Oh, What a Beautiful Day
Which is what it is here today in New York City. thegrowlingwolf is vacationing somewhere in the ethereal of another place, somewhere, we always guess Davenport, Iowa, his spiritual home, where he lives in an old hotel down near where the gambling boat ties up. Today's Daily Growler can just be a sort of blowhard edition.
Like recently, one our favorite blogs--so far we've only seen fit to link two over in the sidebar area there--wood s lot, ran an excerpt from one of our recent posts that concerned itself with the holy hokkum around the 9/11 ceremonies that were going on on 9/11 down at Ground Zero of this the fifth year since the evil Muslims armed with boxcutters, 19 of them they now say, and a limited knowledge of flying, commandeered 3 of our finest jetliners--two commandeered at Boston-Logan and the other one commandeered at National Airport, which has since the Repugnicans took over our nation been renamed after old redhead-for-life, the equal-to-a-chimpanzee actor President Ronnie "Alzheimer's" Raygun--and pulled off one of the greatest military attacks in military-attacking history--at least that's what our "president"--Mr. Know-It-All says it was, "An act of war." Remember when Bullwinkle the moose used to play "Mister Know-It-All" with Rocky the Flying Squirrel? "Hey, Rocky, wanna see me pull a rabbit out of my hat?" Rocky in doubt goes along with the dumbo moose, Bullwinkle pulls a roaring lion out of his hat. His response? "Wrong hat." [NOTE: We highly promote cartoonists here at The Daily Growler--and Rocky and Bullwinkle's creator is one of the truly great ones, Bob Clampett..."a Bob/Clamp-/ett/car-/too/oooohune." He also created Beany Boy & Cecil (the seasick sea serpent), also featuring Beany Boy's uncle Uncle Uncle a great explorer who always goes exploring in his ship The Leakin' Lena. Bob was also the creator of Fractured Flickers where he took old silent movie scenes and added silly dialog to their already silly acting--those grainy old movies they really did call "flickers" because that's what they did, they flickered as you ran them on the old sprocket-drive, carbon-lit projection machines.
[We promote cartoonists because a part of our religious fervor contains a belief that all life, real-time life, is a cartoon drawn by a master cartoonist (the M.C.). It's not a serious religion; it's just an excuse to slough off all the horror going on in the world and blame it on something, like cartoon characters face, like us, constant fears being pitched at them, again like us at the moment, being scared to death now all day long--with true fear actively alive on both sides in Iraq and now again in Afghanistan--and, as one of us was reading and relating, fear is still active among those widows of 9/11-killed husbands who call themselves the Jersey Girls--they are left-alone, scared-to-death women--one of whom, has a new book out she's peddling on this very subject.
[In cartoons when the characters are blown to bits--like Daffy Duck in one of the Merry Melodies cartoons is blown to total bits by a barrage of machine-gun fire (I think Daffy is in the French Foreign Legion with Porky Pig (one of the great cartoon characters ever created)--they always manage to bring their parts magically back to a normal togetherness. Oh, that the Iraqi regular people could enjoy such a miraculous rejuvenation...and, hey, how about the same kind of miracle for the U.S. troops, too--they don't deserve to be blown to bits with no chance of ever coming back wholly rejuvenated again, sacrificed at 18 years old on the battlefield altars to Bush's real god, Mammon, in Iraq and Afghanistan. While the "president" and his Pappy and Mammy are enjoying longevity, celebrating their birthdays with wasteful pomp and taxpayer money while young men and women in the US Army have no life expectancy at all--and with the Catch 22 situation when it now comes to getting discharged (after 3 years now) or even if they have been discharged and are home thinking they can deal with the psychiatric problems, they find now they're subject to being called back up immediately at any given time, especially after they think they're safely out for good. It's the same no-win situation the US pilots faced in WWII as satirically described in Joe Heller's truly absolutely wonderful novel--Catch 22.]
We love Mexico and the real people of Mexico here at The Daily Growler and right now, as we type this out to you, there are some good things happening in Mexico. The people of Mexico are forming their own government intending to ignore the U.S./Corporation-picked Mexican-Supreme-Court-appointed "el presidente" Calderon, the phony in Mexico like Bush is the phony in this country.
Tonight we are leaving politics behind and watching Mexican television and seeing and hearing el cantante mariachi numero uno del todo tiempo, Vicente Fernandez singing his old ass off in Aguascaliente. It's wonderful. Mariachi music, La Musica, makes Growlers cry like babies since it is the music of the Mexican heart, mi corazon, and of having a heart (mi corazon es muy boracho por tu) that is drunk with romance, the romance of the rancheros, the vaqueros, the revolutionistes, like Pancho Villa and Emilio Zapata--the Zapatista attitude coming alive in Mexico again with the rise of AMLO, the Mexican Al Gore, Obregon, and his government of the people, the government of la calle. Viva Vicente Fernandez. He is old Mexico, from the days when his movies were shown in every Mexican theater wherever it was en Mexico or in the U.S. Even Vicente's horse could dance romantically while his master sang very romantic lovesongs to all senoritas bonitas, but especially the daughter of the rich ranchero. Vincente entertains in a very fine mariachi outfit, black pants, black bolero jacket, black vest, all trimmed with gold thread designs, the flowers of cactii, the scales of snakes, with a starched white shirt, a wonderful red bandana, a truly magnificent sombrero also trimmed in gold-thread sewn designs that match the bolero jacket and pants. And, of course, with his pearl-handled pistole in its holster so very prominent on his right hip. A true Caballero Mexicano, movie star and mariachi legend with a voice so powerful it could ring romantically all across the plains of Jalisco, rolling over into the mountains of Durango on up the dusty wild spaces of Chihuahua on over across the desert of Sonora, from out of Aguacalientes in this case. Wonderful theater. It shows on Telemundo once or twice a year--they have mariachi festivals occasionally; in a way, Spanish television in NYC is more real than the white-run channels; the Spanish know how to make good television, though hey, most of it is crap, too, don't get us wrong. Just a Viva to Vicente Fernandez.
for The Daily Growler
Below is Vicente Fernandez's Wikipedia bio--a very interesting life indeed: