Swan Song

Plebeians:
The reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated - M. Twain
     

   I'm back, but only to tell you that I'm not. The 138 days that have passed since my last writing are but a presage of darker days to come. This post will, for the foreseeable future, be my last. Oh, I could salve your ache with trite idioms like: "All good things must come to an end", or "Into each life a little rain must fall". But the truth is, I just ran out of steam I've become bored with the addiction that slavishly serving the incessant clamoring of my worldwide audience (truth alert - the latest view was from Thailand) has exhausted even my legendary reserves.
Straddling the chasm of offensive and decorous prattle has become much too perilous tiresome, requiring an expenditure of energy and creative musings that would certainly have stymied lesser men by now. Coevally however, I leave you with a sense of finished business. Loyal readers, those of you who've struggled through what had the be the saddest, most desperate attempts for attention the planet has ever seen been blessed to follow me from day one, have - by now - certainly seen your lives improved by learning at the knee of the master. Those insignificants who've elected not to benefit from my immeasurable ken and for whom the world still seems a confusing place, won't miss me anyway.
    So today mes demons, my voice joins those in history whose genius has been muted by death, exile, or shifting winds of happenstance. Also lost will be my insightful, cutting edge recommendations of music/musicians I've deemed worthy of my ear. Sorry kids, you're on your own now, at the mercy of today's musical machinery - the very same one(s) that brought you Justin Bieber and Pit Bull (is it just me, or is the thought of them sharing a jail cell just too delicious?). Such are the vicissitudes of life.

     That's it, no protracted farewells; until/unless I reappear, Phoenix-like, to once again fill that Speed-shaped hole in your brains, I bid you adieu. Veni, vidi , vici.......................    
    
    
    

September Song

Subscribers:

    

Exactly 2 months have passed since my last update. Despite that, the world still turns, the sun still shines, and Justin Bieber still annoys me. Now however, the twin shackles of lethargy and indifference have finally rusted through constant outpouring of requests from around the world has stirred me to literary action. Since my last report, so much has happened that it's difficult, even for me, to credibly recount the excitement that is my life. This notwithstanding, I shan't deprive you the opportunity to share my musings regarding the past 60 days.
    

I suppose the item noticed by most people was the ALS Ice Bucket Challenge that swept the nation/globe, leaving even the most jaded national press agog with the phenomenon. For about 3 weeks, you couldn't avoid the videos of folks doing their best to combat a truly devastating disease, but in a way that permitted them their Warhol-ish 15 seconds of fame. Then, at what seemed the feverish height of this movement, it was derailed by reports that an inordinate amount of the donated funds were being used for administrative expenses. I'm not sure about that; I believe the movement simply ran out of steam. After all, when every person on the planet has either done the challenge or refused the challenge, where do you go from there?

No matter; on the heels of this, came the Positive/Thankfulness challenge. This mini-wave has not demonstrated the shelf life of its predecessor, and is apparently dying the slow death of indifference. Of course, nature abhors a vacuum, and as such, I offer a solution to the attention starved, media worshipping, carnival showman that lies deep within us all. I propose the creation of a Sociopathic Behavior Modification Challenge - simply, a person posts a video that challenges 3 other persons to do something very specific, thereby making the world a better place. For example, challenge your friends/associates to lose weight, stop smoking, lying, cheating on their spouse or bullying. The challenge could also be to make a positive change; i.e.: brushing teeth or bathing more often,  learning to share, become more responsible or dressing in more decade appropriate (or age/body type appropriate) clothing. Naturally, calling folks out like this would be wildly entertaining and would more than likely become the next reality series on network television.

    

The balance of the summer's happenings around the globe were primarily depressing - too much so to recount in this lighthearted tome. However, I cannot let 2 news items go without mention; the retirement of Barbara Walters and Dianne Sawyer were at once an astonishing breath of fresh air at ABC, and occasions that made my unpublished list of things for which I am thankful. Though these well seasoned heifers will still have "special reporting" assignments, putting them out to pasture was a merciful act, as Babs had become the Willie Mays of the '73 Mets, and Lady D wasn't far behind. I've got nothing against blondes; I love my little cowgirl, but they had to go.
    

