Dave Parker

A Lack of Color

And when i see you
I really see you upside down
But my brain knows better
It picks you up and turns you around
Turns you around, turns you around

If you feel discouraged
That there’s a lack of color here
Please don’t worry lover
It’s really bursting at the seems
Absorbing everything
The spectrum’s a to z

This is fact not fiction
For the first time in years
And all the girls in every girlie magazine
Can’t make me feel any less alone
I’m reaching for the phone

To call at 7:03 and on your machine I slur a plea for you to come home
But i know it’s too late
I should have given you a reason to stay
Given you a reason to stay, given you a reason to stay
Given you a reason to stay

This is fact not fiction
For the first time in years

Here is Marina hard at work grinding away at the cranberries for the cranberry sauce, go Marina!!

Here’s a rare picture of my dad while on a shore excursion, not sure where exactly. Halifax maybe? This was a cruise they took in October. Great picture dad! (It’s rare because, like me, he is the one snapping photos most of the time, nice work mom)

I just got word that Steve Hathorn died, I didn’t know he was sick. I haven’t seem him in years but remember him for sure. Among other gigs, The Criminals played out our wedding. After I quit Cement Trampoline, they went on for a few gigs with Steve on bass. Sad news man.

Stephen Boyd Hathhorn
Dec. 20, 1951 — Nov. 16, 2004

A celebration of life service will be held Wednesday in Livermore for Tracy resident and musician Stephen Boyd Hathhorn, 52, who died Tuesday at the Hospice House in Stockton.
Born in Ukiah, Mr. Hathhorn lived in Cloverdale before moving to Livermore in 1959. He graduated with Livermore High School’s class of 1971. He moved to Tracy in the early 1990s.
Mr. Hathhorn was a test engineer for Solectron in Fremont, and was electronically gifted. A bass guitar player since junior high school, Mr. Hathhorn played in the early ’70s with his friend Forrest Frick in a band called Flickwood-Thorn, which later evolved into the popular Livermore band HomeGrown.
Mr. Hathhorn was most proud of playing with Ron Thompson and the Resistors, with whom he toured the United States and Canada and performed in venues including the San Francisco Blues Festival and the Monterey Jazz Festival. He was honored to have jammed with many blues greats, including Mick Fleetwood.
He was in many bands over the years, including Tycus, Lionel Applebee and the Backdoor Butchers, Crude Oil, First Offenders, The Criminals and Black Cat Bone. His greatest joy, other than his son, was playing the blues on his bass.
Mr. Hathhorn is survived by his wife of five years, Sally Harrison-Cuenca of Tracy; a son, Geoff Hathhorn of Las Vegas; three stepchildren, Joshua, Angela and Adam; two siblings, Stan Hathhorn of Craig, Colo., and Barbara Fajerdo of Salinas; and many nieces, nephews and dear friends.
He was preceded in death by his parents, Fred and Miriam Hathhorn.
Wednesday’s service will begin at 10:30 a.m. at the chapel of Callaghan Mortuary, 3833 East Ave., in Livermore. Interment will follow at St. Michael Cemetery, 3885 East Ave., in Livermore.
Memorial contributions in Mr. Hathhorn’s name may be made to the Stanford University School of Medicine’s liver cancer program, 300 Pasteur Drive, Stanford 94305; or to World Vision International, 800 W. Chestnut Ave., Monrovia, 91016-3198.

Where were these rules 15 years ago when I could have really used them!

Section I – General Rules
1) The first person to yell “SHOTGUN” gets to ride in the front seat.
2) The remaining back seats may be divvied up in the same manner by being the first to call “back right seat”, etc..
3) The word “shotgun” must be loud enough to be heard by at least one witness. If no witness is to be found, or in case of a tie, the driver has the final word. After all, it is most likely his car. (note: if it isn’t his car, and the owner is present, the owner’s decision is final. Owner must be sober, however, or he will defer his judgment to the driver.)
4) Early calls are strictly prohibited. All occupants of the vehicle (including the driver) must be outside of the building and directly on the way to the vehicle before shotgun may be called. Under no circumstances may a person call shotgun inside a building. For sake of simplicity, a garage is considered to be outside. Parking structures and detached garages are always considered as being outdoors, even if they are underground.
5) A person may only call shotgun for one way of a trip. Shotgun can never be called while inside a vehicle or still technically on the way to the first location. For example, one can not get out of a vehicle and call Shotgun for the return journey.
6) Being as how everyone is created equal, men have the same right as women to the front seat of the car. i.e. women don’t own the front seat.
7) One is allowed to ride shotgun as many times as he can call it, but for himself only. No one can call shotgun for their slower friend, unless the friend has a speech or mental handicap that prevents them from calling it for themselves.
The driver has final say in all ties and disputes. The driver has the right to suspend or remove all shotgun privileges from one or more persons.

READ MORE HERE

Damn I love Texas, cause only in Texas would you find this web site that you can shoot a .22 (real bullets) at a target. Coming soon live animals! WooHoo Boy shoot’um!

Organized Christmas.com

   A few days after his visit, Canute disappeared, and a few days later he was found far out on the marshes near my old house, his body bloated. The dog officer’s diagnosis was a heart attack. Can that happen. I wondered, to four-footed creatures? The thunderbolt had hit my former pet by moonlight, his heart full of marshy joy and his stomach fat with garbage, and he had lain for days with ruffling fur while the tides went in and out. The image makes me happy, like the sight of a sail popping full of wind and tugging its boat swiftly out from shore. In truth–how terrible to acknowledge–all three of these deaths make me happy, in a way. Witnesses to my disgrace are being removed. The world is growing lighter. Eventually there will be none to remember me as I was in those embarrassing, disarrayed years when I scuttled without a shell, between houses and wives, a snake between skins, a monster of selfishness, my grotesque needs naked and pink, my social presence beggarly and vulnerable. The deaths of others carry us off bit by bit, until there will be nothing left; and this too, will be, in a way, a mercy.

John Updike, Trust Me, Short Stories By, p89

Like a flower
Waiting to bloom
Like a lightbulb
In a dark room
Im just sittin here waiting for you
To come on home and turn me on

Like the desert waiting for the rain
Like a school kid waiting for the spring
Im just sitting here waiting for you
To come on home and turn me on

My poor heart
Its been so dark
Since youve been gone
After all your the one who turns me off
You’re the only one who can turn me back on

My Hi-fi is waiting for a new tune
My glass is waiting for some fresh ice cubes
I’m just sitting here waiting for you
To come on home and turn me on
Turn me on

My daughter, Veronica, my first born, was delivered, with god’s grace, of which we are most appreciative, to us. To celebrate we had an early dinner at Applebees in Tracy, then shopped for a digital camera that she wanted. I am so proud of my girl Veronica, I love her so very much. Happy Birthday ‘Vernie, hope you dig being twelve, love, dad.

My body is aching
Goose-pimple bone
Can’t see no body
Leave me alone