This is My World

“December 7, 1941, a day which will live in infamy.”

My entire life I have grasped concepts better than details.  However, until 9/11, December 7, 1941 was the only date in history that I could remember off the top of my head other than July 4, 1776.

The first I remember hearing about this day was during a conversation with my dad about how the Japanese had awakened a sleeping giant.  It was an attack against the American Navy base in Pearl Harbor, Hawaii.  This of course drug America into WWII.  The patriotic people of America understood that they were sending their young men overseas to fight so this didn’t happen again.  The American citizens did everything they could to support the war effort.

What happened to America after that?

Does anyone remember the next major attack on American soil?  I  do.  I was in Arkadelphia, Arkansas walking to my psychology class.  Then, I stopped at the college medical facility just in time to look at the television and see the second plane hit. Remember the video of Osama Bin Ladin taking responsibility for it? I do.  It angered me.  Remember?  September 11, 2001 was the reason we went to war in the middle east.  We were trying to prevent it from happening again.

By April 2002, I was in Navy boot camp.  I arrived in Monterey, California in June that year to witness a small group of VFW members protesting the fact that we were sending people overseas again.  Remember, we were sending people overseas to prevent another 9/11.

Since then, there have been many people opposed to having U.S. troops overseas.  Anymore it seems like you can’t even fly an American flag in America without offending someone.  About a week ago a WWII veteran’s neighbors told him it was against a neighborhood aesthetic ordinance to fly his American flag in his front yard.  By the way, this happened in an American neighborhood.  If I’m not mistaken, it was in the southeast somewhere.

Well, Americans in 1941 didn’t forget why their soldiers were overseas fighting.  Today it seems to me that Americans have forgotten why we’re in Afghanistan and why we’re trying to find Osama Bin Ladin.   Without a little bit of stability in that area, it can happen again.  The majority of countries in that area don’t like the U.S.  This includes Iran.  You know Iran, they’re trying to make nuclear weapons.  I wonder what they would do with a nuclear weapon when they made it? It would probably be worse than Pearl Harbor or 9/11.

So I was out singing karaoke last night.  About half way through the night it occurred to me that some people don’t know how to act at karaoke.  If you find that you are one of those people, here are a few tips that will help you out.

1. If someone else is singing, don’t get up and sing into their microphone.  Wait your turn!!
2. If you don’t at least know the chorus, don’t bother.  No one else will know what it is either. 
3. Four beers may give you the courage to try a new song, but it won’t give you the ability.
4. If you can’t sing it sober, you won’t be able to sing it drunk either.
5. If there are more singers that microphones, it will sound horrible.  Don’t bother.

So, there you have it.  Five tips for a successful karaoke night.  When you head out to the karaoke bar tonight, remember these tips and you won’t embarrass yourself.

It’s Friday!!  There’s karaoke at the Cantina tonight.  I’m going out with my boots on! 

Yes, the Cantina has been a place that I have avoided like the plague for the past year or so.  When it gets crowded, it gets violent.  However, I’ve heard that it had settle down a little since some of the trouble makers landed themselves in jail. 

Usually, after ending a relationship part of my healing process is to find some karaoke and sing my heart out.  It’s usually some of the rowdier country songs like Before He Cheats, Gunpowder and Lead, Kerosene, etc.  That’s exactly what I plan to do tonight.  I mean sing, not perform the actions in the songs.  I’m not homicidal, but my shot gun is loaded by my bed.  If you’re coming through my window, you don’t need to be in my house.

So, I’m going out with my boots on tonight.  I just have to find the right shirt. 

Imagine that it is the year 2002 and you are a young female sailor about 19, stationed in Monterey, California at the Defense Language Institute learning Persian-Farsi.  You are required to go to study hall in your school house two evenings a week.  This is a school house shared with Russian Language students. 

It is there that you meet a Russian student named Robert K. Geertson.  He’s a Marine about your age from Idaho.  Soon, he’s absolutely the love of your life.  Then, Russian isn’t going that well for him.  So, he is pulled from class and sent to Camp Lejeune for different training. 

After he finishes training at Camp Lejeune he heads to Camp Pendleton.  You keep in touch there wanting so badly just to go see him, and touch him, and hold him.  You can’t though.  You’re a sailor and the Navy is keeping you too busy.  Even on your long weekends you have watch. 

