A Mosey Down Copperhead Road

I've been toying with the idea of trying something like this in the recent past.  Doing a deep dive into the lyrics of some of the songs that I enjoy.  Try to makes some sense of it all, because on closer inspection, some of the shit I enjoy, musically, doesn't make a whole lot of sense.  Or maybe it does and I'm just blowing smoke out of my ass.  Who the hell knows?  First up, is Steve Earle's 1988 classic, "Copperhead Road".  I constantly hear it on the radio, and I enjoy it as much as I'm sick of hearing it.  Now sit back and enjoy my idiocy for a moment.  Maybe this will work.  Most likely it won't.  That's my confidence level, at this juncture.

Main character is John Lee Pettimore, the third.  Saying it this way, makes him sound more distinguished than the penniless shlub that he actually is.  He comes from a long line of moonshiners who concoct their swill up the holler down a local road called Copperhead Road.  A busy life, making moonshine.  So busy that John's grandfather, John Lee Pettimore the first, only makes it into town a couple of times a year.  Not a real people person, I guess.  Doesn't possess the gift of gab and gets annoyed making small talk with strangers.  Or I presume, anyway.

This aspect of the song reminds me of when I worked at Princess Auto.  I'm sorry to get off topic, but it's only for a moment and I think it's pertinent in some way.  I was working one day when this kid, maybe 16 or 17 in age, asked me a question.  I gave him a quick answer, but he looked confused.  He explained that he came from a wee little town and never made it into the city more than maybe once a year.  Inquisitive as I am, I had to ask where he came from.  Delisle, he said.  Instantly I figured he was full of shit.

Delisle is a small town, yes, but it's like twenty minutes from the city and it barely has anything in it.  A Co-op gas station, a hotel bar, where me and my pal used to get hammered and stumble back to his place. The town also has a liquor store - IN the Esso gas station on the sound end of town.  "Don't Drink & Drive, but IF you do, you may as well fill your gas tank up over here, too, while you buy your booze!"  There may be a golf course, too.  Anyway, there's f*ck all in Delisle and the idea that a family can self-sustain in a tiny armpit of a town like this, is a complete farce to me.

When John's grandfather did peek his head out from Copperhead Road, he'd grab  the shit he needed then f*ck off back to the woods to continue perfecting his craft.  Granddaddy must've been making some serious cash, as a revenue man came to town seeking the man out.  Wanted to ask him a few questions, I guess, about where he was getting all this money to pay for copper line and yeast, I suppose, and followed the man down Copperhead Road.  It was well before John Pettimore III was even a twinkle in his daddy's eye, but apparently, the tax man never returned from Copperhead Road and no formal investigation was ever commenced.  Guess the Pettimores wielded a serious sword in town.

The next generation to follow in granddaddy's footsteps was John Lee Pettimore, Jr.  I don't know what his father, John Lee Pettimore, Sr was running his shine in, but it must have been shit compared to what John Jr was about to bring to the table.  John went to a state sale and bought himself an old Johnson County Sheriff's car.  A big block Dodge that he and his brother rebuilt the engine on, to go even faster than it's original output, then shot a coat of primer on it to cover up the Sheriff's badging on the outside.  I always thought it would have been smarter to keep the badging, to throw off anyone suspecting them of running booze.  What do I know, though.  I'm not a criminal so I can't possibly understand the criminal mind.

Well, unbeknownst to the Pettimore clan, there was a raid on Copperhead Road and in his haste to escape, via his new-to-him Dodge, John Jr crashed and died.  You could see the red glow of the burning moonshine for miles and the smell of burning whiskey filled the air.  It was quite a sight, I'm sure.  John Lee Pettimore III wasn't filled with awe from the spectacle, but with concern.  Concern for his mother who got the news from the local sheriff that her husband, Little Johnny's dad, had succumbed in the crash.  Poor kid.  The only role model he ever had, a shitty one, but a role model all the same, was now gone.  What was the boy to do?

