Sunday, December 24, 2006



Because blogspot no longer allows audio posts I'm starting to blog on MySpace. We'll see how this goes. Just follow me to MySpace.com/DRLGM.

Thursday, December 21, 2006


Claude E. Osterhoudt back filling leach field.


I'm soooo gay! I now have a myspace page. It's got a picture of me and i have 4 friends. I don't get it. I wouldn't have any friends if it wasn't for Slick who knows all about this shit and has cool friends. He, plus three of his hip crew got on board. What good does this do me? Fuck if I know. There's Georgie- a cute MTV director who has over 100 friends and when i click on one of her cute friends I see Amy one of my cute friends and so it goes...nowhere. There's no degrees of separation. And really there's no reason to go to my space on Myspace...but I had to have it. So by all means check me out. I'll be your friend.

Tuesday, December 19, 2006


I'm writing this just after sunset on the last day of muzzleloader season, here in the Catskill mountains of NY state. It's been a long and frustrating season. From those salad days of October, watching small bucks and uncountable does prance, and munch on clover, to a missed shot at a big buck on opening day of gun season, to the past couple of weeks of silent empty woods, I finally am putting away my various weapons and letting all God's critters live. Did I ever get a deer? Well, let me tell you.
As of last Thursday night i hadn't had the safety off the gun since my miss. I called and comiserated with brother Bird. "I see deer way out in the field at first light, but I'll never hit 'em with the iron sights on that muzzleloader." I whine. "Hell, why don't you take the .243 down before work and pop one." Bird reasoned "Noone will give a shit." Hmmmm. I thought. That's not such a bad idea. I'd played it straight all season, letting does walk, and adhereing to the "three points on either side" rule. My freezer was empty and my belly was grumbling.
The next morning I hit the field before dawn. I didn't even bother to wear my hunting clothes. I wasn't really hunting....more like culling the herd. I waited patiently in my work boots, scanning the field. Nothing. At 7:15 AM I got in the car and headed to work. I didn't get 50 yards before four big does ran in front of the car. I pulled into GNJohn's driveway, threw a shell in the chamber and pulled up on the deer across the road....
"ACROSS THE ROAD!" The old man indignantly exclaims as i relay the incident over the phone a day later. "Wait a minute. I'm making a list of how many laws you broke." he chides. "I looked both ways." I explain lamely. "No muzzleloader, shooting across a road..." I interupt as he ticks off the charges "I think it was also a couple of minutes before sun up your honor." "Did you at least hit her?" the old man asks. Here's where it gets really frustrating.
BANG! The doe hunches and I think I hit her, but when i cross the road I see nothing- no deer, no blood, no hair...nothing. I'm so disgusted I could spit. It's one thing to break all these laws, but then to not even hit the target. I gather up my sorry ass and head for Stone Ridge. I have an important client meeting. I feel like shit. There's a knot in my gut. After the meeting's over I drive home. "John" I say into the phone. "Hope I didn't wake you up this morning." Touching one off right under his bedroom window should've been a rude awakening. "What? Never heard a thing." John says. I tell him the story and ask if he'll help me search the swamp with his dog Girl.
I carry the muzzleloader as Girl works the brush. It's thick as can be. Then all of the sudden Girl stops and I see brown. She's found the deer. I can't tell you how happy I am. The deer's only been laying for a matter of hours, so nothing has spoiled. I gut the deer and GNJohn and I hump it up the bank. When I butcher it Girl gets a leg as her reward.
I think we're all hardwired to go after that big buck, but as the season winds down, we all become "pot hunters". Usually a perjorative term, I wear that label proudly. No, I have no wall hanger. Yeah, I broke a few laws. I guess I shouldn't even admit to all this....but what the hell, last night GNJohn and co. cooked up some very tastey backstrap steaks and we laughed and ate and drank. Finally. Here's a toast to all you hunters with blood under your fingernails. To the rest- Good luck next year.

Tuesday, December 12, 2006


First let me apologize for being so lax in blogging. Between this job and hunting i just haven't had the time. Also the pure joy of writing a song, recording it that day over the phone, then posting that recording on the blog has been snatched away. Blogspot no long offers that service. And man, I've been writing some killer songs. Too bad you'll never hear them. But enough bitching. What I really want to talk about is my love of slutty girls...and I mean that in the nicest way.
Last night I discovered my new favorite TV show- Bad Girl's Club. There's Zara- small town slut, Ripsi- rich blind drunk slut, a blond bimbo slut, a Nashbillie cuntrypolitan slut, a Philly Lezbo? slut, and two black stripper, criminal sluts. I don't think I left anybody out. Brought to you by the Simple Life producers, this show can't fail. I can't remember what channel it's on, but you'll find it.
I date the rise of slutdom to the damaged Cinderella and the narcolyptic Sleeping Beauty, as well as the dwarf friendly Snow White (Disney versions). Then in the 80's pop culture amped it up an notch with The Little Mermaid and Pretty Woman. Now we have the shaved cooch friendsters Paris and Brittney, doing the wide leg gynacam exit for the flashing bulbs. I love all these girls. Don't get me wrong, I like nice girls too. Some of my best friends are nice girls. But I have to admit the girls with a few issues always melt my heart. You all know who you are.
That's the best thing about sluts. They know who they are. Deal with it. That confidence, even if it is misplaced, is very appealing. When Ripsi drinks half a bottle of tequila to sober up in the morning and then tries to do yoga, only to end up in a catfight with Nashbillie slut is so endearing in it's touching nhilism. "I know about your fake nose..." she slurs in the poor girl's face, scratching her neck. Only Borat could get away with this shit as a man. There's no straight man sluts who make for good TV. At least not yet.
The other day brother Duke called and we were talking about his kid Esak and how self confident he is. The kid doesn't have an ounce of self-consciousness in his lanky frame. Esak's had this thing for his sister Eastly's friend for years. This past weekend they hooked up. (I mean that in a PG way). This girl was a self-avowed slut. When Esak and Eastly spotted the girl the next day, in the pickup truck with another one of her many "boyfriends", Eastly asked her brother if it bothered him, seeing the girl in another guy's arms? Esay just smiled and shugged. "NO. I like sluts." he said sincerely. Kid's got a little of his uncle in him.

Sunday, December 10, 2006


Primer by Precision Painting. Clyne/Webber.