On Mullets

" . . . go to the barber and tell him you don't want to look like an asshole anymore." Wesley Willis, Cut the Mullet.

This Is Why I Hate Bumper Stickers

Usually, at least around here, on the freeways and highways and little one-way streets when you see a bumper sticker stuck on a vehicle it's usually more of a public declaration of their politics or religious views.

But one this morning struck me as profound. Perhaps it was supposed to be funny. Hell, I don't know, but for whatever reason my brain was working differently. Just like the milk ads we've been inundated with, it was simple with black background and the familiar sans-serif typeface asking, "got purpose?"

Fuck!

I think I've been caught and my cover blown. Fucking shit. No more work rants.

Goin' Somewhere

I'm tired and ready to go home. The clouds are starting to fill in the blue and cover the sun and I really want to go for a drive but I don't know where I'd drive to let alone have the time to get behind the wheel and head somewhere I really feel like going. But maybe someday soon I'll just steal a day for myself and go somewhere that've I've never been before on a road I've never been on before and eat at a cafe I've never seen or get a piece of jerky and a raspberry ice tea from a little run-down corner market I've never spent money at that sells porno mags behind the counter that I've never read or oggled before for a day I'll never have again. I can hear the clock ticking through the constant ringing in my ears.

Jinxing the Jinx?

Well, assuming I don't sell the Jinx between now and Saturday, which is likely since there's not even a For Sale sign on the windshield, I'm hoping maybe to get some time to wrench on the bastard. Blue has been using its battery so it should have lots of turn and now I'll be able to trace down the problem.

I don't know why, but about the time I've made my peace with sending Jinx up the road I get interested in it again. Which isn't good because about the time I'm ready to dump a few bucks into the old bucket we end up having some sort of mild financial crisis. Maybe this weekend will be different. Maybe this weekend I'll get the starter replaced or fix whatever is wrong with it and there won't be any problems. Hell, maybe it'll have a reverse effect and inadvertently make me wealthy.

I just hope the sonuvabitch turns over. I want to hear the engine rumble and the carb cough and sputter gas and shit all over the place because it hasn't been started in so damn long. I want to see the big black monster grumble to life, making all the people who said it'd never run swallow a few of their words. I guess this time it's getting personal.

Da Susta

My brer (who is younger, but not by a whole helluva' lot) once told me he regrets turning something he enjoyed into his profession. He said after a while it just becomes a job and you end up hating it. He used to enjoy tinkering with cars and now he hates it. He hates dealing with cars and problems and the people associated with them.

To a certain degree, I agree with him. If you only enjoy it, eventually it will become just a way to put food on the table. Kind of like enjoying pastrami; eat it occasionally and you enjoy it but if you eat it every friggin' day you'll get sick of it and eventually probably grow to hate it. But if he were passionate about something, that might be different.

But I think that's the problem with 90% of the working population- we can't find what we're passionate about and if we do, we don't know how to turn it into a career. Some people do. Some people take the risks necessary to do what they want and then reap the rewards.

Take Rob Zombie, my current role model (why someone my age needs a role model is a whole other story), for example. Here's a guy who, for whatever reason, wasn't afraid to walk the path less traveled. He did crazy shit like work as a designer on the set of Pee Wee's Playhouse. For crying out loud he started a band and he didn't know how to play any instruments! For one of his albums instead of letting the label go cheap on the sleeve art he designed, Rob ponied up the bucks himself. This is a man who is passionate about his art and about what he does. And you can see it dripping off the CD covers he designs and in the music he creates.

Then there's those guys from Miami Ink. In order to make a living inking people up, they also took paths less traveled. They've spent a lot of time on the road, putting their necks out their to start their own shops and risking their reputations and others' skin to push their art and individual style forward. That takes fucking balls. Now they're doing what I'd like to do because they took the risks and have the passion necessary to make the sacrifices they were willing to make.

