Aint no grave, can hold my body down....

Except a really shallow one, I mean.

I'm tired. I feel dead. I am working too damn much. I miss my life.

I know this won't last. It will end. One way or another, I will live again.

I just found this on The Internets. The Johnny Cash Project.

This is one of the coolest things I have seen. They take thousands of illustrations from all over the world and put them all together to mark out to The Man In Black.

Such creativity inspires me.

Until I have to go back to work.

Again.

And again.

Every day, always again.

I walk the line.

http://www.thejohnnycashproject.com/

Blueberries are good for you, but they are killing me...

So, I think to myself today, hey self, you haven't been on the blog in a while... and then I thought how much of a miracle of life it was that after working 103 of the last 105 days, the last three weeks of them nights, I remembers I has a blog at all.

I am currently working late evenings becaue blueberries must crush me. I have worked, literally, almost 4 months straight. It's doing wonders for my social life. Most of my friends have disowned me.

I am reminded as to why I do this whenever bills come along. But I wonder what it does to my sanity. Then I laugh and wonder what kind of benchmark I could possibly have for my sanity.

I am very tired. I am wanting a dose of life again. I am tired of all-emcompassment. There must be Leebo Time.

Time. For Leebo.

One thing is for damn sure.

This just might be the season I kill a goddamn truck driver.

That's gonna be sweet.

Or... one might kill me.

That would suck.

Produce.

You are a fickle mistress.

And a goddamned whore.

The only bar I can walk to....

As Hitchcock would say, good evening. I haven't been on the blog…though it's not for lack of trying. I'm actually writing this on my Blackberry at the Winghouse. Currently, Britany Spears' homogenized, synthesized voice blares annoyingly over, around and through my head and I marvel at…but not by much.. at how much she sounds like Chris Brown. Across the bar from me is a man with blue-ish green tattoos from his sideburns down to his hands. He is completely covered in tats, except for his face, which could use some. There are huge, black, disc-like objects embedded in his ears, each about the size of a coaster. He looks happy. He looks content with life and existence. Fuck him. I am currently in the mix of blueberry season. I have worked 89 of the last 91 days and am currently in a situation where I am working a helluva a lot more than having any fun. This is a situation I find abhorrent, except twice a month when bills are due. When, with a complete babyface-turn…it comes surprisingly in handy. I'm burned out. I'm cranky. I can feel it. I drop a pen and feel nothing but rage. My printer runs out of paper and I want to slaughter thousands. My phone rings and I want to decimate entire solar systems. I showed remarkable restraint when they announced Snookie would be at Wrestlemania. Either that or I just don't care anymore. About life. Or the WWE. There's a gaping chasm in my life. I don't know what it is, except all that "all work and no love or fun" baggage. And also, maybe, all that cool shit I don't have. Like love and fun, for example. Those sound neat. I'm just kind of coasting through the days right now. I'm feeling nothing. Really. Got some hurt. Nothing new. I'm numb. I'm tired. I feel nuzzing. Nuzzing, Lebowski. Holy crap, I'm becoming a goddamn Nihlist. I vow not to let that happen. Those folk threaten castration. They'll cut yer fucking dick off. It won't come to that, Dude. I won't let it. If I can get through the next few months without disemboweling someone with a wooden cooking spoon, I'm going for some major R+R. Walking through pudding. Jeezus. That guy across the bar has giant coasters in his ears. Fuck me. Fuh-uh-uck. Me. I so want to shove a beer in that guy's ear.

Ah, WTF

Hey. I haven't been on here lately. I'm in a strange place. Soon, I plan to stop drinking and start writing. That should be the time when I find out I write better when I drink. Shit.

I'll be back at THE LEEBO SHOW soon. At least that's the plan. It works in theory.

Based on the last post, I am pleased to report that I did find Mike Guerdon. And, quite frankly, I feel bad about the odd, and potentially alienating generic mutations one must face when one is Mike Guerdon's offspring.

It doesn't make Mikey a bad person.

