Robert R. Mitchell's Blog, page 3
March 19, 2014
Slashing Prices!!!
Celebrate the upcoming weekend with amazing savings!! Friday through Sunday buy the eBook version of Only Shot At A Good Tombstone for ONLY $.99. I sh*t you not. Laughs, tears, sex, drugs, rock-n-roll and philosophy for less than a buck!! On Monday, the price jumps to $1.99 but that's still a STEAL!! Buy it before Friday the 28th or else POOF it will be back to the normal, highly irresponsible price of $2.99. Then again, it's only 3 bucks. Buy it now and beat the rush:
http://www.amazon.com/Only-Shot-At-Go...
http://www.amazon.com/Only-Shot-At-Go...
March 16, 2014
Seattle Surf and Turf
St. Patrick’s chilled, breeze-blown rain
Methodically shellacs a Dick’s Deluxe wrapper
Onto a crisp, newly minted sidewalk
Miles from the nearest Drive-in,
Like a concert flyer on abandoned storefronts’
Deluxe plywood window treatments.
They’re that good, you know,
The orange foiled burgers with
Fresh, never frozen, ground beef;
For which suburbanites drive 10 miles
Or find some excuse that takes them there
After 1:30 a.m. beers or frozen Legion games.
Stupid, insignificant, politically incorrect
Pleasures plastered onto suburban, cookie-cutter
Amenities; like fanny packs and cliché
T-shirts on overweight, pallorific pissants
Of which I am one. Used to sleep
Only when plastered but had to give that up.
Can a man not eat a burger without
Declaring war on existence? Must I
Address naked PETA protestors with each
Serving of Ivar’s Award-Winning Clam Chowder?
I await the day they emerge from December
Moclips mists disguised as severed razor clam necks.
“I’m fishing here, you vegan vigilantes!”
The surf perch will not be fooled by
Your azodicarbonamide-free razor clam costumes!
“There! See the tremble on the line?”
The December wind slams and the raindrops bite
But this Pacific Coast Redtail Surf Perch is mine.
Copyright 2014 by Robert R. Mitchell
Methodically shellacs a Dick’s Deluxe wrapper
Onto a crisp, newly minted sidewalk
Miles from the nearest Drive-in,
Like a concert flyer on abandoned storefronts’
Deluxe plywood window treatments.
They’re that good, you know,
The orange foiled burgers with
Fresh, never frozen, ground beef;
For which suburbanites drive 10 miles
Or find some excuse that takes them there
After 1:30 a.m. beers or frozen Legion games.
Stupid, insignificant, politically incorrect
Pleasures plastered onto suburban, cookie-cutter
Amenities; like fanny packs and cliché
T-shirts on overweight, pallorific pissants
Of which I am one. Used to sleep
Only when plastered but had to give that up.
Can a man not eat a burger without
Declaring war on existence? Must I
Address naked PETA protestors with each
Serving of Ivar’s Award-Winning Clam Chowder?
I await the day they emerge from December
Moclips mists disguised as severed razor clam necks.
“I’m fishing here, you vegan vigilantes!”
The surf perch will not be fooled by
Your azodicarbonamide-free razor clam costumes!
“There! See the tremble on the line?”
The December wind slams and the raindrops bite
But this Pacific Coast Redtail Surf Perch is mine.
Copyright 2014 by Robert R. Mitchell
March 11, 2014
Tuesday Night Rhymes
Gideon #1
How do I know which ones to choose?
Watch them when they kneel to drink.
This is serious! We cannot lose!
Read the verses, then watch and think.
For example, watch out for true believers.
Festering lilies will let you die.
Also avoid habitual deceivers
Along with those who never lie.
Look for permanently ragged edges
That somehow never completely fray.
Fingertips yellowed by Benson & Hedges.
Head of hair prematurely gray.
Broken vessels on a crooked nose,
Courtesy of Mr. John Power and son.
Never missed a day if the good sun rose,
Never lost a game unless he hadn’t won.
A faded circle on the back jeans pocket,
Teeth he’d rather not display.
Launches like a goddamned rocket,
Lit on Independence Day.
Sharp edges worn by perpetual motion,
Like a bottle broken by pounding waves.
Not prone to ridiculous notions,
Balance tipped towards the lives he’s saved.
He doesn’t keep going because he’s better,
It’s just that he forgot how to stop.
Accumulated thirteen scarlet letters
With a deep respect for the vinegar sop.
