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This past Friday, I had the wonderful privilege of hosting a guitar concert in my town. Many hours of preparation consumed my time last week making and sending fliers, getting press coverage, making arrangements with the artists, lining up the venue with the owner, fetching the artists from the airport and driving them to and from the venue and everywhere in between. Though exhausting, it was a lot of fun for me.

Though I consider myself semi-retired, I have a part-time job and I don’t make much as the executive director of a non-profit whose sole mission is to create jobs and hopefully improve the overall quality of life in our town. My main focus is in landing larger scale industrial and commercial companies. As you know, the economy is in a slump right now so there isn’t much in the way of marketing companies since few are expanding or relocating. Mostly in these times companies are hanging on for dear life.

In the “between” time I think there is work that can be done in the way of improving the overall image of a town by encouraging eco-tourism, so hopefully this concert is one such step in that direction. If not, as you know I love the guitar, classical music and being around the thrill of performing artists having once been a performing artist myself many, many years ago.

I did this guitar concert pro-bono (without compensation) but as I say, I’m willing to do almost anything “As Long as I’m Having Fun.” When I turned 50, like I did four years ago, my personal objective changed a little and making money – though critical to survival, was not the primary objective. I left the corporate world after 20 years in middle management and headed for the forest, to retire and essentially drop out. But, as I have heard it said, a good man can’t be kept down. I started getting involved in things that gave me fun and kept me busy.

I think if you study “active” seniors in the autumn years of their life, you will begin to find their art and private passions emerge as an important element of their daily life. For instance, I have several blog friends as of late who turn simple gardening into an art, photographing flowers and nature, writing wonderful stories, attending concerts and generally improving the overall quality of their lives and hopefully the people around them. I also correspond with a cadre of others who are actually professional artists who paint, compose and perform. They seem to ignore the notion that in the near future, they will become a senior, I fear it will make little impression on them. Like us non-performing artists, they will continue right into the groove of their art as though nothing occurred – but for a few hot flashes and one or two newly acquired arthritis pains along the way.

Then, there is my other group of friends who say, I’m not artistically inclined and that stuff isn’t my cup of tea. I say – bullshit. You will find if you look you are always being “creative.” You are always in “wonder.”

I will post a picture of the flier for the concert and a couple of pictures of the concert as not to draw Google hits on the names of artists. I want to avoid the superfluous attention in that regard.

**Liebe deutsche Freunde: Bitte achten Sie darauf, dies auf dem “put to-do”-Liste, wenn Tierra Negra zurückgibt. Sag ihnen, ich Ihnen geschickt habe.**

BTW ladies, Raughi and Leo made the lady’s hearts go “pitter-patter.” I’m just say’in.

(Click on picture to enlarge)

Flyer

Tour of New Orleans French Quarter

Concert

Noah’s Dove

As promised, a song I wrote and recorded on the classical guitar using the computer. I once had a few of these songs laying around my last Blogspot site for entertainment value, but not on this site b/c WordPress charges an arm and leg for the upload space. I don’t have a spare arm and a leg for the upload space. These are tough economic times you know. I’m like Greece when it comes to that.

Some of you who knew me in the Blogspot days have heard these pieces already. If so, no complaining. Those of you new to The Duckstar will hear these songs for the first time. And also to you – no complaining.

I know what you are going to say.  Ron is posting this song to fish for compliments. No, actually, I need the money, so please after listening to this song, reach into your heart and into your wallet and send me a check.  Please make the check payable to the “Save the Audubon Ron’s Derrière Foundation.” I will also give you a number to call so that you can make your pledge of money to this important cause over the phone. If you only send money to TV evangelists, I can sermonize you while on the phone. I can help you “heal thy self” of all your worries and troubles. Just make sure you don’t fall backwards in faith expecting someone to catch you.  (I’m teasing).

This song is written in three parts. Each part is a reoccurring theme. You ask, why three reoccurring themes? Good question. Well, the answer is it’s easier to play the same music over three times adding a little gizmo (variation) to the music at each re-occurrence. It is also easier to makeup write the music that way, almost copying and pasting the same theme over and over until you go absolutely bat-shit from the annoying redundancy.  One can write reoccurring themes while driving the car for instance or shaving, hanging drapes, smoking crack-cocaine, that sort of thing.

This song is written to articulate musically, the three flights of Noah’s Dove. The sound quality is not the greatest owing to me rendering the song from a WAV file, to a movie file, to a WMV file. As I said, b/c I’m too cheap not able to afford the extra WordPress add-ons, I had to upload it to YouTube and then to here. You get the general idea.

I also post this song b/c my avatar has a picture of me holding a guitar and mostly you have seen me cook and post recipes. I wanted you to know I’m not a one-trick pony.

And now, hailing from the bayous and back woods of America, please join me in welcoming me to play you a song, ladies and gentlemen – Audubon Ron.  (You may applaud me now).

If you can not see this, click this URL instead:

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

I don’t know. Call me crazy.

What is it about watching this commercial that is so appealing to me?

I can’t quite put my finger on it. Somebody help me out here.

Seriously, is this about as stupid as American advertising can get or what?

Dynamic Inertia, yeah, okay, whatever.

Rosenruthie’s Farbenpracht (Blaze of Color) Projekt with flowers.

Der Baum in der Front hat rosa Blumen. Ich weiß nicht, was dieser Baum heißt. Dieses Bild wurde von meiner Veranda getroffen.

(Trans: The tree in the front has pink flowers. I don’t know what this tree is called. This picture was taken from my porch).

Die Zuordnung dieser Woche ist DUNKELPINK post. Post ein dunkles rosa Blume. Ich habe nicht ein dunkles rosa Blume. Das Zentrum sieht dunkelrosa.

(Trans: The assignment this week is to post DUNKELPINK. Post a dark pink flower. I don’t have a dark pink flower. The center looks dark pink).

Der Baum im Hintergrund mit weißen Blüten ist ein Trauerflormyrte. Es ist mit Bienen bedeckt. Die Bienen klingen wie ein Stadion vuvuzelas an einem Fußballturnier. Kommt Ihnen das bekannt?

(Trans: The tree in the back with white blooms is a crape myrtle. It is covered with bees. In all, the bees sound like a stadium of vuvuzelas at a soccer cup. Sound familiar?)

I don’t need a new reason to get into trouble with the Little Woman.

As it stands things have been fairly peaceful around here; and frankly, I like it that way.

I don’t need a big ole long agony-yank regards drinking too much wine in the evening, which I have been as of late, but dang, it’s wine, ya know?

I don’t need a big ole long butt-load from her about when are we going to buy new living room furniture?  I explained to the Little Woman, “Honey, when furniture is made with bulletproof Kevlar maybe then, we’ve got cats. Our sweet little cat with the big tits has turned our furniture into confetti.”

No kidding, my cat has big tits.  It’s the weirdest thing.  Really.  And when she wants something she rolls on her back.  It’s a sad day on Black Rock when your cat flashes tit to get what she wants.

I don’t need a big ole long rip-down when I put more than ten shrimp in the Fettuccini Alfredo.  Yeah, the Little Woman rips me because I dump in too much shrimp when I cook this dish.  I like shrimp.  I know, huh?

So when the Little Woman comes marching into the kitchen holding a bag of men’s socks, never been opened and a box of pecan clusters, also never been opened, it’s busted biscuits for the old Audubon Ron.

I’m guessing about two years ago in the nearly Valentine ’s Day timeframe, apparently I bought socks and while I was shopping I also bought a box of pecan clusters.  I’m guessing I tossed the bag of socks in the back of the closet not realizing the clusters were also in there and then forgot them both.

The Little Woman was cleaning the closet yesterday and found the bag with the clusters.  She was all, “Hey, why is a box of pecan clusters in the back of your closet?  Did you forget to give me something for Valentine’s Day?”

Sister Mary Christmas, how can a guy get in trouble for a Valentine’s that happened two years ago?  Isn’t there a statute of limitations on these things?  I’m sure I got her something, like maybe flowers, but I can’t remember.  Who has a way of remembering these things?  But, there was a “smoking gun” of pecan clusters in the back of the closet – so to speak.  Now I have to take her somewhere for dinner.  It’s the only way.

This is precisely why I could never be a Biblical King Solomon with 700 wives and 300 concubines.  I can’t keep up with the birthdays, anniversaries and Valentines for the one wife I have.

Why is it?  Why is It?  Why?

The noises my wife makes every morning – why?

While she’s making these noises I am asleep in a dream state I call Recreational REMs.

Recreational REMs is the place where my dreams come to finale in the glory of subduing monster dragons, the place where I magically fly – without wings, the place where all the people of the village applaud me for saving their homes and children and animals and fields of corn from peril and disaster.  The place for those 30 minutes where I am Hero.

While I’m trying to sleep and dream of slaying dragons, every morning my wife gets up and begins a boisterous clatter in the house I call The Appliance Aria from her infamous Opera, Turn-a-knob.

…Follow me…

Her aria begins in the dimly lit kitchen.  I hear dishes and forks and cooking hardware dropped and slammed into the dishwasher.  The dishwasher is then set to “maximum” and from that box I hear,

Woo-woo-woo  Woo-woo-woo

Then the washroom enters in and I hear the sound of lids opening and slamming shut and then knobs screeching to the desired setting, “maximum” and then I hear the clothes washer,

Clumpa Clumpa, Clump-a-clump

and then the clothes dryer joins in,

Wiggla, Wigg-la, Wigg-la-wigg.

I’m completely awake by now and then the stage lights are illuminated in full candela in the bathroom.

Then I hear the electric toothbrush,

Zzzzzzzzzzzzz

After about 10 minutes of that I hear the hair dryer, “maximum”

Wiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing!!!

All these noises are joined together in a cacophony of final crescendo and sounds like this:

Woo-woo-woo-woo-woo-woo-wa-wooo

Clumpa-clump-a-clump-a-clump-a-wooo

Wiggla-woo-la-clump-la–zzzzzzzzzz

Wigg-la-woo-wiiing

La!!!

WiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiNG!!!!!!

The final verse:

“Dilegua, o notte! Tramontate, stelle! Tramontate, stelle! All’alba vincerò! Vincerò! Vincerò!”

(“Vanish, o night! Set, stars! Set, stars! At dawn, I will win! I will win! I will win! “)

The above was Arranged and Conducted courtesy of the Little Woman (my wife) who awakens me this way – every morning.

*****

From the real Nessun Dorma, which literally translated means None Shall Sleep, an aria from the final act of Giacomo Puccini’s opera Turandot below

(in case you wondered).

P.S.  Some of you might not know, I always refer to my wife in this blog as “The Little Woman.”  No, Pavarotti is not a little woman.  My apologies for the confusion Skriptum, I can see how you can misunderstand what I wrote.  Blog now corrected.

News Flash

Bulletin just in: AP wire.

I’ve had this blog in WordPress for exactly a year now and I just discovered how to respond to comments in WordPress rather than Gmail.

My motto: I may be slow, but when I get it – look out.

More than likely, I will respond to your comments that way.

Back to the topic Audubon Ron Gone Ballistic, a recent post dated June 14, 2010, b/c all of a sudden I’ve gone plethora of ideas and posts, channeling communication between me and the beyond, and pretending I got my metaphysical specialty freak on, (Oh, I need to catch my breath) – girls do it too. See video of the girls in the family shooting Skeets below.

But, I feel the young man still inside. This is a testament of an old man.

I can still pick up heavy things. But, not as easily as before. I once was rugged and endurable, but my body these things are fleeting. I still try hard, and I want to protect you but now must I use my head in clever ways, I can’t depend on my body.

I am built by God to protect you. Often I think of giving my life to protect you and in the engagement I will, but I will lose. Understand me my daughter, I am an old man, I must try with all my might. But I know I might lose if my wits aren’t around.

As an old man I have learned much about love. Not only my love. But your love. And I must defend your love inside you daughter, whomever you may choose. But, I am an old man, I can’t change your mind.

I want you to find a man, who will protect you my daughter as I do, and I want him to be as fearless as me. But I can’t make your choice. I have to accept.

I am an old man, and I must listen to you tell me about your life. I want you to be happy and I want you to be in love. Then I must go, so that you may live.

For I am an old man, and one day all I will have left is my example.

An avid reader of my blog wrote in and inquired about a comment I made on her site.  She asked, “Wer oder was ist „Skeet?” [Translated: Who or what is "Skeet"?]

Well there is actually more to this question.  The question was asked in context with me stating that I don’t actually shoot animals or people; I shoot Skeet.  But I also advised, Skeet are not very tasty.  So, to answer the question Who or what is Skeet, I include in this post below a YouTube video of me actually shooting Skeet.

