Marley Here

. . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . Marley, LSC (Licensed Service Cat)


Hey "Master,"

Marley here.

At the risk of anatomical inexactitude, I need to tell you that I've got a weight on my shoulders that's like a hairball in my throat and I think that it's time that I get it off my chest.

I wanted to let you know that - much like the "lovelovelove/woe is me" crap you've been dishing out of late - this "mea culpa/'I threw it all away'" stuff is a load of bullocks as well. Yes, I know that you have been in full self-flagellation mode since your sister's death - taking the blame and apologizing for everything under the sun - but dammit, this incessant groveling just doesn't suit you. And for that matter, it's flat out inaccurate and unfair . . . to you.

Sure you made some mistakes along the way, but I've been around the last 4 or 5 years and seen things evolve, and as far I can tell you did alright by that gal (not your sister - your "love" interest). You ain't got nothing to be ashamed of or embarrassed about. You were generous, kind, and loving, and you gave it your best shot - your best shot *ever* from what you've told me. There ain't a whole lot more you could have done, pal. It looks to me like you both handed each other a rocky road to hoe, and it just wasn't meant to be - as lovers or friends. These things either work out or they don't, and when they do - it's usually because of both people, and when they don't - it's usually because of both people. Do you see a pattern there?

So buck up soldier and walk proud, because the good Lord knows that I'm way out of my comfort zone playing the supportive and nurturing type, and I ain't hankering to visit these parts again anytime soon.

Thank you.


Love,
Marley Willis-Smith, LSC (Licensed Service Cat)





EDITOR'S NOTE: Coming this November from Random House, in both hardback and trade paperback: "You Don't Love Me . . . You Just Love My Marley-Style: The Collected Writings Of Marley Willis-Smith, LSC"


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My Son's Ass

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My son Andy is getting a colonoscopy next Wednesday, so please keep all of your feeners and toeses crossed for the well-being of his ass.

Being a very supportive parent, I informed Andy that I am going to bring my Nikon Coolpix digital camera; a tripod (actually just one of the "tri's," (i.e. an "unepod" (pronounced "oon' pod"))); and an industrial-sized tub of lubricant - just in case the camera on the colonoscopy probe messes up (hey - there's no telling where it's been).

("Sit Andy . . . OK - this Coolpix camera has a 3x optical zoom lens so you're gonna have to sit harder . . . C'mon now - sit *really* hard!")




At 1:40 on Wednesday afternoon you may commence with the ceremonial "crossing of the digits" (see "feeners and toeses" above).

Formal and informal prayers from any and all denominations are also welcome, as is the simple but effective option of "thinking good thoughts."

Thank you.


"Go Andy's butt!"
(Olde Irish cheer, typically attributed to a "G. O'wen" of the County Kolping)

"Hide all your fears inside of your jokes"
(A. Smith, slightly paraphrased for the blogger's benefit)




[EDITOR'S NOTE: For those of you who may be wondering: "My goodness . . . is nothing sacred (or private) with regards to this blog?" The answer would be: "No, not yet . . . but thanks for asking!"]

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Marley & I

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I am very happy to report that I will be signing a one-year lease for my new digs next Friday, August 7th. I will be living in a two bedroom apartment at the Villas of Kettering, located directly behind Town & Country shopping center. After the first year it's a month by month rental so that will give me plenty of flexibilty.

It's a great unit surrounded by these marvelous trees (two monstrous 100+ year-old sycamores and a bunch of red maples). My place will be at the corner of a cul de sac which means even *more* trees than most of the units (yay!). It also has a garage (and a garage door opener no less - pretty unusual for apartment living I believe).

And here's the best part: they *do* have a "no pet" policy, but since it is a 55-years-old+ facility there is an exception for "service/quality of life" pets.

I told Rita, the property manager, about my sister's death and my cat Marley's role in helping me deal with that. She said that would absolutely qualify Marley to live with me (at no extra charge). All that the Marley-Man needs is a note from the doctor verifying his "therapeutic value." :-)








How freakin' sweet is that?

