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Rain rain go away....

I am so very sorry! I have not been absent because I have lost interest in writing down any and all the crazy thoughts that cross my addled mind. Rather, technology fucked me right in my ass yet again.

Warning: I’m sitting in a bar in an old log cabin lodge out in the sticks, a bunch of miles down the road from Ely Minnesota on a very scenic lake in the woods—and I am drunk on my ass. I’ve spent the entire day riding my motorcycle while getting pounded by rain and hail that those psycho fuck losers from the National Weather Service did not offer as a possibility early this morning. Worse, I dragged my 78 year-old Uncle Fred along for the ride—and based upon those pricks from the NWS I assured him that today’s 200 mile ride would feature unmatched scenery and stellar weather to boot. He is, as I type this, miserable, while draping his biking outfit across the motel room space heater….

And now I’m sitting with my new Ely friend John Matthews in the log cabin bar, he of the Miller High Life ilk, and me, a swiller of Grain Belt Premium. I’m warming up as I write, but I’m still cold and wet. When I walk to the john after each set of Grain Belts, water still squishes out from the seams in my boots.

So please forgive me if I swear or seem jaded and for sure not nonplussed.

I was in Paris writing stuff a month ago, when I cheap-ed out when I lost my Euro power adapter, and instead of buying a new one, I borrowed an ancient junker and ended up power surging my laptop unto battery meltdown.

Actually, according to a tech wizard, the battery became swollen from the surge, so much so that the rivets popped on the back of my laptop. Plus, some other computer stuff got fucked up permanently as well. This misfortunate event led to some time spent agonizing over repair versus buying new, with the exacerbating element—my being broke. In the end, I was saved by my sweetheart, who fronted me a new laptop. Therefore, I am now the proud typer of a hot rod 2026 Apple Air thingamajig…, and I am back.

The tech of it has always been my bugaboo. When I was a bass guitar player, the failing electronics within the pickups led to many an on-stage Fender-flinging temper tantrum, and I can’t even detail the mechanical disappointments from my various motorcycles without going completely fucking berserk. Figuratively.

Even as an athlete, technology failed me. As a track and field sprinter, I refused to wear a jock strap and in the 1970’s, our uniform shorts were short—which resulted in my junk finding its way out into the open right when I was running my hardest. It was embarrassing to be running furiously down the home stretch in front of everyone while tugging at the bottom cuff of my shorts—which were losing their battle with my eager to be revealed penis and scrotum.

As a speed skater in Winter I can’t count how many times the laces on my skates came untied mid-race and slid under my skate blades, and I flipped unnaturally, and slid across the ice, over the snowbank, out of the rink, and into the parking lot.

I’m not sure if genitalia-revealing shorts or malfunctioning speed skate laces qualify as technology but as I said, I am drunk so bare with me….

Anyway, I’m back at it, and I’m sure tomorrow when this crazy-assed storm passes better times are ahead!

As well as a crazy-assed story or two to boot.