Remembering Uncle Bob

I'd like to thank everyone for their kind comments and emails last week, and for being patient while I took a few days off to say goodbye to my great Uncle Robert Chomstein. The Navajo people knew him as Naadåa DaaNeéaNaa Néé, or "He Who Reeks of Bongwater", and although he was simply "Uncle Bob" to me, he was much more than just an uncle. He was a mentor. A sage. The last of a dying race of progressive giants who ushered in the civil rights movement with an enlightened cocktail of psychedelic drugs, free love, and congenital herpes.

Indeed, my own political philosophy has its roots in Uncle Bob's little geodesic dome on the banks of the Rio Grande, and my return to Santa Fe last weekend conjured up old childhood memories of summers spent frolicking naked amongst the pinyoned arroyos with the horned lizards, the mournful cries of ancient Pueblo ghosts shouting at me to get off their property floating on the warm New Mexico winds. Now, thanks to Bush's refusal to ratify Kyoto, the winds will sear the flesh right off your bones, and the pinyons have all gone the way of old man Zozobra - burned to ashes like so many civil liberties during a Republican administration.

An environmental and political activist before activism would get you a one-way ticket to Gitmo, Uncle Bob was deeply involved with the American Indian Movement, and it was not unusual to see such Native American heroes as Ward Churchill, Jane Fonda, and Skip Stevenson gathered around the family hooka on a warm summer night, the firelight seeming to deepen the lines in their noble Indian visages. War wounds, perhaps. Scars collected from a lifetime of suffering at the hands of offensive sports logos, racist cartoon characters, and humiliating cigar store sculptures.

Uncle Bob was also an accomplished Native American artist. Unlike the traitorous slime he had dubbed "Uncle Tomahawks", Bob refused to steal precious silver and turqouise from the sacred womb of Gaia. Instead, you'd find typically him at Santa Fe's vibrant Indian Market every weekend, peddling his charming kokopelli figurines fashioned from ear wax and cat turds. He was a regular fixture at the Plaza for many years, until the intolerant wasicu in the city health department forced him out of business. His passing, however, is certain to increase the value of his works, and I've already seen a few of his lint and pubic hair dreamweavers fetching upwards of six dollars a piece on eBay.

The last time I saw him, Uncle Bob was already showing signs of the senile dementia that would ultimately claim his life, and it made him an easy target for Republican hucksters and scam artists who prey on the weak and feeble. I can still recall poring through his piles of unopened utility statements to discover a $950 electricity bill. How a man who lived in a solar powered home could be charged that much for electricity was beyond me, but when I brought it to his attention he merely gave me his trademark toothless grin an nodded knowingly.

"Coyote workum for Enron," he'd say with a wink. "Now come, young papoose! We call Pow Wow. Have big backyard Fire Dance before DEA Kachinas findum basement crop of glaucoma medicine!" Even as his health failed him, Uncle Bob was always thinking of others. And hundreds came from all over the reservation last Friday to show their gratitude and pay him their final respects.

The services were held at a small church in downtown Santa Fe, which frankly revolted me. Uncle Bob was a devout Gnostic shaman who despised white man's religion almost as much as he did being a white man. But I was in the land of the Southwest Chomsteins now, dimwitted drones of the American Taliban. Known for their elongated skulls, giant beer guts, and belt buckles the size of the hubcaps on their gas-guzzling SUV's, they had planned this whole charade, and I was forced to sit through all the hymns and hoseas for the sake of Uncle Bob's memory.

But that didn't mean I had to be proselytized to by a beady-eyed little priestess who wasn't even a lesbian. While she rambled on in what hardly passed for a "eulogy", I took the opportunity to enlighten my Busheep cousins to the real truth about the CheneyBush Junta and their warmongering GOP whoremasters. I told them about how Bush planned hurricane Rita to steal publicity from Cindy Sheehan. I expressed my disgust over Ahhhnold Shwarzeneggar, whom we had all hoped would be a voice for the thousands of Hollywood celebrities silenced by Bush, but who turned out to be just another right-wing slave to the photo-op. I filled their tiny reptile brains with all the facts about Bush's involvement in the assassination of Maxwell Smart, and Karl Rove's outing of Agent 99. Finally, I tore into their precious little conservative idols like the Bush Twins through a case of Miller High Life: John Wayne, Adolf Hitler, Ann Coulter, no one was safe from my acerbic wit. Then, almost as quickly as it had begun, the services were over.

"Come on, Lar," my Uncle Albert urged me as we poured out of the church into the warm New Mexico sun. "Let's go for a drive. A little fun will take your mind off ol' Bongwater Bob."

