The Woodside Inn-Pine Junction Colorado

My favorite watering hole used to be the Woodside Inn, a roadhouse type bar in Pine Junction up in the mountains a few miles west of Denver.  It was kinda like Pond’s Lodge, but with attitude.

One Labor Day, after an exhausting session of drafting a fantasy football team and sucking down body shots out of stripper’s belly buttons, I insisted our DD stop off at the Woodside on the hour drive home from Denver to have a few more drinks. The DD didn’t protest too hard since there wasn’t a car in the parking lot and he figured we would be in and out like a bunny.

He figured wrong.

As we hit the front door I exclaimed “Holy shit there’s a band tonight!” Sure enough, there was a three piece rockabilly band playing to the bartender and they were absolutely kicking ass. Turns out it was the Hillbilly Hellcats outta Denver. I was smitten, I had a killer band all to myself and I got to party overnight with Hellcat Chuck Hughes, one of the best guitarist/front men in the business and a personal hero of mine.

I can recount many stories like this from my years spent in Denver, basically, seeing mind blowing bands and musicians who played to no one in dive bars, because killer bands in big cities are like big fake tits in porn, they’re dime a dozen.

As a musician who played the circuit in Denver, as well as Vegas, along with many shitty gigs in So Cal (played the Whiskey a go go once, worst hour of my life) I know what it’s like to rehearse for months on end only to lug gear all over BFE in an oil burning Pinto and play to half a dozen hipster dicks who would rather swap hair gel secrets than listen to real music performed by a good band.

When I moved back to Idaho Falls I figured my music days were behind me. I’m a guy who only knows three chords and likes to sing Johnny Cash and Joe Strummer tunes at 200 beats a minute, same shit I’ve been playing since 1986, and definitely outdated by hipster standards. But recently, by pure chance, I’m back playing again, playing with friends, and performing material that I (we) really love. Whoda thunk I’d meet a bassist and a drummer with the same taste in music?

The best part about being back in it is the lack of cross-armed big city assholes who think they’ve heard everything, and unless one of their douchbag cronies tells them what’s cool to listen too, everything sucks. These guys don’t know shit from shinola.

The friends we’ve had take time to come out and to listen us have been fantastic and accepting. There is nothing worse than playing and having shit thrown at you and being booed because the Buck Owens or Ramones you’re playing isn’t considered “in” anymore. Trust me, I know.

I’m SO fucking glad I’m playing in “un-hip totally out of it” Idaho Falls I could simply shit myself. This is an area that doesn’t get many underground up and coming acts, but that makes Idaho Falls cool by default. We aren’t jaded by nightly bombardments of seven bill techno-punk-trance-country-screamo-death metal-hardcore line ups at DB’s or The Gator.

Jesus, we’re ecstatic just to have a band to listen to. Any band. And when the band plays, we dance. And when the song is over, we applaud and we cheer, all the while drinking beers and shots and being happy that someone took the time to entertain us. When I see a band that’s what I do, and so do all my friends.

So believe me when I say, fuck the big city, I’d rather play for my friends in Idaho Falls anytime.

This morning Alabama asked me if I was still on my period. She is of the opinion that I have been in a state of depression for some time now. She cites my sudden negativity and overall disgust with everything around me as proof the old serotonin levels aren’t what they should be.

After reviewing my last few blogs, I’ve concluded she must be right. I’ve been bagging on everything from religion to music to politics. To what end?  I’m never going to convince anyone their religion is bullshit or the music they listen to sucks or Ron Paul should be locked up in Blackfoot South.

So in an effort to rid myself of all this stinkin’ thinkin’, I’m gonna list a few of my favorite things about living in Southeast Idaho,  turn my  frown upside down,  and try to give everyone around me a warm fuzzy, because let’s face it, nobody wants to hang around a sullen dickhead who shits on everything he sees.

Clarence Worly’s list of Good Things:

I no longer have to do a 90 minute commute just to get to work; I’m there in 5 minutes.

We have the best fishing in the continental US just 30 minutes away.

We have Grand Targhee at our fingertips as well as Big Sky and Teton Village.

I can drive for one hour in almost any direction and not see another living soul.

We have Alive after Five all summer long.

We have the Teton No Motor, Drive-In Movie Night, THE Halloween party, and now, Lebowski Fest !

We have a developing downtown district that is showing signs of big city coolness.

We have a 7 mile Green Belt loop around an amazing river.

We have the Bowlero on Sundays and The Elks on Saturdays for winter bowling.

We have Smitty’s and Scotty’s and The Gator. These places kick ass!

I can walk anywhere in town and not really worry about being murdered and robbed.

We have a baseball team and a killer stadium.

We have the 4^th of July thing that rivals any celebration in the country.

We have the best camping opportunities in the west.

We have BeerFest!

Most importantly, I have an amazing group of friends that make living here a weekly adventure.

So with those blessings counted, I’m gonna STFU for a while, focus on the happy things, like beer and friends, and stop acting like a whiney little depressive bitch.

Clarence Worly circa. 1979

I got a friend request on Facebook last week. I can honestly say I have never turned down a friend request on Facebook. I liken internet social networking to the folks I used to meet back in my rock & roll road band days. I’ve always figured if someone is willing to look beyond my bullshit and extend a hand in friendship, who am I to say “up yours- I’m too cool to be your friend.” I’ll be friends with anyone, unless they prove I shouldn’t be.

This request came from a gal who knew me in high school and she messaged me with a detailed account of all the things we used to do together. Parties, classes, and people we both knew… it should have been a regular class reunion except for one problem. I had no recollection of any of her related stories nor did I have any fucking idea who this person was. So out came the Bonneville High School yearbook from 1980 and I looked her up.

Nope, still absolutely no idea.

I wrote a ballad a few years back with the lines “I got a pot gut, and Swiss cheese, for the brains left in my head.”  Well that’s no shit. I responded back with the courtesy “good times,” but seriously, I still have no memory of her whatsoever.

When I had the yearbook out, I went through a few of the comments my friends and classmates had written almost 32 years ago. I wonder what kids write in yearbooks today, or if they still have yearbooks. This was way before shit like “Yo Dawg” and “chill” and “word” and “sick” and “sweet” became part of the rural American vernacular. I had to chuckle when I read some of the stupid shit my friends wrote.

Luckily, I don’t have to worry about being ridiculed about my comments in other’s yearbooks; I couldn’t functionally read or write when I graduated from Idaho’s District 93 school system, so I had that going for me, in that all I could do was make my “mark” next to my picture.

Idaho! We haven’t been ranked in the bottom 5% of the American education system since 1890 for no reason. We’re a state lousy with gun-toting Jesus-loving rightwing fanatics and our lack of quality education proves it. Hell, even our elected State Superintendent of public schools has a fucking mail order degree from a fake on-line university he picked up a couple weeks before he was elected.

Idahoans just don’t think fancy schoolin’ is worth funding with our tax dollars. Don’t like it? Fuck off you dope smokin’ liberal hippie freaks!

Anyway, I thought I’d share a few choice 1980 yearbook snippets. Now that I’ve read through them a second time, they aren’t as funny as I’d originally thought, but hey, very few things stand the test of time:

“Hey you wasted bastard. WHAM! I guess we all got fucked up this year. May you eat a cunt that has the clap and get rotten lips. Glad I got to know you and we will get together this summer to party up!”  - Super classy, never heard from or saw this guy again.

“You slut, it was great getting to know you. We are going to have to get together this summer and party it up.” - Never heard from or saw this guy again.

“You are really a neat guy. It was fun knowing you this year. Don’t party too much this summer. I hope you have a good life.” – I never saw this gal again either, but I tried to friend her on FB.  She didn’t respond.

“How is the partier around town? We are going to have to party down heavy this summer and go skiing this winter.” - Never heard from or saw this guy again.

