So, the Bucky saga continues.

We didn't take the 60 home yesterday because we knew there would be some major shit happening (plus my car is of questionable legality). We saw numerous troopers on the thruway. Today in the Jamestown Post Journal there were some photos of what the scene on the 60 looked like:



Your eyes do not deceive you! The one trooper is indeed carrying some sort of assault rifle! I'm so happy Josh and I avoided that mess, otherwise I'm sure I would have been very late for my Fantasy Football draft, which went very well, thank you for asking.

Apparently one of the wounded troopers lost one of his legs. I know some of you don't like police, I've heard talk about parts of the suburbs being police states (what the fuck do we know about police states anyway?), but those are people who are paid to protect the public, us, from pieces of shit like Bucky. They were ambushed, cheap shotted, by this motherfucker, who will hopefully die a slow, painful, torture-filled death before taking the express train to hell. I know me saying that will make some people cringe, rightfully so, but I think about the kids and the family of those troopers who were attacked and it drives me to near insanity.

I also think about the family and friends who are complicit in this nonsense from Bucky, and they should be severely punished as well. I want them to fucking BURN. God forbid if someone I know were ever that kind of homicidal maniac, I would not hesitate for one moment to turn his ass in, or get on TV and beg for him to do so on his own.

At least taking the extra long drive was nice. Driving from Jamestown to the thruway was very pleasurable today. You go all along Chautauqua lake, through lots of orchards and pretty places, over some hills where you see Lake Erie, and there are also lots of little bed and breakfasts and interesting looking places all along 394. Taking a drive like that, or biking it, or whatever, it really does restore your soul.

Tomorrow we brave the 60 because Dad wants to know what kind of delays there are. If Bucky shoots me, he better kill me, otherwise you can be damn sure I'm gonna get that $225,000 reward.

Jason

I just got done helping my neighbor, rather my ex-neighbor, to attach his car to his rental truck so he can leave. I just got home, and he is gone. It was really nice having a resident Lincoln expert, and he was generally a cool guy. He actually did verify many of the notions I had about the Academy, but I think he will be nothing like his peers. He is going to make a great Professor.

It took fuckin forever though because there was something wrong with the Auto Carrier, and so we waited for what seemed like hours for the Budget people to go to a "close" location and replace a simple safety pin. It was one of those times you wished you had a game boy or something to piss away the boredom.

Oh, and being borderline on the east side there was of course a little racial tension, with this older black lady walking by me, not willing to even make eye contact with me after I looked at her and smiled. It has occurred to me that my gaze is too strong and piercing for some people to handle well. Like looking into the sun it seems to be a little much.

Now I'm looking for jobs, and I'm extremely nervous about being able to handle my shit. Don't get me wrong, I'm confident in myself and my abilities, but after doing all you can do to help yourself the waiting and the boredom is absolute murder on the psyche. I'm one day closer to being where I want to be, and to being albe to say FUCK YOU, LOUSY SLAPPER to the chav cunts who have called me a failure in life, and to those who have doubted me. It is going to be so sweetly delicious, and I will once again become the #1 arrogant dickhead you all know and love, minus the vicious love of booze and drug. The only addiction I want is to the almighty dollar, so I can commence Operation Man Whore.

So it would seem there have been some peep birthdays. Some shout outs are in order:

(e:Ladycroft) - You are much better to me than I deserve. Even for a Liverpool supporter you are awesome, and an example of a beautiful soul for all to witness. I haven't always done 100% right by you and I'm sorry. Normally I can't help it but you understand. Sometime soon we should watch some footie and talk shit about people. May your recovery continue! Oh and did you know I'm an uncle now?

(e:Mike) - I have a soft spot for Mike and I'm not sure why. Maybe it's the vulnerability he expresses in his journal now and then. He allows himself to be more human than most people I've met. He gets naked at pretty much every party, which is questionable at best, but Mike you are a cool guy and I'm very happy for you that you've found a good relationship. Happy birthday!

(e:Terry) - Without question one of the funniest people I know, even funnier than myself which is impressive indeed. Terry is a motherfucking grand master needler and joker, and my man you have warmed my heart with laughter on more than one occasion when I've really needed it. I hope you had an awesome birthday. Sorry I couldn't make it to the party. I'm sure it was an absolute scene as always.

Jason

Man, I'm really terrified. Got to get that dolla!

And who are the first customers?

The bikers. RRRRREEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRR!!!

Nothin like that sound. It just echoes through the empty street.

Maybe one day if I move out to the country I'll get one.

Hope you all enjoyed the festivus.

Jason

That's the phrase Maynard Ferguson often used to describe the trumpet, and I wholeheartedly agree. Nobody will ever be able to tell me otherwise. It is a sad day because one of my favorite musicians died, but it has triggered many fond memories from childhood and from my school days.

I remember the first time I heard Maynard Ferguson. That moment I decided that playing the drums would never be adequate for me and I immediately switched over to the trumpet. I couldn't believe how powerful his playing was, and his range was nothing short of stratospheric. I couldn't believe how clean his upper register was. Unless you are a trumpet player, you probably will never understand how difficult it is to develop these skills if you are not naturally blessed with them. I wanted to play like Maynard, and it gave me the motivation to play every day until either my lips were bleeding or I couldn't make any noise out of my horn.

The world has lost one of the greatest jazz musicians in history. This much is not to be debated. When he made his debut with Stan Kenton's orchestra in '50 nobody at that time or at any previous time could play lead like Maynard. He had range and power that no other player possessed. From that moment on, lead playing took a quantum leap forward.

Don't get me wrong, Miles will always be number one for me and for many other trumpet players, he could play through a garden hose and make it sound amazing, but Maynard was in a class of his own when it came to high octane, aggressive soloing and lead playing. I also am constantly amazed when I hear Don Ellis, someone I very much would have liked to see had he not passed away at a young age.

To me Jazz will always be the ultimate form of musical expression. I'm saddened that there aren't too many big bands anymore. There are only so many trios and smaller ensembles I can listen to before wanting to hear something more layered and orchestral in nature. Seeing Maynard was always a special experience for me because his band was always top notch, and I would always get goosebumps and even a little emotional after hearing the first few seconds of heavenly bliss come out from the horns. It's a completely different experience from checking out a rock band.

On the bright side, God's got one whale of a new lead player.

I'll miss you Maynard! RIP!