Where Were You On 9/11?

Where were you on 9/11? 

Who gives a fuck, right?

Well, I’m gonna tell you where I was. 

Give a fuck or not.

It was a beautiful cloudless early fall day…one of those fall days where the faint smell of autumn leaves is in the air…bringing thoughts of football games, warm sweaters, bonfires, whisky flasks, and shapely coeds.

But I digress…

At the time, I worked a four-day workweek (nights, as usual), and Tuesdays were my mid-week day off.

My wife and kids were off to school by the time I dragged my sorry ass out of the rack.

My plans for the day were not earth-shattering:  Shit, shower, shave, do some yard work at my elderly mother and father’s home on the other side of town, and search for some small parts for my 1968 Chevrolet Chevelle I was in the extremely slow process of restoring.

I never turned on a radio or a TV while preparing for my day.

I hop into my Oldsmobile and immediately pop in a Lynyrd Skynyrd cassette.  (I know…a cassette?   Lynyrd Skynyrd?  An Oldsmobile?  Fuck!  How old ARE you, grandpa?)

First thing I had to do was fuel my car, so on the way to my parent’s house, I stopped at a truck stop.

It was here that I first sensed that something was awry.

At the pumps, people looked more angry, shitty, and pissed off than usual…but I thought nothing of it at the time. 

Inside at the busy cashier’s counter, I detected the same thing. 

Nobody was talking. 

You could cut the atmosphere with a knife.

Walking out to my car I thought, “Something is up.  Something bad has happened.  I better eject the Skynyrd tape and listen to the radio.”

No more “Mississippi Kid” for today…

Out on the interstate I hear some shit about planes hitting the World Trade Center buildings.  One of the towers has already collapsed.  The second tower is expected to fall at any moment.

What.  The.  Fuck?  What kind of asshole flies airliners into skyscrapers?  It is an attack.  It is war.   It is my Pearl Harbor moment.

As soon as I get to my parent’s house, I run in and loudly ask Mom if she’s got the TV on.  She replies that she does not.

I tell her, “Turn it on!  We’re under attack!”

As soon as her old Philco warms up, we are amazed by what we are seeing.

What.  The.  Fuck?   

Mom doesn’t say such things, but I do.

My father strolled into the house, and I asked him what he thought.  I told him I thought it was this generation’s “Pearl Harbor” moment.

I don’t remember Dad’s exact words, but it didn’t seem to me that he was all that shocked and emotional as I was.

“Yeah…that’s really sumpthin,’ isn’t it?”

Maybe it was because he had better things to worry about…like maybe the lung cancer that was killing him.  In six months, he would be dead.  What the fuck did he care about some shit like Muslim motherfuckers vaporizing Americans wholesale? 

He was probably more concerned about his next breath…and I don’t blame him one bit.

Over the next few days, the rage and anger in me rose to stratospheric levels…almost to the point where I could not function normally.

Frustration. 

I wanted someone to hate.  I wanted someone whose neck I could wrap my hands around and slowly squeeze the life out of.

But who?  Nameless, faceless, goat-humping Islamic dickheads without a country.  How in the hell do I, or anybody, fight that?

I bought a “Don’t Tread On Me” flag.  (I’ve flown it every day since 9/11.  It makes me feel better.  We all must do our part.)

Went to church that Sunday.  It was not a pretty sight.  I broke down right there in front of my family, my God, everybody…sobbing…with tears of rage…asking for relief from the hatred that was eating me alive.

Went to my old Marine Corps Reserve unit to ask them if I could re-up to get some payback. 

They said, “Thanks, but no thanks, old-timer.  This war will be a young man’s game.  Try the National Guard.”

At work, I generously suggested to my boss that he should use company funds to erect a flagpole in front of the facility in order to display our patriotism and solidarity and togetherness.

He agreed, and within a week the pole was in place and I was given the honor of being the first to hoist the colors.

I was a big hero.  Sorta.

The pole was installed by patriotic workmen who seemingly forgot to use a level.

The pole was crooked.  Pretty much.

USA!  USA!  USA!

All of this reminds me of the national feelings of “patriotism and solidarity and togetherness” of those early days after the 9/11 attacks.

Sure…it lasted…what…three days…a week?

Then it was right back to the politics and finger pointing…enough to make a guy vomit.

2011.

A decade has passed.

Big Brother is tightening the noose. 

Frogs in a simmering pot. 

The Constitution and the Bill of Rights are being used as ass-wipe. 

Multiple, never-ending wars with uncounted lives and treasure squandered. 