The final touches of my summer were more recent. In late August, I reprised my Road Warrior role with the school bus company. Summer's bucolic song was shattered by the sounds of pre-pubescents' raucous, top-of-their-voice communiques - made only worse by my employer's insensitive refusal to allow Gin & Tonic fixins' on the bus. It's gonna be a long year.
    

Last weekend's gathering of the tribes, more commonly known by you dear readers as PattyPalooza, rounded out the season. Though bereft of the ribald shenanigans that were common in year's past, the event was nonetheless a welcome opportunity to nuzzle with the pack, check out the woods, reacquaint myself with the girls in the moon, and torch a Lazy Boy chair. Admittedly, this was what got my juices flowing most rapidly, because as most of you know, I'm about 1 gene shy of a pyro.
     At this point, you're as up to date as you're gonna get. I'll do my best to post more regularly, because I know it's sinful to deprive you of that to which you've become addicted.  Quando te absim me fallunt.

Adventures On The High Seas

Plebians:
     It's been a long time since last we've connected. The rolling highs and lows of your dear author's life will, from time to time, conspire to rob me of my creative fluids. Such has been the recent case - as the chauffeuring of my little wonders has ceased with the end of the school year, oddly coinciding with a precipitous drop in my disposable income. However, the silver lining to that gray cloud has been the increase in my disposable time, thereby permitting me to devote more attention to a variety of other pecuniary pursuits. Tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor; I'm basically an unemployable fop, who'll do damn near anything for a buck the workforce's version of a Swiss Army Knife.

     So, the impending holiday weekend allows me to sit back, relax, and reflect on the successful voyage that was the Killa Flotilla '14. Class and grace prevent me from running on about how my superior organizational and navigational skills exerted coeval influence on the rousing success that was our latest journey, but know this America - for the 5th year in a row, we returned with every sailor we set out with, losing nary a one; this is a record of  excellence unsurpassed in the annals of nautical exploits. As such, I remain the standard by which all sea Captains are measured.
    

This year's trip saw me and 11 other seafarers, 12 of us in all, set sail to face whatever perils the mighty Susquehanna would provide - and she did not disappoint. Despite my warnings to the contrary, the crew wasted no time dipping into their ration of grog; this lead, I'm certain, to the first near calamity of the voyage.

    

It was near the start of the second watch that one of the fairly experienced seamen, in a foolhardy display of disregard for the power of Lady SusQ, found himself at crossed purposes with the current and some really large rocks. Fortunately, the rest of the crew was boating nearby and, after the hysterical laughter subsided, due to hours of meticulous preparation and training, rescued the founderer, pulling both he and his boat from the lukewarm jaws of death.     

I must say, this shook your Captain; in the aftermath of this near-disaster, I sailed on alone - focusing on what I'd really come to do. Captain Ahab had his White Whale, I have my mermaid. I first sighted the beauty several years ago, during a previous voyage. She appeared as an apparition, dancing on the waves, just out of my reach, then disappeared. Her sweet siren song remains in my ears to this day, beckoning my return. In the intervening years and many sea miles later, I remain committed to this quest, knowing that surely, someday, our paths will cross on the high seas, and I'll make her mine.
     Returning to both reality and my crew, I charted a direct course for our island campsite. Nearing the afternoon's end, we arrived at our pirate cove, site 81A, only to discover that interlopers had arrived before us. It seems that a father and son, we'll call them Jason & Jason (because Daryll & Daryll is already taken), decided to occupy the largest campsite - just the 2 of them! With my cutlass drawn, I approached the blaggards, prepared to either evict or eviscerate them (their choice); my crew however, sensing my mood, counseled me to send an emissary to negotiate a settlement. He did so and, much to my chagrin, arranged a sharing agreement. My senses were correct and should have prevailed, but I relented and ordered the crew ashore.
    

