Situation Critical

 Situation Critical oooo wooo oooo.  The ride in the car is a hit mix (hit miss?) thing when I don't have my Ipod hooked up to the car stereo. My honda still has a cassette deck so I bought one of those cassette inserts where it can hook up to an external source. I can hook up my Ipod and listen to the tunes I have selected. With no Ipod there is the CD option but it comes with a short supply of music, so it comes down to the local radio stations. Unless of course you have satellite radio which is not cheap. So the ride without Ipod for me is a hit miss situation. There could be a decent song like Under Pressure by Queen or even an ACDC oldie but it could something which damages your spirit and your brain. We have so much noise coming out of the radio, makes us want to go on a crashing spree. Not head-on of course but more like side slamming cars as you cruise around the city, as Anna plays on in the background - "Anna I still love you, but if he loves you more go with him woo ooo ooo." You try to change the tempo or mindset going on in your mash up brain by switching to a local university station and you hear Amy Goodman talking about 11 million record milestone of those infected with COVID in the United States. She talking about some of the States refusing to take measures to try curb the spread. South Dakota Governor not wanting to do anything to stop the spread regardless of a critical situation in her State. So as Amy Goodman continues to share bad news from around the world, I think oooo wooo oooo situation critical, this bad tune is blasting in my head, damn the damn play list of the radio stations. These boots are made for walking is now doing a full assault on my brain - "you've been messin' where you shouldn't 've been messin." Rotten radio station trying to get my brain to explode in a beautiful cascade of red mashed up fat and bone. So I change the station before situation turns critical. Local news is on and guess what? We hear Ninety thousand kids sexual assault lawsuits are launched against Boys Scotts of America. All those poor children in a critical situation. But in a twist of good news which may actually alter the tilt of the universe, a British man, an old white guy, jumped into the water and saved a young Chinese woman. The man, a British diplomat at despite his advantaged age (61) was able to save the student. "For a man of such advanced age to save another person from the water is such cold weather, regardless of his own safety, he is a hero and gentleman." This is good news but at the same time a slap to young men in their 60's.  I honestly did not know I was at an advanced age. I can see the man being Knighted somewhere in his short future. Accordingly at his advanced age, he may not have much time so his situation critical. 

We know damn too well we are in situation critical; Greta Thunberg told us, Autumn Peltier told us, Sarika Cullis-Suzuki told us, Severn Cullis-Suzuki told us, and countless others are telling us, Situation Critical. It is not just a slack song burning holes in our ear drums, needling into our cerebrum with the force of a hot pepper which we accidental breathed into our nostrils and it is scorching our brain through our nose passage. It is a critical time and we are out of options. There are those who will keep the radio tuned and ignore the situation, just keep their heads bobbing to a teeth grinding tune of dribble and marshmallow melting message: "can you hear the drums Fernando? I remember long ago another starry night like this in the firelight Fernando. You were humming to yourself and softly strumming your guitar. I could hear the distant drums."  We are Situation Critical. We keep the station on and ignore everything.  I can not continue with the same tunes on the same station. So I will plug in my Ipod and pick up the dog poop my dog dropped on the sidewalk. We don't want anyone stepping in dog poop. It could turn out to be situation critical. 

Just have to share this video of the Great Drum group Cozad. This is the kind of good feel tune which should be on your radio. This is spectacular. The gentleman in the purple shirt and cowboy hat is just situation awesome. We need more Situation Awesome and fight Situation Critical. 

We Need a Jerk in Our Life: The Pachak

 There are those who prey on the goodwill of others, and man that really bugs me, you know? You give them some hospitality, some kindness, some generosity, and they abuse it. The act of being a gracious host is lost on them. There is a word we use to describe this being, it is a "Pa-chak." A Pachak will come to your home ask to stay for a couple of days and then never ever try to leave. The Pachak will cut in front of you, in the check out line, the traffic jam, the movie theatre line and they will look in your fridge and not be satisfied with what is in there. The Pachak will go into your alcohol cupboard and pour himself a tall glass of the most expensive spirit you have and boldly say "Buddy you got the best bar in town." The Pachak will take your last smoke and not give you a puff. Will drink straight from the milk jug and leave it out on the counter. The Pachak will not flush the toilet after using it. The Pachak will borrow your car and break it. The Pachak will borrow your car and bring it back home with the car sucking fumes. The Pachak will borrow your car, drive off and come right back saying there is no gas in it. A Pachak can make you cringe but also make you laugh as well. It is the laughing Pachak we love and adore. The laughing teasing Pachak is needed everywhere. The happy Pachak will be there when they are needed for a chuckle and to lighten up the mood. The happy Pachak can be the butt of their own jokes. The happy Pachak is a joy albeit with a shoulder shrug and little cringe. The happy Pachak will make you laugh when you are in the midst of a big sobbing cry. The happy Pachak will make you smile and chuckle just before the dirt is tossed on your friend's coffin. As you lay in the fetal position because your partner has left you on your wedding day, the Pachak will say "well, never did like her/him/them anyway" and get you laughing. The happy Pachak will be there to slash tires of the guy who cheated on your cousin with the town mattress. The happy Pachak is also a town mattress. The Happy Pachak sees the world as a place to bring joy, even if it kills the other person. 

 It is the cringing selfish Pachak we want to bash over the head with a lead crystal vase. Then roll them up in a tarp, a heavy smelly greasy tarp, toss in the back of the truck bed, drive over to the nearest land fill and dump there, so the crows, the flies, the magpies and the rats can have a little taste. We endure the Pachak because we are cool like that. The rude Pachak seems to dominate in the world. We need the Pachak, the happy one, but we have to endure the rude Pachak. Think of the rude Pachak as the Chihuahua of the dog world: an annoying little yappy untrainable misery who is the baby of your annoying old cripple aunty with the wicked smokers hack, with an overwhelming odour of pee and cheap perfume - who is rich. You don't really like them but you know there could be some reward there so you bite your tongue until it bleeds and smile. 

-And if I ever lose my legs, I won't moan, and I won't beg. Yes If I ever lose my legs, Oh if I won't have to walk no more.

And If I ever lose my mouth, all my teeth, north and south. Yes if I ever lose my mouth, Oh if I won't have to talk.

I have been both, the cringe worthy Pachak and the happy make you smile Pachak.  The very best Pachak example is not Homer Simpson but it is Alan in the movie Hangover. Now he is the "classic" Pachak, a one man wolf pack. 

Now who is your Pachak?  

Let's Find Joy In Our Lives

 "May you live in interesting times" is a phrase usually uttered as a curse or put down. Regardless of the origin and meaning, society uses it to mean "fuck you and die" - basically. Well we are certainly living in interesting times: the rise of White Supremacy, the destruction of Middle Eastern lives, the rise of despots in many countries, the fish, the bees and bears are disappearing.  People went toad licking crazy over toilet paper for a period of time. The King of the Universe, Mr. trump still wants to boink his daughter; the rodent looking one and not the pie face one. It's weird eh?  To add to the interesting times we have a flu which likes to kill in many different ways. The bees are under pressure from assassin bees, called Murder Bees. Ellen Degeneres who closes hers TV Show with signature "Be Kind", turns out she is a creepy unkind arsehole. With all this madness going on we really need to find some joy before we go into full metal jacket melt down. It is quite weird because we used to worry about the Post Office worker going all Brenda Spencer on people, now it is the everyday White guy we should be wary of. The world is full of things, people and events which suck the joy right of living. 

In my community, Sagkeeng First Nation, the meth monster has taken hold and is living comfortably there. Young people to middle age adults are prey to the meth monster. Material goods of any kind are disappearing from the yards, the cars and the homes of Sagkeeng residents as well as the neighbour communities. The rise of thefts, increased assaults are due to the need of individuals to feed their meth monster. Other First Nations communities are not immune to the ferocious appetite of the meth monster.  Meth monster just eating away joy from First Nation communities and main stream community as well. The meth monster is just another ill in the Indigenous community to compound the joyless existence.  First Nations are continuously being bombarded with society's racism. In Nova Scotia for example, the fishing industry comprising of white men are physically attacking the Mi'kmaq community, burning their gear, and killing their fish stock. The Mi'kmaq make up a minuscule amount of the annual fishing harvest. Still it is too much for the white fishing industry. No joy being experienced there.  As an Indian, an Indigenous person, an Anishinabe, I am outraged, angry and feeling like going on a shooting spree of White people. However, I have White friends and don't feel it would be good for my soul if I were to go killing random White people. It may be satisfying but after the gun smoke and ringing in the ears have subsided, the dead bodies laying around at the legislative building may damper the whole event. I mean who wants to be standing around dead bodies? That wouldn't be joyful, I don't think, but I have never experienced a mass murdering killing before so what do I know. 