Old man Marley, in his 16th year (77 in human years), is about to become a "service" kitty!

"Hey Marley - fetch me a beer why doncha?!"

. . . . . .. . . .. . . .. . . . . . . ."Bite me"

And speaking of "service" . . . apparently some of the tenants have trouble making it to appointments and stores for their basic needs. I already talked to the lovely ladies of the Villas front office (Rita, Mary, and Karen) about starting a transportation service to help folks get around. They said that a lot of the elderly women tenants are itching to check out that new high-falutin' fancy dan Kroger's "Fresh Fare" grocery store across Shroyer Avenue. :-)

Hey - why go looking for a volunteer service opportunity when you've got one to offer your neighbors?

My brother Tim already lives at the Villas and he has made friends with an 85-year-old woman named Joanie. Joanie is very active and recently had rotator cuff surgery so that she can start golfing again (Tim will probably caddy for her). Tim and Joanie are currently shuffleboard partners in a league at the Kettering Rec Center.

Joanie also showed Tim where there are several "breaks" in the fencing that separates the Villas from the Town and Country shopping center (as active as she is I'm surprised that she wasn't just scaling the fence). Apparently Tim was walking all the way to the end of the apartments and then into Town and Country until Joanie showed him this trick of livin' in "the 'hood."

Tim says that there is a break in the fence directly north of my place and so I'll probably have less than a city block to walk to get me to the front doors of Panera, the very yummy First Watch (Then Eat) restaurant, Trader Joe's grocery store, Books & Co., etc.

So keep your eyes peeled for ol' Kev Smith strolling through the Villas with his morning paper and a cup 'o joe (he'll be the one without the walker).

Give him a "honk" and I bet he'll wave. He's pretty nice for a depressed guy. I mean . . . once you get to know him.


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. . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . .. . . .. . . The End

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Love

Love
(J. Lennon)

Love is real, real is love,
Love is feeling, feeling love,
Love is wanting to be loved.











Love is touch, touch is love,
Love is reaching, reaching love,
Love is asking to be loved.











Love is you,
You and me,
Love is knowing,
We can be.











Love is free, free is love,
Love is living, living love,
Love is needing to be loved.













. . . .. . "You're it"





please listen:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kEpaBLhcchs





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I Can Smile In The Face Of Mankind . . . Most Of The Time

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MOST OF THE TIME
(B. Dylan)

Most of the time
I'm clear focused all around
Most of the time
I can keep both feet on the ground
I can follow the path
I can read the sign
Stay right with it
When the road unwinds
I can handle whatever
I stumble upon
I don't even notice she's gone
Most of the time.

Most of the time
It's well understood
Most of the time
I wouldn't change it if I could
I can make it all match up
I can hold my own
I can deal with the situation
Right down to the bone
I can survive and I can endure
And I don't even think about her
Most of the time.

Most of the time
My head is on straight
Most of the time
I'm strong enough not to hate
I don't build up illusion
'Til it makes me sick
I ain't afraid of confusion
No matter how thick
I can smile in the face of mankind
Don't even remember
What her lips felt like on mine
Most of the time.

Most of the time
She ain't even in my mind
I wouldn't know her if I saw her
She's that far behind
Most of the time
I can't even be sure
If she was ever with me
Or if I was ever with her
Most of the time
I'm halfway content
Most of the time
I know exactly where it went
I don't cheat on myself
I don't run and hide
Hide from the feelings
That are buried inside
I don't compromise
And I don't pretend
I don't even care
If I ever see her again
Most of the time.



Please listen:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vn8l9UwnqQs

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And I'm Just Like That Bird, Singin' Just For You

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You're A Big Girl Now
(B. Dylan)

Our conversation was short and sweet
It nearly swept me off-a my feet.
And I'm back in the rain, oh-h-h
And you are on dry land.
You made it there somehow
You're a big girl now.

Bird on the horizon, sittin' on a fence,
He's singin' a song for me, at his own expense.
And I'm just like that bird, oh-h-h
Singin' just for you.
I hope that you can hear,
Hear me singin' through these tears.