I was wary of his offer, of course. A Republican's idea of "fun" usually involves chasing a black man through a swamp, mishandling Qurans, or making same sex couples feel uncomfortable. But Uncle Al assured me that it would simply be a "leisurely drive through the country with the family". I supposed it would give me an opporunity to get better acquainted with some of the missing links in the Chomstein family tree, some of whom were with Uncle Bob in his final moments. So I hopped into Uncle Albert's SUV with about nine of my cousins and we were on our way.

It was a pleasant drive, I must admit. The New Mexico desert it breathtakingly beautiful, even with all the environmental destruction Bush has wrought. So I soon resigned myself to enjoying the ride, and was in the middle of a searing diatribe against Chuck "My Cold Dead Hands" Heston, the mastermind of the Columbine Massacre, when I was startled by an odd grunting sound coming from a freakish figure on my left. Cousin Almanzo was one of the miserable Midwest Chomsteins. Global warming combined with years of inbreeding had cursed him with severe dwarfism, gigantism, narcolepsy, sleep apnea, and an acute case of Tourette's Syndrome. I find it difficult to understand how a man ravaged by so many horrifying afflictions could support a political party that cares nothing about his suffering. But when he whipped out his NRA card and winked at me through his lazy eye, there was little doubt of his political leanings.

"So," he droned through his artificial larnyx, "I hear you're one of them liberal types. C***s***er f***face sh*t ARF ARF zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz *SNORT!* WHaaa?"

Before I could answer, Uncle Albert pulled the SUV over to the side of the road.

"Hey Lar," said he. "I think I just saw one of those 'jackalopes' I was telling you about."

My ears perked up. "Really?"

"Sure, sure. He ran behind that cactus over there. Why dontcha hop on out and take a look?"

"Well...I don't know..."

"Aw go on!" he prodded me. "It might be the last chance you have to see one in the wild before Bush has killed them all off."

Convinced, I grabbed my digital camera and jumped out of the car.

On my forty mile jaunt back to town, the warm summer breeze carrying the fresh scent of pinyons mingled with the melted earwax Kokopellis in my fanny pack, I couldn't help but feel as if those old ancient ghosts of Santa Fe were watching over me once again. Popay. Coronado. San Luis Obispo. And most especially, my dear Uncle Bob.

Comments

[aelfheld]

Sorry to hear about the passing of your uncle. I can see that the nut didn't fall far from the tree.

BTW, I could have told you that you wouldn't see a jackalope in New Mexico until October earliest; they've yet to start their autumnal migration.

[Semanticleo]

A warm and insightful look at family values.

Reminds me of my Uncle Bill. He has always been good to me. He always showed an interest in me as I was growing up. He is a very religious man. So, religious in fact that he often liked to have me kneel in prayer at his feet as he mumbled a prayer asked me to hold his hand. Actually, now that I think, it was too small for a hand. But he did like me to shake it a lot and it did seem to get real sweaty.

He is a religious man. Did I mention that? Wrote a couple of books. One was on virtue. Holy, Holy man.
He seemed to spend a lot of time going to religious revivals in Las Vegas. Some people used to call him by a nickname; 'Roll 'dem Bones' Bennett they called him. Must a' been 'cause he preaches so good they start rollin' in the aisles. Sometimes they do it 'cause he's so funny.

He likes to make jokes. 'Specially about black folks
"If you want to cut crime, abort 'dem black babies"
he said one day. That was a hoot. He really takes the cake. Some day Ah wanna be just like him

[DancesWithBullets]

Its always a tragic event when Bush murders a loved one with his jingoistic senility weapons.
Soldier on brave warrior of the left. (I meant soldiering on in the sence that you should continue your journey through life as you have in the past not that you should kill babies and rape woman.(Unless thats what you were doing in the first place))

[Red Loser]

Larry, what a fitting eulogy for a such a great champion of peace, body odor, and the environment. He will be sorely missed.

[Oil Man]

I have it from one of several sources high up the crude chain in the Bush(praise be his name) White House, that there is a large oil deposit under Bob's house. Finally, we can get at it.

[Bubblehead]

Bu-shaitan won't rest until the only place you can see a jackalope is mounted on the wall of gas stations throughout the Mountain West.

[Oil=Evil Man]

It seems to me that we have a RethugliKKKan in our midst, one who burns incense to Bush and pretends to be a Christian, but we shall not tire, falter, nor fail until Oil Man shall become like Larry Chomstein.

Praise to be Allagaia

[Friend of USA]

40 mile walk ?

That's at least 12 hours of walking...

How are your feet Larry?

[Oil Man]

You want to know about jackalopes? I've slaughtered hundreds, nay, thousands of the vermin. We always have to clear out the "indigenous" wild-life before we can drill for the precious fluid.

[Kaboom]

Professym, a wonderfully moving piece. You can be assured that Bongwater Bob has moved on to a better place, one without Bu$Hitler and his cronies.