So, as I sit at this computer, looking out the window, I'm wondering what the hell I'm passionate about. I know it isn't what I'm doing now. The bigger question is that once I find it, will have the huevos necessary to chase it down? I guess that's the problem my brer faces as well.

Somewhere

Somewhere over the hill the sun is shining on a run down old shack surrounded by sage brush. Next to the gray structure is an old Chevrolet, slowly giving way to the elements. It's not a shell; the seats, glass, engine, transmission and everything else that makes an automobile an automobile are still there. Rats, birds and anything else that can make a home in the old car have and continue to do so. The straight six is covered with bits of grass stems, rat shit and the stuffing from the worn out bench seats. The window seals are cracked and worn from the glowering sun and vicious winters. But it will sit there, in silence, very slowly disappearing into the soil, un-aided by the salt and months of rain that fall in other places.

In an Old 71

Alright, so I'm trying to chase away the clouds by thinking about shit that makes me luckier than all the other bastards in the world. One of them has to be the joy of driving Blue.

Nah, he's not very handsome to look at. And to quote the same Johnny Cash song, he's stubborn and he eats like a hog. But there's something about the simplicity of a motor, transmisson and rusty body on a chassis that makes Blue a pleasure to drive. The gauges are all familiar because of the 72 GMC I had, but it doesn't matter. It's just a simple, old truck.

Since Pedro was being a prick yesterday I had to drive Blue to work and it was nice knowing that if need be I could McGuyver him enough to make it back home. But there's something else, some intangible thing that happens when I slide behind the huge, bus-like steering wheel, that makes me happy. I don't need the radio on. The drone of the engine is enough. The smell of the burning oil and a rich gas mix combined with over 30 years of dirt and work is almost narcotic. I can't afford to put the hammer down, so we just amble down 99 on our way home and watch the sun set.

I do have a lot to be thankful for outside of possessions. I have the missus, good family, good friends and good dogs on top of a nice little home on a little bit of land in some of the most beautiful country in this entire world. Like I keep telling myself- I'm lucky. I just hope I don't forget it and driving that rusted out, blue and white GMC helps me remember.

Soap and Water Please?

Okay, maybe this whole germ-a-phobic thing is getting out of control. But in my opinion, this is flat-out fucking disgusting.

I'm taking a piss and there's some guy in the stall next to me. I think he's taking a shit, but I don't know for sure. I finish up and go wash my hands. I hear the toilet in the stall flush. Then I see him grab the door handle and exit, without washing his fucking hands!!!!!!!!!!!

All I ask is a little soap and water! I don't care if he took a piss and didn't touch his dick. I don't care if he flushed the toilet with his fucking shoes. I care that I don't know if he did or not and he didn't wash his fucking hands!!!!!

The guy doesn't work in our office, thank god. I'd be a real fucking mess if he did. This is why I'm going to move out to the middle of nowhere, someplace where I don't have to deal with people who can't wash their fucking hands.

They Shoot Cars, Don't They?

Yeah, it's turning out to be a typical Monday morning occurence now. Pedro, covered in frost, won't start. Fuck. Looks like it's time to put this pony down, or sell it to my old man or someone else who just needs a run-about to get 'em to the store and back.

I was really hoping Pedro would kick this non-starting bullshit. He's been a good little car and has taken more abuse than a little car should. And when he does decide to turn over, he goes down the road like a dream. Well, as long as like a dream means it needs an alignment, burns a little oil and not a lot of huevos. At any rate, this little car has been one helluva' a companion. We've hauled couches, wood- hell, I can't think of all the crap we've hauled in that car. He still has the funk of old man, dog and cigar smoke (odors that were there when I pulled him off the lot) and takes on water, but what else would you expect from a car of his vintage?

Adios, Pedro. In three weeks you'll have a new home. And me a different set of wheels.

Leaves Not Quite Falling

I don't know if it's this time of year or maybe just Fridays in general, but I've been thinking a lot about old friends that have came and went in my life. It's not like anything happened. Time passed and our path's just haven't crossed again.