Time is a jet plane, it moves too fast
Oh, but what a shame, if all we've shared can't last.
I can change, I swear, oh-h-h
See what you can do.
I can make it through,
You can make it, too.

Love is so simple, to quote a phrase,
You've known it all the time, I'm learnin' it these days.
Oh, I know where I can find you, oh-h-h
In somebody's room.
It's the price I have to pay
You're a big girl all the way.

A change in the weather is known to be extreme
But what's the sense of changing horses in midstream?
And I'm going out of my mind, oh-h-h
With a pain that stops and starts
Like a corkscrew to my heart
Ever since we've been apart.

Please listen:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QmFn36pRVHo




.
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Great Stuff!

.

Hey "Master,"

This is Marley.

I just wanted to let you know that your blog has kicked some serious butt lately.

No, really - I mean it.

My compliments to you, my friend, for some truly brilliant blog entries.

Oh yeah, by the way . . .





















. . . . . . . . . . . . PSYCHE!!!!!!



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The *Real* "Tree Of Death"

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A great big "thank you" to my pen pal Kathleen for forwarding this photo of the *real* Tree Of Death" (see previous blog entry for context):




That's some pretty cool beans right there that's what that is.

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"Tree Of Life?" . . . Meet Deepest East Dayton's "Tree Of Death"

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Most everyone has heard of the "Tree Of Life," and many artists have gone out of their way to capture this tree in illustration:








There seem to be as many definitions for the Tree Of Life concept as there are artist depictions, but the general consensus is that it symbolizes the interconnectedness of life - that all living things share the same root.

Unfortunately, I'm not so certain that there is a similar highbrow concept or definition for Deepest East Dayton's "Tree Of Death":



The Tree Of Death stands approximately 40 feet high. Its trunk would indicate that it has been with us for many, many years.



For me The Tree Of Death inspires considerably more basic questions than the Tree Of Life, such as: How long has it been standing? Or more to the point: how is the Tree Of Death *still* standing given some of the storms it has weathered of late? Perhaps I should re-name it "The Death-Defying Tree."

I would not go so far as to say that the Tree Of Death stands proudly, but it does appear to be quite strong given its age and condition. And there is no denying that it is in fact more than just standing - it actually appears to be reaching up and out.

























Who knows? - maybe there is still some life lying dormant in those spindly, bone-dry limbs.

Maybe the Tree Of Death is simply riding out a bad cycle . . . waiting for the right time.






[NOTE: You can click on the black & white photos to enlarge them - the details on the tree limbs and trunk are pretty fascinating. For those who are interested in paying their respects to Deepest East Dayton's "Tree Of Death," it is located in the backyard of the boarded up home at the northeast corner of the Xenia Avenue and Highland Hills intersection - just east of the US 35 overpass]

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Strike Another Match, Go Start Anew

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Due to a myriad of home-based personal demons that I have been unable to completely exorcise, and also because of the simple desire to venture out to new environs and see things from a fresh perspective, I have made the decision to leave the sprawling Smith estate behind.

I have my new digs narrowed down to two choices (three if you count Sheboygan - and you should *always* count Sheboygan). Hopefully, I will be out of the 'hood and into my new bachelor crib by Labor Day at the latest.

I feel that this move is definitely in my best interest, although it does come with a satchelful of mixed emotions. However, it would have been a much more difficult decision if I had not been afforded the opportunity to hand "the key to 823" to my son, Andy.

That is correct. The torch to the humble abode located at 823 Jolly Old Saint Nick Avenue is being passed to the next Smith generation (and by "torch" I do not mean in the "arson" sense, but rather in the "front door key" sense).

Some time within the next year or so - after several much needed repairs are completed - Andy will become both tenant and property manager at 823 Saint Nicholas Avenue. A couple of friends will most probably join him as roommates.

I am very excited about my new adventure and also very pleased that "ye olde Smith homestead" will remain in such good hands - and Smith hands no less.

