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We
got around to paying the January bills today. Paying the monthly bills
is always a chore we put off as long as possible, enjoying a few days
of healthy
bank balance
before nagging fiscal responsibility forces us to get out the checkbook
and attack the pile of bad news accumulating alongside our computer.
Finally, around noon, having stoically survived the psycho-fiscal damage
of writing all those checks, we discovered we were out of stamps. Looking
out
the window at the local manifestations of the wicked winter storm which
has wound it way across the nation this past week, and was at that
moment wracking New England in a particularly nasty meteorological
mishmash
which
managed
to intermingle the worst attributes of wind, rain, snow, hail and sleet,
we thanked the postal gods for placing a local Post Office on the corner
of our street, right across from the Armenian bakery.
That lasted until Norma Yvonne informed us that the local Watertown
branches of the Post Office didn’t even open on Saturday, and that we
would have
to hike or drive the long mile into Harvard Square, where the PO was
open until 3. Which we did, finding a parking space right in front,
barely long enough for the White Whale. But we thought we could fit,
and our expertise in parallel parking is legendary, at least in our
own mind.
 We embarked on what quickly became a fiendishly complicated full-contact
parking drill, with a pumped up degree of difficulty due to the ruts
of semi-solid slush and snowplow runoff. After several dozen minute forward
and backward maneuvers we managed to box ourselves completely in, literally
touching the bumpers of both the car in front and the car behind, and
half sticking out into Mt. Auburn Street at least two feet from the
curb at the closest point. After a short but intense inner struggle,
(for we hate to abandon any effort once we have undertaken it) we
decided our position was untenable and we had better disappear before
the owner
of one or the other of the contiguous cars arrived to comment on and
possibly object to our parking methodology. After an equally painstaking
disengagement we found a much more amenable spot a block down the street.
Once in the post office,we were faced with another difficult decision. Which
design to buy? We found the holiday trio, Merry Christmas (featuring
Virgin and Child), Happy Hanukah and Kwanza a bit passe. The only
sports stamps available were "The Early Years of Football",
when men were men, offensive linemen weighed 180 pounds and wore leather
caps like WWI fighter pilots, and the Special Olympics. The first seemed
too nostalgically macho, and the
second
too
PC. There were musical honorees we knew next to nothing about, like Earl
Scruggs,
who we think used to be on Hee Haw, and Moss Hart, who we assume was
the father of the famous drummer of the Crateful Dead, Micky Hart. The
disease stamps are always tempting, but we felt only a tenuous connection
to the only
two
diseases available this month, Breast Cancer and Sickle Cell Anemia.
 So the
choice came down to two American icons; John Wayne and Buckminster Fuller.
We never really managed to embrace Wayne as a personal hero, he was always
too smug and obsequious, especially around the "little ladies". But
his rugged reticence has inspired several generations of American cowboys
and can be seen as the intellectual author of the entire Reagan revolution
and Bush’s Showdown in Arabia. On the other hand, Buckminster Fuller,
inventor of geodesic domes and prefabricated homes planted in place
by helicopters which had previous dropped tailored explosive charges
to clear a solid base for the future homesite, has been an inspiration
to the Dowbrigade since he was a wee lad. In fact, we has a bit TOO much
of a personal favorite to slap his face on a bunch of bills, which was
all we were mailing this morning.
So we decided to get 20 stamps of each design, and to use some on correspondence
to correspondents on our naughty list and the others on correspondents
on our nice list. We’ll let you guess whose mug went out on our pile
of bills.
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It is totally disgraceful and perhaps even scandalous that you are not familiar — let alone an avid fan of one of the most renowned and talented U.S. musicians of all times — Earl Scruggs, one half of Flatt *& Scruggs, who built on the foundations of Bill Monroe to become two of the greatest bluegrass players of all times. Among their many achievements is the authorship of the Beverly Hillbillies theme and they were guest stars on several occasions. They sure could get them (with the help of some of Grannies moonshine no doubt) Clampetts to dance. Now that Bill and Lester have passed away Earl is all we have left. For more info on Earl visit: http://www.earlscruggs.com/
It is truly a sad day when America’s youth no longer remember the great ones. So partner, I would suggest early Monday morning you mosey on down to that PO and rectify your mistake and buy those stamps. Otherwise you best not show your face in the Grand Ole Opry partner and either way we’re going to have to reconsider the place we had reserved for you in Hillbillie Heaven.
When Tex let me know about this blatant affront to the reputation of Brother Earl it made me want to hang my head and cry.
Mr. Dowbrigade,
You are now to let me paraphrase from one of my hits “walling along the fighting side of me. See story below for more about the legend you flippantly dismissed. Do better and more thorough research!
http://tennessean.com/entertainment/music/archives/04/08/57236079.shtml?Element_ID=57236079
So Mr. Dowbrigade,
What do you got against Hee Haw anyway? Where I come from that was one of the high points of American TV. Good ole family fun. Not like this reality TV and trash one sees nowadays. Are you one of these pointy-headed liberals from Harvard? Bet you even voted for John Kerry. You should be ashamed of yourself.
For the record, the Dowbrigade has nothing against Hee Haw, not was our reference to it denigatory in any way. We admit to an alarming ignorance of the current state of country music, but after spending two years in Austin at the ILAS during the late 70’s we have a basic knowledge and appreciation of the genre. We do know who Earl Scruggs was and feigned ignorance for dramatic effect and flow of the narrative. We even know who Moss Hart was, although we haven’t yet received any irate responses from bisexual Broadway music fans. Also for the record our head is not unduly pointy and we voted for President Bush in an unsuccessful attempt to continue our until then uninterrupted streak of six straight votes for a loser in presidential voting.
As the director of the Country Music Hall of Fame was contacted yesterday morning and informed that our board of trustees wished to hold an emergency meeting to discuss the growing concern that has been arising in these parts about your posting. I tried to hold them off, believing that you were just a Northern boy and suggested that we consider launching a fundraiser to bring you and missus down here to enjoy some BBQ and attend our upcoming program honoring Earl http://www.countrymusichalloffame.com/exhibits/upcoming/banjo.man.html . Having seen here, however, that you now admit to having known who Earl was, but still chose to treat him in this shoddy manner proves at least to me, not to mention the rest of our staff, board and perhaps the entire universe of country music loving folk — that you do not deserve the benefit of the doubt. As a result, we are going to have to cancel our invitation and would respectfully ask you to refrain from insulting any more musical legends, whether real, perceived or fiction.
You know Mr. Dowbrigade, Earl was a dear friend of mine and I often relaxed while listening to his bluegrass music. Also, don’t think I did not notice that you are implying posting my picture on your “naughty” list. What does that mean? Does it have anything to do with your handshake posting below. That would make me really uncomfortable.
There’s hardly anything I can add to all of the above except to say that your posting makes me wonder about the genome theory. I know for a fact that as an Ohio native your Mother’s state abutted W. Virginia , and that Country Western music was all she listened to for the first 16 years of her life. Also, Memory Man, do binge on a couple of those breast cancer stamps for me. Do you think maybe the C.M. Hall of Fame might consider me an acceptable alternate?
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