Then, you get a phone call.  It’s Robert.  Your heart sinks as he tells you that he’s headed to Iraq.  You want so badly to beg him to find some way out of it, but you can’t.  It’s his job.  So, you promise you’ll be there for him when he gets back. 

You’re constantly sending him letters and pictures and telling him how much you love him and miss him.  You get one from him about once a week.  They’re short.  He’s in a war zone.  It’s not a good idea give too many details from there in a letter. 

The last letter you remember getting from him was saying that he was sorry he wasn’t there for you when your grandma passed away.  You write one back to tell him it’s okay, and he has a more important job to do. 

Then, months go by with no letters.  You hear a new song, “I’m Already There.”  It makes you cry.  You remember all the times that you wish he was already home, holding you.  You miss his laugh, smile, even the shape of his chin. 

Instead of surrounding yourself with people in a similar situation that will tell you sometimes they get in places where they’re not allowed to write, you listen to your friends.  Of course, your friends aren’t telling you to be patient.  They’re saying he’s ignoring you, you never meant that much to him.  You’re young, and like a fool you move on.  From there, your life goes to hell.

Every day that goes by, you constantly think of that young Marine, Robert Geertson from Idaho.  You often find yourself wishing you would have just waited for Robert Geertson to get back from Iraq. 

Now it’s 2009.  You’re 26 years old and still constantly think of that same young Marine that you gave your heart to 7 years ago.  You want nothing more than to just run to him and start a new life, but you have many problems with that dream.  If he’s moved on and has a wife and kids, you’re out of the picture.  You think you found him on MySpace to maybe catch up, but it hasn’t been checked in a year and a half.  Lucky for you, he’s on Classmates.com, but no reply.

In case you haven’t figured it out, that 19 year old sailor in 2002 is me.  At this point, I would really like to talk to Robert and tell him I’m sorry for not waiting for him.  Honestly, I would love to catch up and talk about the past 7 years, but he’s a difficult person to find.  Hopefully, he doesn’t become that long lost love that I wonder about until my dying day.

This is my second weekend of being single after 10 months.  So, I was sitting at home last night remembering when I could call up a few friends and basically take a party to a bar. 

Well, Big Dan (huge Hank Jr. fan) had to work.  John had his daughter.  Andi was spending time with her family and fiance.  The list went on with family obligations, etc.  Then, this song came on the radio.  Now I know what Hank Williams Jr. was talking about when he wrote “All My Rowdy Friends Have Settled Down.”  To make it all better, I looked in the mirror and found not one, but three gray hairs.

Now, I’m at a crossroad.  I can find new rowdy friends, or I can settle on down.  Hmm… I’m only 26.  What do you think I’ll do?

Today is August 1st.  I’m going to start something new on my blog today.  On the first of every month I’ll let you know what was the most popular story on my blog the month before.  Then, if I have more details, I’ll update it.

The top story for July in This is My World was The Story of  a Maestro Echoplex.  It was my dad’s and he didn’t want it anymore.  He wanted to sell it on eBay.  So, we did.  It sold to a gentleman in Baltimore, Maryland.  He worked out a few bugs with it.  Then, he was rather pleased with it. 

Thank you to all my readers for making “The Story of a Maestro Echoplex” the most visited story on my blog for the month of July. 

Keep reading, you never know what I’ll come up with next.

 There’s this old amplifier my dad has had for years.  It’s made by Gibson.  They called it a Gibsonette GA-8T Tremolo.  The “Tremolo” refers to the pedal seen in front of the amp. 

In 1960, this Gibsonette GA-8T was bought brand new by a man in our area that was still in high school.  He just wanted to play at sock hops and such.  This man took really good care of this amplifier.  As young men do, he lost interest in music.  That’s when my dad bought it.

Dad took good care of it.  He didn’t really take it to the bars much, just to smaller jam session type places.  When he bought me my first guitar, he sent this amp to my house so I could have an amp to practice with.  We ended up switching and now I have a small Fender Amp. 

Well, Dad retired from playing music on my birthday this year.  That was in April.  Now, the economy is kinda tight. So, he’s trying to sell a few things so he can get a newer amplifier just to play at home and in jam session type setting. 

Where’s this Gibsonette GA-8T now?  Well, it’s on eBay.  I’m hoping the right person bids on it and takes good care of it. 

I found it!  Rockin’ the Beer Gut, by Trailer Choir 

I was talking about it yesterday in my blog.  Today I found it.  Trailer Choir performing “Rockin’ the Beer Gut” at 12th and Porter.

I think it’s an awesome song that shows that women don’t have to be perfect to be “hot.”  This is good.  And my opinion is coming from a 20 something with a beer gut.

So this would be one of those random posts that one would wonder, “Where did she pull that out of.” If you are wondering that, I completely understand. 

Anyway, I heard a really awesome song on GAC a couple nights ago, while I was quilting.  It’s by the Trailer Park Choir.  I believe they call it “Rockin’ That Beer Gut.” 

The man singing this song is talking about how he thinks it’s hot when a girl is a little over weight and really doesn’t care.  The girl he’s talking about gets up on the dance floor and struts her stuff anyway. 

I just think it’s awesome that someone would actually write a song like that in a world where a woman is generally considered “hot” only when her body has a perfect shape. 

So, from a woman proud of her beer gut, thank you Trailer Park Choir for singing “Rockin’ that Beer Gut.”  It shows very well how confidence is more important than looks.

My dad has played a guitar all my life.  I remember when my dad and I were on his computer researching prices for my first guitar, I almost tripped over this little black box in the floor.  He said, “If anything ever happens to me, you get in here and get that.  It’s worth a lot of money and most people don’t know what it is.”

Time went by and I had nearly forgot about it.   Earlier this week, however, Dad decided he was going to go ahead and sell that little black box.  He said I could put it on Ebay.  Today, I went to pick it up and he told me a little more about it. 

It is a 1960’s or 1970’s Maestro Echoplex solid state.  He bought it used in the late 1970’s and used it for years in bars and such.  It gives the guitar a richer sound.  He sold it once to a local preacher who used it in church.  Eight years later he bought it back. 

Dad plugged in the Echoplex today.  It sounds new even though it’s almost 50 years old.  He played a few of my favorite old songs.  That Echoplex just made his guitar sound amazing.

Dad said that Chet Adkins used one all the time and that there has been sound created on an echoplex that you just can’t recreate with modern equipment.  He told me to clean the case up.  Then, he showed me to take pictures of different specific parts.  So, I did.  And now it’s on Ebay.  The link is a couple paragraphs up.

For those of you that don’t know, my middle name is Rose.  Mom said that when I was born I was her and Dad’s rose.  She also said they both particularly liked the song by Conway Twitty called “The Rose.”  It is a very beautiful song.  I also like Conway Twitty’s version better than Bette Midler’s.  Conway seems like he’s more telling a story than trying to show off vocals.  It’s a personal preference.

Anyway, most of my life I have heard how difficult it is to grow roses.  No one has ever been able to explain what’s so difficult about it.  They always say that you just have to have a “feel” for it. 

Well, earlier this spring, Wal-mart had rose bushes that were trimmed all the way down for $6.  So, I picked one and was determined to find out what was so difficult about growing rose bushes. 

First, I dug a hole slightly larger than the size of the soil that was in the bag.  Then, I placed the bush in the hole.  Since our soil around here is orange clay, I filled the remainder of the hole with a leftover bag of potting soil from last year.  After about a week I sprayed it and everything else around the house with “Ortho Ecosense Brand outdoor insect killer.”  Of course, I followed the directions on the bottle.  

Recently, I’ve had two roses bloom out bright and beautiful.  They were supposed to be red and white striped, but I’m fine with just red.  I couldn’t help but take pictures of them.  Obviously, getting them to bloom once is only half the work.  So, I’ll keep you updated on how my rose project grows.

 Of course if you have any tips or instructions on growing, maintaining, or caring for roses, please let me know.

Well, my dad got married yesterday (Saturday). 

First thing Saturday morning some of the neighbors were helping to set up the picnic tables and food tents.  There was a bird causing problems.  So, the bride-to-be went into the house and grabbed a shotgun.  Plow! The bird problem was fixed.  Of course, a couple of the men helping set up had to change their pants.  But it’s better than having bird poop on a table that people will be sitting at to eat. 

The ceremony went quite well. No one fell getting up the ramp to the place where the ceremony took place.  The wedding rings were tied to a horse shoe.  Somehow the best man managed to get the rings off of it without dropping them.  They had karaoke music at the reception.  Both the garter and the bouquet were caught by children under 10.  So, no one else that was there is getting married for quite a while.  The wedding party toasted with Boone’s Farm Strawberry Hill flavored wine.

Congratulations to Larry and Cheryl Morton!

Tonight, I think I’ll take a different approach to what I normally write.  You see usually I find some article that either doesn’t set well with me and explain why.  Or I find some story somewhere that I don’t think is getting enough attention.  Tonight, I’m not picking some article.  I’m going to talk about reality for a minute. 

You see what’s flooding my local papers as well as the local news stations isn’t being talked about in the local gas station.  As a matter of fact, no one is really talking about it at all in this area.  We all pretty well seen it coming.  The auto industry is going belly up.  Chrysler is filing bankruptcy and GM is closing down dealerships. People are losing jobs and homes.  And Mr. Obama is making the American people fix it.

The President is making taxpayers like you and me bail out these companies that obviously can’t manage money to begin with.  Here in the real world if a small business owner had a company that was barely hanging on, he would start selling his personal stuff to bail it out.  If some of those big shots in those companies would sell their multimillion dollar mansions and buy an average size house, they wouldn’t need my money to keep their company afloat.  I live in a two bedroom trailer and can barely make ends meet.  Why do I need to fix a rich man’s problem?  Those CEO’s should have downsized their own houses and paychecks before they even asked for my money. 

You know what that reminds me of a song by John Rich:

Because in the real world their shuttin Detroit down,
While the boss man takes his bonus pay and jets on out of town.
DCs bailing out them bankers as the farmers auction ground.
Yeah while there living it up on Wall Street in that New York City town,
Here in the real world their shuttin Detroit down.

Well, they wouldn’t be shutting Detroit down if them CEO’s would have taken a pay-cut a long time ago and been more financially responsible to begin with.  You can’t raise your own salary if your company is losing money.  The same theory applies for the gas prices and the greedy oil industry.  If those big shots would be willing to live on $150,000 a year, we wouldn’t have seen anywhere near $4 a gallon last summer.  By the way, if they would take $150,000 a year, that would still be 6 times what I made last year.

The economy has been fueled by greed for many presidents, republican and democrat alike.  Now, the economy has has been flushed down the toilet.  The worst thing about it is that the people to blame (auto and oil CEO’s) can still live comfortably while the rest of us scratch at pennies for groceries. 

So, here in the real world Detroit is slowly shutting down and the jack-asses that caused it are still rich.  On top of that, some of the people that worked for them are now homeless.  To make it all better the government wants to blame it on the consumer (you and me) not buying their over-priced, gas guzzling, hunks of metal.  Don’t blame me for the crashing economy.  I’m not the greedy one, I’m just getting by.

Wickliffe, Indiana was the sight of a local musician announcing his retirement from music. A tour bus from Tell City, Indiana was among the vehicles crowding the parking lot around Terry’s Pit Stop as Larry Morton celebrated his daughter’s birthday and announced his retirement from playing music. A huge crowd danced and cheered as the band played all night.

Mr. Morton introduced the band and his replacement, then played one more song. As “Mustang Sally” ended he said, “Stick a fork in me, I’m done.” He put his guitar down and danced with his soon to be wife, while the band played a few more songs. It has been said, “True musicians never quit, they just fade away.” Rumor has it this musician is just taking a short pause to get some things in order.

Mr. Morton has played many years in many places. At times, playing his guitar has bought groceries that week. In recent years, he has played many benefit dances free of charge for people trying to raise money for doctor bills. He has played going away parties for soldiers being sent over seas, and wedding receptions for young couples just starting out.  Many nights Mr. Morton and the band would play longer than scheduled because the crowd wanted one more song.

From your fans in Perry and Crawford Counties, “Thank you, Larry, for your entertainment in the bars and your support in the benefits and fund raisers. We hope the rumors are true and your pause is over shortly.”

There’s this old guitar, solid wood American made Peavy Strat. Dad was playing this old guitar the weekend I was born. He had an old horse’s girt strap he turned into his guitar strap. When I was six he taught me how to clean this old guitar. When I was a little older he sold it to a preacher man who played it in his church. That preacher took good care of this old guitar. Shortly before that little preacher man passed away he sold it back to Dad for the same price he had bought it. This old guitar sounded just as good as the day it was made. Dad played this old guitar, not just in bars but at fundraisers and benefits too. When I was 22, Dad taught me how to play this old guitar. Today is my 26^th birthday, and this old guitar is mine along with that same old guitar strap borrowed from a horse. Now it’s my turn to make this old guitar sing.