I can talk all night until I’m blue in the face,
Or you can read the verses and watch and think.
Look for someone who will finish the race.
Watch them when they kneel and drink.
Copyright 2014 by Robert R. Mitchell
How do I know which ones to choose?
Watch them when they kneel to drink.
This is serious! We cannot lose!
Read the verses, then watch and think.
For example, watch out for true believers.
Festering lilies will let you die.
Also avoid habitual deceivers
Along with those who never lie.
Look for permanently ragged edges
That somehow never completely fray.
Fingertips yellowed by Benson & Hedges.
Head of hair prematurely gray.
Broken vessels on a crooked nose,
Courtesy of Mr. John Power and son.
Never missed a day if the good sun rose,
Never lost a game unless he hadn’t won.
A faded circle on the back jeans pocket,
Teeth he’d rather not display.
Launches like a goddamned rocket,
Lit on Independence Day.
Sharp edges worn by perpetual motion,
Like a bottle broken by pounding waves.
Not prone to ridiculous notions,
Balance tipped towards the lives he’s saved.
He doesn’t keep going because he’s better,
It’s just that he forgot how to stop.
Accumulated thirteen scarlet letters
With a deep respect for the vinegar sop.
I can talk all night until I’m blue in the face,
Or you can read the verses and watch and think.
Look for someone who will finish the race.
Watch them when they kneel and drink.
Copyright 2014 by Robert R. Mitchell
March 9, 2014
Catch-22 Review
Catch-22 by Joseph HellerMy rating: 5 of 5 stars
I don’t recall exactly when I read Catch-22 for the first time but my ballpoint-penned symbols in the margins indicate it was during or shortly after college in the late eighties or early nineties. Most significantly, it was before America’s reconciliation with what Tom Brokaw called “The Greatest Generation” and it was before September 11, 2001.
Those of us who were born and grew up in the Vietnam War era remember an America often ambivalent toward traditional displays of patriotism, the military and war itself. In the seventies and early eighties, World War II veterans were often one-dimensionally portrayed on television and in movies as the ones hurling insults at anti-Vietnam protesters while shoving draftees into planes fueled up to take them to their deaths in Southeast Asia.
Catch-22 was published in 1961, a year in which we tripled the relatively small number of troops we had in Vietnam (Wikipedia). While the author, Joseph Heller, based his novel on his own experiences as a bombardier in World War II, his cynicism and sarcasm was directed at post-war America. In the years after it was published, of course, its anti-war message was applied to the Vietnam War. The film version premiered in 1970, the same year as the movie M.A.S.H., a movie about the Korean War most easily applied, again to Vietnam. Anyone who grew up watching the M.A.S.H. television series heard absurd conversations between Hawkeye, Hunnicutt, Major Houlihan and Major Burns that could have been pulled straight from the pages of Catch-22.
That was the milieu in which I read Catch-22 the first time. Since then, America has become reacquainted with the Greatest Generation and its service in World War II specifically, through Tom Brokaw’s book, HBO’s 2001 mini-series Band of Brothers, Steven Spielberg’s 1998 film Saving Private Ryan and our own friends and families as WWII veterans have passed and their lives have been celebrated. And we were attacked.
Afghanistan is as righteous a war as World War II and America has responded accordingly. Rereading Catch-22 now is an entirely different experience. All Americans now have friends and/or family members who are serving, have served, were wounded or were tragically killed in Afghanistan, fighting the people responsible for attacking America. The story of a man doing everything humanly possible to avoid going back into combat doesn’t resonate the same way it did immediately after the Vietnam War. With that said, how many tours of Iraq and/or Afghanistan should any single man or woman be subjected to? Members of the armed forces serve as they are ordered to, but we civilians enjoying the freedoms secured by their sacrifices must give a damn about how those sacrifices are distributed.
Catch-22 should still be required reading. Heller was a genius. His writing is extraordinary. He rails against the horrors of war and the horrors of existence with volcanic farcical and absurdist intensity. We are currently in what appears to be a perpetual war with terrorism and so the question of who must sacrifice how often is still entirely pertinent. The farcical elements of the novel are tiresome at times, like watching three uninterrupted hours of Hawkeye’s silliness, but that is a matter of taste and is a small price to pay for experiencing a true masterpiece.
View all my reviews
February 28, 2014
First Time In Lubbock #1
“Where’s your beer?” I asked the clerk.
“12 miles south,” he drawled in reply.
“Got an address?” (I’m kind of a jerk.)