It does make him insect-like.

And a potential gock.

Ya gock.

O' Brother, Where Art Thou?

Figure Grud - A: We were never near Anna Nicole.

Attention, please.

If anyone sees Mike Guerdon could you please tell him we love him (in a niz-on-fiz-ag way) and miss him?

We being me, I mean.

Come back, Grudly Mandinko.

Yer a gock.

Maybe Lord Vader was right.

Sometimes I actually think about going to the Dark Side.

I'm not going to do it, but I think about it, sometimes.

Where would my life be? Would I even be alive?

I mean, what's being a good guy done for me lately? Or ever?

I'm thinkin' that if I were evil, I'd have a lot more money, a lot more power.

I don't really crave power, but if you're evil, it's kinda mandatory.

Goes hand-in-hand with the badness, don'tchknow.

I might even have a pretty girl to talk to, one who can tell me how awesomely evil I am. Maybe she'll make me a sandwich. If I were evil, I might even get a date on a Friday night. With a harem. Of bitches.

That's right, I said bitches.

I don't usually call women that. I'm not a jerk. Or a rapper.

But I can aspire to be a jerk. Rapper is just too low, even for Evil Leebo.

If I were evil, I wouldn't care about women.

I wouldn't even treat them as people.

I wouldn't want to get to know them. I wouldn't let them in.

Since most women I've let in have hurt me anyway...that would work.

Wouldn't it?

Sigh.

It probably wouldn't.

I shouldn't think like that. I'm lucky to have what I have.

Maybe it's better being lucky than good.

I am a lucky fellow. Not as lucky as some, but luckier than others.

It must be the melancholy that's affecting my mood.

I've not been my usually bad-ass self.

Been sloppy. Been apathetic. Haven't really cared.

Manic depression is a frustrating mess.

I find my lack of faith disturbing.

And nice guys definitely finish last.

Worthless Star Trek thought

So, here's some wierd sci-fi meaningless thought.

I scan the TV, and I can catch a STAR TREK: THE NEXT GENERATION re-run anywhere on multiple cable channels.

Yet, I can never catch the original STAR TREK anyhere on the telly.

Yet, they show the classic TREK every weeknight on free TV in rural Arkansas.

The classic episodes with the enhanced special effects.

They kick ass.

So, a skull-frag station in Arkansas can show the classic, kick-ass STAR TREK, but we can't show it anywhere on cable TV.

Food for thought.

If you were dumb enough to think such things.

Fortunately, I am.

Live long and prosper.

TROWER POWER and what-have-you

Yo.

Haven't been on the blog. Been melancholy. Dunno why.

Maybe it's post kick-ass concert bringdown.

I went and saw Guitar God Robin Trower at the House of Blues in Orlando and again at Jannus Landing in St. Pete over the weekend the very next night.

It was phenomenally successful and Trower rocked what I laughingly call my face.

I say it was successful in the fact that I achieved my objective in jamming to Trower Live on two consectutive nights. He was awesome. Again. And again.

It was less successful as certain persons that I really wanted to go with me (that I really wanted to turn on to the genius that is Trower) that were scheduled to attend... were not able to.

Their reasons are varied, including, but not limited to, influenza, prior commitments and just not being that much into me.

Still I had an awesome time with me and would attend such an event with me again, should the moment ever present itself. I like my own company. And at this rate, I'd better.

So now it's Thursday and I am melancholy.

My mother's been gone a year, the anniversary (if you could call it that) was last week.

My parent's 50th wedding anniversary is tomorrow.

My Mom's birthday is Valentine's Day.

My Dad's birthday is a week after.

Gonna need some cold ones in between.

This cheap new Walgreens beer really kicks ass.

A Hope in Hell

Hi, there.

With the recent events in Tucson being manipulated and bandied about by many a talking head I found something that inspired me. I found it in an article by Harry Knowles over at Aint It Cool News.

One paragraph struck me as truth, in particular:

"All of us need to be tolerant. For all the faiths that teach us to live a peaceful path, we sure don't practice it. Well, at least not when our hands touch a keyboard, or we talk on the radio & tv. We judge, instantly, immovably and with terrible furor. We inflate the situation, give fame & attention to a tragedy, that would best be served with silence."

Amen, brutha. There are many things that are holding us back as a species. Tolerance toward others is the key component in just about all of them.

It's probably one of the few times I actually agree with Sarah Palin. But then again, she's quoting Ronald Reagan.

"We must reject the idea that every time a law is broken, society is guilty rather than the lawbreaker. It's time to restore the American precept that each individual is accountable for his actions."

Again, Amen, brutha. This wasn't politcal. This nut chose to hurt people. People that knew him said he was a Nihilist, (say what you want about the tennants of National Socialism, Dude, at least it's an ethos) but he was a Narcissist. He didn't give two shits about social change. Not really. He was in his own world. And he was insane.

Harry attached the following video that he said helped him feel hope during such a sad and hopeless situation. I liked it and and decided to put it on THE LEEBO SHOW.

As skeptical as I am, I still believe in humanity.

As skeptical as I am.

Here's looking at you Natalie's!

(Figure NAT-1: Natalie has a big sign with her name on it. She also refers to your cheating wood.)

Perhaps it's only fitting that my first post of 2011 is all about Natalie's.

Natalie's is a wonderful place. Nestled snugly off of South Florida Avenue in Lakeland, it is a haven and hangout for a lot of folk, me included.

Natalie's, not by coincidence, is run by Natalie.

I used to go to school with her back in the day. Lakeland High School (LHS) Dreadnaught, Class of 83, thank you very much.

Flash back with me, won't you? Back to that most interesting of times, the 1980's.

We didn't talk much in High School, Nat and I. You see, she was an insanely beautiful and popular debutant. By contrast, I was a resident nerd who spent more time skipping class and partying under the bleachers than fraternizing with beautiful debutantes. Years later, reflecting upon that, I've come to the conclusion that this might have been bad planning on my part.

By using the word "debutant", I don't mean to imply that Natalie was stuck up or anything, quite the contrary. She once smiled and waved to me as some guys were stuffing me into a locker. (I've used that joke a hundred times but this is the first, and strangely enough, last time I've ever put it on the Internet.)

So, even though we weren't really friends in the high school days, I, like the rest of the male population at LHS, thought she was insanely beautiful, and my opinion on that particular point as not changed at all since then.

Flash forward, won't you? Several years later.

With Lakeland High School literally years in my rearview mirror, I spend my time wandering about the landscape looking for whatever the hell it is I'm looking for and can't find. During this pilgrimage, I walk into the only place in the universe that real men consider That Most Holy of Shrines. I refer, of course, to the cultural phenomenon that is Hooters.

As I sit at the bar and try to figure it all out (a practice I still employ and have not really gotten any better at with time), appearing there before me, in full Hooters uniform (if you consider that “full”), is Natalie.

I consider this a good thing. Since Hooters’ inception, I have always believed that beautiful women look great in a Hooters uniform and my opinion on that particular point has not changed at all since then.

So, it was nice to be re-introduced to her at that time. Our conversations were regulated to the standard Hooters-girl-works-the-customer gimmicks, though. As I said before, we weren't exactly old friends from the High School days. It was the usual banter between waitress and customer.

She probably doesn’t remember those conversations. To be honest, I can’t remember them myself. I do know that, in my usual drunken state, I never wanted those conversations to seem like I was trying to pick her up, which, of course, I was. Me and everyone else in the place.

So, Nat's a Hooters chick, then later, a Hooters Manager. After her promotion, I immediately noticed that Hooters Managers wore more clothing. It might have been a promotion for her, but it was clearly a demotion for the rest of us.

Flash forward, won't you? Several more years.

There's this place off South Florida Avenue. No one has been able to make it work. It’s been a sports bar, a seafood place, etc., etc. It's been everything. Every place that has tried to do business there has met with failure and defeat. Kinda like the Dolphins this year.

