spinning wheel got to go round

 Well art you know, art means a lot of different things to different people.  How can you appoint anyone as the greatest artist in the world?  But to have a personal favorite artist is a fine thing, and it would have been interesting to hear a longer explanation of why Old Dog feels this way.  But then that is one of those teacher's things you know:

Johnny:  Hey Teach is French Guinea in Africa or South America?

Teach:  A very good question Johnny.  Why don't you do some research on the subject and come in tomorrow with a five page report on it that you have examined for spelling and grammatical errors, and enclosed in those transparent binder things which I find so groovy, burnt sienna would be an excellent color?

Johnny (sotto voce): As god is my witness I will never ask a question in class again.

Teach (sotto voce): Good.

But I did go to the wiki, and saw some of his artwork and it was ok you know if you like that kind of stuff, but then I came across this: He is also a unicyclist.  and I remembered that this subject had come up more than once back in the days when we did seminars back at the Ten Cat.  Old Dog would go silent and a faraway look would pass his visage as he broached the subject.  And I was all what makes you think you could do that, and why would you want to do that, and Old Dog just sighed.  If you have to ask, you could never understand.  And juggling, Old Dog once opined on how he could have been a juggler and we borrowed a couple oranges from Dick the owner, who was not smiling when we returned them battered and bruised.  

I am claiming artistic license in these tales though I think I have the essential drift, and yes Old Betsy is as Beagles says it is.

How come things are so fucked up when Man is this excellent specimen with his walking on two legs and those opposable thumbs and that gargantuan brain?  Well that is a biggy, I suspect that it is at the heart of all those long learned barroom discussions that go deep into the night.  

We are not all in it to make a perfect world.  Some people are just in it to make a lot of money, or to crush their enemies, or just to win the heart of dark-haired Susie sitting at the end of the bar eyeing the hunky bartender who we all know is a braggart and a lout, and in no way could give her the life that a unicyclist, which we intend to become shortly, could.

And the guys who do want to make a perfect world, they have different ideas of what a perfect world would be like, and in pursuing their aims often do more harm than the guys who are in it for themselves.

What happened to the Crumbleys?  They appear to have dropped off the face of the earth.  Now we are at the trial of the lady cop who shot instead of tazed.  I'm inclined to give her a pass on murder.  Sometimes no matter how well we have trained and how long we have been doing something we just fuck up.  We don't even need a crazy genome to explain it, just statistics.