The Skeeter Daddle Diaries

[podcast]https://www.skeeterdaddle.net/wp-content/uploads/2013/01/audio-egotopia1.mp3[/podcast]audio —- egotopia

Some of us layabouts at the Poker Parlor were trying to think up something special for an upcoming 4th of July celebration.  We figured we got so many Vets down this way the Diner might as well declare itself a VFW South End Auxilliary.  And since most of them are vintage car guyz too, they could hold their own annual Independence Day Parade from Camano Head to the Elger Bay Store.  I, of course, wanted to just use these militiamen as an excuse to secede from the Island, but cooler heads prevailed.  As usual.

Two Toke Tom served in Viet Nam and now is pretty much anti- every war.  Jimmy Z, who’s old enough to be Tom’s old man, fought the Japanese in WW2.  Tom thinks Jimmy’s still fighting em and maybe so, but I notice Jimmy driving a Toyota pickup now even though he swore for 60 years he’d never buy a ‘Jap Car’.  Baghdad Bill fought in the second Iraq War and Big Larry just got back two years ago from Afghanistan.  Jerry spent a year in Korea and frostbit a couple of fingers he wishes he had back, but he still can play a mean guitar.  We even got Crazy Eddie who ‘liberated’ Grenada.  We’re missing Somalia and Panama and Bosnia, but with all the newcomers rolling in, we may cover those too eventually.

Sometimes the boyz argue among themselves about those wars and sacrifice and what patriotism really means at the Friday night poker game we’ve been running since 1986 down at the Marina and Bait Shop.  Two dollar limit on bets, no limit on alcohol.  The pots don’t do much damage, but single nettle Daddle Distillery moonshine sometimes does.  I sit in with these war-hardened patriots most Fridays and serve as their patsy and their sometime referee, the one who never served even in peacetime.  Or what Two Toke calls a draft dodging, student deferred, flag burning, Summer of Love hippie protester.  He takes great joy in telling me I would’ve loved the smell of napalm in the morning over there on the Delta.  Jimmy Z chimes in how his platoon could’ve won Viet Nam single-handed although Jimmy never once has told us one iota the hell that must have been Iwo Jima.  But he’s the one who puts a liver spotted hand on Bill’s arm whenever Bill gets overwhelmed by memories of buddies lost in the HumVee he was driving when it was blown off the road to the airport in Baghdad.

We’ve fought too many wars, I think, before realizing I’ve said it out loud.  I see by their pinched lips and averted eyes I won’t get an argument tonight.  Patriotism comes in all uniforms, even no uniform at all.  Big Larry finally breaks the swelling silence, pushes a handful of quarters into the pot and says, real quiet, “I’m willing to spend a couple bucks, Skeeter, to see if you got more than bluff in this hand.”  Grateful to change the subject, I say, “Name of the game, Big.  Read em and weep.”

[podcast]https://www.skeeterdaddle.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/06/audio-throwing-the-book-at-myself2.mp3[/podcast]audio — throwing the book at myself

[podcast]https://www.skeeterdaddle.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/06/audio-where-we-are.mp3[/podcast]audio — where we are

TIME CAPSULES IN THE CLOSET

I was going through a cabinet drawer the other day where I kept VHS movies.  Big black plastic spools of brittling old tapes.  Course I don’t have a machine to play them on anymore.  Kind of like having an 8-track to go with my CD player.  Although my CD player still has a hole for cassette tapes and I remembered I have another drawerful of those.

Anyone remember floppy disks?  All those computer storage stragtegies now as obsolete as print film?  I got a drawer of those too … plus the zip disks, plus the drivers.  Be worth a cool million on E-Bay someday or else I’ll be hauling them, along with my Beta Video Player and my 35 mm Nikon, to Antiques Road Show next time they roll in to the Stanwoodopolis Convention Center.  If you don’t think the world is racing right along lickety split, dig through a couple of boxes in the back of the basement or the top of the closet.  It’s a time capsule of the 2^nd half of the 20^th Century, the century disappearing in the rearview of your Prius.

