Robin Dead Breast

He rocks in the tree tops all day long

Hoppin' and a-boppin' and a-singing his song
All the little birds on Jaybird Street
Love to hear the robin go tweet tweet tweet

Rockin' robin (Tweet x 3)
Rockin' robin (Tweet, tweedle-lee-dee)
Go rockin' robin
'Cause we're really gonna rock tonight
(Tweet, tweedle-lee-dee)
"Rockin Robin" written by  Jimmie Thomas (Leon Rene), sung by Bobby Day (1958) and Michael Jackson (1972)

Spooky-ass spring so far here in the Pacific Northwest. Here's the reason why.

We're being terrorized by demonic bug-eyed robins. They pound into our front windows and door,  scratching them from their muddy talons or flapping away with dirty wings. Yesterday it was the patio door and the side of the Volkswagen. Often, they just perch on the window sills and stare in with their sick dead eyes.These seem to be targeted attacks. Nobody else's cars or homes have been touched by these rob-zombies, and we live in a town home next to several others. There's probably a "logical" explanation for this, but not what I suspect:

It's witchcraft. Not the touchy-feely, incense burning, I-used-to-be-a-hippie-but-now-I'm-not Wiccan type of wiches either. Okay, maybe not the pointy hat, but the cauldron for sure or a crock pot version of same.

We have some neighbors who live at the end of our street on the corner of the main thoroughfare. I would say they were Russian or from some east European country like Pottsylvania or something. They have a couple of toddlers that they like to traipse over to our minuscule courtyard and romp about like it's goddamn central Park. There's a larger, more open area just a half a block down, but they like ours for some reason, mainly so that the kids can draw on the sidewalks with their chalk. The grandmother who watches the lil' tykes encourages them to do so and it does leave a mess.

This annoys my wife who has gone out after they are gone and cleans the chalk drawings off the walls and sidewalk. She thinks they should use their own area for their artwork. A couple of weeks back, they were at it again when Laurie went out to tell them to please stop. The grandmother, who may or may not speak any or little English, just looked up and said, "Thank you."

They haven't been back since.

BUT....

The next day, the crazy ass robins appeared and haven't let up. These creatures sit on the bench outside our front window or perch on their windowsill and peer in with their sick wet eyes, taunting us the entire time.

"Hey! Whatcu doin'? Drinkin' coffee? Watchin' TV? What's on? What's on Animal Planet? Is that David Attenborough I hear? Turn 'im up!"                 

Hitchcock missed a good bet when he didn't include these maniacal sky bastards in THE BIRDS.

But it's not voodoo. That's just silly. Somebody already has a voodoo doll of me. I know the difference I've had mysterious aches and pains for years that can only be attributed to a doll with my likeness, prodded, stabbed and violated in various fashions. Whoever has it I'm sure is going to give it to the dog for a chew toy.

But I'm Hungarian. I know that old dame put a gypsy curse on us or at least on the robins, telling them in her best Maria Ouspenskaya:

"They hate the children. Now you hate them. Go! Attack! Fly, my robin warriors, fly!"

Then she checks the palms of the children for the sign of the pentagram.

Okay. It's nesting season, sure. We had barn swallows built a nest in the corner of our porch a few years back. I asked the Audubon Society how I should get rid of them and that told me to leave 'em be. They were protected. We weren't when we tried to get out the front door. Once they flew the coop, I evicted them once and for all. These robin red breasts (not even fucking red but umber, for God's sake) have the spring crazies alright, but I think the witchy woman's tapped into their vulnerability and bent them to her will.

I'm beginning to sound like the concierge in the 1968 Mel Brooks classic THE PRODUCERS. These demented fowl are definitely "Dirty, disgusting, filthy, lice-ridden boids."

Rockin' robin, my ass. Rotten robin's more like it.

But what the hell do I know? Maybe it is voodoo.

Ouch!

See?