Making camp and a fire did little to abate my seething, as this troglodyte and his wolf pup continued to annoy not only me, but my crew as well. Sensing my growing murderous intent, the crew determined that a bit of jocularity was in order. This took the form of gathering firewood from an adjacent island, quickly crafting a raft, then floating it back to our encampment. Of course, sun, exercise and ample portions of each tar's beverage of choice, soon reduced this to a scene more reminiscent of either a group baptism or a dance of the water sprites, than an exercise of survival skills, as much dunking, splashing and creative use of fireworks ensued.    

After drying out (literally, not figuratively), the crew settled in to the evening's activities: eat, drink, smoke, repeat. By this time, the Jasons had been advised that their presence was neither required nor appreciated, so they escaped to the seclusion of their sleeping chambers; this was no doubt, a life-saving move on their part. The remainder of the evening saw an elevation in both my mood, as well as the crew's, as evidenced by the highly entertaining game of catch the crayfish (successful) and the frogs (unsuccessful), as well as the Johnny Walker wisdom that results from just the right dose of fire water. After a midnight snack of crayfish & drawn butter, we retired for some well deserved sleep. 
    

The dawn broke and found many of the formerly weary water babies now once again ship shaped, ready to face the day. Their enthusiasm was fueled in no small part by an ample portion of Captain Speed's River Chow & Bloody Mary for each sailor. Fully sated, the crew quickly disassembled the campsite, leaving the island exactly as we found it - clear of trash, save the Jasons. We set off in a southerly direction, soon breaking off into smaller raiding parties, seeking adventure around each bend in the river. Soon, we came upon the legendary rope swing of death: an ancient strand, hung 50 feet above the water, on an enormous oak tree. Only myself and one other crew member had the nerve to face this challenge.
     With my adrenalin now fully rushed, I charted a course for the nearest port of call, where we made landfall to a cheering throng of well wishers and curious tourists alike. Naturally, many in the crowd urged me to regale them with tales of our exploits and adventures on lands far away. Throwing the eager assemblage a bone, I provided them a significantly abridged version of the tale I've just spun for you. That's the kind of guy I am. However, there was no time to rest, as I had to immediately begin stocking provisions for yet another voyage, only 2 days hence. I've just returned from that little soiree, feeding my addiction for, what Randy calls, looking for the V.
     There you have it kids; the beans have been spiked and the cat is out of the bag <hackneyed phrase alert>. I'll try my best to provide this special brand of garble on a more regular basis. We'll see. Gesta sunt, dicentium: non meam......
    
    

This Is How I Roll

Students:
     But first, the requisite disclaimer: The opinions expressed herein, though reasoned and insightful, are not necessarily those of any of my employers, family members, friends or acquaintances.
     It's said that true career fulfillment is found by discovering what you love to do, then making that your vocation. Ardent followers of this space already know that I now derive a fraction of my income from driving a school bus for a local firm. Those in my innermost circle know that I'll do damn near anything for a buck driving America's future leaders helps pay the bills provides fulfillment that was absent during my last disastrous career choice tenure in the insurance industry. Thus, the song that is in my heart must be shared with you, dear readers; so, sit back and enjoy my tales from the open road - some of which are loosely based on real events, or events that could have occurred, with the balance being pure fabrication.  


    