Can we bring joy into our lives without bringing misery into the lives of others? Getting back to having White friends, I think this is why there is so much hate and racism out there. White people should have more friends who are not White. Maybe then they won't be so inclined to carry hate for being White. As for bringing joy into our lives, there are a lot of ways we can think of without shitting down someones neck. My friend is in the hospital and has been there for more than five weeks. He is most likely my oldest living friend. I can remember us on the swing when we were about 8 years old at the Fort Alexander Indian Residential School. He was transferred to another boarding school when he was about 10. He is really sick and the way I deal with it, is to tease him relentlessly when I go visit. It brings joy, but sometimes it is too much for him and he tells me "don't be mean." So joy is not joy if it hurts someone. 

Of course there are the families, the kids, the spouses which bring us joy, but there are other things which can bring us joy as well. The sight of an old white guy walking into a pole as he is swearing at people protesting police brutality. Now that brings me joy; him not so much. The dog rolling around in the grass brings me some joy. The laughter of little kids, especially little Brown kids, they are so damn cute. Young couples enjoying themselves, this makes me happy. For me I think young people should be enjoying their youth, lot of time to become grumpy old buggers. A Nazi getting punched and knocked out brings me joy. A smile from a stranger will bring me joy. A good looking dog with a tail wagging and no growling brings me joy. The sight of Mr trump (small T on purpose) getting his hand slapped away from his woman brought me laughter as well as him walking up the Air Force One with toilet paper on his shoe. Not sure if laughter, happiness and joy are the same thing? The sight of an Eagle flying around brings me joy. The smell of sage and juniper brings me some joy. Having a good bowel movement with no remnants hanging around the anus is always joyful. Having a good cup of Earl Grey tea, reading a book on the deck when it is warm, sunny and you have tunes going, brings joy. 

Of course the scale of joy is all different. Still any amount of joy is good for us. There are so much things in the world which are putting us in distress, bringing us hurt, uncertainty and grief so let us find some joy in our lives. The search for joy should be interesting. I will keep my eyes open for some joy and hope you do as well. 

We Love Music Don't We

 When I was a kid, my parents had one of those big cabinet stereos. My Dad had a collection of albums which consisted of Jimmy Rogers, Hank Williams, Charlie Rich, Charley Pride, Johnny Cash and others. The collection wasn't huge. But if records weren't playing on the weekend, there was the radio, AM radio. Music was part of the home. My Dad could play the guitar but I never seen one in our home and only saw him playing one time at his  cousin's house.  He did have Mouth Harps in the home that we fooled around with as kids. It was strange the music stopped playing at my parents home but I am not sure exactly when or why. When I say the music stopped, it was they stopped playing records. The radio still had its place in the house but just as background noise in the kitchen. 

When my kids were small there was music playing in our home as well.  The stereo was always on and a cd or a tape cassette was on. It is funny, we never learned to play an instrument in our home. Noozhis is starting to fool around with a guitar now.  I am hopeful my grandson will take a liking to the guitar and continue to play and learn. I have two guitars in the house. I have never learned to play. I love music but I guess I am too lazy to learn how to play, so I am content with singing along to songs in the off key. I wonder why it is, not everyone can sing? I mean everyone can try sing but to actually sing with a good melody, why that is not the case? 

As a young kid, the Drum was not heard around the community. The Residential School, the Church and the government laws ensured the Drum disappeared from Indigenous life. Our community had almost lost their connection to their ancestral ways. There were some Elder's and families which still followed the Traditional Ways, but it was quietly done. The Church ruled the community and their music did not include the Drum. This has changed in our Reserve, the Drum has even entered the Church. I wonder what my deceased Granny would think of that? Lot of Old People embraced the Teachings of the Church and saw Traditional Teachings of the Anishinabe as "Witch Craft, Bad Medicine." The Drum has come back to our community, the larger Indigenous community and people are loving the music.  Still the old country gospel is still fondly listened to by the Indian community. A small town radio station in Manitoba  (Portage CFRY) has a Sunday two hour segment of song dedications, much of the request are for gospel songs. The majority of requests are from the surrounding Indigenous communities. 