Never Can Say Goodbye

I don't have much to contribute to the tribute of Michael Jackson, even though I recognize the significance he had on the world. Anything I would add be would redundant since the blog waves and the rest of the Internet are buzzing about trying to compete for viewing time. I will, however, relate this one story, reprinted from an earlier post after Michael beat his last child molestation rap:

Back in the late 1980s and about three blocks from where I grew up, some sick bastard (who shall forever remain nameless as far as I'm concerned) armed with an AK-47 walked onto the campus of Grover Cleveland Elementary School and massacred a bunch of school children. Their bodies fell right in front of where I used to attend Mr. Padovan's sixth grade class. The killer then turned the weapon on himself, blowing his own worthless life away as well. Naturally,this was the lead story of the national news that night. The whole world had its eyes on Cleveland School, its victims and its survivors. The media circus had hit Stockton with a vengeance as everyone mourned the death of these children and tried to figure out how this could have happened. Michael Jackson learned of what occurred in Stockton and, at that time, he was the self-proclaimed champion of children everywhere. So he came to Cleveland School one afternoon not long after the massacre to offer his support and comfort a bunch of traumatized kids. That didn't stop all the major news networks from returning once they knew the King of Pop was in town. However, Michael didn't allow any reporters to follow him inside the auditorium (what we used to call the "multi-purpose room") where the children gathered to meet Michael, so only they and the faculty knew what was said. 

I couldn't help but wonder if those stressed out kids freaked out all over again once they heard the helicopters circling overhead just as they had before and the crowds began to scream for Michael upon his arrival.Was Michael up to no good even back then? Certainly not at that moment. This gesture wasn't just a publicity stunt either. I believed he actually wanted to do some good. I wonder what those kids, now all grown up, are saying today. After all, they lost their own innocence in an entirely different way-at the hands of a gun-toting maniac.

But that day, Michael managed to do something very good and totally unselfish, yes, for the children.

Thriller Part Two

He beat it!
He beat it!
The mo-lest-ation rap...he beat it!
He won't go to prison
He won't pay no fine
Or even get in trouble for giving kids wine
He beat it!

Here it is, a day after the Michael Jackson verdict...not guilty on EVERY count...and the world is still in one piece. Of course we're all just a little worse off in the process, aren't we? Did justice prevail? Not in my opinion, but like everybody else's, it's moot. Life really tweaks up the irony sometimes. Here Michael takes away a child's innocence and he's found not guilty. Not innocent mind you, but not guilty. Oh well. Maybe he should retire from public life and perhaps..enter the priesthood.

I don't know if everyone hung onto the reading of this verdict as much as the O.J. trial-ahhh, remember those good old days? I myself listened to it on the radio and as always, found the experience that much more intense. There's something about to be said still about the Theater of the Mind. Waiting for the Gloved One to finally show his scrawny ass up in court (Judge Melville should have held him in contempt of court at least once. C'mon, your honor, throw us a frickin' bone!), I sat impatiently until the county clerk read the verdict. I merely shrugged my shoulders and went about my day, disappointed but reflective. I couldn't help but speculate:

What Would Bubbles Do?

Recently when the Al-Queida cell was uncovered in Lodi, California, right next door to my hometown of Stockton, I sent out an e-mail to my friends complaining that "The Al-Queida's in Lodi...Scott Peterson's in Modesto...How come nothing ever happens in Stockton?" Most of the replies I received reminded me that Michael Jackson visited Stockton, albeit in the eighties...you know last century.

It's true. Back in the late 1980s and about three blocks from where I grew up, some sick fuck armed with an AK-47 walked onto the campus of Grover Cleveland Elementary School and massacred a bunch of school children. Their bodies fell right in front of where I used to attend Mr. Padovan's sixth grade class. The killer then turned the weapon on himself, blowing his own worthless life away as well. Naturally,this was the lead story of the national news that night. The whole world had its eyes on Cleveland School, its victims and its survivors. The media circus had hit Stockton with a vengeance as everyone mourned the death of these children and tried to figure out how this could have happened. Michael Jackson learned of what occured in Stockton and at that time, he was the self-proclaimed champion of children everywhere. So he came to Cleveland School one afternoon not long after the massacre to offer his support and comfort a bunch of traumatized kids. He did not allow cameras to follow him inside the auditorium (or what we used to call the "multi-purpose room") where the children gathered to meet Michael, so only they and the the faculty knew what was said. That didn't stop the media circus from returning once they knew the King of Pop was in town. I couldn't help but wonder if those stressed out kids freaked out all over again once they heard the helicopters circling overhead just as they had before and the crowds began to scream for Michael upon his arrival.