 I should begin by providing some frame of reference for you civilians: I have three daily "runs" - one in the morning and two in the afternoon. There are roughly 80 students altogether, representing all ages/grades, from kindergarten to high school seniors. These runs combine for a total of 80+
 miles each day. This is one of the longest schedules they have; clearly, my employer quickly recognized the need for utilizing the most skilled wheel man available, and assigned me this open road, high wire act. My trusty steed is a fairly late model Thomas Freightliner C2. Weighing in at nearly 30,000 lbs., she provides me with a disturbing sense of machismo all the power I need to safely ferry the wee ones to and fro.  
    My morning run is mostly elementary students, with a few middle school and senior high riders mixed in. It is this group that vexes me most; you see, the young'uns are the worst most interesting. Maybe it's the age, maybe it's the sugared cereal, maybe it's that their behavior most closely resembles that of feral cats. Gerbils have longer attention spans. They do, however, provide me with far and away the most entertainment of any age group. Some examples:
The Demon Insect Invasion - As the younger children sit nearest the front, and obviously, nearest to me, I'm acutely aware of their breakneck-paced mood swings. When the 2 young girls seated close by began to shriek and cry, I naturally assumed that one of the rowdies seated behind them had, once again, entangled his power ranger in the hair of one of the little darlings. Not so, I quickly learned, as one of them stammered through her tears, "There's a bug on the seat!" Naturally, I quickly and coolly addressed the situation, snatching up the offending Stink Bug and throwing it out the window! Tears were dried, order was restored, and we continued on our way.
The Chemical Weapon Incident - As you all know, passing gas is about the most hilarious thing a 3rd grader can do - although it seems that boys find this much more amusing than girls do. Nonetheless, the most attention-starved child I've ever seen, proudly demonstrated his sense of humor in this way during a run last week. As it was still chilly, no windows were open, thereby quarantining the offensive aroma inside the bus, where it hung like a 2 day old helium balloon - neither rising nor settling to the floor - staying at nose height for about 5 miles. Of course, reactions to this were mixed - roughly in thirds; 1/3 were elementary school age boys who thought this was the most hysterical thing they'd ever experienced, 1/3 were elementary school age girls who's reactions would be more appropriate if the world were ending, and the remaining 1/3 were older students, feigning indifference, but their smirks revealed the charade.
     My afternoon runs are substantially less raucous. While the din of my morning run most closely approximates that of the floor of the stock exchange, my first afternoon run is the complete opposite. These students are all high schoolers, and while this age group owns a well deserved reputation for rowdy, stupid and offensive behavior, they do not demonstrate this during the ride. In fact, they barely demonstrate anything at all. Within seconds of entering my magic yellow tube, they immediately log on, tune in, tweet, text, or whatever they're doing, barely uttering a word thereafter. I call it my "ship of the dead", as it reminds me of the good old days in the cremation business. Their silence is only broken when I force them to acknowledge my cheery "Good afternoon, welcome aboard" or "Have a great evening" with a barely managed and intelligible grunt in response. I do that because I can - it amuses me.
     My second afternoon run is much less interesting. I receive transfer students from other busses, and take them home. These trollops range from kindergarteners to high school seniors. There is very little remarkable about this group. As you might imagine by the age disparity, their interaction is nearly non-existent, and when they make any sound at all, it's generally ignored by the remaining students on the bus. I don't think they like each other; in fact, I'm not sure any of them are likeable at all.
     The authorities provide me with all I need to do my job. In addition to the aforementioned Freightliner, I'm given paperwork aplenty with all the students names, phone numbers and bus stop locations, to ensure that I'm well informed. My favorite piece of equipment however, is the CB radio that each bus is equipped with. Purportedly, our lifeline to the dispatchers at the terminal, it serves more as entertainment; think, old-time radio. Some drivers are like me, only transmitting when it is absolutely necessary; most are not. The CB can be very useful to provide traffic updates regarding accidents, road closures, etc. Oddly, it is used more as a social network, with drivers chatting each other up about all sorts of malarkey - using special CB lingo such as "10-4", "copy that", and constant requests for a "10-36" (this means, what time is it?). For Pete's sake, cant they just ask what time it is? What's the big damn secret, that they have to use code?
     Oh well, enough shop talk. Next post, I promise to return to really important things, like what I'm doing, when I'm doing it, with whom I'm doing things - you know, stuff you probably couldn't care less about all want to know. With the 2014 Killa Flotilla merely weeks away, you should expect nothing less.
Iucunda quam me tibi.


