The Ballad Of Teddy Goodman
I am for all practical purposes too pooped to poke through this preponderancy of paint pots and assorted personal particulate under this poplar, Slim said out loud to himself while the Cardinal above him offered a wheat, wheat, wheat of affirmation. Better you than me, the Cardinal said, to which Slim responded, go away Red. Red said, better Red than dead, better Red than Fred, better Red than you. I think I will call you Fred, Red, Slim said.
Maybe I sucked too hard on that Green Label last night, Slim mused, or maybe it was that half pound of hamburger for breakfast, I just don't know. I only eat bugs and berries and buds, and on Sundays, worms, lot's of fat juicy worms, said Red. Fascinating, Fred, Slim said. I think since we are becoming friends I will call you Ted, said Fred. I am not really in the market for a red friend, Ted said to Red Fred. Isn't that a pity, Ted. If we were friends I would gladly pick off you that tick which crawled from a stick and is on its way to your...
Red Fred, Ted said, I will pick off my own ticks but thank you for that kind offer. Ted, Ted, Teddy, how great to have a friend named Ted, said Red Fred to Slim Ted. Oh my friend Teddy, don't look so glum under the sweet gum. You might find a piece of treasure buried beneath this boneyard of iron and tin. Do you really think so Red Fred? Well actually T-T-T-Teddy, I think no such thing, the man before he had no bling to bring, only trash, trash, trash, he was a trash hauling man, he would bring trash in the morning and trash in the evenings, that trash hauling man loved his trash more than anything.
You are quite a singer, Ted said. Thank you Ted, said Red Fred, actually I am shopping around for a producer. I will admit, and forgive me for saying this, but when I first saw you out here I thought, well you know, with the long hair and all, well, I thought you might be a producer, like in the business. Do you remember those first few days how I sang from sunup to sundown? I guess I was trying to impress you, but I got the distinct impression I was annoying you, so I went away for awhile to Pig Hollow, to visit a sick aunt. Tell me the truth, did you miss me while I was gone? No? Not really? Well no matter. The day I got back I heard you singing and that was when I realized you probably weren't in the business, but Ted, I hope my candor will not impede on our budding friendship.
I'm sure the status of our friendship will remain fairly constant, Fred.
That is music to my ears good man Teddy. In fact I think I will start this minute working on a new ballad. I will call it The Ballad of Teddy Goodman. I hope you don't mind that all my title characters die in the end, I think it adds a gravity that so much music today is lacking.
That would be great, Red Fred, to be the inspiration for your song. As for the dying, I guess I'm ok with it.
I think we're going places, Teddy. But oh my I fear I have worn you out with the vibrance of my personality. A power nap, that's what you need my friend. Go in there and lie down and in one hour I will sing you awake.
Just one hour Red Fred, said Ted, before going back to bed.
...more recent posts
Aunt Florence's Vacation Slides
These are pictures of the two week old corn that Claypool planted in my garden and turning your back to the garden the next picture is a shot across the property between the two sheds. The tree trunk framing the left of the picture is a shag bark hickory and in the bottom right up to and around those first two trees (the right one almost out of the picture) is where the larger of the chicken coops was and if you look real hard just upper right of dead center you can see the disconnected white cab of a small Toyota truck tucked into the far woods. Just to the right of that is where I have stacked the tires for now. The shed on the right is where, back left corner, the paints cans and buckets are still located and the shed you can almost see on the left is where, under the right overhang, the 302 V-8 Maverick used to sit and just to front left of that shed on the left is where the cripped aluminum carport frame used to reside. Just across from that, behind that right shed is where I began the archeology out here, digging up a large half buried pile of lumber, which made up the first (of I think now seven) burn pile.
The next picture is the tires I mentioned.
The next picture is the top left of the Maverick shed with a big tree in the background.
The next picture is the Maverick shed and right overhang where the Maverick lived for 14 years. In the background in the shadows is where the dog pen is, which I have started to dismantle.
The next picture is a flower on a small tree to the left of the Maverick shed's left overhang. I guess it appears to be some sort of dog...I just got up to see what that crashing sound was and it was that big dead limb from the pecan tree in the backyard that I was thinking I would cut off one day but now I don't have to. Anyway that flower I guess would be some sort of dogwood but neither it nor the leaf are classic dogwood so I don't really know what it is.
The next three pictures are from the back edge of the property and show proof I guess that the big trees do blow down sometimes (and maybe helped along by bugs).
These are pictures of the two week old corn that Claypool planted in my garden and turning your back to the garden the next picture is a shot across the property between the two sheds. The tree trunk framing the left of the picture is a shag bark hickory and in the bottom right up to and around those first two trees (the right one almost out of the picture) is where the larger of the chicken coops was and if you look real hard just upper right of dead center you can see the disconnected white cab of a small Toyota truck tucked into the far woods. Just to the right of that is where I have stacked the tires for now. The shed on the right is where, back left corner, the paints cans and buckets are still located and the shed you can almost see on the left is where, under the right overhang, the 302 V-8 Maverick used to sit and just to front left of that shed on the left is where the cripped aluminum carport frame used to reside. Just across from that, behind that right shed is where I began the archeology out here, digging up a large half buried pile of lumber, which made up the first (of I think now seven) burn pile.
The next picture is the tires I mentioned.
The next picture is the top left of the Maverick shed with a big tree in the background.
The next picture is the Maverick shed and right overhang where the Maverick lived for 14 years. In the background in the shadows is where the dog pen is, which I have started to dismantle.
The next picture is a flower on a small tree to the left of the Maverick shed's left overhang. I guess it appears to be some sort of dog...I just got up to see what that crashing sound was and it was that big dead limb from the pecan tree in the backyard that I was thinking I would cut off one day but now I don't have to. Anyway that flower I guess would be some sort of dogwood but neither it nor the leaf are classic dogwood so I don't really know what it is.
The next three pictures are from the back edge of the property and show proof I guess that the big trees do blow down sometimes (and maybe helped along by bugs).
Manure If It Pleases You
The drama regarding Slim's Internet connection rises to new heights after a technician spends 4 hours at the house, tries three different modems, confers by phone with a half dozen different fellow technicians, and leaves in defeat. I've been working with DSL for three years and I've never seen anything like this, the technician tells Slim. Slim takes a measure of satisfaction in the fact that his DSL problem is one for the ages. He imagines technicians a hundred years from now talking about this one during their coffee breaks. My great-great grandfather tole me about this one in Fence Post, there was this old scraggly lookin smelly hermit he live in a run down shack trying to get what they called high speed back in those days, they tore apart a whole relay substation trying to get to the bottom of it, but never did. The hermit I hear he died in his sleep, apparently with a phone pressed to his ear while on hold to one of our technicians.
Meanwhile, in that world not ruled by fancy gadgets, Slim finds himself knee deep in dried chicken shit, with a crowbar and a sledge hammer, a pair of wire snips and a vocabulary to make a sailor blush. He was feeling pretty full of himself and unreasonably manly after he collapsed the first coop with three or four blows from the 8 lb. sledge, but the second coop was a test to his patience and the efficacy of his last tetanus shot. After a long day that had begun with him up on the roof removing a small limb blown there from the previous night's storm, the two coops were piled in two separate loadings onto his 8X12 flatbed trailer. The first pile he off loaded onto the burn pile and after the wind died down he struck a match to some paper below cardboard below twigs which he had gathered up from his lawn that morning and as the technician explained to Slim why he still did not have Internet access, the fire blazed in the background.
Earlier worrying that he had somehow distanced himself from potential ally, Johnny Woodman, the earnest, hardworking, neighbor across the street, Slim had walked over and confronted Johnny with a proposition. Did Johnny want this pile of cut lumber stacked in his backyard? Johnny was working on his log-splitter at the time but said he would take a break and come see. When they got to talking about, among other things, that bastard Danny Claypool, Johnny said he had watched Danny plant the corn and just assumed Slim had given him permission. Johnny also said he thought Slim was mad at him because Slim didn't wave back a couple of times and that maybe he heard that he, Johnny, didn't take no shit from Claypool and seeing as how we appeared to be buddies... but Slim assured Johnny that if he didn't wave back it was because he didn't see Johnny waving and that he held no particular affection for Danny Claypool. Slim told him about Claypool using his water and Johnny said the thing about Claypool was that if you gave him an inch he would take a mile. Slim said he had not intended to give Claypool an inch, just his 302 V-8.
