Cliffs Riffs - Stuph n Nonsense

As an American baby boomer, the word "socialism" was never presented to me with anything but a negative connotation. Socialism is akin to communism and it means the State is going to control everything and we won't have anything unless those in charge let us. In my 57 years on this planet, the majority of time I heard the word "socialism" used it was not in a positive context. I was taught Socialism was scary. However, over the last few years I have begun to view socialism in a very positive light. Mind you, I am NOT praising communism or calling for the tearing apart of capitalism. In my life I have owned three micro businesses, no one believes in the freedom to succeed or fail more that I do. My first foray into self-employment was AAFAB - Almost Anything For A Buck. I registered AAFAB when I was 19 or so - I was the sole proprietor who specialized in roofing and painting. I had a pick-up truck, a variety of ladders, some liability insurance and a fair s...

Another musical hero has departed.  Thank you Keith Emerson for the hours and hours of enjoyment your music provided. Thank you especially for opening my eyes to the universality of music - I have an older brother - Les got to the planet 9 years ahead of me. After our parents divorce, we didn't see much of each other as I lived in Arizona and he remained in Michigan . However, Les managed to introduce me to great music - music that my contemporaries were NOT listening to. In the late 60's and early 70's Les had a couple vans. He ALWAYS had great stereos in them. Lucky me (ooooo, what a lucky kid I was...) I got to hear really cool music in his van. One of my favorites was the first Emerson, Lake and Palmer album. I returned home to my mom in Tucson with songs from this album firmly embedded in my noodle,  so I saved my lunch money and bought ELP.  I was excitedly telling my mom about this great ROCK music from these three British guy...

Oddly enough, my fascination with humpback whales began in the desert. The year was 1970 and I was a 12 year old living with my mom in Tucson, Arizona. A bio-acoustician by the name of Roger Payne used what was cutting edge technology at the time to record humpbacks singing and then put those songs on rotating vinyl for all of us to enjoy. I discovered the record during one of my trips to the public library. The hypnotic call of whales was a far cry from my usual efforts to blow the wax out of my ears with rock music played over the headphones. The librarians there were gentle with me, but they would not allow me to drum along on the counter to such delightful songs as “Earschplittenloudenboomer” by Steppenwolf. We had a stereo at home, but there was no way mom was going to allow the likes of Steppenwolf to be played on it. Additionally, the sound from our stereo cabinet paled in comparison to the sonic bliss of the cranked up headphones available at the library. As I looked thr...

Most people would be deeply offended if you asked them if they had ever spent the night in a public bathroom. Yours truly has slept in a men’s room on more than one occasion. Twice, to be exact. And I have never been elected to public office. Yet. My purpose today is to offer up not one, but two completely plausible explanations for my bathroom lodging. I assure you this is being done without the aid of a handler or PR firm. The fact of the matter is that both instances of my having to seek shelter amidst toilets, urinals, and sinks came on successive days. It is only now, after decades of time and hours of therapy, that I can discuss these nights without breaking down (or cracking up?). Two completely different bathrooms for two similar, but different, reasons. As you may have read elsewhere, I decided to cross the country at 19 on a Honda 750 motorcycle. My plan was to stay at KOA Campgrounds, so I could enjoy sleeping the outdoors and still have access to a bathroom with a showe...

“Get a Honda - they are bulletproof,” was pretty much the response from anyone I talked to about my desire to cross the country on a motorcycle. The words “low maintenance" also came up a few times. Music to my ears. Please join me in flashing back to a time, 1977, when people had to actually speak to one another about such things. There were no chat rooms, forums, or online communities in which to consult the entire cyber world about a motorcycle purchase. As a soon-to-be 19 year old with a hankering to see the USA from the vantage point of a two wheeled motorized contraption, I was serious in my research. The main motivation for said inquiries centered around the fact that I was, and remain, pretty much mechanically inept. I spoke to people who sold and rode motorcycles at every opportunity - either in person or on a telephone. [tele-phone: noun, ancient device using a system of wires which connected homes and businesses all over the world. Were used to for the sole purpo...

Five Angels In The Panhandle The tale of some very nice folks in Texas coming to my aid begs for inclusion in my treatise of hitchhiking. This adventure falls under the sub-heading: Forced Hitching as opposed to the tales classified under Voluntary Hitching or Hitchhiking; Picking Up Others. Like many others of my vintage, the lure of motorcycles was aided and abetted by the movie Easy Rider. I know for certain I did not see it when it came out in 1969. As an 11 year old who lived with his born again Christian mom, attending an R rated movie about selling drugs, tripping on drugs, and crossing the country on two wheels was not even a remote possibility. However, once I did see it after having circled the sun a few more times, my cycle lust went up a couple notches. The longing for two wheeled travel was initiated by my older brother Les. He had a bitchin’ Kawasaki Big Horn 350 Enduro and he would take me for trail rides. It is worth mentioning that said bike had no rear pegs for ...

Opposable thumbs rock! They allow us to pick up things other animals cannot - including rides in other people's vehicles and knowledge. I am certainly not a farrier, but I would wager my grasp of the art of shoeing horses far exceeds that of the average person. I owe that knowledge to my thumb. My thumb brought me insight into the workings of a cult.  My thumb introduced me to lots of very interesting humans - and a couple of scary ones. When my parents split up my mom re-located the two of us a couple thousand miles from our extended family. We went from Grand Rapids, MI to live in Tucson, AZ. For better or worse, as a latch key child of a working mom, I learned how to amuse myself. In hippy-drenched 70‘s era Tucson a young man with an opposible thumb could make his way around simply by sticking out said thumb and relying on the kindness of strangers. I cannot recall the first time I put my thumb to work in such a manner, but I do remember that I got pretty good at hitching...