Enter Natalie.

Natalie dreams. Nat wants her own place. She wants that place. That place on South Florida Avenue. The place no one else has made successful. She wants to make it work. She wants that place, a place where her friends and family and future friends and future family can go and hang out and have fun. She wants her name on the sign and she wants to run it her way. She wants to make some money. And she wants to wear more clothing. Clearly, a demotion for the rest of us.

Her and hers (By now, she has built a small armada of friends and family) set forth to achieve the goal. They negotiate and buy. They spend a lot of money. They sweat. They have fun, sometimes not. They work their asses off. They sacrifice and build.

Finally, Day One. Natalie's is born. There was much rejoicing. Or so I assume. I wasn't there.

Flash forward to a few days after Day One. It's not a request this time. You've read this far. You're invested.

With Lakeland High School literally decades in my rearview mirror, I spend my time wandering about the landscape looking for whatever the hell it is I'm looking for and can't find. I emerge dramatically from the smoke and fog and enter into the front door of Natalie's dream.

Actually, upon further review, it was the side door. I parked on the side.

(Figure NAT-2: The side of Natalie's. Not to be confused with inside of Natalie's.)

I had been in the building before when it was other things. I belly up to the bar and take a gander. Looked cool, but something was different. What was it? Oh yeah, there were people in the place. That was unusual. Most times I walked in that building it was empty. I'm not a business major, but I'm pretty sure having actual paying customers is a great way to stay in business.

Nat has people. Nat knows people. Those people know people. Nat's place has a great vibe. Word gets around. More people come. There is much rejoicing. At Nat's, there usually is.

Flash forward to now.

I said Natalie's has a great vibe. It does. "Vibe" really is the word that expresses it. You can't manufacture a vibe. It takes place naturally, based on the fun and personalities that inhabit the place. I truly think Nat’s has the best vibe of any place in Lakeland. That's why there are people in there.

Good food can be found there too. The Hutch pizza.... to die for. It's a simple menu, which is good. I don't need complicated food. I have enough complications in my life. Even my Dad liked the food. A compliment to the chef of somewhat galactic proportions.

The atmosphere at Natalie's is friendly. You can get a hug and a smile, usually from someone attractive, which helps. If you want a hug and a smile from someone unattractive, well, it can probably be arranged. They're accommodating, if nothing else.

Speaking of attractive, I would be totally remiss if I did not mention the stunning Natalie's Girls, a bevy of beauty and talent the like of which this town has rarely seen. They are magnificent and likeable, each and every lovely one of them. One of these days I'm going to get a picture of me with a shot of Crown surrounded by these sirens, but I can't figure out how to ask them without it sounding like I'm trying to pick up all of them, which of course, I am. Me and everyone else in the place.

That's the great part about Natalie's: they’ve not just created a great bar/restaurant, they’ve created a comfortable locale with a really great vibe, all waiting for you, just off South Florida Avenue. It is a unique and wonderful thing.

It's a haven, an oasis, a speakeasy, a happening, a gathering, a hangout.... It's all that and more. How great is it? Her employees (and her) hang out there in their off hours. That fact alone speaks volumes about the place and outclasses other corporate, soulless places by leaps and bounds.

One of my best friends said to me once "Only Natalie could have pulled this off." And while I surmise Kenny might have helped a little, I believe that.

I like hanging out at there. And even though Natalie and I didn't talk much in High School, we talk now like old friends from those days. Which, of course, we are.

(Figure NAT-3: Nat knows if she takes a picture with me, I'll leave her the hell alone.)

Last and certainly not least, I bestow my ultimate compliment to Natalie's. And I don't mean the ZETA7 tag hanging in the place, which in and of itself is pretty dang cool.

Figure NAT-4: We miss you, ZETA7....

See…Natalie's has THE DANK. It has The Dank IN SPADES.

And those who know me know how much I love The Dank. And those that don't know what The Dank is should probably click here and get educated.