Was Michael up to no good even back then? Who knows? Certainly not at that moment. This gesture wasn't just a publicity stunt either. I believed he actually wanted to do some good. I wonder what those kids, now all grown up, are saying today. After all, they lost their own innocence in an entirely different way-at the hands of a gun-toting maniac.

I thought about that a lot yesterday. What a pure definition of the word "enigma" this guy is. Here's a man...a very weird man, mind you....who is capable of doing good things. Now matter what the verdict stated, I think we'll probably always believe he was capable of doing very bad things as well...except nobody told him it was wrong until now. To all the people around Michael, protecting him, comforting him, giving him free rein to do what he pleases... you lowly barnacles that clung to the hull of the luxury liner you call my brother, my son, my friend..you are just as guilty in my eyes as well. You never told him "No". Karma's gonna kick your ass too, just as it will to Michael. And for everyone who clamored for a guilty verdict, be honest with yourselves. All you really wanted was to see Michael behind bars without makeup

But again. It's all moot. Michael has moonwalked away a free man. So ends another chapter in the saga of Wacko Jacko.

It ain't over yet, folks. Not by a long shot.

He is, after all, the Thriller.

Half Dozen of the Other

As times passes at the accelerated rate it seems to be (and I begin to slow down in the process), I find myself increasingly cynical with every breath I take. If this keeps up, I am probably headed for curmudgeon-hood way before I hit retirement age. Maybe I should just sit here in my underwear and wait for the next skateboarder to cruise by so I can take potshots at him with my pellet gun. To paraphrase Fred Nietzche "What doesn't piss me off only makes me stronger..."

That said, I am so glad the ongoing Michael Jackson freak show is not being televised. I really don't care how curious anyone is about the whole goon parade. It's not necessary. Broadcasting the O.J. trial was a travesty, certainly a turning point to the deterioration of society.We didn't "lose our innocence" back then. We gave it up as freely as a sloppy blow job from a snaggle-toothed crack whore. Once that collection of nabobs, miscreants and bottom feeders got their evil mugs on camera for all the world to see, a criminal trial for murder instantly became Big Time Show Biz. There was no way for justice to prevail in any way, shape or form. Who needs that when It's Showtime, Folks! Everything was played to that camera. How else could Christopher Darden's Perry Mason like glove trick or the real break-out star known as Johnny Cochran who really could have been played in the mini-series by the late Sammy Davis Jr. ? And outside the soundstage...uh, courtroom, we got to hold our sides in laughter at the sight of the Dancing Itos. Yeah, tragedies like this became fodder for people like Jay Leno and every radio talk show host in the free world. Leave us not forget that it was this particular Trial of the Century that legitimized that used piece of toilet tissue known as The National Enquirer and tabloid journalism has ruled the day since that time. Who cares what's really going on in the world when there's something more sensational and salacious we can focus our sights upon? And can we now finally admit that the O.J. trial set race relations back at least ten years? Maybe that was the point all along. If the Rodney King debacle wasn't enough of a sucker punch to the Black community, how about if we present a handsome but troubled football hero/"actor" as an anti-hero, kind of a a peace offering, don't you know? Perhaps if O.J. is set free, then then this will cancel out the spectacle of the most recent of L.A. riots and the racism inherent in the L.A. police force. Even stevens. Any attempt to restore balance in the world is like trying to fix a bad haircut yourself. Here we are, ten years later and now we really have a courtroom saga we can honestly call the Trial of the Century. (Take THAT, Robert Blake!) The Media have flocked to the proceedings like flies on a fresh turd and are attempting to give us blow by blow reports of every blow by blow, grope by grope detail no matter how sordid and disgusting it all is. The world is holding its breath and salivating at each sickening morsel is rationed out. However, cameras are mercifully not allowed in the courtroom and I for one am grateful. We're better off, especially after this last election year. Isn't it finally time to admit that enough really is enough?

Speaking of things that need to go away and stay away, how about this obsession the media has for all these little girls? I'm talking about the Lindsay Lohans, Hilary Duffs,etc. that are so prominent right now. I find all the coverage of Ms. Lohan to be extremely creepy. Think of all the Humbert Humberts this is creating for the world. For Christ's sake...she's eighteen years old! Hey Lindsay, let me introduce you to Traci Lords. Maybe you could star in her bio-pic. It could be your Ray.

And that's that's all I have to say about that.