Two options to do in a small southern town, when you're as dirt poor as the Pettimores were.  Commit petty crimes and get your ass incarcerated or join the army and head to Vietnam.  John III chose the latter, citing that he would have been drafted anyway.

John doesn't move up the ranks of the army, while stationed in Vietnam, but he managed to keep his head down, do the job that needed to be done and survived two tours of duty.  All the while, he's keeping mental notes of the guerilla warfare tactics of Charlie.  Tactics and strategies that he'd later put into practice when he returned home after the war.

Ditching the efforts of making moonshine, which wasn't a lucrative business, anymore, John III decided to start growing marijuana.  Having never learned the art of making good moonshine, anyway, growing the herb by combining the seeds from Colombia and Mexico, then plant it in the rich earth up the holler down Copperhead Road, where his father and grandfather had their successes with the moonshine. Now, through some hard work and very little tears, John was able to make a strain so sweet, so good that it took America by storm and made him a rich man.

Johns success didn't fall on deaf eyes, though.  Much like in the past when the State police raided his father's stash down Copperhead Road, the U.S. D.E.A. (Drug Enforcement Agency) began flying choppers overhead, spying on the operation, trying to get eyes through the thick brush that lined Copperhead Road.  Did they dare send troops in on foot?  If they did, they were in for a hell of a surprise.  John Lee Pettimore III wasn't the stupid country bumpkin they perceived him to be.  He didn't just come home and stumble onto a fortune in the weed business.  He put some heavy thought into the operation and he wasn't going to lose this shit without a serious fight and in fight mode he was.  Suffering from PTSD from his time in Vietnam, the constant barrage of choppers flying overhead, John was having nightmares.  He was prepared to put up a good resistance.

Song ends before we find out the conclusion of the DEA's involvement, but rest assured, some of the DEA's foot soldiers likely wouldn't be walking right after that invasion, if they were able to walk at all.

This concludes my breakdown of "Copperhead Road".  Not as amusing as I'd originally concocted, but for a first effort, it might be....  Meh.

Lyrics

One, two, three, four

Well, my name's John Lee Pettimore
Same as my daddy and his daddy before
I hardly ever saw grandaddy down here
He only came to town about twice a year
Buy a hundred pounds of yeast and some copper line
Everybody knew that he made moonshine

Now the revenue man wanted grandaddy bad
Headed up the holler with everything he had
It's before my time but I've been told
He never came back from Copperhead Road

Now daddy ran the whiskey in a big block Dodge
Bought it at an auction at the mason's lodge
Johnson county sheriff painted on the side
Shot a coat of primer then he looked inside
Well, him and my uncle tore that engine down
I still remember that rumblin' sound

Then the sheriff came around in the middle of the night
Heard mama cryin', knew something wasn't right
Headed out to Knoxville with the weekly load
You could smell the whiskey burnin' down Copperhead Road

Volunteered for the army on my birthday
Draft the white trash first 'round here anyway
Done my two tours of duty in Vietnam
I came home with a brand new plan
I take the seed from Colombia and Mexico
Just plant it up the holler down Copperhead Road

Now the D.E.A's got a chopper in the air
Wake up screaming like I'm back over there
Learned a thing or two from Charlie don't you know
You better stay away from Copperhead Road

Copperhead Road
Copperhead Road
Copperhead Road

Thank you

Mumbo Jumbo

Went out with a friend today.  The day started out nice, visiting one of the new Halloween stores in town.  My feet have been hurting a lot, as of late, with the cooler weather, but the warm temperatures today proved worthwhile for this outing.

We trekked around looking at this and that, before moving on to our next destination where we did some grocery shopping.  Her for her household, me for mine.  Then we had a quick lunch right there.

In an effort to eat up as much time before going to pick up her boyfriend from work, we visited a couple more destinations, looking for Halloween stuff that she could incorporate into a costume.  She's very creative and sometimes likes to bounce ideas off of me.  I don't mind as I like the creative aspect without any of the follow-up of having to do the work.  It's like taking pride in the finished product without having any of the headaches or callouses of putting the piece together.

