The Bundy Militia, Mitch McConnell, and me

In early 2016, armed militants led by Nevada rancher Ammon Bundy seized the headquarters of Oregon's Malheur National Wildlife Refuge and occupied it for more than five weeks. Their rationale for doing so was never quite clear, but they never let that get in the way of their determination to, uh...amass an enviable stockpile of snacks, sent in by well-wishers.

Around this same time, Supreme Court Justice Antonin Scalia died, and President Obama nominated Merrick Garland to succeed him. But Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell declared that because Scalia's seat had become vacant during an election year, his Republican Senate would not consider Garland's nomination.

Outraged, I tweeted on my pseudonymous Twitter account an analogy about McConnell and the Republicans behaving just like Bundy's militia.

My old college pal Matt Wuerker, now Politico's Pulitzer Prize-winning political cartoonist, spotted my tweet and asked whether it would be OK with me if he turned it into a cartoon for Politico. I said yes, he made the cartoon, Politico published it...and in April it made the cover of Funny Times.

But the best part? Matt mailed me his original illustration, a beautiful 12 x 18 watercolor on acid-free paper, signed and inscribed, "For Rick—Thanks for a brilliant analogy (and for letting me draw for the Pioneer Log)—Best wishes, Matt." 

Which I immediately had professionally mounted and framed behind museum glass and proudly hung in my office: 

How do you handle a hungry man?

There've been some rumblings in the news lately about edible packaging. I guess everything old is new again, because back in the '90s an OSU Extension magazine called Oregon's Agricultural Progress did a feature story on the topic...accompanied by this illustration (hand drawn by my colleague and friend Tom Weeks) of yours truly, eating a pizza box. Nom nom...nope.

Cold Shark Sandwich (a poem)

In my early 30s I wrote a poem called "Cold Shark Sandwich." Not to be confused with Jeff Bridges' shark steak sandwich in The Contender (which came much later), but close.

Cold Shark Sandwich

I'm eating a cold
shark sandwich
at a round table
in the open space
between time
and electricity.
I adhere to the chair
as if gravity were
my mother.
Other entities in jeans
and sneakers
pass through my field,
oblivious to my oblivion,
neither hungry nor full,
yearning nor complacent,
lilting nor subdued.
Our combined weight matches
the day's insouciance,
the drab light, the rain,
the hastened inertia.
I am menacing in my
easiness, vengeful
in my casual regard.
We swim together,
my lunch,
my thoughts,
my subjects,
and we conceive
each other,
ourselves,
the world.
By design we are
the designers,
by birth we are
children—
naïve, tenuous, charged,
made of everything we see,
seeing nothing we've made—
children whose favorite toy
is the box
and whose oceans are full
of cold
shark
sandwiches.

Living in a lantern (a poem)

I once lived in a teepee in the Cascade Range. In the late winter and early spring. It was cold. And wet. And magical. So I wrote a poem about it.

Living in a Lantern

Yes, the smoke comes back
down when the wind
finds your carelessness,
inviting dark gusts to prove
your life, and your pain.
Yes, the cold hangs still
when the fire dies and night
preys on your restlessness,
carving deep symbols to move
your soul, and your brain.

You are the artist, locating
origins behind the canvas,
painting memories of the hunt
on the taut skin of the lantern.
At the apex of the circle
and the triangle you dance,
a leaping flame expelling demons,
beckoning angels,
becoming light again to replace
the sun.

White men will call you savage;
the gods, illuminator.
You are the beacon, living in
a lantern, and it is
your purpose to bring them
home.

Poem for my parents

In my senior year of college, the yearbook staff asked us to submit a favorite photo of ourselves along with a few lines of text. I submitted a picture of myself playing my beloved Ovation acoustic guitar, plus this poem I wrote for my parents. I remember this vividly because, at the time, my mom was mad at me for some reason...until she saw my poem published in the yearbook. (I later sold the poem to American Greetings for $25.)

To my parents

I love you because you give me
the only real freedom I've ever known.
You give me the freedom not to wonder
who will love me tomorrow.

(Photo: Ken Cooper)

Dudley Do Right, a dashing companion

One of my earliest encounters with LEDs was in 1973, when I bought a flexible Dudley Do Right, replaced his eyes with tiny red LEDs from Radio Shack, and wired the lights to my car stereo so they would flash in sync with the music. Mr. Do Right rode the dashboard of my '68 Javelin for a year, keeping time with the music and keeping me company while I grew from adolescent nerddom to...post-adolescent nerddom.

Me playing drums in 1972

Here's a blast from my distant past: an audio recording of me playing drums with the Lakeridge High School stage band in 1972. There are two pieces here: "The Gig Is a Gas" and "Swamp Rock Stomp." The latter contains my drum solo, which segued into a drum duet about halfway through with my friend Jaren Balzer (who also played trombone). Please keep in mind that I was 17 when this was recorded (I got better, ha ha!).