    
    

Through My Eyes

Waterboarders:

    

As unpleasant as it must be to wait nearly a month for a new post, just imagine how unbearable it is for me not to issue one! Well, time heals all wounds, and now the scab will be removed to reveal the fresh scar of heartache felt by my deprived demons. As always, Dr. Speed will now provide the soothing, healing balm of my own special brand of prattle. A single dose generally contains enough spew to sicken even the most ardent supporter suffices.

    

Because of my hiatus, you poor, brave acolytes have been forced to cope with the daily news on your own - reeling due to the complicated nature of daily happenings, that I'm typically responsible for providing clarity and ken for those less gifted. Well, tremble no longer my pretties; the following shall remedy this. In a manner similar to that which we see/hear/read on a daily basis, I'll herein provide noesis, keen insight and thoughtful commentary on the major news items of the day - and in so doing, render the complex understandable, for the unwashed masses.
NEWS ITEM: Malaysian Airlines Flight 370 Disappears
Mainstream Media Reporting - On March 8, 2014, Malaysian Airlines Flight 370 disappeared somewhere between the Gulf of Malaysia and the South China Sea. After nearly 8 weeks, no substantive trace of the plane or its passengers has been found. Theories range from pilot sabotage to hijacking, as experts continue to struggle to find answers.
Speed's View - This one is so obvious. Clearly, our government is involved in a high stakes cover up. Think Agatha Christie: the one character that is least suspected, always turns out to be the guilty party. We've heard NOTHING from our military regarding this tragedy - hmmmmm. Doesn't it seem strange that the organization with the most advanced technological resources imaginable has not been able to find a thing? Absurd you say; maybe not - what about Area 54, Bermuda Triangle, WMDs, 50 years of UFO sightings? I rest my case.
NEWS ITEM: NBA's Los Angeles Clippers Owner Donald Sterling Banned For Life After Racial Comments Made Public
Mainstream Media Reporting - NBA Commissioner Adam Silver announced a lifetime ban for the Clippers owner, after racially charged comments he made to his former girlfriend, were leaked to TMZ.com. <Editor's Note: Speed refuses to use the word "allegedly" like so many namby-pamby media types.>
Speed's View - I believe the real issue here is not whether this gold-plated POS is/isn't a racist; that ship sailed years ago. No, the real story here is the colossal difference in age between Mr. Sterling and Ms. Stiviano. Aside from their occasional appearance at the strip club's "Bring Your Grandfather To Work Day", what the hell could they have in common? True investigative reporting would pursue this salacious angle for a public whose appetite for titillation, whetted by countless hours of Dancing With The Stars programming, demands more.
NEWS ITEM: 2014 Is Worst Winter & Spring In Decades
Mainstream Media Reporting - Polar Vortex, Arctic Flow and El Nino combine to provide North America with record blizzards in the Northeast and record droughts in the west.
Speed's View - Though I've received no formal training as a meteorologist, it's plain to me that these "anomalies" are easily explained as normal, natural cycles of heating and cooling of our planet. For billions of years, we've undergone periods of Ice Ages, followed by a warming trend; each lasting millions of years. We just happen to be alive now - finding ourselves on the cusp of one of those changes. All my friends in the Flat Earth Society agree.
NEWS ITEM: David Letterman To Retire In 2015 - To Be Replaced By Stephen Colbert
Mainstream Media Reporting - After more than 3 decades hosting Late Night, David Letterman will step down some time next year. Tapped to replace him is Stephen Colbert, who will leave the Colbert Report after nearly 10 years on his successful Comedy Central Network show.
Speed's View - Losing Letterman will be more painful than most think. Now we're down to one gap-toothed television personality - Michael Strahan - and he's committing a painfully public version of hari kari by recently agreeing to co-host the increasingly unwatchable Good Morning America - <whisper alert> replacing Sam Champion? Regardless, it's been reported that Colbert will host the show as himself, rather than in the character he portrays each night on the C.R. I wonder if America will warm to Stephen Colbert being Stephen Colbert?
NEWS ITEM: Pope Francis Declares Sainthood for Former Popes John Paul II and John XXIII
Mainstream Media Reporting - Pope Francis bestows sainthood on  2 former Popes in a ceremony watched by millions across the world.
Speed's View - In an unprecedented dual canonization, Pope Frances gave the holiest of shout outs to several of his predecessors (In fact, this was a "4 Pope day" as retired pontiff Benedict XVI was also in attendance.) Pope Francis took this rare action despite grumblings from some quarters of the Church that Pope John Paul presided over the largest church pedophilia scandal in history, and Pope John's sainthood was fast tracked - he was only credited with 1 verified miracle instead of the 2 required for sainthood. Oh well, rules are made to be broken. 
     There you have it mes ami; you're now up to date on all the happenings around the globe. It's now time to look forward - to focus on my interests. In the coming months, you'll doubtlessly hear of preparations for my annual mermaid hunt - this year's Killa Flotilla - as well as so many other pursuits of great significance to me, if no one else you all. I trust you're now able to carry on a baseline intelligent conversation about world events. Once again, you're welcome. Si quis mihi magis mirum est, cum illos in nomine pontes me.