“Just drive down to that red glow in the sky.”
I bought a bag of spicy pork cracklin’s,
A bottle of water and a Mountain Dew.
He said “I like the ones with the skin…”
“..the little dense ones. How about you?”
Eternally grateful he meant the snack,
I looked down at the cellophane:
“I’m with you, I’ve got your back!”
“The big puffy ones are just too plain.”
He looked at me like I was Jesus,
Just because I answered him straight.
Is that really all it takes to please us?
A stupid conversation in the “Mini-8?”
“The dense ones are like neutron stars…”
“That collapse and suck you right on in.”
I now noticed that the door had bars
And the clerk displayed a wicked grin.
“Twelve miles south and spot the glow?”
“Yessir, if I’m lyin’ I’m dyin’.”
At that point it was time to go.
He’d already sold what we were buying.
A tumbleweed pressed against the door.
Conspiring to keep us trapped within.
The clerk was definitely ready for more,
But we headed south, looking for sin.
Copyright 2014 by Robert R. Mitchell
If you like the rhymes, check out my novel: http://www.amazon.com/Only-Shot-At-Go...
“12 miles south,” he drawled in reply.
“Got an address?” (I’m kind of a jerk.)
“Just drive down to that red glow in the sky.”
I bought a bag of spicy pork cracklin’s,
A bottle of water and a Mountain Dew.
He said “I like the ones with the skin…”
“..the little dense ones. How about you?”
Eternally grateful he meant the snack,
I looked down at the cellophane:
“I’m with you, I’ve got your back!”
“The big puffy ones are just too plain.”
He looked at me like I was Jesus,
Just because I answered him straight.
Is that really all it takes to please us?
A stupid conversation in the “Mini-8?”
“The dense ones are like neutron stars…”
“That collapse and suck you right on in.”
I now noticed that the door had bars
And the clerk displayed a wicked grin.
“Twelve miles south and spot the glow?”
“Yessir, if I’m lyin’ I’m dyin’.”
At that point it was time to go.
He’d already sold what we were buying.
A tumbleweed pressed against the door.
Conspiring to keep us trapped within.
The clerk was definitely ready for more,
But we headed south, looking for sin.
Copyright 2014 by Robert R. Mitchell
If you like the rhymes, check out my novel: http://www.amazon.com/Only-Shot-At-Go...
February 24, 2014
Preacher Bob Returns
So I don't usually get political in this Goodreads blog but it's the only blog I've got and Preacher Bob needs to say something.
We’ve got all these politicians passing legislation that allows folks to refuse service to gay people ostensibly because of their religious beliefs. We could talk about how that so-called “freedom” won’t stand up in court because the segregationists tried this a few decades ago and lost. We could talk about how mainstream Republicans who may or may not have a problem with homosexuality have spoken out against this kind of legislation because they know that any state whose governor is foolish enough to sign it will experience economic and political ostracization of almost Biblical proportions. We could talk about the kind of society we’d have if businesses open to “the public” were allowed to discriminate at will. Me personally? I am as much of an asshole as the next guy, but even I would refuse service to the bigots writing these bills. Is that good for the country? Then I thought “wait a second.” These folks who don’t want to bake wedding cakes for two grooms, or use a defibrillator on a lesbian, or sell a bottle of water to a transgender person…….they’re all Christians, right? Back when I almost became a Baptist preacher, the most important thing was to be Christ-like. So Jesus was a carpenter. I can’t prove this, but I’m willing to bet he didn’t turn away gay people who wanted to buy his stuff. I’ve read the Bible through as many times as these politicians have and seems to me that the only people Jesus ever truly got pissed at were those judging others. So in Matthew Jesus says this:
Ye have heard that it hath been said, Thou shalt love thy neighbour, and hate thine enemy.
44 But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you;
45 That ye may be the children of your Father which is in heaven: for he maketh his sun to rise on the evil and on the good, and sendeth rain on the just and on the unjust.
46 For if ye love them which love you, what reward have ye? do not even the publicans the same?
47 And if ye salute your brethren only, what do ye more than others? do not even the publicans so?
48 Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father which is in heaven is perfect.
Now I’m no theologian, but seems to me that Jesus is saying that since God sends sunshine down on everyone regardless of their holiness or sinfulness, we ought to bake cakes and sell water bottles and save lives whether we think someone is sinful or holy. Let’s just say for the sake of argument, that two gay guys ordering a wedding cake is equivalent to the “cursing you” that Jesus talked about. He says “bless them that curse you.” I personally think baking a cake would be a good blessing. In fact, wouldn’t the best way to “save” those two gay guys be to bake them the best goddamned wedding cake they ever tasted? So as we go forward, let’s be frank: legislation of this kind is plain old bigotry. If having gay guys eat your cake is going to ruin your life, then find a different career. And while you’re at it, find a different religion.
We’ve got all these politicians passing legislation that allows folks to refuse service to gay people ostensibly because of their religious beliefs. We could talk about how that so-called “freedom” won’t stand up in court because the segregationists tried this a few decades ago and lost. We could talk about how mainstream Republicans who may or may not have a problem with homosexuality have spoken out against this kind of legislation because they know that any state whose governor is foolish enough to sign it will experience economic and political ostracization of almost Biblical proportions. We could talk about the kind of society we’d have if businesses open to “the public” were allowed to discriminate at will. Me personally? I am as much of an asshole as the next guy, but even I would refuse service to the bigots writing these bills. Is that good for the country? Then I thought “wait a second.” These folks who don’t want to bake wedding cakes for two grooms, or use a defibrillator on a lesbian, or sell a bottle of water to a transgender person…….they’re all Christians, right? Back when I almost became a Baptist preacher, the most important thing was to be Christ-like. So Jesus was a carpenter. I can’t prove this, but I’m willing to bet he didn’t turn away gay people who wanted to buy his stuff. I’ve read the Bible through as many times as these politicians have and seems to me that the only people Jesus ever truly got pissed at were those judging others. So in Matthew Jesus says this:
Ye have heard that it hath been said, Thou shalt love thy neighbour, and hate thine enemy.
44 But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you;
45 That ye may be the children of your Father which is in heaven: for he maketh his sun to rise on the evil and on the good, and sendeth rain on the just and on the unjust.
46 For if ye love them which love you, what reward have ye? do not even the publicans the same?
47 And if ye salute your brethren only, what do ye more than others? do not even the publicans so?
48 Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father which is in heaven is perfect.
Now I’m no theologian, but seems to me that Jesus is saying that since God sends sunshine down on everyone regardless of their holiness or sinfulness, we ought to bake cakes and sell water bottles and save lives whether we think someone is sinful or holy. Let’s just say for the sake of argument, that two gay guys ordering a wedding cake is equivalent to the “cursing you” that Jesus talked about. He says “bless them that curse you.” I personally think baking a cake would be a good blessing. In fact, wouldn’t the best way to “save” those two gay guys be to bake them the best goddamned wedding cake they ever tasted? So as we go forward, let’s be frank: legislation of this kind is plain old bigotry. If having gay guys eat your cake is going to ruin your life, then find a different career. And while you’re at it, find a different religion.
February 22, 2014
Three Star Motel
Three Star Motel
Middle-management type with a receding hairline,
Flight came in late and he was definitely coach.
Same old look of a guy pressed into a cubicle
And popped back out, now perfectly square.
Callouses said he hasn’t always worn Dockers.
Cheap shoes too far gone for a shine.
Goofy Letterman look with a huge diastema.
Hiding his teeth when the others laugh.
Also might have chewed back in the day
Or just had soft teeth prone to decay.
Middle-management type wearing scratched glasses,
Takes them off and rubs his face.
Looks me straight in the eye when he registers
But is looking away when I hand him his card.
That wallet has more receipts than money.
Band-Aids says he’s clumsy and has kids.
Plain gold band on a swollen ring finger.
Apologizes when he pokes me on mine.
Guessing he grew up nerdy and weird
Accustomed to shit and social fear.
Middle-management type with a look in his eyes
Of a competitor slowly realizing he’s lost
But I can’t tell exactly in what sense since
A word only means something in context.
I guess if I were Saint Peter I’d let him in,
But he ain’t perfect by any means.
If I were psychic I’d know a lot more
But I can tell he ain’t master of everything.
Ideals are cool and perfection is neat.
Stare up at the sky and stare down at your feet.
Middle-management type with a receding hairline,
Flight came in late and he was definitely coach.
Same old look of a guy pressed into a cubicle
And popped back out, now perfectly square.
Callouses said he hasn’t always worn Dockers.
Cheap shoes too far gone for a shine.
Goofy Letterman look with a huge diastema.
Hiding his teeth when the others laugh.
Also might have chewed back in the day
Or just had soft teeth prone to decay.