The country is broke and then some.

Its citizens are more polarized than ever before. 

The Free Shit Army is set to unleash blitzkrieg. 

Bin Laden’s brain-pan has been ventilated, and he sleeps with the fishes.

Yet he wins.  

Cinematic Recommendations For Patriots, 3 Percenters, and Other Rabble-Rousing Revolutionaries

I've said it before...

Life is too short for bad cinema.

The following are some movies I've watched recently on Netflix.

I give all of these flicks a four out of a possible five stars.  

The subject matter of these films is kinda dark, so you probably won't be wanting to watch them with your best girl or anything.

Or small children...

This is guy stuff for the most part.  These movies will get your blood pressure up and flowing.

Trust me on this.  I don't recommend shit that sucks.

Check them out if you haven't seen them and are so inclined.

These movies will give you many interesting things to think about.

Maybe.

Feel free to add your own recommendations in the comments section...and I mean different stuff...not the run-of-the-mill bullshit.

Yes.  I've seen Red Dawn...

No.  I don't think I'm Siskel or Ebert...

Dicks.

_____

 

Michael Collins

1996 Rated-R 

-Julia Roberts is in this.  I find it amusing how her "Irish" accent comes and goes.  She does have a purty mouth, however.  The scene at the "footy match" is especially brutal, and will piss a guy right off...

"Neil Jordan directed this powerful biopic about the rise and fall of Michael Collins (Liam Neeson), the charismatic leader of Ireland's fight for independence. Collins and his companions de Valera (Alan Rickman), Broy (Stephen Rea), Boland (Aidan Quinn) and Kitty Kiernan (Julia Roberts) used guerilla warfare to attack the British. The eventual treaty was seen by many as a weak compromise, and Collins was branded a traitor to the Irish cause."

 

Flame and Citron

2008 Rated-TV-MA 

-English subtitles are only mildly annoying.  Intrigue, skullduggery, double-crossing, and exquisite violence.  Kill a Nazi for Mommy, won't you?

"Based on actual events, this exciting drama tells the story of World War II Danish Resistance fighters Flame (Thure Lindhardt) and Citron (Mads Mikkelsen). Taking orders from Resistance leader Aksel Winther (Peter Mygind), the two systematically assassinate Danish collaborators and Nazi officers. But they are far from heroic in their personal lives, and filmmaker Ole Christian Madsen explores the serious flaws of these complex men."

 

The Wind That Shakes the Barley

2006 Rated-TV-14 

-probably should have English subtitles because the Irish brogue is pretty heavy.  Watching government agents and traitors "getting theirs" will make your heart soar.  Maybe.

"As political tensions brew in early 1920s Ireland, brothers Damien and Teddy (Cillian Murphy and Padraic Delaney) abandon their civilian lives and take up arms to liberate their country from the oppressive "Black and Tan" squads of Britain. Winner of the Palme d'Or at the 2006 Cannes Film Festival, Ken Loach's provocative drama examines a microcosm of civil war in Cork, Ireland. Liam Cunningham co-stars."

 

Defiance

2008 Rated-R 

-James Bond takes on the Nazis and helps the Polish Jews escape the ghetto and certain extermination.  The guy who plays his brother enjoys nothing more than gunning down Nazis wholesale.  Who could blame him?  What fun!

"Daniel Craig stars as Tuvia Bielski, one of four Jewish brothers who escape from Poland into the forests of Belarus during World War II to lead a band of resistance fighters and create a safe haven for Jewish refugees. The real-life sanctuary established by the Bielski brothers saved more than 1,000 Jews from persecution and death. Liev Schreiber, Jamie Bell and George MacKay also star in this moving historical drama based on actual events."

______

I took the movie descriptions verbatim from Netflix because I'm lazy, I couldn't be assed to write them myself, and because I've never had an original thought in my life.

Sue me.

Go watch the fucking movies!

A Brief Bit Of Mosin Nagant Madness

My son fires his birthday Mosin-Nagant at Atterbury. 

A serious good time was had by all. 

We shot everything. Mosins, handguns, shotguns (clays). 

The two Mosin rifles performed flawlessly, with over 100 rounds per rifle. 

Accuracy was very good. 

Recoil is outta hand with these things. 

Yes. I'm old and my shoulder hurts and I'm a pussy, but the sons had all they could stand as well. None of us have a lot of meat on our bones. 

Will be investigating some sort of recoil padding. 

The Mosin kick truly is BRUTAL! 

BTW...this is a very nice shooting facility. Reasonable rates, well-run, polite staff. 