And so in closing - to this sturdy old bag of bones of a home - located here in my beloved Deepest East Dayton, I say: "Thank you for the last 15 years of shelter, but the time has come to move on. It's all over now, house of blue."

Ye Olde Smith Estate, 823 St. Nicholas Ave., Deepest East Dayton



It's All Over Now, Baby Blue
(B. Dylan)

You must leave now, take what you need, you think will last.
But whatever you wish to keep, you better grab it fast.
Yonder stands an orphan with her gun,
Crying like a fire in the sun.
Look out the saints are comin' through
And it's all over now, Baby Blue.

The highway is for gamblers, better use your sense.
Take what you have gathered from coincidence.
The empty-handed painter from your streets
Is drawing crazy patterns on your sheets.
The sky, too, is folding under you
And it's all over now, Baby Blue.

All your seasick sailors, they are rowing home.
All your reindeer armies, are all going home.
The lover who just walked out your door
Has taken all her blankets from the floor.
The carpet, too, is moving under you
And it's all over now, Baby Blue.

Leave your stepping stones behind, something calls for you.
Forget the dead you've left, they will not follow you.
The vagabond who's rapping at your door
Is standing in the clothes that you once wore.
Strike another match, go start anew
And it's all over now, Baby Blue.

Please listen and watch: andy kevin (i.e. me)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YN25Pp0hrOM


"Let the word go forth from this time and place, to friend and foe alike, that the torch has been passed to a new generation"
(j. effin' k.)



















. . . .. . . . ."the vagabond who's rapping at your door
. . .. . . .. . .is standing in the clothes that you once wore"
. . .. . . . . . .(b. dylan)




. . . (all 3 artistes were 23-years-old when photos were taken)

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Hello

.
I just wanted to take a break from my usual blog activity to say "Hi" to everybody.


. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . "Hi"


I hope that everyone is doing fine.


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From A Buick 6 . . . Just For Kicks

.

Just for kicks (or *is* it? . . . woooo . . . ol Kev's gettin' all mysterious on your asses) here's a full-throttle amphetamine blues foot-stompin' number from back in "aught 65" that will definitely go on my much anticipated (and 35 years in the making) "Bob Dylan's Greatest Songs That Most People Ain't Never Heard Because They Weren't Never Played On No Dang Radio" mixed CD.

The song is called "From A Buick 6" and it's from that work of musical and lyrical genius that we all know and love, and rely on during those confounded and compounded backed in a corner extended moments of sweat-inducing metaphysical angst. Of course I speak of the album HIGHWAY 61 REVISTED.

By the way . . . I got fitty-bone (i.e. fifty dollars) for ANDREW AND THE PRETTY PUNCHERS if they ever play this live for me.

And I got another fitty-bone (i.e. ditto or "i bid") if the song shows up on a CD of theirs someday.

I simply must hear Josh loping all over that bass line; Kevin saying "fuck harmonia solos" and scorching through the solo on his Les Paul (in lieu of said harmonica); Greg eschewing the organ and getting his honky ass tonkin' and ticklin' those ivories of pianoanic reverie; and the Andy-man belting out those brilliantly imagaic non-sequiterian verses (or *are* they? . . . woooo . . . now ol' Bob's gettin' all mysterious on your asses).

Did I miss anyone?

Oh yeah.

And Michael on drums.



















please click and listen (lyrics also in top corner of video for those who would like to sing along - just click on "more info"):

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e2rld98cExA


From A Buick 6
(B. Dylan)

I got this graveyard woman, you know she keeps my kid
But my soulful mama, you know she keeps me hid
She's a junkyard angel and she always gives me bread
Well, if I go down dyin', you know she bound to put a blanket on my bed.

Well, when the pipeline gets broken and I'm lost on the river bridge
I'm cracked up on the highway and on the water's edge
She comes down the thruway ready to sew me up with thread
Well, if I go down dyin', you know she bound to put a blanket on my bed.

Well, she don't make me nervous, she don't talk too much
She walks like Bo Diddley and she don't need no crutch
She keeps this four-ten all loaded with lead
Well, if I go down dyin', you know she bound to put a blanket on my bed.

Well, you know I need a steam shovel mama to keep away the dead
I need a dump truck mama to unload my head
She brings me everything and more, and just like I said
Well, if I go down dyin', you know she bound to put a blanket on my bed.

. (c'mon, turn up that Buick 6 dial to 11 . . . you know you wanna hear it again)

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For The Next 4 Days I Am A Superhero . . . I Am RADIOACTIVE MAN!

.

I spent a couple of days this week at Miami Valley Hospital undergoing some tests on me 'eart, veins, arteries, and other cardiovascular stuff.

My doctor has some concerns about my ticker, water retention, high blood pressure, fatigue, etc. She also mentioned that I had developed "very close" veins in my legs, or something like that. I told her that it didn't surprise me that my veins were very close because some of them had been working side by side and known each other for over 55 years.

She laughed in that non-smiling, silent way that I have grown accustomed to over the years.

But anyway, today was "stress test" day at the hospital. As part of the test I was injected with "a medical dose of radioactive material (TC 99M MIBI). Apparently this stuff may remain in my system for a few days and so to ensure that I don't have any problems entering federal buildings (or boarding planes) the hospital gave me a card to hand to the Feds should they attempt apprehend me and foil my lawful egress:
. . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . (click on to make larger)

What this means is that for the next four days I "pose no risk to the public" and have the permission of the U. S. Nuclear Regulatory Commission to enter federal property (and/or airports) glowing like freakin' kryptonite! (green no less - Superman's *least* favorite color)

How cool is that?! I mean - sure blue is my favorite color, but still - I'm just sayin' . . .

I told the nurse that I've been a little lonely lately so I probably won't flash my "credentials" until *after* being frisked, but I definitely would show the G-Men my card *before* the body cavity search kicks in. As I wryly added: "I'm not *that* lonely . . . yet!"

We both laughed quite heartily at my risque witticism. Or maybe it was just me that laughed really loudly and I just thought it sounded like two people. I guess I'll never know because by the time I ceased guffawing and regained my composure, she had left the examining room and did not return.

In retrospect I think that I may have spoken "inappropriately" and perhaps inadvertently crossed this particular nurse's "boundaries."

Well, regardless - the big news is this:

Move over Kevin J. Smith - lazy-ass retired librarian and all-round boring & predictable schmuck - because for the next four days there's a new kid on the block.

And the new kid's name is . . .


. . . . . . . . RADIOACTIVE MAN! . . . superhero





ADDENDUM:

On Monday morning, at the exact same time I was having a "venous Doppler" ultrasound on my legs at the main Miami Valley Hospital, my son Andy was having an ultrasound taken of his liver at Miami Valley Hospital South.

I called Andy's mom when I got home. I told her that I had said to the nurse on the way to my ultrasound that I was "hoping for a girl." Dian said "that's hilarious because Andy told his nurse on the way to *his* ultrasound that he was "hoping for a boy."

On two different sides of town, and at the exact same time, Andy and I were nailing them with the same joke.

My pop would have been proud.

(three Smith generations of "wacky comedy stuff" practitioners, pictured l to r: practitioner version 2.0, practitioner version 3.0, practitioner version 1.0, mystery person behind door)
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Please Welcome Nation #51 To The Jumbostatz League Of Musical Nations!

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.. . . . . . . . . . . ..GREETINGS SWITZERLAND!


It is with some seriously kick-ass fanfare that I proudly welcome the great country of SWITZERLAND to the jumbostatz League Of Musical Nations!




Specifically, a salty salute to one "Wolfgang Leicher" (pictured below - not actual last name, but close) for becoming the proud owner of the CD "Pictures And Paintings" by that old Nashville crooner Charlie Rich.


. . . . . . . . . .. . . . ... . . (l to r: the Alps, Wolfgang Leicher)


.. . . . .(Swiss postal service alerting me that Wolfgang's CD has arrived)


. . . . . .Once again . . . WELCOME SWITZERLAND!




(l to r: marley (sleeping), jumbostatz world map (each "star" = service area)



"jumbostatz . . . bringing *all* of the music to *all* of the people since august 2001 . . . 51 nations and counting!"

(l to r: Swiss cheese, happy camper,
more Swiss cheese)


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The Night I Dreamt That Patti Smith Cut My Grass

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I live alone in a very large home but I do have three tenants in my garage - a siamese cat and two generic tiger cats.

I feed them daily. I do this for two reasons: 1) because they're hungry, and 2) because I'm not supposed to. Their bellies get fed and my appetite to be subversive is sated. It's a "win/win" situation.

Feeding them has also allowed me to sleep better because the one tiger cat and the siamese used to squeal and wail and fight the night away. Now they share the same food bowl and cuddle in the same corner of the garage. I guess a full belly takes the fight out of cats, too.

The food and water bowls are kept outside the open side door of the garage. This allows me to feed them without invading their living quarters.  It would appear however that while in a dream state last night my curiosity got the better of me and I walked inside the garage. There, curled up in the corner, was none other than Patti Smith, late 70s and early 80s punk singer/songwriter/performer extraordinaire.

Obviously I was stunned.

I said "Patti?"

She stirred a bit and then said the last thing that I expected her to say.

She said "Kevin?"

I asked what was wrong and she explained that she was a little "down on her luck."

I asked her if I could get her something to eat. She said "No - that's fine" while nodding towards the door and the cat food and water bowls.

Then she got up on all fours, arched her back with a stretch, and crawled across the garage floor and through the door to eat alongside the cats.

After eating, Patti mentioned that she was going to be moving on but wanted to pay me back in some way for the use of the garage. I told her that I hated to cut the grass and so she agreed to do that - and also to "edge" my walk.

We sat down on my backyard sidewalk to chat some more. She showed me how you could pull up large clumps of grass that had grown across the sidewalk without the hassle of pushing my old-fashioned edger.

I told her "That's good to know, Patti."

When she was done cutting the grass and edging the walk we stood at the back gate for awhile. I told her that I was certain that she could get her life back together because "people have the power." Patti smiled self-consciously at my nerdy fanboy song reference.  She said that she was really going to miss the cats. We hugged and gave each other a kiss on the cheek.

Then Patti started walking down the alley. 

She turned around a couple of times to wave.  I think that she wanted me to know that everything was going to be fine.  

For her and for me.  

And for the cats, too.

"I was dreaming in my dreaming

 of an aspect bright and fair

 and my sleeping it was broken

 but my dream it lingered near"

 (P. Smith)

for your listening pleasure:    http://youtu.be/dcr0ITujHOc

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People Have The Power (lyrics)

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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dFQLdDS3Klw











People Have The Power
(P. Smith)

I was dreaming in my dreaming
of an aspect bright and fair
and my sleeping it was broken
but my dream it lingered near
in the form of shining valleys
where the pure air recognized
and my senses newly opened
I awakened to the cry
that the people / have the power
to redeem / the work of fools
upon the meek / the graces shower
it's decreed / the people rule










The people have the power
The people have the power
The people have the power
The people have the power

Vengeful aspects became suspect
and bending low as if to hear
and the armies ceased advancing
because the people had their ear
and the shepherds and the soldiers
lay beneath the stars
exchanging visions
and laying arms
to waste / in the dust
in the form of / shining valleys
where the pure air / recognized
and my senses / newly opened
I awakened / to the cry











Where there were deserts
I saw fountains
like cream the waters rise
and we strolled there together
with none to laugh or criticize
and the leopard
and the lamb
lay together truly bound
I was hoping in my hoping
to recall what I had found
I was dreaming in my dreaming
god knows / a purer view
as I surrender to my sleeping
I commit my dream to you

The power to dream / to rule
to wrestle the world from fools
it's decreed the people rule
it's decreed the people rule










(listen)

I believe everything we dream
can come to pass through our union
we can turn the world around
we can turn the earth's revolution
we have the power
People have the power . . .



.