Middle-management type wearing scratched glasses,
Takes them off and rubs his face.
Looks me straight in the eye when he registers
But is looking away when I hand him his card.
That wallet has more receipts than money.
Band-Aids says he’s clumsy and has kids.
Plain gold band on a swollen ring finger.
Apologizes when he pokes me on mine.
Guessing he grew up nerdy and weird
Accustomed to shit and social fear.
Middle-management type with a look in his eyes
Of a competitor slowly realizing he’s lost
But I can’t tell exactly in what sense since
A word only means something in context.
I guess if I were Saint Peter I’d let him in,
But he ain’t perfect by any means.
If I were psychic I’d know a lot more
But I can tell he ain’t master of everything.
Ideals are cool and perfection is neat.
Stare up at the sky and stare down at your feet.
Thanks to all 729 entrants!
Thanks to all 729 Goodreads readers who entered my Goodreads Giveaway! Five book/mug sets are on their way to the lucky winners! Stay tuned: another promotion is coming soon! In the meantime, check out the latest review of Only Shot A Good Tombstone!
http://www.amazon.com/Only-Shot-At-Go...
http://www.amazon.com/Only-Shot-At-Go...
February 15, 2014
A seafaring tale for all of us
Shipbuilders, Sea Captains, and Fishermen: The Story of the Schooner Wawona by Joe FollansbeeMy rating: 4 of 5 stars
Joe Follansbee writes that when he began opening the 24 boxes of Wawona archives upon which his book is based, he “felt as Howard Carter must have felt when he opened Tutankhamun’s tomb.” After finishing Follansbee’s Introduction and Acknowledgements, I thought about the task of writing the book itself. Writing a book that people would actually read, based on a miscellaneous collection of artifacts, must have felt a little like walking into the warehouse in the final scene of Raiders of the Lost Ark with notepad in hand. Follansbee’s carefully footnoted research not only produced a terrific read, it preserved a piece of Seattle history that no longer exists. According to Wikipedia, the Wawona was dismantled in 2009, and while parts of her live on at Seattle’s extraordinary Museum of History and Industry, the story of her life, from birth to retirement, only exists thanks to Follansbee’s captivating tale.
Once he’d assembled the basic framework of the story, Follansbee had to flesh it out like a forensic facial reconstruction artist applying thin layers of clay to an ancient skull. If the final product is to serve a purpose, a degree of interpretation and creativity is required. Readers want something more than a skeletal chronology or catalogue, but if the artist strays too far from the underlying facts, the story becomes another one of the myriad “inspired by a true story” pieces that entertain more than they inform. Follansbee strikes the balance perfectly: you feel the waves, smell the salt air and taste the home brew. Both thoroughly entertaining and historically significant, Follansbee’s “Shipbuilders, Sea Captains, and Fishermen: The Story of the Schooner Wawona” is a Pacific Northwest treasure that will resonate wherever the reader resides across our ocean-covered world.
View all my reviews
February 14, 2014
Friday Night Rhymes
Friday Evening Stroll
The evening route I walk sometimes
Offers up convenient rhymes.
TWELVEs in windows, dogs in yards,
Kids on bikes, some classic cars.
Ancient shacks entombed in thorns,
Balloons that say a child is born.
Asphalt cracks and crooked lines,
Collision-crippled “School Zone” signs.
Cheap beer cans, a random shoe,
Dislodged turtles needing glue.
Drainage ditches filled with trash,
Discarded smokes bereft of ash.
Crows returning to their trees,
Humans in their SUVs.
Old Glory billows in the breeze,
Smoldering oxide sunset frieze.
-Robert R. Mitchell
Copyright 2014
Check out my novel: http://www.amazon.com/Only-Shot-At-Go...
The evening route I walk sometimes
Offers up convenient rhymes.
TWELVEs in windows, dogs in yards,
Kids on bikes, some classic cars.
Ancient shacks entombed in thorns,
Balloons that say a child is born.
Asphalt cracks and crooked lines,
Collision-crippled “School Zone” signs.
Cheap beer cans, a random shoe,
Dislodged turtles needing glue.
Drainage ditches filled with trash,
Discarded smokes bereft of ash.
Crows returning to their trees,
Humans in their SUVs.
Old Glory billows in the breeze,
Smoldering oxide sunset frieze.
-Robert R. Mitchell
Copyright 2014
Check out my novel: http://www.amazon.com/Only-Shot-At-Go...
