The real boss sings

Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez not at a folk festival.

Though it won't be "Kumbaya" in the presidential offices, charismatic Venezuelan president Hugo Chavez will be releasing an album of folk songs. It should destroy his career.

He should know that you can call the U.S. President, "Mr. Danger" and the devil, you can give free heating oil to the poor of the U.S., you can re-distribute land taken by profiteers in your own country, you can rant for three hours every Sunday on your own TV show, but you can't release an album of folk music and expect anyone to listen. Ask Ramblin' Jack Elliott, or Bill Staines. Ask Hazel Dickens or Cindy Lee Berryhill. Ask Pete Seeger, or Bruce Springsteen for that matter.

I have two words for you, El Presidente, "bluegrass" and "cdbaby.com."

I wonder how I get a comp of the new one?

Hemi-powered drones scream down the boulevard

Cruise Night is one of the biggest nights for Middletown's Main Street. It's a night on which I can see how out of touch I've always been with America's Petroleum Culture.

I never understood the draw of loud engines, burning rubber, or a howling metal 3,000 pound projectile in the hands of a 16 year old. The car songs of the Beach Boys and Jan and Dean were always lost on me, and though I love the Boss, even some of Springsteen's gearhead lyrics hit me with little effect.

For me cars have always held a practical purpose. Get me from point A to point Z. So, my first car was a VW Beetle, and in a succession of practical rides I now drive a Honda Accord. My last car, an Accord wagon did have a catchet for a few years as a hot street car. Go figure. I'm hankering to buy something that burns as little fossil fuel as possible.

I can appreciate the design aspect of a car. Particularly the seductive curves of the pre-1950 models. I can admire the work these guys, mostly, put into restoration. Let me tell you, these buggies shine.

Considering where we are in the world considering oil supplies, it strikes me odd that we still have this ongoing fetish about our wheels.

And we'll have fun, fun, fun till the price of gas hits $6 a gallon, where it belongs.