Trouble with living at the beginning of the Industrial Age — or now the Digital Age — you got one foot in, one toe out, sort of like Stanwoodopolis and the mainland drifting breakneck away from the island.  The bridge gets rebuilt every few months and some of us just figure it’s easier to stay home.  Stay long enough and we’ll be swimming to get into town.  Fancy transponder, pay-as-you-drive booths, no cash or credit accepted.  Sign up on your computer, but you better have DSL and on-line checking.

I tell my buddies here on the South End who figure Time must stand still or else they’ll die in the Mabana Sunset Villa before they’re left hopelessly behind, fossils frozen in drying mud, they better get off their rocker and take a couple of computer courses.  Another few years and they won’t know how to turn on a TV much less figure out the latest changes in Windows 27.  Then we’ll see how Old Age in the 21^st Century looks to them without American Idol or Wheel of Fortune to fill an evening with electronic pablum.

I remember about 30 years ago first coming up to Skagit Valley and seeing the tulip fields.  Pretty amazing.  Ten years later I drove down Best Road thinking I might catch a view of the fields and maybe lunch in La Conner.  It must’ve been two days later when I finally managed to get off Fir Island.  For some reason I’ve never liked tulips ever since. Sure got to thank the Chamber of Commerce for that.  I’m sure the farmers thank em too.

But I been thinking — how can we turn this public relations machine to our advantage — and I hit on something I think the Skagit Valley Economic Council can sink their sharp little teeth into.  Tulip Fuel.  Bio-diesel with Hi Octane Petal Power. You drive in the Tulip Station and you can choose from candy apple red to lemon drop yellow.  Earth Friendly, Home Grown Flower Power Fuel.  The Valley’s sort of where the 60’s hit the Sound, never really ended.  So Flower Power won’t be real hard to sell.  The Co-op’s next big Expansion will include 10,000 gallon underground tanks and those colorful pumps.  High pollen octane for the BMW crowd.  Bulb mulch for the Volkswagens.

Oh, I suppose the backups will be sort of long, but spread out longer than 2 weeks, nothing like the Tulip Festival.  Plus knowing you’re doing something great for the planet should help.  Something that should’ve been done long ago.  You know, putting a halt to that Tulip Gridlock.

Petal Power   —- think about it!

All us regulars down at the South End Diner were a little taken aback the other day to find a notice on the Special of the Day readerboard:  NO Pink Slime in our Burgers, Not Now, Not NEVER!!   I guess all the new coverage of offal mixed into whatever else the FDA deems safe for carnivores had finally hit a nerve in the nethermost regions of Rome.  Or at least Sammy the Skillet’s nerves.  He was slapping burgers around on the grill like he was looking for a domestic violence charge.

Most of us know when Sammy should be left alone, but Two Toke Tom might’ve been one toke over the line when he called out from his stool — “Hey, Sam, hold the slime, but go heavy on the antibiotics, will ya?  I got a cold comin’ on….”  Brenda, from the working side of the counter, whacked him sternly on the knuckles with a serving spoon, but it was too late, Sam was on his way, spatula dripping grease and growth hormones, and anybody near Two Toke moved perceptibly out of range of what looked to be certain meat-based mayhem.  Even T.T. realized his mistake.  Those dilated eyes of his widened to the width of twin coffee cup saucers as he threw up his hands defensively.  “Sorry, man, sorry.  Truly!  Sammy, I mean it!!”

Sam glowered menacingly, but finally shook his head, wiped grease on his apron and went back to his grilling.  Brenda rapped Two Toke once more for good measure and the rest of us all chuckled nervously and after a minute or three, the conversational pitch was almost back to normal, meaning caffeinated and lively.  I did notice, though, that the burger orders were few and far between.  BLT’s and frozen fish sandwiches were substituted instead.  I had my usual cheeseburger — nobody’s gonna accuse ME of wussing out over food additives.  After all, I’m a dyed pink in the wool South Ender.  But … I really did want to ask Brenda, confidentially and out of everyone else’s hearing range, what do you suppose they really do to that Velveeta?

[podcast]https://www.skeeterdaddle.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/03/audio-jimmy-the-gyppo.mp3[/podcast]audio — jimmy the gyppo