Slim got to thinking and said, hey, Johnny, what would you think about you planting this garden in the future? Johnny said, well I already have a garden, but Slim said, well you could have another one, nice brown dirt over here, and Johnny agreed that it was a nice garden spot and that if Slim wanted him to, he would plant and maintain it in the future. They got to talking some more and about an hour later Johnny was backing his truck up to one of the metal piles. He took the aluminum pile first and then later in the day came back and got most of the heavy metals. Slim did not ask or care what amount of profit Johnny took from it.
There was still, after this removal, an unacceptable amount of junk on the property but Johnny's wife tried to encourage Slim by saying when their friends visit they are much impressed by the progress. Johnny kept telling Slim to cheer up. Apparently when Slim had his game face on it was a countenance dour to behold. Slim tried smiling but found it to feel counter to his motive, which at the time was was working, grunting, sweating, and cussing, in piles of dried chicken shit.
(As I was leaving for the 10 mile drive to post this a technician called and said give it a try and I did and it worked, something about a loop where there shouldn't have been one)
The drama regarding Slim's Internet connection rises to new heights after a technician spends 4 hours at the house, tries three different modems, confers by phone with a half dozen different fellow technicians, and leaves in defeat. I've been working with DSL for three years and I've never seen anything like this, the technician tells Slim. Slim takes a measure of satisfaction in the fact that his DSL problem is one for the ages. He imagines technicians a hundred years from now talking about this one during their coffee breaks. My great-great grandfather tole me about this one in Fence Post, there was this old scraggly lookin smelly hermit he live in a run down shack trying to get what they called high speed back in those days, they tore apart a whole relay substation trying to get to the bottom of it, but never did. The hermit I hear he died in his sleep, apparently with a phone pressed to his ear while on hold to one of our technicians.
Meanwhile, in that world not ruled by fancy gadgets, Slim finds himself knee deep in dried chicken shit, with a crowbar and a sledge hammer, a pair of wire snips and a vocabulary to make a sailor blush. He was feeling pretty full of himself and unreasonably manly after he collapsed the first coop with three or four blows from the 8 lb. sledge, but the second coop was a test to his patience and the efficacy of his last tetanus shot. After a long day that had begun with him up on the roof removing a small limb blown there from the previous night's storm, the two coops were piled in two separate loadings onto his 8X12 flatbed trailer. The first pile he off loaded onto the burn pile and after the wind died down he struck a match to some paper below cardboard below twigs which he had gathered up from his lawn that morning and as the technician explained to Slim why he still did not have Internet access, the fire blazed in the background.
Earlier worrying that he had somehow distanced himself from potential ally, Johnny Woodman, the earnest, hardworking, neighbor across the street, Slim had walked over and confronted Johnny with a proposition. Did Johnny want this pile of cut lumber stacked in his backyard? Johnny was working on his log-splitter at the time but said he would take a break and come see. When they got to talking about, among other things, that bastard Danny Claypool, Johnny said he had watched Danny plant the corn and just assumed Slim had given him permission. Johnny also said he thought Slim was mad at him because Slim didn't wave back a couple of times and that maybe he heard that he, Johnny, didn't take no shit from Claypool and seeing as how we appeared to be buddies... but Slim assured Johnny that if he didn't wave back it was because he didn't see Johnny waving and that he held no particular affection for Danny Claypool. Slim told him about Claypool using his water and Johnny said the thing about Claypool was that if you gave him an inch he would take a mile. Slim said he had not intended to give Claypool an inch, just his 302 V-8.
Slim got to thinking and said, hey, Johnny, what would you think about you planting this garden in the future? Johnny said, well I already have a garden, but Slim said, well you could have another one, nice brown dirt over here, and Johnny agreed that it was a nice garden spot and that if Slim wanted him to, he would plant and maintain it in the future. They got to talking some more and about an hour later Johnny was backing his truck up to one of the metal piles. He took the aluminum pile first and then later in the day came back and got most of the heavy metals. Slim did not ask or care what amount of profit Johnny took from it.
There was still, after this removal, an unacceptable amount of junk on the property but Johnny's wife tried to encourage Slim by saying when their friends visit they are much impressed by the progress. Johnny kept telling Slim to cheer up. Apparently when Slim had his game face on it was a countenance dour to behold. Slim tried smiling but found it to feel counter to his motive, which at the time was was working, grunting, sweating, and cussing, in piles of dried chicken shit.
(As I was leaving for the 10 mile drive to post this a technician called and said give it a try and I did and it worked, something about a loop where there shouldn't have been one)