Music, all types of music can touch our emotions. I think this is why we love music. For Indigenous people the Drum reminds them of the Heartbeat. Can you see it? Look at how far modern medicine has come today. The practice is to have a new born baby lay on the bare chest of their mother. This is the Heartbeat of the Nation. 

Can you see it? The love of music, the hearing of a Heartbeat is good medicine, even now used by modern medicine experts. 

We sure love music, don't we? We sure like to share music as well. We want others to experience the same joy, the same memory, the same sorrow we have with a song.  When I listen to music it almost always brings up some feeling, some memory and it takes me some where. Enjoy your music. 

Trolling For A Fight?

I have to admit I do like the debate, the civilized debate. A good discussion of point, counter point and a mutual respect of opinions. Ah, who I am kidding, I sometimes like to be a no-damn good troll. Of course not on a professional level, or even a good troll, but more like a wood tick type. The kind of troll who tries to make jokes but the jokes don't land well.  Either the jokes and teasing I try are lame, easy to dismiss, ignored or misunderstood. So the reaction to my jokes or teases is not always what I expect. Some people will actually get upset at my point. I have to admit when it comes to trolling, I am no good at it. I imagine a troll is like a wolverine. A wolverine is the subject of many fables about its savagery, its tenaciousness, its brutality and its strength. This is how I see the troll, I am non of that. I will engage but I will think about the interaction over and over and over. It sometimes plays in my head and makes my head feel soft like marshmallow (marshmello). So why do I do it? Why do troll for a fight?

It is just who I am I guess. I am that fella who will ask you a whole bunch of questions in a row. I will also say something which upsets you. Like I met this guy one time who was a casual acquaintance of someone I kind of knew. As we were sitting in a coffee shop, I looked at him, he was pretty good looking Indian guy with long hair (not Indian from India, but Canada and US's favourite image Indian), and I says, "are you a good person?" He looked at me and before he answered I said, "I want to make sure you are a good guy before I put effort into getting to know you." Anyways, that's me. 

A few years ago, maybe three or four, I commented on this young Native guy's social media page and I called him a gangster. I was teasing. I think I commented on a picture of his with another Native guy. I guess it may not have sit well with him. There are quite a few Native gangs where we live, so I imagine being labeled a gangster is not a good thing. I again commented on a social media page of his friend, there was picture of three young Natives in a car. I throw in some comment about watching out for the cops because a gangster in there. Little did I know I had pushed a dull screwdriver into a festering puss boil and popped it. The comments from the Native guy and his friend came quick and came angry. I countered but not with an all apology but with some soft lobs of explanation. The guy didn't seem to be having any of it. He said I most have a sad life and rather don't like my life. The friend of the guy, a young Native activist, was equally upset. She was rather strong in her support of the Native fellow. We bantered back and forth with me trying to weasel out of the jam without admitting I did anything really wrong. In the end I caved and apologized for my wrong doing. She took the moment to tell me to learn from what I did and go forward in life. This really bugged the shit out of me, a young Woman who had no clue as to my experience, my knowledge and my intent with the posts. So I pouted about this for a long while. That is why I am not a good troll. A Wolverine would just attack, go for the kill and piss on the remains so no other creature of the forest could feast on the spoils. This savagery is only that of the mighty wolverine, the master troll. Something I am not. 

It has been a few years and I still think of this trolling for a fight. I know it was with no ill intent but it caused a bit of a fracas. If I was a wolverine I would responded not with lame lobs of a soft marshmallow but with a ferocious savagery filled with venom and poison. I would have mauled them and left only a bloody carcass. Left only is the insalubrious mutilated warm bodies of a couple of pompous young Indians.  But I didn't maul them. Instead I am forced to use the passive aggressive almost cowardly story like this blog story. You see I am a teaser and a bad one. I was speaking at my Dad's funeral and thanked the staff for his care while in the Old Folk's Home. I went on to say "everyone worked so hard at the Home, even the fat ones." There is a notion (not held by me, which is why I mentioned them) that over weight people have a difficult time working steady. 

What I am trying to say is, I didn't attack the fellow on purpose. Throughout my life, gangster has been used by me on many people, even the one year old daughter of my neighbours. I called my deceased friend gangster many times over the years. He was a well respected Traditional Teacher and friend to many. To my kids, when ever we saw other kids riding bikes, I would say "gangsters." It was running gag that I still do with my adult children and now my grandchildren. Anyone who is wearing dark sunglasses I will say "gangster."  I say more outrageous things than gangster and even at inappropriate times. When my Mom was laying in the hospital bed having her stomach drained from fluid as her cancer was quickly killing her, the community Priest can to visit. I called him into my Mom's room and told him "my Mom wants you to do that holy roller stuff" as I made a cross gesture in the air. I even told him "I'm good me, Me and God are like that" as I crossed my fingers. The Priest said "I'll ask him." So he just rode with jokes. So it is my nature to just say things, and much of the time (not all) it is without malice. Perhaps sometimes it is a little mean spirited to slam and I should expect the reaction to be not pleasant. I guess the "super Indian, the more Indian than you," has always been my aunties heal (or some Greek story like that). My point is I say outrageous things that are many times more harsh than calling some entitled Indian a gangster.  

I think I am still upset over these two (bastards, the one, their Granny wanted out of Rez by marrying White, and the other one wouldn't know a jeet from a kit-ten). The over the top reaction and the pious, better Indian than you attitude still rubs me raw. Which actually means they own me. They most likely don't even remember the exchange. It is like the mosquito who bit you on the nose three years ago, gone. I have to get over it. It is something I have a hard time doing, letting something go. I was ripped off a number of times and it still festers, like a diabetic sore which won't heal, has turned to gangrene and is now at the bone. This is not good. The rot will only get deeper. I suppose the best way to avoid the festering, the seething, of deep feelings which turn into a cancer must be avoided in the first place. Funny because I have exchanges with racists, rednecks on the internet and it never bothers me at the time or later, weird. I have to stop being me, stop teasing if I can not handle over the top cry baby super Indians questioning my life (am I still pouting?).  There you have it, no more trolling for a fight.  But if an opening happens to arise for a pun, a poke, or a story, a tease well I am not sure what will happen.  I might have to get into another "debate" which the end result will be me pouting for years, again. 

Then again I could go with the standard come back, "F you and the arse you road on." 

Brain Battle

 On my walk this morning I saw a dime on the street. I don't usually walk in the morning but I had to because dropped off my daughter's car for windshield repair. I had to be back home to pick up my Noozhis for lunch from school. The school wants kids to go home for lunch rather than stay. I guess it's the spread of disease scare, makes sense. So I left the repair shop which is 5.5 kilometers away from our house. I put on my Beasts white headphones and turned on my Ipod Touch. These were gifts to me by my baby girl. The baby I gave my wife a very hard time over when she got pregnant. The baby who came into the world and just owned me from her very first breath. So the walk was on and the morning just gorgeous, the Sun bright and me with no sunglasses, having to squint for most of the five point five K walk.  

My Ipod has about 1500 songs and counting. 

 In the mix of course is a lot of old timing music, like the Stones, Pink Floyd, Cranberries, Lovett, Prine, Commodores, and of course Hank. I do have a host of pop songs as well. When I was in the middle of the street, Dido was playing, don't ask me how it got in there, but there it was - "my tea's gone cold, I wondering why I got out of be at all..." There I was strolling and grooving with my head trying to comprehend the story of Dido's Thank you, when there it was. A crack and a little bit of whole in the asphalt. The dime seemed to just fit perfectly in the broken road. I was in mid-step when it came to me, I will pick up the dime. There it was waiting just for me. The problem was I was in the middle of the street, with cars lined up to go. I didn't know if time was on my side. The seconds in this situation are crucial. Do I stop, bend down and pick up the dime and perhaps be caught in the green light of traffic? Would I be that person, the one who feels like they own the road and have no regard for the next person. Perhaps the person is in a critical situation where they are on the way to the hospital, their Grandma on ventilation machine with only a few breathes left in this world. Her family trying to rush, to rush safely to her bedside. Would they make it in time? Or would they be judged the rotten neglectful family who let their dear Grandma die with no one to hold her hand as she tries to say her last words, "where are you?" I didn't stop, but my brain kept saying to me, "what is wrong with you, why didn't you pick up the dime? Are you so rich you can't use a dime? You too proud to pick up the dime?" 