Magic Bus

     The opinions expressed herein, though reasoned and insightful, are not necessarily those of any of my employers, family members, friends or acquaintances; pity, that……

Students:
     By now, many of you know that my lollygaggin' days are over, as even a blind squirrel finds a nut one of our local firms came to their senses and snapped me up.  Coevally, my Texas-sized feelings of self-worth and value to the community have soared - to an even higher point where I've been inspired to pen a little ditty that both announces and celebrates my achievement.
    
     In the process, I've learned that creating and sharing original pieces is difficult; hence, my scramble down the path of least resistance. Plagiarism is truly the mother's milk of the indolent. That being said, I've co-opted one of my favorite songs, Sympathy For The Devil, and tweaked it a bit to suit my purpose. Join your voices and sing along if you know the melody. <With apologies to Mick & Keith>

SYMPATHY FOR THE DRIVER

     Please allow me to introduce myself;

I’m sitting in a modest place.

     I’ve been around for many a year;
accomplished little - just taking up space.
     My last career had just flamed out,
causing moments of doubt and pain;
     Gonna make damn sure that this time
there’s no way this’ll happen again.
     Pleased to meet you, hope you guess my name;
but what’s puzzling you is the nature of my game.

     I stuck around in Harrisburg,

even though it was time for a change.

     Collected unemployment, did some odd jobs;
havin’ free time sure was strange.
     I raked the yard, it really wasn’t hard -
did lots of mundane things, that didn't tax my brain.
     Pleased to meet you, hope you guess my name;
but what’s puzzling you is the nature of my game.

     I never sobbed when you all had jobs -

and I set my mind to quit the unemployment line.
     I shouted out, “I'm not sure what I will do”;
then after all, a new thing came through.
     Let me please introduce myself;
I’m a man of virtue and trust
     At long last I am employed;
and I’m driving a big school bus.
     Pleased to meet you, hope you guess my name;
but what’s puzzling you is the nature of my game.

     Just as every man has his tipping point,
and all of us need work,
     from this point on, call me “Bus Driver”,
and I'm no longer an unemployed jerk.
     So if you meet me have some courtesy,
‘cause I’ve finally turned the page.
     Use all your driving etiquette,
or you’ll witness my road rage.
     Pleased to meet you, hope you guess my name;
but what’s confusing you is the nature of my game.

     Woo who, woo who, woo who, woo who;
woo who, woo who, woo who, woo who.
     Woo who, woo who, woo who, woo who;
woo who, woo who, woo who, woo who.

     Tell me baby, what’s my name?
‘Cause you know I’m in the driving game.
     Tell me sweetie, can you guess my name?
Things are never gonna be the same.

     Woo who, woo who, woo who, woo who;
woo who, woo who, woo who, woo who.
     Woo who, woo who, woo who, woo who;
woo who, woo who, woo who, woo who………………………

 

Diabolus fecit, ut id facerem!