldn’t get to see the kids grow and fill the nest with their little bodies, squeaking for Mom to bring them more food until they fledged and split from her pad. That’s how the circle of life works for the animals that live among us, surviving adjacent to our human world but totally dependent on nature, instinct, tenacity and luck. They either make it or they don’t… there’s no in-between.

The Hummie family got me thinking about human families.

In the USA, humans don't typically use found materials for building a home in which to raise their young. Birdy babies mature quickly and leave the nest after only a few short months. Humans require years of nurturing, time, money and effort before they leave the nest. It takes lots of money and dependence on every aspect of modern society for humans to safely survive and thrive.

Society provides the means and, in some cases, government assistance as needed. Food, shelter, medical care, education, employment, money… all the things that humans require. The government assistance is the result of a society having basic levels of empathy, compassion and understanding for its citizens. That's what taxes are for. Taxes are the price we pay for a civilized society.

Some countries do human compassion better than others.  If you want to understand what a government thinks is important, look at its budget to better understand its priorities and spending decisions.

I shake my head in wonder at how much of our country's critical social infrastructure has been and continues to be dismantled and deleted by the current Administration under the guise of eliminating waste, fraud and abuse. They slash away at the crucial support that every human needs to survive, all in the interest of saving money to rationalize gigantic tax breaks for the wealthiest one percent of us

They value money over people. Wealth is more important to them than the health and well-being of human beings. They act as if all the money is theirs, not ours, and they'll use it to enrich themselves at our expense.

Trickle-down economics, as usual. It's the Number One reason that a government should never be run like a business.

I can't predict what's gonna happen next for us humans.

What I do know is that another Hummie Mom has already started to grab parts of the nest, most likely building her own in a nearby tree. She prolly saw ours while feeding a foot away from it, so good for her. She's keeping it in the 'hood, and I love the fact that so many critters have chosen our small patch of Earth to make their homes in. 

Mother Nature provides for the creatures who depend on her, using their own instincts, determination, luck and will to survive. Results may vary. Nature can be like that.

Humans need more. Much more. Of the millions of species on this planet, humans are the only ones that require the direct intervention and support of society to survive. I wonder if and when we'll ever finally realize it and treat each other with the dignity and respect every human being deserves? 

Magic 8-Ball says:

"It is well to remember that the entire population of the universe, with one trifling exception, is composed of others." - John Andrew Holmes, poet and educator (1904-1962)

Magic 8-Ball image, gracias de Google Images; all other images by the Author and The Artist; Vince Guaraldi Trio 'Cast Your Fate to the Wind' video, muchisimas gracias de You Tube. 

Freedom of Choice

 

                   

Dateline: Inauguration Day, January 20, 2025

Starting today, Donald J. Trump will be the 47^th President of the United States. I’m not happy about it, but that’s how democracy works.  As Jon Stewart once said, “Losing an election is supposed to taste like a shit sandwich.”

Elections have consequences, right?

Starting today, we'll embark on our journey with a Convicted Felon as the Commander-in-Chief.  With that in mind, I’ll be adjusting to the impending crazy in my own way.

Starting today, I’ll always carry copies of my Birth Certificate and Social Security card.  I never thought that’d be necessary in the country where my father and I were born.  47’s threat of mass deportations for undocumented immigrants and their families echoes the threats made by the Nazis in 1930’s Germany.

Don't believe me?  Look it up. 

Starting today, everyone with a Hispanic surname like mine will be profiled and suspect, especially here in California.  Although not a guarantee I won’t be whisked away by a Tom Homan Goon Squad, at least I’ll have documents indicating my citizenship as a hedge against being thrown in a deportation camp.

Starting today, I'll consider anyone who supports 47 as being members of a cult. That's the only rational explanation for why they chose a liar, a predator, a racist, a traitor, and a convicted felon in November. Their choice could have been for a former prosecutor, District Attorney, Attorney General, Senator and Vice-President. You know... someone with strong moral character and a belief in the rule of law.  

They chose 47 instead because they’re in a cult. Again.

Starting today, I'll treasure the unbreakable bonds I have with many MAGA family and friends.  We've all lived different lives with different experiences, and politics is just a sliver of our shared existence. My love for others is far stronger than the turbulent seas of political ideology, and I need them to help me stay on the course that I chose. We all do.

Starting today, I’ll find ways to help the Yoots learn more about American History. I might read history picture books to Little Ones, or present speeches by American historical figures at middle schools or participate in roundtable discussions at high schools and libraries.  I hope the amazing true stories of our nation’s journey will spark their interest in American history and, with any luck, help to create enlightened, informed and active participants in democracy.

Starting today, I'll thank every immigrant I meet for choosing the USA to live, work and thrive in. They're a bigly part of what makes America great. We’re a nation of immigrants, and we must all realize how much we depend on the humanity of everyone else. It doesn't matter where we came from. We are here... together.

E pluribus unum.

Starting today, I’ll do everything I can to push back against the violent and unhinged rhetoric of MAGA World.  As Isaac Asimov said, “Violence is the last refuge of the incompetent.” 

What are we… rabid wolverines?

Starting today, a Convicted Felon will be leading our nation. I’m not happy about it, but that's how democracy works. I can’t control much of what’s gonna happen. However, starting today I choose to be as informed, engaged, upbeat and positive as possible... to be the best citizen I can be... and to work as hard as possible to keep the rabid wolverines at bay.  These things I can do.

That’s my Freedom of Choice.

Todas las imagenes, gracias a Google Imagenes; videos de DEVO 'Freedom of Choice' y The Beach Boys 'Sail On sailor', muchas gracias a Youtube.