Peace.

[Jan Bear]

I checked out your blog, Larry.

[libmeister]

Hey, didn't "Uncle Bob" have a role in Terminator II?

[Oil Man]

Terminator II?
Are you kidding me? That's a way too violent movie for any of you homodems. But I'll let you in on a secret, since it doesn't matter anyway. Bush(praise be his name) IS Skynet. Don't you get it? We are going to wipe out all of you homos so we can have all the oil for ourselves. Do you think that Rita missed Houston by accident? Bush(praise be his name) was trying to get the ones he missed with Katrina. Damn, do I have to spell it all out for you?

[Art Collector]

Buck up, Lar. You may not have Uncle Bob anymore. But, you'll always have his Pubic Hair.

[Semanticleo]

Jackaloupes, malaprops,cantaloups; they're all the same to BushGod. Just words in a dictionary. They were there before he was Prez', and they'll be there when he's gone

What's really important is that he get that classic mug in the full-frame of the camera lens and look sincere.

The American people trust that ferret's nose and weasel chin when they see it. Even the once-hated smirk has become an object of reverence as he reminds us of the day we were attacked. This is the Uniter we all prayed to god for. We emptied our pockets of all loose change when the pastor passed the plate, thinking to ourself; our generosity will surely lead to the answered prayer '4 more years'

And here we are. Making good progress in Iraq. Our Economy is booming. Oh, gas prices being high is good. Our president has answered that challenge with the inspirational 'Don't drive your car too much' that followed closely on the heals of my favorite, "Keep Shopping"

BushGod is the best of all possible worlds. Keep his memory close to your heart America. He likes you

[dave]

one day lar, after the the last repug is led to the gallows or put on the last train to the gulag, we will build a fitting monument to your long lost uncle. I have to ask, was he that indian guy in the movie "billy jack"? do not miss this chance to blame this on the zionists......

[Menstrual Rainbow]

I don't wish to carp, but isn't "Uncle Bob" reinforcing gender stereotypes? I would suggest a non-sexist alternative of "Unctie Bob".

[Cricket]

Charleton Heston masterminding Columbine has been a dirty little secret of the Slick Willie years. Maureen Dowd will do an in depth report, I am sure.

Brilliant.

Just brilliant.

I can see that Montezuma's revenge will catch up with those who abuse Gaia.

[Semanticleo]

Oh how we long for the day when Moses led the Israelites out of Egypt.

[Semanticleo]

Has anyone heard how Hillary has been cooking Avian flu in her New York basement.

Is she going to release it the next time Condi is in NYC shooting for the Guinness Record for 'most shoes' now held by Imelda Marcos?

Sociopath that she is. Would she really cause the death of thousands of innocents to get just one person?

Would she put her party's political agenda before the safety and security of Americans?

How Loathesome and venal can a person be?

[Semanticleo]

Has anyone heard how Hillary has been cooking Avian flu in her New York basement?

Is she going to release it the next time Condi is in NYC shooting for the Guinness Record for 'most shoes' now held by Imelda Marcos?

Sociopath that she is. Would she really cause the death of thousands of innocents to get just one person?

Would she put her party's political agenda before the safety and security of Americans?

How Loathesome and venal can a person be?

[Red Loser]

You'll notice that in Terminator 2, "Uncle Bob" is played by none other than Ah-nold Schwarze-nazi. The Rethuglicans have slid their tendrils into all facets of our society, even into the blue-blooded realm of Hollywood! It's no coincidence that Ah-nold, representing George W. Bush, plays the role of an inhuman killing machine. Two fraudulent sElections have shown us that the only way to defeat him is to crush him in a hydraulic press or possibly to lower him into a vat of molten metal. But as long as he himself seeks to crush and melt the sacred cow of union labor, he won't be found anywhere near these places.

Are we learning yet?

[libmeister]

Red Loser gets it.

And isn't it interesting no one has ever seen Larry's "Uncle Bob" in the same room with Ahhh-nold Svvartzenazi all these years! Me thinks we might be dealing with a Rethuglikkkan mole.

Larry, do you have a good explanation for that?

And we'll never forget sElection 2000 the way we forgot the Branch Davidians at Waco.

[Oil Man]

Ah, the Branch Davidians at Waco. There was some damn good oil under that place.

[Bush4Ever]

Yer Uncle Bob sounds like someone who made the universe happier just by breathing. Tonight, I will play all 4 CDs of Nugget II: Original Artyfacts From The British Empire & Beyond 1964-1969 while knocking back a shot of Rebel Yell bourbon followed by an ice cold beer. Repeat until it feels like your head and feet have switched places or until everyone you see looks like Keith Richards, whichever comes first. Here's to ya, Bob!!!

PS: How can I buy a piece of his art? Seriously.