Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Limited time in this busy season. And lots and lots of excuses. So…let’s photoblog through them.

First up, wood, wood and more wood. See, Moike makes piles:

Numerous piles of firewood. While the ground has been frozen in the morning I’ve been taking down trees and getting them to one of several “landings.” Soon, when the mud makes the forest mindfully unapproachable, it’ll be bucking, splitting and stacking time. See, there’s a method to the madness.

There were several small sugar maples that I thinned out that are included in this pile. Late yesterday morning when the cold morning was beginning its switch to a sunny and warm afternoon, I walked by the pile and saw the ends of the maples dripping their tasty sap. Yes, indeed, it’s sugaring season.

Next excuse: Horse and daughter play. We’ve been saddling up our Percheron, Bart, everyday after school. Below are photos of yesterday’s excursion – one from my vantage point and one with us on his back (too bad you can’t see him). Indeed, it was a very happy afternoon.

Next: Have trailer, will travel. Yep, I’ve got a stock trailer that I use to haul my horses around. I also get many hauling jobs throughout the year, mostly other people’s horses.

Last night, however, I got one of those rare calls to haul cattle. My first reaction is to say no, mostly because it’s a total and complete pain in the ass (and wherever else they may decide to push into you).

But these were three “bull calves,” only a couple of months old. Okay, okay: Show me the money.

So off I went this morning to Williamstown to pick them up at one of those makeshift farms that are a dime-a-dozen on Vermont’s back roads. You know, the kind with animal shanties here and there and at least a dozen or so blue tarps in various degrees of wear and tear cobbling things together.

Their driveway was total mud ruts. And with visions of me trying to wrangle the cattle down the long mud-slot, I stopped the truck and got out to investigate further.

“Hey!” I heard someone yell. “This is the place.”

“I know,” I called back, “but I’m not sure I’m gonna get up this drive.”

“Ah!” he called back in his thickest Vermont accent. “Ain’t nuthin. Put it in four-wheel drive and get up here. Plenty-ah-room for you to get around.”

The flatlander (aka: me) had been served his orders. And up I went, spinning and churning and smelling the hot Ford engine and the brakes that hadn’t cooled down from the three-mile descent into Williamstown via Route 64 East (“Warning: 11% Grade”). Oh boy.

“See, ain’t nuthin,” he said to me with a wink. “Come on, they’re back here.”

“Back here” meant about a hundred more feet through the mud, dodging a few wandering goats, trying to avoid the gigantic heads of the larger cattle begging and pushing for some food, and then finally to a – you guessed it – tarp-covered enclosure with the three bull calves.

“Here, grab him,” he said, holding the twine collar he’d fashioned for them. “Show ‘em who’s boss.”

I refrained from uttering my first thought. “Um, and whom would that be?”

Instead, off I went with a most uncooperative calve. He wasn’t mean or anything, just completely and totally uncooperative. It was kind of like being the arresting officer at one of those non-violent demonstrations where the peaceful offenders “go limp.” In other words, you’ve got nothing to deal with but dead, unwieldy and – yes, did I say uncooperative – weight. And did I mention that they apparently shit when they’re nervous? The calves, that is, not the demonstrators. Or maybe the demonstrators, can’t say for sure.

Got ‘em loaded, though – even though one insisted on walking backwards. Let’s call him “Boots” just for fun. And off we went to the wilds of Worcester, their new home.

But wait. The human occupants of their new home are not home when I arrive. I knocked. I yelled. I honked. And I called them from my cellphone – all to no avail.

So home I went. Me and my new bull calves. Well, “mine” until the impolite new owners get around to telling me they’re home and ready for deliver attempt number two. Here’s what they looked like when I last brought them a snack and some water:

Final excuse: I’ve been cleaning out my junk email folder and found myself mesmerized by the subject lines of many of them. Although, given the nature of many of the emails, I’m more than a bit paranoid about how many people apparently think I have small penis.

But, so far, my two favorite subject lines in my junk mail folder are as follows:

1) “Ride her for hours until you are tired of that.” Got that? Until YOU are tired. To hell with the ridden woman, because she’s just gonna have to wait. It seems as though there is a very long essay waiting to come out that seeks to link that line with the many, many ills this not-so-little-nation of ours is going through. You know, something like: “Wall Street Men: They Fuck Us Until They Get Tired of That.”

2) “Your sausage will be reputable.” Sweet, hot or mild?

See, I’ve got excuses. Aren’t you sorry you were wondering? Or maybe you weren’t. But that’s another story.

Thanks for playing.

Oh my, it’s been about three hours since I last saw/heard President Obama. Should I be worried? I mean, I hope he’s okay. It’s not like him to step away from the cameras/microphone for this long. Does someone know how to contact Michelle?

Oh wait. Nevermind. I just heard the news at the top of the hour announcing that Obama will be addressing the nation tonight in a primetime (duh) news conference. Whew.

Good. Fucking. Grief. Can someone please tell the president that there is, indeed, a thing called “over saturation”? And, better yet, tell him he reached it about three weeks ago.

Let’s face it, President Obama is starting to look like a complete egomaniac. Worse, he’s also a control freak, proven by the fact that he’s completely elbowed any and every one of his trusted employees out of the spotlight so that – apparently – it remains brightly pointing at him, him, and only him.

Can you say “burnout”? I knew you could. And I’m not just talking about a president who seemingly never turns down a chance to grab another minute of media time. I’m also talking about an American public that seems to be growing weary of their new 24/7 media whore of a leader.

Enough already.

Because, Mr. President, leadership isn’t only about how many times you get to phone home to tell your darling daughters that you will, again, be on all the networks. It’s also about lifting those around you. You know, people like your staff and – lest we forget – the poor fools who keep having their nightly session of “let’s avoid the bills and watch TV” interrupted by your smiling insistence that you’re smart and happy. Got it.

Perhaps if Obama had skipped just one of his many primetime media excursions in his first 50-days of presidential work he could have learned about the AIG bonuses that were so safely tucked into the bailout bills. Or maybe he would have been able to finish appointing the astounding number of employment vacancies that still exist in his administration – particularly in the financial regulatory realm. Or, if he had skipped that silly Leno appearance, he certainly would have prevented that elitist and insensitive slur toward Special Olympians.

I might be willing to cut the media-in-chief some slack if he was using all this great media glare to seriously address the issues that matter most to we, the poor slobs. You know, things like really stopping the war in Iraq (not this eighteen-month nonsense that still leaves up to 50,000 troops there), addressing health care (as in: single-payer, not the gibberish silliness about “streamlining medical records”), and providing economic relief to those who need it without continuing the charade of providing the wealthy billions in bonuses while giving the rest of us the “opportunity” to pave their roads and fix their bridges.

Please, Mr. President, the next time you get the urge – probably tomorrow – to address the nation, save it for something really good that addresses the lower and middle-classes, not the investor classes that you seem so hijacked by. Tell us, for example, that our friends, sons and daughters – all of them – are coming home from the illegal occupation of Iraq. Or tell us that we no longer have to stay up late trying to figure out how to pay for health care costs because we’re all about to be covered in the same way that we’re covered if we call “911.” If the police and fire departments can be “socialized,” why not health care? Or, better yet, tell us that the real criminals of today – no, not the pot dealers, but the Wall Street barons — are not only going to be forced to repay us for their crimes but they won’t be allowed to play with the bailout funds. Imagine that.

The campaign is over, Mr. President. You won. Now we’re waiting for “the change” you told us we could “believe in.”

Well? We’re still waiting.

Weird week. Random in all its glory. And now, from the family perspective, it’s over as the not-so-little one gets released from school early today (with no school tomorrow either) so that the steady stream of parents can come in to have those little chats with the teacher figures.

As a student, I remember dreading having my parents come into the classroom to chat with my teachers. I was fearful about how much the teacher would spill forth about my various antics. As a parent, I have no anxiety because, somehow, our eleven-year old is a rule follower. Imagine that. Think: Mother influence.

Yesterday, however, I took a giant leap toward making her a rebel-in-waiting (rock variety). You see, I yanked her out of school early to go sit with local guitar legend, Dave Keller, for her first lesson. Her assignment going into the lesson was to collect some CDs containing her favorite songs so they could get right to work learning to play the music she loves – a big change from the constant stream of dopey Disney tunes she’s been learning in the school’s sleepy band program.

While my feelings were a bit hurt that she didn’t go with any Drunken Boat “classics,” I was a beaming proud rock-daddy to see the collection she had all lined up for me to bring when I picked her up: The Beatles (White Album), Johnny Cash, Woody Guthrie, Belle & Sebastian, and Kimya Dawson. They spent their first lesson learning The Beatles’ “Rocky Raccoon.” Cool.

Pretty soon, once she goes electric and all noise on me, we’ll be jamming together. Drunken Boat Jr.?

Speaking of the junior in rock: My friend, Jack-the-Carpenter, alerted me last night to the return of Dinosaur Jr. to Burlington’s Higher Ground on April 4th. Be there. We will. It was about two years ago that we ventured to see the “dinosaurs” of grunge/punk at the same venue, a night that is still remembered as a night to remember. Or something like that.

Dinosaur Jr. is about to release yet another album and, lucky us, their Burlington show is one of their first to debut their new material. Rumor has it – or is it Dinosaur’s website? – that those who attend their upcoming concerts will be given pre-released access to their new material on the web. Good enough for me.

If you go, don’t forget to bring your earplugs. Higher Ground was selling them at their last show. And while I scoffed at the idea at first I was rushing to get them in my ears after about the first 30-seconds of the show. The boys like to play loud, so loud, in fact, that J. Mascis’ amp started on fire. Can you say “Marshall Stack”? I knew you could.

Let’s rock.

Supreme Court Fall-Out: Lots of good media and feedback on last week’s Supreme Court victory. For those who missed the radio conversation I had with Mark Johnson earlier this week, he’s got the podcast up for your listening pleasure. You can listen to it by going here.

Gay Marriage Hearings: Kudos to the pro-gay marriage crowd who showed up in force last night at Vermont’s Statehouse to engage in a bizarre debate with a most hateful bunch of Bible-thumping opponents. I watched much of the live-stream on the Internet and was truly amazed at the pure dignity demonstrated by the members of/and supporters of Vermont’s gay and lesbian community. They came forward with one heartfelt and beautiful message after another, only to have to play tag-team with one mean-spirited and religious-bigoted hate-mongerer after another.

At first, I was angry. But then I realized how it was all sounding: Love, hate, love, hate, as the separate sides took turns testifying to the overflowing crowd. Oh sure, there were many very low points – you know, like when opponents declared that gay marriage would lead to child rape or a future push to allow marriage between a man and a horse (sorry, but I’m already married to four).

Personally, I thought we were a nation that believed in the separation of church and state. I guess not. Because not once during the nearly three-hour hearing did one of our elected officials try to rule one of the Bible-readers out of order for trying to commingle our state with their church. Shameful.

But, again, bravo to the gays and lesbians and their many, many supporters who showed up in force to counter the wall of hate put forward by the religo-nuts.

Blogger Babies: Well, well, well, it looks like two of my favorite bloggers are doing a bit more than blogging lately because both have recently announced that they’ve got little-baby-bloggers-to-be on the way. Yep, NTodd and wdh3 (links) have let it be known that they’ll be proud papas in the not-to-distant future. Congrats, fellas. And, um, get your writing done now because, well, things are about to change.

Happy Friday, my friends. And thanks for playing.

Well, ahem, never mind. At least for a day or so. Because Mr. Johnson has invited yours truly to come on his show tomorrow (Tuesday) to discuss last week’s ruling by the Vermont Supreme Court to dismiss all the charges against me and Boots Wardinski for our June, 2006 heckling of John Negroponte. Should be interesting. My appearance is scheduled for 10:15.

And, no, there is no truth to the rumor that Boots will be protesting at the WDEV studios in an attempt to brand me as a “sell-out.” At least I don’t think there’s any truth to it. But you never know with Boots. Besides, he’s been too busy sugaring to know what’s going on in the “real” world anyway. Keep sugaring, my friend.

Or maybe Mark’s just messing with me, and he’s planning to have Leahy/Sanders/Welch/and/or Douglas on the line so that I can ask the “hard questions” myself. Cool. I dare you, Mark. Because my first question would be: How is it that four career politicians can continue spinning their nonsense when they’ve so obviously missed preventing the worst economic crime in our nation’s history? At what point do they feel a sense of guilt, responsibility and/or culpability? After 10 years? 20 years? 30 years of “public service?”

Or maybe Mark’s going to have some of his journalistic peers on the line to protest my assertion that the mainstream media in Vermont has an all-too-comfy connection to the political and economic elite in this state. Again, cool. I’d ask them all this: Doesn’t the fact that a majority of Vermonters vote for both a so-called “socialist” (Sanders) AND a proven right-winger (Douglas) indicate that the media isn’t doing their job in terms of truly covering/presenting their true political inclinations? Because, from my perspective, it’s either that or the average Vermont voter is simply bat-shit crazy for pulling both the Sanders and Douglas lever.

Or maybe he’s got some dirt on me and he’s planning to make damn sure that my only option is bury my face in the woods forever.

Or maybe, just maybe, he’s a decent guy with a keen sense of humor and some thick skin who doesn’t hold grudges when snarky commenters let it rip on him. Yeah, that’s it. Until, that is, we see what he’s got in store for me tomorrow.

Tune in, my friends. And even call if you’ve got the inclination.

Until then, I’ll see you in the woods. It’s nothing but glorious out there today.

The current guiding theme of the national and state Republicans seems to be an insistence to not walk and chew gum at the same time. Well, actually, they don’t seem much interested in walking or chewing gum at separate times, either. Because when you get right town to their message it basically amounts to: Do nothing. Unless, of course, you consider total and complete obstruction as doing something.

Here in Vermont, Republicans are apoplectic about the recent decision by the Democratic leaders of both the House and the Senate to declare that the same-sex marriage bill be allowed to move forward in both chambers. And, given that those same Democrats have super-majorities in both chambers, the announcement by the leadership all but assured its passage.

Apparently realizing that the “little” things like facts, figures, justice and – oh yeah – public opinion were all lined up against them, the Republicans have decided to attack the same-sex marriage bill as “a distraction” during these tough economic times. In other words, how dare the heathen Democrats do anything but …hmmm… bow to the Reagan economic bible during this recession by cutting taxes, cutting programs and going home.

If you get stuck listening to the rightwing-nutjobs like talk radio’s Paul Beaudry of True Nutty – er, make that North – Radio, you’d think the Vermont legislature is doing nothing but promoting gay love. And his not-so-bright but angry-as-hell followers – yes, all 7 of the old bastards – drink lustily from Beaudry’s semantically-challenged diatribes, apparently convincing themselves that once gays have a right to marry all things heterosexual will be under siege and/or lost forever.

Beaudry, for example, speaks often about the “sanctity” of marriage between one man and one woman. But if he was going to be honest with his audience, Beaudry ought to be talking about the sanctity of his marriages – yeah, between himself and the two women in his life who have made that “life” commitment with him. Hey, there’s nothing like a good lawyer to end the sanctity of a marriage, huh Paul? And, speaking of lawyers, it’s a good thing Beaudry’s current wife finally ended her previous marriage just in the nick of time before getting all sanctimonious with him.

Oh please, Paul, keep telling us about love and commitment. And please, keep protecting those random acts of “holy alliances” you seem to be so in favor of. You dope.

You know bigots are trying to hide their bigotry when they start saying things like, “I’ve got friends who are gay.” And Beaudry and his knuckle-dragging friend, Steve Cable, can’t seem to say that line enough lately. Sorry, fellas, but real friends don’t gleefully seek to trample their friends’ civil rights. Nice try, though.

Nationally, the Republicans are using the “distraction” argument to condemn President Barack Obama’s decision yesterday to lift the national ban on stem cell research. Eric Cantor, the No. 2 Republican in the House, said that even bringing up the issue would take the focus off of the number one job of the moment: fixing the economy.

Cue the laugh track. Because this is the same Cantor who has led the House Republicans into opposing anything and everything that has been proposed to “fix the economy.” Well, except cutting taxes, cutting programs, going home, and otherwise bowing before the Reagan economic bible.

Oh, and speaking of Reagan, it was Nancy Reagan who issued an extremely supportive statement to the press yesterday after Obama made his stem cell announcement. She’s certainly seen the devastating impacts of Alzheimer’s up close and, as a result, wouldn’t dare call an attempt to unleash a scientific solution to it a “distraction.”

But I guess that’s all the Republicans have got today. Well, that and Rush Limbaugh. Pity the poor fools.

My adventures in the land of the make-believe, Stowe, ended a couple of weeks ago. Yep, I played sleigh driver for another eight-day run for the rich and sometimes famous. It’s a gig that is made all the more surreal during these times of economic Armageddon. You see, the crowd I usually run with exhibits the scars of these tough economic times. But the shiny Stowe crowd is clearly flying above any and all of the economic turbulence.

Oddly, there was barely a mention of the near-depression we’re finding ourselves in as we meandered through the faux-woods of Stowe. And when it was mentioned, it was usually by me, resulting in a response that wouldn’t have been much different if I had just farted.

But, again, we were in the land of make-believe, where people come to throw large sums of money around in exchange for the kind of entertainment they couldn’t otherwise provide for themselves. In fact, I’m pretty sure these folks don’t even know how to entertain themselves other than throwing money around. Off they go, from one entertainment purchase after another.

So asking them about the depression was surely in bad form from this lowly sleigh driver. Shut up, man, and keep the fantasies alive! Indeed, if they wanted reality they’d be taking a stroll down the streets of Newport, Hardwick or Morrisville, not a sleigh ride in Stowe.

The usual response to my odiferous query about the economy was pure denial. And several went so far as to try and convince me that it was really all just an overly-hyped media fantasy that has now morphed into a full-blown self-fulfilling prophesy.

I guess that’s what happens when you live your life flitting about in your Denali-SUV, going from this neon-adventure to that and keeping you and the children safely ensconced in a thousand-dollar-a-night room at Top Notch. Reality be damned.

And, because of the reality of these economic times, I was their driver. Glad-handing them, providing them with 30-minutes of make-believe Vermont talk, and then sniffing about them as they disembarked in search of that “glorious” moment when they reached for their over-stuffed wallets to flip me a five-ten-or-twenty-spot. Dignity for sale, indeed.

I most certainly would have rather been working my horses in the real woods, doing real work. But the perverted economic reality is that make-believe work is far more lucrative than the work of actually producing something. Sleigh rides pay far better than forestry. Agri-tourism pays far more than agri-culture. And serving food pays better than growing food.

Welcome to Vermont. Would you like our dignity with that?