As well as I was feeling in the beginning of our adventure, the time on my feet was beginning to take it's toll on me.  I eventually found myself limping a little, as my feet began to swell.  My midsection was beginning to hurt some, as I'd had surgery a couple of weeks ago and I'm still having some issues with that healing process.  Most annoyingly, I began to get a headache.

I tend to get a lot of headaches, come autumn, and they only grow more frequent and intense as the winter months engulf us.  This particular headache I could feel mustering behind my eyeball.  These ones tend to get real bad, real quick.  But I didn't want to say anything, because my friend was having a good time and I didn't wish to spoil her outing.  I never mentioned anything until we began our journey homeward.

"I would offer you something, if I had anything." she said, to which I told her it was okay.  I explained that I had the same Ibuprofen that she had in her trunk, a purchase she'd made earlier in the day.  "I'll simply take four or five of them, when I get home.... With a shot of bourbon!"

She was shocked, immediately warning me off of such a terrible action, citing that booze and medication should never be mixed.  "Bah!" I said, "That's just nonsense."

She went on to tell me that I should never mix alcohol with medication, to which I gave her my explanation and to tell the truth, while I was just blowing smoke out my ass, the logic is present and I think I may actually believe my own hype...

"That's just big pharmaceutical who warns against mixing medication with alcohol.  You never see alcohol companies warning 'Don't drink this with pain meds'."   I paused for a moment, thinking about the words that just spilled from my mouth and yeah...  No alcohol companies say that.  So I have to believe that it's like the marijuana thing, where the booze companies launched negative campaigns to render cannabis as an illicit "drug", so too are big pharmaceutical companies making similar claims against alcohol, exemplifying that it can't fix any of the problems that medication can. (Which makes a person curious as to why they speak against the positives of marijuana.)

"Besides," I added, "The alcohol just gives it that extra -- Ba-BAAMM!!  The Ibuprofen works fine, but the bourbon acts as a turbo boost!  Thrusts it into your system so much quicker."

Big pharmaceutical claims that medication should not be mixed with alcohol, but they make the same claim that shit should be taken with food and despite not following those instructions, I've never been affected negatively in that way, either.  It's a lot of hooey.  Verbal mumbo jumbo meant to put fear into people so they have to rely more heavily on their meds.  Unless you're a raging alcoholic, then I say there's no harm in pouring yourself a nice stiff drink to chase down the pain meds.  It'll fix whatever ails you.

CHEERS!!

Smoke & Mirrors - Chapter Four: Coping Mechanisms

I did a lot of homework before I bought my truck in 2008.  I wanted bang for my buck.  I wanted to get as much as I possibly could for one price.  Initially, I was going to buy the Honda CRV, crossover, but I read that the vehicle didn't offer much by way of good gas mileage.  Then I considered the Ford Escape Hybrid, but read that if taken on the highway, the fuel consumption was higher than the V6 model.  Then I set my sights on the Honda Ridgeline pick-up truck.  The gas mileage was great.  It was a unibody, it rides great.  It's all the comforts of a car, including a trunk located in the box.  It had a lot of umph!  Get up and go.  I test drove the Ridgeline a number of times, then when the day came to buy, I went into the dealership, knowing exactly what I wanted, and called out "no bullshit".  My research was so precise that when I requested the gold accents on the logo and name placard, I knew the order code.

So what does this have to do with coping with stress, anxiety and depression?  I'll get to that eventually.  My point is this.  I don't do hardly anything without looking into every possible avenue.  I want that umph.  I want the most bang for my buck.  I want to tackle everything efficiently.  And I feel I have.

As stated in Chapter One, I suffer from something that I call "Seasonal Depression".  I've never formally been diagnosed by my physician for depression, but I'm not a f*cking idiot.  If it looks like a duck and it quacks like a duck, there's a 99% chance (+/- 1%) that it's a f*cking duck!  So if for more than ten years I've been gloomy, sad and depressed from Halloween through to just after my mom and sister's birthday's, chances are I suffer from depression.

This year I decided to try something new.  I began listening to online podcasts about a year and a half ago, with a majority of it culminating in the last year.  I listen to a great many different podcasters, of whom include, Adam Corolla, Kevin Smith & Scott Mosier, Ari Shaffir, Joe Rogan, and I especially like Bert Kreischer (though I constantly f*ck up the spelling of his name) and Doug Benson.

In addition to his love of movies, Doug Benson is a notorious pot smoker, and like Joe Rogan, promotes the positive medicinal attributes that marijuana provides.  The more I listened, the more I began to wonder.  I wondered if smoking marijuana would improve my "seasonal depression", so I set forth to do my due diligence.  I researched the f*ck out of the benefits of smoking marijuana and any negatives that it might create.  After all, inhaling smoke is not a naturally occurring phenomena, although the first nations people have been smoking different plants in their rituals for hundreds or even thousands of years, so... Who knows?

Everything I read on the subject reflected nothing but positivity, zero negatives, other than putting on a few pounds.  So I moved forward with this "experiment" and yes.  I'm coming out in this chapter of this blog series, that I smoke pot, but just for the medicinal purposes.  I'm not a daily smoker.  I only use it as needed.  I've not used any in a couple of weeks, and the effects of not using have been tremendous.  I've been sad and depressed for more than a week.  My friend made a remark the other day and it broke my heart.  I was truly hurt.  That's my downfall.  I can seem fine, then one off remark can send me spiraling and it's every ounce of courage to regain my composure.  The remark was in reference to my blogs, my subject matter and though they were enjoyable, they were equally inappropriate.  We've made amends, not that we were squabbling, but it's taken me every shred of confidence and will to dig myself out of this hole I find myself in.  I think this is, in part, due to my not medicating myself.  I have a lot of stress on my shoulders.  Unemployment being one.  Health issues are in the back of my mind.  Loneliness, despite having a cat, is still loneliness.

Since starting this new chapter of smoking pot, I've found it beneficial in overcoming most of my "seasonal depression", the migraines that plague me throughout the colder months have been VERY few and far between, which I relish immensely, and much to my surprise, my asthma has improved, as well.  I usually have to rely on one inhaler a month (roughly) to combat my breathing issues.  During the more frequent usage of marijuana, my asthma was not an issue, hardly.  Maybe a puff every other day.  Put it this way.  I got an inhaler just before Christmas, and I'm still on the same inhaler more than a month later.  In recent weeks, with the decline of smoking, I've had to rely on it a little more, but it's still pretty impressive I think.

So I did my homework and got the best truck for me.  I did my homework and got the best television SmartTV, that I could get.  And I did my research to learn that marijuana in addition to a plethora of other advantages, also quashes my depression.  I don't know why it's illegal.  I really don't.

Blink of an Eye

I had a discussion the other day and the subject of my father being a farmer came up.  "Where does he farm?" the fella asked me, to which I quickly responded, "He passed away a few years ago..."  Then it hit me.  It wasn't a few years ago.  It isn't even ten years ago.  This past May marked the 15th anniversary of his death. I can't believe it.  Time flew by in the blink of an eye!

It's not often that things hit me like that.  The passage of time is fleeting.  It goes even faster than that, if your sitting behind a computer or game controller.  Many times I've sat down to check my email, then glanced up at the clock to discover that six hours had passed me by.  What the hell?

I remember years ago, playing Duck Hunt on the old generation one Nintendo game system.  I was going to have a quick game before turning in.  It wasn't until I saw the sun coming up, that I realized what I'd done.  That stupid laughing dog tricked me.

I shudder to mention the Tang story, but it makes for a good laugh.  Years ago, I lived in Edmonton for a short while.  During that time, I experimented a little bit with getting high on marijuana.  One particular night, we hit it pretty good and I disappeared, for what I'm told was a few hours.  When finally they came looking for me, I was discovered in the kitchen, eating grape tang out of the cannister and I'd been doing so, one finger at a time.  The next morning, when I woke up, I thought I'd broken my finger as it was stained a deep eggplant purple.  I took a helluva ride, that night.

Today, I was in my car driving home from an appointment.  Usually I listen to Howard Stern, but it was a repeat where they were goofing on Oprah, so I tuned into another channel.  Pink was playing and the song was "Don't Let Me Get Me".  It's catchy and I like Pink, so I let it play.  Looking down at the screen on my Sirius receiver, I was shocked to see that the song was released in 2002.  "F*ck me!" I uttered out loud to myself.  "I remember when that was new!"  When did Pink become a retro-tune?  Twelve years since it's release.  I'm feeling frickin' ancient, right now.  Thanks a lot, Father Time, you prick!

President Obama Did Not Kill the Twinkie

It's been stated that if the world experienced total global annihilation, the only things that would remain would be cockroaches and Hostess Twinkies. 

Earlier this week, it was announced that after nearly a century of production, 82 years to be exact, Hostess would be ceasing production of the Twinkie.  It's was joked that just weeks before the Mayan's predicted "End of the World", that the one item that would survive it all, will not exist any longer.

While perusing Facebook earlier, I noticed this picture and included in the comments was some ill-informed idiot who blamed President Barrack Obama for the snack's demise.  How f*cking stupid are people?  Don't answer that, it's rhetorical.

The President of the United States is NOT to blame for the closing production of the Twinkie.  In actuality, it was workers striking for increased pay against an already bankrupt company, for work primarily performed by machines & robots.  What was the reason for the Hostess going broke?  It's only speculation, on my part, but it would be my guess that it's the health craze.

All you health nuts, slurpin' back your bottled water, eatin' your tossed salads and protein bars.  YOU are the culprits behind the death of Hostess and their delicious treats.  Choosing carrot and celery sticks over Twinkies and Ding Dongs, THAT is the true crime.

Of course, Hostess failed to discourage the marketing ploy of Twinkies surviving a nuclear holocaust.  Who wants to stick those kinds of chemicals into their bodies?  I am, by no means, a health freak, but in the interest of avoiding fattening foods, I sometimes take to reading the list of ingredients, most of the time having difficulty pronouncing the words printed on the tiny packages.  It's a good way to make one feel sick to their stomachs and thus avoiding the snack.

Although, I am not a connoisseur of the Twinkie, I do enjoy the odd Ding-Dong, which is called "King Dons" in Canada, here.  But another Hostess item that I've learned may be falling by the wayside, is the infamous WONDER BREAD.  I f*cking love Wonder Bread.  Not only is it a flavourful bread for sandwiches and alike, but I love the feel and sound of the words, "wonder" and "bread" falling off my tongue.

Marijuana was legalized in a few states during this last (American) election.  Too little, too late.  All the pot smoking in the world and subsequent munchies will not save the Twinkie from it's inevitable demise.  However, when one door closes, another one opens.  The closing of the Hostess plants marks opportunity for someone.  Some other company to swoop in and make an iconic snack that take the place of the Twinkie, standing side-by-side with the cockroaches after the world crumbles and falls next month, as per the Mayan prediction.

Mr. Green Thumb

I'm a fan of the musical group Cypress Hill.  They have a song entitled "Dr. Green Thumb" which speaks of growing marijuana.  So why is there a picture of a purple thumb to the right?  An explanation will follow, trust me.

I was not familiar with the "why" 4:20 is affiliated with the consumption of marijuana.  According to Wikipedia, it has something to do with students in the early 1970's who would meet up at 4:20pm to blaze up.  Eventually, the term was used for smoking pot in general.  Kind of like my use of "a new hat", which never really took off.  Or my love of "toast", which did catch on with a small group of us, back in the day.

All day long, on the radio, there was a debate of whether or not legalization of marijuana would be a wise decision.  Most who oppose it, are likely the ones least likely to have ever tried it.  They're the same people who swear up and down that marijuana is a gateway drug to bigger, badder and worse off drugs.  Drugs like cocaine, heroine, and worse.  I, personally, don't see it.  I believe that people are presupposed into addiction.  That, and the weaker the mind, the more prone they are likely to fall victim to their addictions.  I truly believe, in all my heart, that if you choose to quit something, you can.  No amount of counselling is going to help you, if you yourself don't decide to allow it to work.  Simple mind over matter.

"Marijuana is a drug, and therefore shouldn't be legalized" is the usual banter.  However, caffeine is a drug.  Tobacco, for all intense purposes, is a drug.  So is aspirin, ibuprofen, and whatever they put into cough syrup.  I've heard of a lot of kids who get hopped up on f*ckin' cough syrup.  I don't know why.  It tastes like shit, but there you have it.  Stupid kids, doing stupid shit!

I think marijuana should be legalized.  For one, it'd be a f*ck of a lot easier for me to buy it then.  Secondly, it could be regulated, in that it wouldn't be spiked with other drugs... (I'll share a story about that in a moment.)  And the government could tax the shit out of it, make some money in the process.

I would like to use it in a medicinal capacity, as a way to combat my migraine headaches.  There are some nights when the pain is so intense, I'd just like a way to relax and go to sleep.  I have heavy duty meds for the headaches, but it is a highly addictive narcotic, so my allowance of use is very limited.

I'm no stranger to smoking up.  I've never really been a "Cheech" (or a "Chong") about it, but when the opportunity has arisen, I've partook.  And nothing bad has ever happened.  I think the worst that has happened was I obliviously dumped mustard down the front of my shirt.  I [vaguely] recall, staring off into space and chewing on a hamburger.  The next thing I knew, I looked down to find my work shirt was ruined by a long-ass streak of bright yellow mustard.

There was a anti-drug video a few years back that depicted two friends sharing a joint on their couch then getting the idea of driving out of town, to tip cows.  One guy climbed over a barbed-wire fence, followed by the other, giggling the whole time.  The end result of this ill-planned adventure was one of the teens being mowed down by a raging bull who was also in the pasture that night.  The reality of this scenario is, if you smoke a joint, chances are, you're not going to have the energy to get off the couch to go tip cows.  Or do anything, for that matter.

I remember another night, I was with friends.  We'd passed around a joint or two and was having a great time.  I decided to get up and go to the kitchen to fetch myself a drink.  Apparently, I'd been gone for about an hour when someone came to the kitchen to see what had happened to me.  They found me in front of the kitchen sink, with a can of grape drink mix in one hand, and a purple thumb.  I'd been standing there for an hour licking my thumb and dipping it into the juice mix.  Today, and even this very moment, this fact still brings me to tears of laughter.

Alcohol is a drug.  You get pissed up and chances are you're either going to get into a fist fight, or do something worse.  Drive drunk and wrap your car around a pole.  This is why alcohol is regulated.  If you get high on marijuana, chances are the worst thing that's going to happen to you is, you're going to gain a couple pounds.

Regulation is the key to successfully legalizing anything.  I mentioned earlier that regulation would prevent other drugs being introduced into the marijuana.  I had a bad experience with a batch that someone had spiked with I don't know what the f*ck.  But I remember the experience vividly, like I was watching the whole thing go down from outside my body.  This was also the last time I'd ever consumed marijuana.

I was with some friends at another friend's house.  Some people I wasn't familiar with came into the party as well, and with them, they had some "party favours".  Being they were friends of my friends, I thought nothing of it when a joint was passed to me.  I had only a couple of hits off it when my whole world began to spiral out of control.  I suddenly had turned from my usual healthy fleshy shade of caucasian to a deep red.  I though I was on fire, literally, I was burning up and sweat poured off my head like someone was pouring a bucket of water over me.  I was burning up so bad, and despite an open door just a few mere feet in front of me, leading into the cool night, my legs wouldn't move.  I was so helpless, and if it weren't for the fact that my friend "Bubbles", and host of the party, jumping into rescue-mode, I'm sure I would've died that night.

I've not touched marijuana since that night.  It's been, I-don't-know-how-many years, since I've smoked pot.  If it became legal, I'd definitely dabble a little in it.  I won't lie, but until that day comes, I'll remain sober, just to be on the safe side.

So for those who do smoke.  Happy 4-20, folks!  And have a nice day!!!