It seems they keep the idiots and rabble away.

Part 11- My 2011 Indy 500 Blog Mess: Coda

Just a quick post race wrap up here…

Sorry, but I’ve been busy working and haven’t had time to do this up right.

In fact, I don’t know that I’ll ever again have time to do this Indy 500 blog thang right.

So…now is as good a time as any to say that I won’t be doing this shit again.

It’s just too much like work and ponderous with the small amount of time I have.

If I can’t do it right, I’m not gonna do it at all.

It’s been fun, and I am thankful for the people I have met and the propers you have given me.

This years version of the Indy 500 was one of the best in recent memory, and my son and I had a most excellent time of it.

A rookie damn near took all the marbles, but he got excited and lost it in the final corner on the final lap IN the marbles.

Dan Wheldon, aka “Toofusses,” brought home his second Indy win.

Congrats, and I take back what I said about you not being an Indy legend.

Thanks to all who have helped me out along the way.

Mike, Curt, Darc Marc, Trevor, Grover, Glenn, Tommy, Pat, Camp & Brew (I’ll miss youse guys), Trackforum, PT, and all who have expressed enjoyment from reading my foolishness.

Bob Messick photo

I will now return to trying to save our Republic.

Stock up, and have a nice day.

See you next year.

Maybe.

 

Part 10- My 2011 Indy 500 Blog Mess: The International Release Of My Paul Tracy Interview Video!

Here it is.  

I am sorry in advance. 

However, my fetid visage could be useful in keeping rodents away.
  
Thanks to Glenn Harm for the video camera work. Thanks also to Marc Bever, Pat Caporali, Mike Cockrall, and to Paul Tracy for his patience.

Part 9- My 2011 Indy 500 Blog Mess: Bump Day At Indy

Bump Day at Indy has always historically been a hoot for me because it is another opportunity for me to abuse my body with exotic intoxicants and make an ass out of myself.

This year’s version of Bump Day at Indy was no exception.

I arrived relatively early and found a front row spot in the Third Turn infield to park the Paul Tracy Commemorative Beer Wagon.

Because I have issues, I quickly power-slammed a 16-ounce Coors and then secreted several more in my camera bag so that I could stealthily evade the prying eyes of the yellow shirted government agents.

I rode the tram to the Vigoda Plaza, disembarked, and stumbled over to my normal perch located atop the F1 garages in the First Turn.

There, I found my usual racin’ buddies absent because they were being wholesome elsewhere trackside, and they didn’t want me to embarrass them with my semi-drunken shenanigans in front of their elderly parents or innocent young children.

Whatever.

So…I just sat there, basking in the glorious sunshine and watching fast and shiny and real Indy racers practice for the pants-wetting drama that would be Bump Day.

I had another beer too.

All was right with the world until I heard a heinous POP that indicated to me that someone had taken an improper and imprudent line through MY Turn One.

As it turns out, the Lucky Dragoons racer piloted by Pat Carpenter was what I heard kissing SAFER barrier.  The car was reduced to ruins and its shattered remnants were quickly deposited in Indy’s now infamous Hurt Locker.

Fortunately, Mr. Carpenter was relatively OK as the result of his running out of interest in pursuing an approved line though MY corner at Indy.

Unfortunately, Team Lucky Dragoons was then fresh out of shiny and not-so-fast Indy racing machines because their other driver, Chinese Indy Racing Legend Ho Chi Minh, destroyed their other car a day earlier.

Subsequently, Team Lucky Dragoons had to pack their shit up and head out of town in complete disgrace.

Maybe next year.

Or something.

Things got kinda slow on the racing surfaces, and I soon found myself Tweeting insulting one-liners on Twatter.  If anyone was offended I am sorry and I will delete things later.

Maybe.

It was apparent to me at about this time that The Indianapolis Motor Speedway was not going to entertain me by forcing drivers against their will to get on track and risk further near-certain death, so I took a quick stroll through the garage area.

There, I saw nothing of interest or unusual…just a whole ass-load of Honda/Dallara/Firestones. Nor did I run into any of my racin’ buddies.

I was quickly getting lonely and depressed and despondent.  I felt I could snap at any moment, but I knew the remedy.

Yes.  

I would go over to the Vigoda Plaza, plop my narrow ass down on a concrete wall under a shade tree, and drink another beer.

I told you people I had issues.

Maybe next time you will listen to me.

Anyhoo…as I sat there, I was treated to an interview with black Indy Racing Legend Willy T. Ribbs on the RC Cola and MoonPie Stage. 