I still had about a kilometer left to get to my house. All the time I was walking the Ipod was playing the brain was hammering me with a barrage of doubt and scorn. "You too rich to pick up a dime. The Universe will show you. You will be broke and just wishing for that dime." 

I got to house and immediately sat down on the gold velvet couch.  My feet resting on the grey round hand woven wool ivory pouf ottoman from Wayfair. My eyes need to rest from all the squinting from the Sun beating in my face. My soul felt like it was throat punched. Felt like I was one of those damn nazi's who get punched for being jerks. The image of the dime was fresh in my mind. How could I not stop and pick it up? Will it be picked up in the future? Would anyone notice it? Will I "rue the day" I was too proud to stop, bend down and pick up the dime?  

My brain seems to have won this battle but I will be back. 

Doomed, We are So Doomed

 The world is fucked. No if's but's or maybe's about it. The world is going to be like a dog, it will shake and shake to get rid of its fleas. Despite what the climate is showing; flooding, devastating heat waves, enormous fires, droughts, glacier melting, murder bees, the attitudes of people, governments and especially rich folk just don't give a fuck. The average person is putting their plastic pop bottles into their collective Blue Boxes, with no real affect on the whole world turning into a garbage pit. Man, we are doomed. 

Not only is the world trash because of the Rich folk, corrupt governments and the "resource" sector, but the hate filled Savage is taking over the world. People are just garbage. Not all of course, There are streams full of good people. The problem with Good People is that they are good. They don't think or act like the Savage. So what happens, of course the Savage is going to be on top. The Good Person is going to bend over and take it all the while saying, "Let's talk about this." The nature of the Good Person is to be reasonable. The reasonable part of the world is compassionate, cooperative, mindful, mostly polite, and naive. The Savage part of the world is loud, uncompromising, begrudging, selfish, angry, greedy and blind. They are dooming us. 

There are some people who are not willing to bend over anymore. They are trying to stand up to the bully, the selfish and the hate filled population. They are fighting a losing battle, we are so doomed. The Rich, the Ugly have it all. And the Ugly ones who still have nothing, they still hate. These folks are donkey whipped stupid. They really think the Rich will pee on them when they are on fire. The Savage, the ugly have one thing in common, they begrudge others. Simple as that. There is no share the wealth, no do on to others as you would wish to be treated, no loss of appetite. It is gorge at the trough until they have to purge their guts just to eat some more. They are so consumed with only me, they would rather kill this world just to get more and more. What does a person who has everything want? They want more. It is even more ridiculous a whole bunch of people want them to have more. They want the Rich to have more but not their neighbour. This is so fucked up way to be. Sure the Good Folk will say "well that's good for them they earned it", when speaking of the Rich. The Good Folk will say "Oh we don't agree so we can go and vote for change." How rich is that (pun not intended but apropos)? The voting game is so rigged, and we are doomed. Even when the Good People's choice gets in, their choice just bends over and takes it as well. I laugh and cringe at the same time when the first Black President of the United States, bent over to have a beer with a racist cop. Now that is some bend over and take it to the ball bending over shit (too much?). With Good People willing to compromise, to be reasonable, to try talk about it, we are doomed. 

The time for compromise has long past. The time for being reasonable has long past. The time for slapping the other cheek is here. The Rich, the corrupt governments, the resource ghouls, the hate filled donkey whipped haters have to be challenged. Have to be challenged hard. The Ugly are so begrudging to others, they would sink their own boat if a child from Syria was on the boat with them. Heck there are loads of disgusting acts being committed by the Ugly right now: Kids in cages, ICE police, illegal hysterectomies, profit jails, Cops killing civilians, Rise of White Supremacists, an election of a rapist to Office of President, Billionaires, anti-immigration, denial of proper health services, murder of journalists, reality shows, and those Stupid fucking industry pop singing groups and singers. We are dooming ourselves with the Rich, the Governments and the powerful leading the way. 

So reasonable people, what next. For me, think I will make a cup of Earl Grey tea, hot and black while listening to Disturb sing the Sounds of Silence. I am not going to be doomed without at least having a moment for myself. 

"Fools, " said I, "You do not know
Silence, like a cancer, grows
Hear my words that I might teach you
Take my arms that I might reach you"
But my words, like silent raindrops fell
And echoed in the wells, of silence