This post got a little long-winded, but I feel kind of passionate about Natalie's. I hope it outlasts us all.

Perhaps it's only fitting that my first post of 2011 is all about Natalie's. Because I love the joint. I plan on drinking a LOT of Crown there this year.

So, Natalie, stock up, my friend. A fellow Dreadnaught is thirsty, and we can't have that, can we?

Cheers.

Happy New Year!

(This shot of The Tardis also acts as a random shot of a spaceship.)


Happy New Year.

I'm spending it making people angry. I had a lot of offers to do a lot of things this year. I'd like to do all of them. I'm doing none of them.

I'm spending the evening partying in my apartment drinking Crown and watching a Doctor Who marathon on BBC America. It's so pathetic, yet I'm strangely happy.

I've been watching so much Doctor Who I can't look at a Port-A-Potty anymore and not see The Tardis. It's all such delicious British nonsense. I love it. It's serious Sci-Fi drama for those who don't take their Sci-Fi drama too seriously.

I don't feel like going out this year. With all of the events that have happened to me in 2010.... well, I'm just content to let the year go away quietly.

I don't feel like celebrating. Maybe it's because of Mom's passing that I don't want to celebrate 2010. It just doesn't seem.... appropriate.

I hope everyone understands. Ah, who am I kidding. Nobody's going to understand.

I'll field the heat coming my way from those I love. It's not personal. It's just... personal.

So, I plan to spend the evening partying in my apartment drinking Crown and watching a Doctor Who marathon on BBC America, and occasionally, maybe putting some things up here on this here blog here. During commercials, of course.

It's pathetic. Yet I'm strangely happy.


Happy New Year. Good luck.

Merry Christmas to all!

Merry Christmas, everybody.

Let's get 2010 over with, shall we?

A Modern Man by the Great George Carlin

I'm a modern man
A man for the millennium
Digital and smoke free

A diversified multicultural postmodern deconstructionist
Politically anatomically and ecologically incorrect

I've been uplinked and downloaded
I've been inputted and outsourced
I know the upside of downsizing
I know the downside of upgrading

I'm a high tech lowlife
A cutting edge state-of-the-art bicoastal multitasker
And I can give you a gigabyte in a nanosecond

I'm new wave but I'm old school
And my inner child is outward bound

I'm a hot wired heat seeking warm hearted cool customer
Voice activated and biodegradable

I interface from a database
And my database is in cyberspace
So I'm interactive
I'm hyperactive
And from time-to-time
I'm radioactive

Behind the eight ball
Ahead of the curve
Riding the wave
Dodging a bullet
Pushing the envelope

I'm on point
On task
On message
And off drugs
I got no need for coke and speed
I got no urge to binge and purge

I'm in the moment
On the edge
Over the top
But under the radar

A high concept
Low profile
Medium range ballistic missionary
A street-wise smart bomb
A top gun bottom feeder

I wear power ties
I tell power lies
I take power naps
I run victory laps

I'm a totally ongoing big foot slam dunk rainmaker with a proactive outreach
A raging workaholic
A working rageaholic
Out of rehab
And in denial

I got a personal trainer
A personal shopper
A personal assistant
And a personal agenda

You can't shut me up
You can't dumb me down
'Cause I'm tireless
And I'm wireless
I'm an alpha male on beta blockers

I'm a non-believer and an over-achiever
Laid back but fashion forward

Up front
Down home
Low rent
High maintenance

Super size
Long lasting
High definition
Fast acting
Oven ready
And built to last

I'm a hands on
Footloose
Knee jerk
Head case

Prematurely post-traumatic
And I have a love child who sends me hate mail

But I'm feeling
I'm caring
I'm healing
I'm sharing
A supportive bonding nurturing primary care giver

My output is down
But my income is up
I take a short position on the long bond
And my revenue stream has its own cash flow

