New Blogs, Trips, Papa Bear

My fellow Netizens, I can bear the pressure no longer. Clearly, this blog has been drifting for some time. I can feel the accusations growing out in the “no where.” Collectively your blame is rising up like a Swamp Thing in the Bayou to point its finger at the Medicine Bear and saying, “You. You are just like the others. A flash in the internet pan. You wrote, and wrote, and then just like every other pampered generation X’er you lost focus. You became bored. And moved on. This is why you’re no writer. You have the staying power of a 15 year old lad with a Brazilian Stripper. Go back now, and never call yourself a writer again!?”

To this I say HA! HA! You people, you mob, you digital posse. The Medicine Bear does not hibernate because he has MEDICINE…duh! This medicine keeps me awake, with red eyes and staring out my window at LA SWAT hiding in the trees...And don’t start with that “Ooooh, Law School has stolen his focus like a crackhead and a purse.” Not true. The bear’s appetite is never satisfied by one course of study, he is an omnivore. That means veggies and meats, people! No, I am working on a travel story. My adventures through Peru. This condensed multi-volumed treatise is jam packed with sumptuous blend of penis jokes and historical fact. It will be free of charge [except for the part of pretending to enjoy it when one is my presence] and will be delivered to you via email.

So other than that. My father has been ill. Yes, shame. Shame, on you. A pox, a pox on the accusers. Calling me lazy when the “Dancing Bear” is in the hospital. Yeah, my dad is ill and has been bed ridden for 3 months. It’s unsettling because he was such a lively, hearty man. His heartiness is great benefit to him during this time. Most regular mortals would have perished but my father hangs on. He contracted a virus in his adventures to Panama. Apparently a visit to a “local” eatery finally caught up to him. His infection's toxicity was multiplied by various other complications that family modesty prohibits me from disclosing. It does lead me to talk about my father though. A few points that the Mob ought to know about the man.

He was my only parent.

My father and mother’s marriage was short lived and sort of tragic. Much of the marriages in the “hippie” and “free love” period were neither “hip” nor “free.” Unfortunately they separated shortly after their union. My mother lived in Riverside. Apparently the mothering lessons taught in East Los Angeles were not so effective. As a result, my Aunt Sandy contacted my father to ask permission so that she could adopt me. I suppose she assumed that a young, male, bachelor lawyer would not have the time or patience [or maybe even that the lawyer heart is capable of love] to raise me. However, Aunt Sandy was mistaken. My father traveled from the Puyallup Indian Reservation and got me. This is one of the reasons why I love BOYZ IN THE HOOD, aside from the common generation X desire to be a black thug, I also appreciated seeing a Father take responsibility and raise his son.

My father raised me. True it was Father love, which is a more steely kind of affection, it was love none the less. And although, he was rough and tumble, I was never hungry [as my Husky-Sized clothing attest to] and I never felt unloved.

I had a pioneer Father

My dad had a lust for outdoor adventure and hunting. I think his generation was raised on Davey Crockett and Westerns and so they wanted to get outside and kill things. For Instance, when my father was in Law School he put on a head band, and was hunting deer along a creek near riverside. He was hunting with a bow. Of course, he was near Riverside where there were grocery stores and the like. I think he just wanted to be a pioneer-dude. It is highly unlikely that he would even encounter deer. However, while he was “stalking” a great calamity arose. My Father heard a large crowd whistling as shouting. He looked over and saw men pressed up against a chain link fence cheering him on. No, this was not a bathhouse…close, it was a prison. Apparently, the criminals in the yard spied my dad creeping around with a bow and arrow and the violent, “manly,” anti-civilization aspect of it captured their hearts.

Old Man Quick Shots
1. He used night hunt with my Uncle Tom Taylor by duct taping a flashlight to his rifle. A trick I employed when playing war with my buddies which led to chipping my best friend’s tooth.
He has been known to occupy his cabin wearing a giant Coyote “Babbooshka” with no shirt, only sweats stuffed into gortex boots while making Moose stew in a crock-pot and watching Hombre.
He affixed a target with bales of hay across his driveway so that he may sight his rifles in from the comfort of his deck.
2. Every home he lives in has a fire pit. Including installing a Franklin stove inside a house just because he loves the smell of wood smoke.
3. He once asked me if i thought god exists, and at the time I was an atheist and said in my best teen know-it-all voice, “obviously he does not.” Although my father was not a religious man he did say, “You shouldn’t say its so obvious he does not. There is no evidence that he does or does not exist, and if you say he does not, it sounds kind of stupid.” This conversation made a great impression on me.
4. He wore flip flops anywhere and everywhere. He would meet the president of the United States in flip flops.
5. He pioneered Indian Gaming – a huge accomplishment. Essentially he brought welfare to poor White and Asian Americans. Although these ethnic groups do not believe in the state provideing free money to the udner privileged, they do believe in putting up a tiny fee for the chance to win a huge chunk of Free money. Interesting.

Anyways, these are just a few things. This is just to point out how hard it is to see my father struggling in a hospital because he enjoys life. Also, this enjoyment is the reason he is fighting to stay here. He and I are planning to build a smokehouse up in Washington so we can smoke our own salmon this Summer. Also, I wish to share some of the things that I love about my father and have obviously shaped me. Some of my friends wonder what kind of mind can give life to such bizarre and lively inventions, and I say, the kind of mind that was forced to peppermint cod liver oil.

Sincerely MB,
Grateful Son of Dancing Bear

ps. In regards to my father’s name, people ask “Can your dad really dance?” Of course, nothing I have seen really confirms his skill, but my Father assures me that he can. Of course, I usually rely on the judgment of women in these matters and I have never heard them comment on his dancing skill either. I pray that he gets well enough to get up and show me that he is the Dancing Bear.