Sorry, folks, there’s not going to be much action around here for a while.

For those unaware, I’ve started my own sleigh and carriage ride company and reached an agreement with a soon-to-be-named resort in Stowe to get the ball rolling when the snow flies.

I’ve been doing sleigh rides in Stowe for the past three winters as a freelancer for another company, Gentle Giants. But the time was right for me to start my own endeavor.

This new draft-horse gig will require three horses, three sleighs, and a couple of part-time employees/drivers. And, I’m pleased to report, I’m only one sleigh short of those goals. It’s been rather hectic around here.

I’ll be using my trusty Belgian, Big Jim, for the bulk of the rides on the six-person sleigh. My jet-black Percheron/Canadian, Bart, will be pulling the “romantic” couples sleigh. And the brand-new (to me) dappled grey Percheron mare, Annie, will be filling in for the boys when they need a break and teaming with Big Jim when the soon-to-be-acquired 12-person sleigh is obtained.

It should be interesting.

For now, it’s horse training and exercise time, with every extra moment spent on hopeful thoughts about a very snowy season.

Thanks for your patience.

Moe Tucker, that is, the drummer from the Velvet Underground, who was recently spotted at a Tea Party rally. Ew.

Well, I guess she did drum to this:

But still. The Tea Party?

You probably don’t give a hoot about Moe Tucker. That’s understandable.

It’s different for me. Because Moe Tucker was my drumming mentor in those halcyon days of forming a band.

The date was 1985ish. The place was Iowa City, Iowa. And the players were a few rebels trying to get a clue. Ah, a band, indeed.

Since I’m tone deaf and was known to tap, tap, tap on everything around me, I was “picked” as the drummer. Lucky for me, about the only thing being played in the apartment at the time was the Velvet Underground. And so I studied the drumming of Moe Tucker.

Even luckier for me, the studying of the drumming of Moe Tucker doesn’t take long. Here, as I recall, were the words I uttered in my first Eureka-drumming-moment:

“Holy shit, I, too, can count to four!”

One. Two. Three. Four. See?

And so it was. The next step was to procure something to bang on.

Another Eureka moment: “Look, pots and pans and Tupperware!”

So, please, give me a day or two to let the news that Moe Tucker is a fucking moron sink in. Because it’s not like I can change how I count to four or something.

This helps:

Velvet Underground & Nico: Femme Fatal

Oh my.

–

A note to my devoted followers (with a wink toward the dog): I will be appearing at Cedar Circle Farm this Sunday, October 10th, to drive a team of horses and a bevy of eager passengers around the pumpkin fields in search of the…well…pumpkins. I guess it’s not that complicated.

It’s in Thetford, Vermont. And you should know about Cedar Circle.

–

This, too, must end.

Thank you Jack Campbell…for dragging my sorry ass out to Higher Ground last night to see Built to Spill. I have to admit, their recorded work was not floating my (drunken) boat, but the live show was superb. And the introduction to Al’s French Fries after twenty years in Vermont: priceless.

Best line of the night: “Dude, the lights are bright but the line moves fast.”

–

Thank You Jonathan Franzen…for this much-needed Monday morning quote:

“Failure, failure, failure is mostly what happens. But the failures start adding up to possibilities if you wait long enough.”

–

Monday Morning Quarterback Sez:

Jets rock. Deal with it, Wes.

–

As I prepare for yet another “career” change, I’ve been thinking about my other dumb career moves. Here’s one:

Refusing Ben Cohen’s offer for the job of being his right-hand-man during a meeting in which we were demanding that his company, Ben & Jerry’s, transition to organic. I, instead, turned up the campaign heat on the ice cream giants, resulting in absolutely nothing since Ben & Jerry’s – to this day – refuses to get its cows off of Atrazine-sprayed feed. I guess that’s what they call a “lose-lose” move on my part. Nice work, Moike.

–

Check it off: Day one of starting to get the draft horses in shape for the upcoming sleigh season. Bart the Percheron and Jim the Belgian – and Moike the Driver – are heading to a Stowe resort in about seven weeks.

I’m no economics master, but I’ve been doing some figuring lately. And I figure that pulling a log with a horse and making “x” amount of money is economically inferior to pulling tourists with a horse and making 10x the money.

I mean, correct me if I’m wrong. Economically.

[Note to readers: Prepare yourselves for a cryptic – yet caustic and under-punctuated – reply from Vermont’s top-slacker-candidate, Boots Wardinski.]

–

Oh yeah, Built to Spill:

–

Oh wait, this just in: The Montpelier Farmers’ Market is apparently being rocked by scandal, deceit and wild accusations. Stay tuned for more information once “my source” starts chirping, if you know what I mean.

–

And then there’s this: Nothing.

Sorry, my mind – and life – took a detour.

One minute you’re searching and the next minute you’re not.

For a job, that is.

But I found it. I think.

I’ll provide the specifics when I can.