I read junk mail
I eat junk food
I buy junk bonds
I watch trash sports

I'm gender specific
Capital intensive
User friendly
And lactose intolerant

I like rough sex...
I like rough sex
I like tough love
I use the f word in my email
And the software on my hard drive is hard core, no soft porn

I bought a microwave at a mini mall
I bought a mini van in a mega store
I eat fast food in the slow lane

I'm toll free
Bite sized
Ready to wear
And I come in all sizes

A fully equipped
Factory authorized
Hospital tested
Clinically proven
Scientifically formulated medical miracle

I've been pre-washed
Pre-cooked
Pre-heated
Pre-screened
Pre-approved
Pre-packaged
Post-dated
Freeze-dried
Double-wrapped
Vacuum-packed
And I have an unlimited broadband capacity

I'm a rude dude
But I'm the real deal
Lean and mean
Cocked, locked and ready to rock
Rough tough and hard to bluff

I take it slow
I go with the flow
I ride with the tide
I got glide in my stride

Drivin' and movin'
Sailin' and spinnin'
Jivin' and groovin'
Wailin' and winnin'

I don't snooze
So I don't lose
I keep the pedal to the metal
And the rubber on the road

I party hearty
And lunch time is crunch time

I'm hanging in
There ain't no doubt
And I'm hanging tough
Over and out

©2006 George Carlin

Still Yet Even More Random Shots of Spaceships!

And who could forget the last batch of Random Shots of Spaceships for 2010?

Not me.

Behold, in all its glory, USS Enterprise 1701-D from STAR TREK: THE NEXT GENERATION.

Click to embiggen.

That's right. You can embiggen.

Make it so.

Engage.

I just dropped in to see what condition my condition was in...

The Dude has not been in.

Since I have returned home, I have, quite simply, been awash in a sea of work, friends, fun, and a White Russian or two. I make a mean Caucasian, Jackie.

This the most surreal year of my life. I'm stupified. Emotionally drained, man. At least it's an ethos.

I don't have much to say. Lotta things going on, lotta strands in the ol' Duder's head.

Some parts of this year have been a natural, zesty enterprise.

Some parts I entered a World of Pain. (Bereavement doesn't make us saps.)

Some parts, I won't say I was a hero... 'cause what's a hero?

Some parts we were looking for any promising leads.

Some parts they had us working in shifts.

Some parts peed on my fucking rug.

They peed on my fucking rug.

That's right, Dude... they peed on your fucking rug.

That rug really tied the room together, DID IT NOT.

Strikes and gutters, ups and downs. I guess that's just how the whole human comedy just keeps perpetuating itself.

My thinking about the case had been very uptight, but I see things clearer now.

A few more Caucasians should take care of that, though.

I'm just going to take this month on the blog after my long hiatus and post pics and stuff from this year. This really, surreal year.

Look in the review mirror. 2010. Look at the windshield. 2011.

I might have something to say on THE LEEBO SHOW later. I might not.

Just... take it easy, man.

I think I'll take it easy, too.

For all us sinners.

I don't know about you, but I take comfort in that.

Everything old is new again

As I type this, I sit.... alone in my room. It's 11:21 pm. I'm still up. Cool.

Most Sunday nights I would have had to pack for a week away, go to bed early, set my alarm for 4:30am, get a shower, load my car and drive 4 hours to Miami to go to work.

And I would work a full day. A full, usually late-night day. A frustrating, late-night day.

I'm thankful to report that I don't have to do that anymore.

I start my new and hopefully better gig tomorrow. And it's here, near my house. So if I work a frustrating late-night day at this gig, at least I have the opportunity to come home.

Home.

There's a lot I want to do. I want to finish the short story I was working on. I want to draw at my art board again. I want to catch up with some folk that have veered away. I want to drink beer at Natalie's. I want to be home. And I am.

Home.

New job.

New car.

New start.

New perspective - I have perspective I have never had now. It's good. Makes me a better guy.

AND... I beat the shit out of that alarm clock with a hammer.

It may not have been the most mature thing to have done.

And it probably doesn't make me a better guy.