Willy told the enthusiastic throng gathered before him that Danica Hospenthal was his hero.

Willy also said that he and his son were accomplished shot-gun shooters, and that all us thin-lipped, white-bread, honkie motherfuckers better think twice before we go messing with either one of them because we would get our fool cracka-ass heads blown clean off if we did.

Damn.  Lighten up, Willy.  Ain’t nobody here rayciss an shit…

Soon, I got a phone call from one of my dear racin’ buddies.  He told me he would join me shortly in the Vigoda Plaza, and that he would be bringing good tidings and cheer.

And beer.

When a person says he is bringing you beer, you know that person is cool.

In this case, I also knew that my cool friend knew that I might have an interview with Indy Racing Legend Paul Tracy later on, and my friend knows that if he and other folks ply me with enough beer that I will become even more funnier and talkative and that I will provide them with copious amounts of excellent intardnets fodder later on.

Yes.  I am being used.

Use me…until you use me up.

Kinda.

It was almost time for qualifying to begin, so we went to or usual spot for this event…the Tower Terrace seats right next to the entrance of Gasoline Alley.

This is a most excellent place to sit for Bump Day because you can watch the teams get nervous before a qualifying run.

Or, you can watch as they slit their own wrists when they get bumped out of the field.

Or, you can cheer a heroic and damn near suicidal attempt to make the field.

Or, you can heckle and shout out stupid shit to drivers and celebrities.

It is all quite enjoyable no matter what you decide to do or how you wish to conduct yourself.

I heartily endorse these activities.

I will not bore you with the intricacies of what went on during qualifying.  It would be ponderous for me. If you are really interested you can find that information elsewhere.

Before too long, a typhoon rolled in, all track activities ceased, and we were forced against our will to exit the grand stands.

More jack-booted thuggery from armed government agents, I suppose…

Here is a platoon of sluts parading at Indy after the storm.

The storm departed, the track was dried, and more qualifications happened.

Again…I will not detail these events for you.

Deal with it.

Finally, the field was filled and Bump Day was officially over.

But not for me, because the planets had aligned and it looked like I was definitely going to interview Paul Tracy.

After getting things squared away with PT’s handlers, I lined up expert still and video photographers.

We waited patiently outside PT’s garage.

The interview went off pretty good, I think, even though I looked like a troll and sounded like a Hoosier hill jack.

Oh well…it was honest, and I didn’t try to pull off any idea that I am some kind of important, pretentious asshole.

God knows we have enough of those at Indy

PT was cool to put up with my bullshit.

Thanks PT.

The interview should be on YouTubes soon.

I hope you all enjoy it.  It didn’t go exactly as I had envisioned, but I think it’s an honest representation of who I am and what my deal is.

Yes.  Bump Day at Indy was fun and exciting.

Pretty much.

Part 8- My 2011 Indy 500 Blog Mess: Paul Tracy Interview

Paul Tracy interview happened and is in the can! 

Video to follow.

He was cool and more than gracious. 

I most likely looked like a douche-nozzle. 

It was epic. 

Maybe.

Photos by Marc Bever. 

Marc is an excellent lensman...one of the best. However, these photos demonstrate that even highly skilled photographers cannot possibly make me look attractive in any way.

Good God in heaven I am hideous.

I should have stayed with radio.

I have been asked about the release date of the ground-breaking video.

All I can say is this: 

I have absolutely no control of the creative process for this project. I was just the performing monkey in front of the camera. 

The owner of the video has you at his mercy. 

Sorta.

Part 7- My 2011 Indy 500 Blog Mess: I Missed Pole Day Because I Suck

OK..so...like...I've been working like a sled dog all week and I've gotten SOME beauty rest.

Watching pole day from the couch really blew, but going to the track yesterday would not have been good for anybody. I was tired and cranky, and I would not have been pleasant to be around, so I just Tweeted some insulting crap on Twatter, scratched myself, and made plans for Bump Day.

Yes. I'm going to be track-side today for Bump Day. I will be in better spirits. Maybe.

The beer is iced down. No Molsons or Labatts, though. PT will have to suffice with American beer, sorta, and I'm not buying any cigars. If PT doesn't make the field, I'm not going to contact his handlers because I don't want to deal with an attitudinal Indy racin' legend.

Anyhoo..if you see me, say hi or something and don't take any spy pictures of my fetid ugliness.

Sorry for the short and disappointing blog thang, but I told you people it would suck this year.

Maybe next time you will listen to me .