“You are really a cool guy and I can’t believe how funny. You guys were making us laugh our guts out in Government. Wasn’t Bateman so funny?  Well you stay cool and you’re a super pal. I’ll see you around.” -I still do things once in a while with this gal and her husband.

“Big Joe Graduate! You are one neat alcoholic and acid freak (just kidding). I’m really going to miss you next year.  What am I going to do without all your tight hugs? Be cool this summer and party hardy.” -This chick had the reputation as the school slut, although I’m pretty sure she never did anything worse than a few Saturday night blow jobs. She’s a FB friend, married and divorced a few times with umpteen grandkids. Age has a way of making hot girls seem sad and pathetic.

“Hey dildo! It’s been a hell of a rowdy year. So what we’re graduated, let’s party more!!!” – This guy is a Mormon bishop now. He’s still a friend and a cool dude.

“This year has been rather excellent. We have had some good times together. We have a few good parties to attend this summer. Good luck in everything you do.”- Never heard from or saw this guy again.

“How’s it growing? About 12” huh? It’s been nice but don’t get in too much trouble. If you’re ever out stop by, take it easy, see ya later.” – Never heard from or saw this guy again, but I can’t help but wonder if he might have been gay…

“You’re a hunk of a man and I love you. You’re great and I don’t want you to ever forget me. When you’re done with college write me sometime and tell me how it’s going. Well stay sober some of the time and maybe you’ll like it. Don’t ever change, well maybe for the better. Stay rowdy and don’t ever let me down by getting hurt. Maybe one day I will drink (water).” – I didn’t really know this gal when she wrote this, but after the heartfelt yearbook message, we wound up dating for the summer. I remember she had a rich Dad, she was 15, and had 36DD’s. That’s about it. God youth is wasted on the young.

“We had a hell of a year. Good luck at Boise State next year. We’ll see each other enough this summer. Take it easy and be a S-T-_-_-_-R! PS: Fuck off.”- We ended up getting thrown in jail together, haven’t heard from him in 20 years. I guess we had to sensor ourselves back then when we used racy terms like “stoner.”

“Well it looks as if we have passed just one of many milestones we will face in life.  We have had some pretty excellent times getting fucked up. I just want to say thanks for being a friend. And always remember, if you don’t eat your meat. You can’t have any pudding. How can you have any pudding if you don’t eat your meat? Be careful and don’t kill yourself you crazy bastard. Try not to OD (without me).”-This was from my best friend in school. We still stay in touch and although we’ve drifted apart, when the password question comes up, “What is your best friend’s first name?” It’s always his.

I should note I had a GPA of 0.05 at Boise State, turns out if you can’t read or write, college may not be for you. Perhaps why Idaho still has the highest college drop out rate in the nation?

Clarence Worly circa. 2011

When I sit down and think about it, I realize just how old I am in calendar years. Most the folks I hang out with now were busy getting born around the time I was in high school.

In my defense, I was mentally around two years-old when I got out of high school and my behavior proved it. These days I would be locked up for the shit I got away with in the 70’s. But that’s how things work, somebody has to break all the rules and fuck it up for everyone else.

That somebody was me. And you’re all welcome.

Only in America can a beautiful woman fuck herself out of porn and into legitimate business endeavors. That is what makes this country great!

With 2012 officially off and stumbling headlong towards the ultimate demise of our species here on the big blue marble, I’ve been reflecting back on how I managed to wind up another year older without really taking away any lessons learned, or even mildly valuable tidbits of knowledge, that I could stash away in my nearly empty bag of half-century old mental wisdoms.

When I was a dipshit kid in my late twenties and early thirties, I used to think there would be a point when I’d be like those old dudes in their fifties who stay home every night and watch Matlock or listen to some shitty classic rock station and drink three shitty Bud Lights before hitting the sack at 10:30. At least that’s how I had fifty envisioned, because 5-0 was fucking-A-old.

But now I’m here on fifty’s doorstep, and mentally, I don’t feel one bit different than I did when I was twenty-six. Mentally mind you, physically I feel like an inbred hillbilly wrapped a tow chain around my neck and drug me through ten miles of sagebrush with his jacked-up Cornbinder because I told his toothless sister/wife she had a lumpy butt.

Someone once told me it ain’t the miles; it’s the wear and tear. That’s no shit. I’m feeling all of about seventy-two as of late and unless modern medicine comes up with a way to perform brain transplants so I can get a new body within the next few years, and it’s funded through Medicaid, I’m as thoroughly fucked as Jenna Jameson. My containment vessel has lost a few too many heat tiles and I feel like I’m coming in way too steep for reentry. Maybe I’ll get lucky and the Mayan’s will be right about 2012.

Regardless whether the world ends this year, here are a few random things I gleaned out of 2011:

If you’re packing around an extra 50 or 60 lbs of weight with you everywhere you go it doesn’t mean you’re prosperous. It means you’re a lazy fat fuck who’s gonna develop diabetes or heart disease or cancer and drive the cost of medical care up,  bankrupting it for the rest of us. I know; I was one of those lazy fat fucks one year ago. Here’s a thought, put the fork down, stop shoveling that processed Wal-Mart sponsored Chinese made Soylent Green goo in your disgusting piehole, and go outside for a fucking walk before you wind up with a $250,000 hospital bill the rest of us have to help pay for. If you just can’t lose the weight, at least show a little American patriotism and have the courtesy to save our health care system by putting a .45 in your nauseating maw and pulling the trigger until it goes click.

Whoa… that sounded super mean! But seriously, die you fat fucks, die or move to an EU country where they don’t seem to mind going bankrupt. We just can’t afford your worthless asses.

If you have a cell phone and you use it to text or talk while you’re driving, I Clarence Worly, will personally run you off the road and cram that phone so far up your ass you’ll have to burp to dial 911. I’ve really had it with this shit; it’s like sharing the road with Amy Winehouse before she became another corporate record company casualty. Your text or phone call isn’t worth killing me or my family with your car, and if the bought-and-paid-for human garbage over in the state legislature doesn’t have the balls to stand up to the communication industry and do what’s right, I will.

All kidding aside, only a complete piece of shit drives drunk and the same goes for cell phones while driving. There were nearly 6500 highway fatalities last year because of cell phone use, don’t be a complete piece of shit, lose the phone while you drive.

After carefully considering all the possible candidates in the upcoming 2012 Presidential election, I have decided I’m the only person in the country, with the exception of Charlie Sheen, capable of fixing things. My first order of business will be rounding up all the Teahadist-Jesus-Freaks and the Godless-Occupy Now –Hippies, and deporting their sniveling asses to Cuba. It worked for Castro in the eighties; it can work for us today! Am I the only guy sick of the incessant whining? It’s super easy to leave if you don’t like it here, so just leave. But please, in the name of all that is holy, STFU while doing so!

I just had a thought on how to save $1 trillion a year in health care costs. We send everyone with a BMI above 30 to Cuba along with the whiners. They will be svelte and healthy in no time based on the fact there is no food in Cuba and to get back to the states, they’ll have to pass an endurance test; swimming 90 miles to Florida. But not the whiners, those fucks are out for good; let ‘em start their own country, they can call it “New France.”

I think the most important thing I took away from 2011 is this; after putting my mom in assisted living, I now know the meaning of “Hell on Earth.” After toiling away for a lifetime, the reward is to sit in a wheel chair and drool, while minimum wage losers feed you old folk goo and occasionally wipe your ass when you shit yourself. All this for the cool price tag of $3500 a month. I am definitely following in the footsteps of Hunter S. Thompson when the time comes. Unless of course, I can find a hot minimum wage loser with big tits to feed me old folk goo and wipe my ass, that would be awesome!

So with yet another nugget of inspirational positive energy, I look forward to 2012, and hope we can all come together and live as one in a country free from politically whiney cell phone yapping fat fucks headed for obscenely overpriced nursing homes.

Goddamn it’s good to be an American, Happy New Year bitches!