But the symbolism of the end of that damn noise, combined with the satisfactory minor violence around it sure felt great.

Thank you, Great Maker, for those Miami days. Thank you, Great Maker, for these days at home.

Those Miami days are gone.

Gone-didddly-on.

Leebo's home.

Game on, neighborinos.

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

Change in the weather, change in the sea,

Come back baby, you'll find a change in me

Everybody, they ought to change sometime

Because sooner or later we have to go down in that lonesome ground.

I changed suits, I changed shirts,

I changed, baby, just to get shed of the dirt

Everybody, we ought to change sometime,

Because sooner or later we're going down in that lonesome ground.

I changed honey, I changed money,

I changed, people, just to keep from being funny

Everybody, they ought to change sometime,

Because sooner or later we're going down in that lonesome ground.

*******************************

Lyrics by Sleepy John Estes, but you should be hearing Eric Clapton singing it.

Sleepy John Estes was right. Things are coming down the horizon. Good things.

Soon I may have a new ride.

Soon I start a new gig.

Soon I'll be leaving Miami.

Soon I'm going to do a little life overhaul.

Soon I'm coming home.

I can't wait.

Soon.

TCB, baby.

Yeah.

Heh.

"Estes". :)

Tank you, boyce....

The Boys here are going to show me the man-love tonight.

They are going to show me how much they care and respect me as a person and an individual.

They are going to toast my friendship and hold me in the highest of all possible regard.

They are going to show me their inspiration, based soley upon how high they hold my ideals and standards.

They are going to show me a depth of comarderie that hasn't been seen since our boys at war fought the enemy in foxholes side-by-side with their comrades, using only bayonets and their own guile.

They are going to take me higher.

That's right.

We're going to Hooters.

Another round of Random Shots of Spaceships!

Today, we pay tribute to the last of the Babylon stations. One of my favorite shows EVER.

It was their last, best hope for peace... but it became something greater... their last best hope for victory.

Ladies, gentlemen, Garns and Centari... I present to you... BABYLON 5.

" No boom today. Boom tomorrow. There's always a boom tomorrow." - Ivonova


One of the best shows ever made. I salute you JMS. Well played, sir. Well played.

I will never buy another Blackberry Phone again and other thoughts

Figure Leebo-1: Three Great Bluesmen at BB King's in Orlando

Greetings from Leeboworld.

Haven't been on the blog in quite a while. Been wrapped up in me. Hey, that's just good wrapping.

Much has happened during my stay back home from Glorious Arkansas and my time back has been ok. I am hopeful of the future and feel that tomorrow just might be a telling day. Go Labor Day, that life-changing of all days.

Figure Leebo-2, Back at the Swamp thanks to C-lish.

I am struck by the fact that it has been one helluva year. Full of major highs and heart-breaking lows. I have rarely had a year like this one. And it's only September. Oh, crap.

Figure Leebo 3: I am standing on holy ground, the birthplace of rock n' roll.

One major positive this year was visiting Sun Records in Memphis. I cannot even decribe my feelings as I walked into the place, as I walked into the recording studio. I was standing in the shadow of the Immortals. Elvis. Johnny Cash. Jerry Lee. Carl. Roy. BB. Unbelievable.

Figure Leebo-4 : Standing on the exact spot Elvis stood, holding Elvis' micrphone. Unreal. Surreal.

I actually stood on the exact spot Elvis stood (the "x" tape is still on the floor) and held Elvis' microphone. My Mom would have been proud.

Unfortunately, all of my pics on my phone from the last year are gone. My media card on my brand new Blackberry shit the bed. I'm told that this is a common occurance.

I am pissed. Many photos of my journey I had yet to save were on there.

Gone. In the words of Ned Flanders, Gone-diddly-on.

I wanted a smart phone. The owner of my Company I work for talked me out of it. I will never buy a piece of shit Balckberry again.

Very frustrating.

But hey, tomorrow's Labor Day.

That most life-changing of all days.