–

I obtained Jonathan Franzen’s “Freedom” today.

And, no, I didn’t get it because Oprah has now recommended it. Ugh.

Franzen fans will know the deep irony in Oprah coming back to the Franzen trough. Because it was Franzen who thought he had burned his Bridge to Oprah with his scathing essay, “Meet Me in St. Louis,” which chronicled Team Oprah’s attempts to hyper-mass-mediate his previous book, Corrections.

Who knows, maybe some of the ladies who recently won the free trip with Oprah will read it. So it’s not all bad.

Let the reading continue.

–

I was on the phone ordering a horse-drawn sleigh yesterday. Oops, there goes my job secret. And the fine woman from the Quebec sleigh and carriage-making company was reading me the options on the sleigh designs.

“And we have the extra-wide option on the seats,” she offered in her thick French accent.

I chuckled, and then quipped about the obesity in The States.

It was all the opening she needed.

“You know what?” she said more than asked. “The only time we’ve sold the ‘extra-wide’ option is when it’s going to the U.S. And it’s usually Texas.”

Priceless.

–

Oh, and by the way, I ordered the regular seat. Fuck ‘em.

–

Wait. Did someone say, “sleigh rides”?

–

It’s a good time to checkout of the political world. It is most certainly the silly season. The Republican idiots are screaming what they always scream and the Democratic idiots are cowering and otherwise fighting amongst themselves. Ho-hum.

It all reminds me of playing that original video game, Pong. Especially when I’d get both paddles really close to the middle and marvel at how fast the ball bounced between them.

I’ve decided it’s a really good time to stop reading mainstream political blogs. It’s all just “yay us!” stupid shit.

No thanks.

–

Speaking of “yay us” stupid shit, the chief half-wit at Green Mountain Daily, Sir Odum, is excited about his “1000 People for Change” campaign that got 240 people to join. Yes, out of about 650,000 Vermonters, Odum got 240 to promise to “change” with him. And, in case you’re keeping track at home, that’s 760 fewer than his goal.

It gets better.

Because the only “action” associated with this campaign involved the mighty checkbook. Yep, the single mission of this group was to get all 1000 members – oops, make that 240 members — to send $100 to the winner of the Democratic Party’s gubernatorial primary.

And the winner of the primary? The man who just announced he was worth more than $10 million, Peter Shumlin.

Yeah, change agents, just keep sending him those checks. And while they’re at it, why don’t they send some money to John Kerry too.

The good news is that there are at least 649,760 Vermonters smart enough to know a stupid idea when they see one.

I love being in the majority. Yay us!

–

Speaking of Vermont politics, consider these goodies being served up by a couple independent candidates here in the Green Mountain State.

Here’s the money quote from Marijuana Party candidate, Cris Ericson:

I AM CONCERNED ABOUT THIS BECAUSE I HAVE HAD BACK SURGERY, ANKLE SURGERY, OTHER SURGERY AND I HAVE A SEXUALLY TRANSMITTED CONTAGIOUS DISEASE; AND IF ANYONE ASSAULTS ME LIKE SHE CLAIMS SHE WAS ASSAULTED, THEN THERE IS A POSSIBILITY THAT BRIAN DUBIE’S PEOPLE COULD CAUSE MORE HARM THAN THEY INTEND IN INTIMIDATING FEMALE CANDIDATES.

The all-caps feature was Ericson’s idea, not mine.

It almost makes me want to run back to the two-party duopoly. And fast.

–

I waited two weeks for the basement waterproofing specialist we hired last year to – um – waterproof the basement to come check the new water we have in the basement. He finally arrived last night.

“Yep, that’s water,” he told me with his flashlight illuminating the water in the dark.

This guy’s good.

As for fixing it? He’ll be getting back to me.

–

Thanks for playing.

One Word: Contemporary Writers on the Words They Love or Loathe from Sarabande Books on Vimeo.

I got a haircut next to the General’s father yesterday. He made a mess of the place. He kept insisting on more and more water. And warmer! His 83-year old neck cradled in the barber’s notched sink.

They had to blow dry the shirt on his back. His hair, thin and disheveled, became a second thought.

The lady barber ran her hand over his head, pushing the hair down tightly against his thin scalp. He smiled.

“You know what those four stars mean?” he asked to no one and everyone in particular, pointing to the stars on his hat.

“Yes, your son is a four-star general,” replied the barber lady, who was more than accustomed to the routine.

He smiled again, paid $30 for a $15 wash and cut, and walked out with a still-wet back.

The barber swiveled my chair so that I faced the mirror again. The show was over.

“So what are you up to today?” he asked.

Turn it up. And get to work.

Maxwell’s in Hoboken, New Jersey — circa 1988.

Drunken Boat played there several times. I remember being sick once. And I brought a baked tofu sandwich and turned down the free hamburger offered to all band members. We rocked.

Speaking of Maxwell’s — and rocking — try this: