Park Record columnist
I wouldn’t necessarily say I’m all the way back, but considering my planet got knocked off its axis by incoming subplots, the books, music and films I’ve been meaning to get around to are once again in play.
Not that what is casually referred to around these parts as “mental health” has refilled its sock drawer, or anything, but it’s been a spell since my cell phone showed up behind the Nutmeg.
Pattern recognition sufficient to the few tasks at hand appears to have returned.
That isn’t to say my internal GPS is no longer on the fritz. I sputter, therefore I am. It’s just that for now the influence of intervening variables no longer has power of attorney. I have refused to allow the pipeline contractors up at Standing Rock or Rep. Rob Bishop to rain on my parade.
So what if I cranked the 8-track of freshly cut blues from the Rolling Stones and knocked-back a few peat-rich Single Malts the other evening upon hearing that the Army Corps of Engineers had rescinded a key permit they had previously granted the Dakota Access Pipeline contractors.
So what if I awoke the following morning to word that the contractors are staying in place and waiting it out until the Trump-bunch officially assumes power and reverses the decision. What are we supposed to do? We all see it coming. It’s not like we can force the Scotch back in the bottle or wrest the Stones from their last known whereabouts in my auditory cortex.
We can, and did, however, reconfigure and embellish the coffee beverage assigned for that morning and re-amplify Mick and “Keef” and the “Blue & Lonesome” boys with a more moderate touch on the volume knob. We know who we are and for whom and what we stand. We don’t need no stinkin’ badges!
I have gotten out and about as far as the corrals and horse troughs and you could say that my daily on-the-ground equine therapy is actually proceeding quite well. The PTSD that surfaced Nov. 9 seems to be somewhat under control as long as I crawl out from under the bed each morn and, with cup in hand, mosey out to whinny and snort with my friends.
The family, although currently spread out and knee-deep in busy time, is working its way through the recent loss of Virginia Castro – Smokey’s mom and my “ex.”
Many of you knew Virg and were quite aware how special she was to her family and to whatever community in which she chose to reside. It’s difficult to summon words worthy of her life in this space at this time. I’ll leave it at that.
It’s not difficult to summon words worthy of U.S. Rep. Rob Bishop (R-Utah), however. Far from it! To Rob, the only good public land is a drilled upon, bulldozed, chained, monetized, raped and pillaged public land. If you can’t crisscross it powered by internal-combustion engines utilizing Carbon Dioxide spewing fossil fuels, where is the communal good?
Rob’s current targets are the 270 million acres included in all of the national monuments created by Presidents Barak Obama and Bill Clinton. Rob is lobbying the incoming Trump administration to abolish all protections associated with the monument designations. Pave, baby, pave! In his defense, it’s rumored Rob once actually walked to his mailbox.
DO NOT, I repeat DO NOT attempt to dance to Rob Bishop at home! It’s a philosophy without a beat suitable to movement. You certainly couldn’t sway to it! Or “bop,” for that matter. Think of a floored maxed-out diesel barreling downhill with “Jake-brakes” enabled.
If you must, don’t attempt it without accompaniment from the Rolling Stones’ recent blues cover album “Blue & Lonesome.” And even then, stay clear of their cover of Willie Dixon’s “I Can’t Quit You Baby” with Eric Clapton sitting in. It’s a classic down-tempo blues “grinder” and shaking the vision of rubbing up against Rob’s belt buckle might take a while.
I would, however, highly recommend the video the boys released to promote the Eddie Taylor cover “Ride ‘Em On Down.” Starring Kristen Stewart, the footage showcases a cool tour of non-mainstream LA including some great shots of Ms. Stewart putting the ‘60s-something Mustang through its paces in the concrete enveloped LA River.
I should also mention that the album contains killer covers of blues classics by Howlin’ Wolf, Memphis Slim, Magic Sam, Little Walter, and the great Jimmy Reed – all of which seemingly turned the studio into a quite fluid situation.
Jay Meehan is a culture junkie and has been an observer, participant, and chronicler of the Park City and Wasatch County social and political scenes for more than 40 years.
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Columnist Tom Clyde received his mail-in ballot this week. Unfortunately, he writes, filling it out won’t turn off the noise surrounding this election.