Part 6- My 2011 Indy 500 Blog Mess: Experimenting And Stuff...

Short day at the track today...just a few hours...but I managed to snap a few pictures and get my ass kicked while testing out my new Ipod video thingy.






I saw this today and I chuckled.

One has to be stealthy, and at the same time quick, when one uses a camera in a public men's room.

Part 5- My 2011 Indy Blog Mess: Paul Tracy Interview?

Today was a complete washout at IMS, so I thought I'd let you, my valued readers, in on something that may or may not be going on.

There is a real possibility that I could interview Paul Tracy this month at Indy.

Maybe.

The thing is, I'm a little hesitant to do it.

Maybe it's because I'm a pussy.

I don't know.

I don't want my interview with PT to be structured and rigid.

I want it to be mellow and relaxing, just two guys having a beer and cussing and talking racing and other stuff.

I don't want it to resemble work for either of us.

If it is to become a hassle or a pain in the ass, I'm not interested, but it could be a cool thing.

I understand PT's a busy guy with important shit to do.

I'm not in it to make PT look stupid or foolish. 

Hell...I'm willing to look stupid and foolish.  It's part of my schtick.

Anyhoo...here are some PT interview questions I came up with.  

Let me know what you think.

_____

-I read some of your Champ Car race history, and it seems as if Wally Dallenbach had a hard-on for you back in the old days.  Do you still want to punch him in the face? 

-Do you still want to kick Alex Tagliani’s ass? 

-Does the nickname "The Thrill from West Hill" piss you off?  I think it sounds a little gay personally, but what the hell do I know?  I bet you didn’t pick that nickname anyways…probably a dumb Canadian marketing "genius" did. 

-I’m not stalking you or anything, but I understand you have a couple of kids…Alysha and Conrad.  Are they teenagers yet?  I have three teen kids.  They’re pretty cool and smart, and I love them, but they are a trial sometimes.  Are your kids cool? 

-So...you live in Vegas or Arizona somewhere now?  Do you have a green card…and can I see it?  Are you like an honorary American now?  You speak American pretty good for a Canadian from Canadia.

-Since you’re in America now, you don't have to deal with stupid Canadian gun laws.  Most real Americans love guns and own lots of firearms.  Do you own any firearms, or do firearms frighten you? 

-When you were an unsavory wild youth in Canadia, did you go to Lakeside Park with your buddies and drink lots of Molson’s beer and chase hot Canadian chicks?

-Do you still celebrate Bastille Day even though you live in America now?

-Is July 4^th an annoyance for you? 

-How many times have you seen Rush live in concert?  Triumph?  The Jeff Healey Band?  Bachman Turner Overdrive?  April Wine?  Neil Young?  Pat Travers?

-What did your mom and dad do for a living?  Were they wealthy and did they spoil you rotten?  Or, did they make you get a job to help pay for your hobbies and all the other crap you wanted to do

-What kind of jobs, if any, did you have other than racing when you were a punk kid? 

-Do you have siblings? 

-What was your first street car when you first got your driver’s license? 

-Turning wrenches on your own crap is cool.  I know you have lots of toys now like hotrods and boats and shit.  Do you work on them yourself, or do you pay somebody else to fix your personal shit when it breaks?

-I think NASCAR really REALLY REALLY sucks...don't you? 

-A lot of people, like the seething-with-rage ChampCar fans, give you shit for when you said you would never drive a “crap-wagon.”  I really don’t give a damn because it was a long time ago and a man’s situations can change, and I think it’s OK for a guy to change his mind if he wants.  I figure that racing is what you love to do most, so screw what people say and follow what you love.  Your thoughts? 

-You and me are a lot alike, I think.  You are only six years younger than me.  We both are professional drivers, and we both worked for Penske at some point in our illustrious careers.  I know Penske is kinda supposed to be like the top company to work for, and they have some pretty cool equipment for us to work with…but I still think they kinda sucked when I worked for them. 

Did driving for Penske kinda suck for you too? 

-I’m not going to bother asking you about the 2002 Indy 500 because that horse has been beaten to death and it was a long time ago.  All I know is I was watching the live timing and scoring that day and it originally showed you as the winner.  Even though everything that happened in 2002 must have really sucked for you, you continue to come back to Indy and give it a try.

 Hell…last year I watched as you almost killed yourself trying to get back into the field after withdrawing a good time and one of those asshole KV mechanics fucked up your transmission gearing ratios or something.

Did you ever kick that guy’s ass?

Does your wife ever want to kick your ass after seeing you almost kill yourself on a racetrack?