You will see two male images in the movie.  The big, very white, looks like a billboard with plenty of advertising space on it, round guy in the back ground is my cousin Chops.

The tall, dark, handsome, debonair, awesomely awesome, magnificent specimen of a Michelangelo Statue of David, stud muffin in the green shirt is me, whom you have come to know as Audubon Ron.  It shouldn’t be too hard to spot me – instantly.  Just look for the awesome guy.

My cousin’s name is Frank, but somewhere in high school he was given the nickname Lamb Chops, which eventually got shortened to Chops.  Chops and I went to high school together.  As hard as it might be to imagine, we were on the gymnastics team.  Chops was so good in gymnastics he actually gained a scholarship to the university gymnastic team.  I on the other hand was not as good although I looked good, so I took up classical ballet – for the girls.  :)  I also took up smoking for the kids.

IN-KNEE-WAY,

A “Skeet” is a round clay disk that is placed into a thrower and then launched into the air to simulate the flight of a bird or something.  It is launched when the shooter yells, “PULL!”  Then the shooter has two shots to hit it.  The shooter with the most hits wins.

Below is a Skeet recipe after you’ve bagged all those Skeets.

Skeet Recipe

1 Tbsp olive oil

2 minced garlic cloves

1 bag of Skeet

1 bottle of Sterling Vineyards Merlot

Sauté the Skeet in olive oil for ten minutes.  Turn off stove.  Open the bottle of Merlot and drink the whole bottle b/c there is no way in hell you can eat Skeet unless you are really hungry – or really crazy – or really both.

Ron

Oh boy, it was a hot one today. The humidity index is an inch and one-half near 200%. Well, it “feels like” I was standing in boiling water. The humidity index was actually 74%. That would be hell after a bad rain storm. That’s like hot – and then some.

Now the bad news: The oil odor from the oil spill is making me sick. Srsly.

For those of you who read this blog somewhat consistently, you know I live 16 miles as the crow flies directly north of the beaches at the state line of Mississippi and Louisiana. That is also directly north of the oil rig that exploded. Therefore, I would live 116 miles north of the oil rig that exploded. Now that the oil has officially floated 100 miles north crashing into the shoals of abundant aqua-marine life, the oil is now 16 miles south of where I live. Apparently, what little wind there is pushes those ocean vapors over the top of my house – and it stays there.

It-is-sickening.

Got it or do you need me to do that geography lesson again? Okay, you get it.

It‘s hot AND the hot smells like oil. Fire and Brimstone. (Brimstone Def: an inflammable mineral substance found in quantities on the shores of the Dead Sea). Which begs the question, why do they call it sweet crude when there is nothing sweet about it?

“BP has inserted a siphon tube into the well to suck up all the oil from the spill. And they’ve had a lot of experience in this area, by the way. This is the same tube they’ve been using to suck the money out of our wallets for the past 50 years.” –Jay Leno

The only way Tony Hayward, BP CEO can “make this right” as his apology commercial on Fox News states, maybe some of you haven’t seen it, is to give us folks on the coast here free petrol for like – a year – and a car wash with every fill up – AND a cold refreshment with every fill up. That’s the only way, I think. Yep, it’s the only way and then I can forgive him.

Onto other news: The step project continues. Here is the most recent photo of the job to date.

There was one little hiccup in the pouring of the concrete foundation. The mason overshot the form in the front and was left with these tips that needed to be cut off. So, I had to drive him to the rental place and rent a concrete cutter. While he was working on the bricks I came out and harassed the poor guy. I told him, “Make sure to line up those bricks right, I wouldn’t want you to cut any corners.” Then I looked down at the foundation where he cut off the tips and said, “Up, too late.”

I’m awful. He’s a great guy, I have to leave him alone b/c we gab too much.

PS: Small world. After much gabbing with the mason, it turns out his wife and I are related on my mother’s side. Story for another day b/c it is a funny thing. The way I met the guy was I saw him laying bricks and asked for his business card. Never met the guy before. The place where his wife and my relatives lived is 116 miles west of where I live. Now she and the mason live 16 miles north of where I live. Got it, or do I need to do the geography lesson again? I can do the geography lesson again if you want. :)

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