I know where the squid is at and the same with matty, though I wish I could go see him and can't. I haven't talked to him in about 2 years and I don't think he'll even be available to bullshit with for another 15 months. There's an old friend from the Sunflower State I lost touch with, but that's more my fault than her's. I know I won't ever talk to her again, but that's just the way it is.

It's just weird thinking about the people I was close to then and don't even talk to hardly anymore and knowing it'll be the same with a lot of the people I know now. There's some people you just feel kind of slipping out; there isn't any reason for it, it's just the way things happen. I guess we're all sitting along the street of a parade and we watch our family and friends come and go. When I get to talk to them I relish the moments, but at times like this I try not to think of them ever leaving my life or me their's.

So, I'll try the squid again this weekend and maybe a few others that have come and gone in the last couple of years. Maybe I'll have a few beers, watch the game (Ducks vs USC- what the hell else would I be interested in?) and catch up with a few friends for dinner on Saturday night. Even though times can feel like that damn Social Distortion song, I know they aren't. They're more like an old Johnny Cash song.

Don't Fuck with Oregon Either!

Well, this is an old story, but it's back in the news again because the investigation is all over. This is why you don't make an ass out of yourself in the Beaver States, fools!

Okay, maybe I shouldn't be making light of a guy who got shot by a park ranger. But do you realize how big of a dickhead you have to be to piss off a park ranger? Yeah, they get mad when you're drinking and being rowdy. I've been shushed by 'em plenty of times. And they don't like it when you play darts in the campground either. But I've never had them draw their weapon on me.

Something Else I Wish I'd Said

You always get a second chance unless you're dead or a horse.

I've Had Enough

Friday could not come soon e-fucking-nough. I have had enough of this shit for a week. And it hasn't been a bad week, I'm just one of those assholes that lives for Friday after work I guess. I could take a nap right now. Instead of coming to work I almost stopped and took pictures of ignorant shit I've always wanted to take pictures of.

To think about it, this week has been stressful. But it's not like I'm a fireman or a soldier or something or somebody living in one of the hurricane areas. Actually, my life is pretty fucking easy. In the whole scheme of things my job is pretty pointless and I live in a nice house and all that. Sure, I have to cut down on the alcohol and food, but all in all that's not too bad. And when disaster does hit, it'll be so sudden that there will not be any time for prep. It'll be head for higher ground or get the hell out of the way and hope you're not covered in ash or under a mountain. I'm a pretty lucky bastard once you get down to it.

After a week of my 'new lifestyle', I've come to a discovery. Exercise doesn't ease aggression. In fact it encourages it. Which means I need to learn how to fight.

More Advice

Don't get your palm read unless you're really ready to hear what the lady says.

Don't go to the doctor unless you're really ready to hear what the lady says.

Don't take all the lavender you've been picking on your walks, rub off the blooms into a little tin box then when your co-workers ask you what you're doing tell them you're making a "serenity box".

Blah

Well, it's going to be one of those days. I'm tired, lack focus and have a case of the fukets. It's going to be a long day.

Then I have a friend who's been quoting Belinda Carlisle. I'm worried about her. If she's taking advice from the 80's pop then she needs help. Or some new CDs.

Pedro keeps running, though we're thinking of trading him on something else that's mechanically better. But this morning I was looking at the Jinx as I was backing out of my driveway and just kept thinking even if it's not my dream ride, it's still pretty sweet. In the morning dew the paint has an almost flat black finish and the chrome trim pops. If the ass-end was dagoed and the front end about 2 inches lower, with all the rust spots gone and the few door dings filled, it'd be a mean motherfuckin' machine. I still want an old 47 out of Montana though. The Jinx will always require the most expensive fuel to run it, plus it gets shitty gas mileage. The 47, still a bit of a pig, but a more manageable one. I don't know. Sometimes I'm ready to dump the Jinx and then mornings like these I'm ready to put it up on jackstands and see what I can do.

When you have time, you don't have money. When you have money, you don't have time.

Sunny day

What a weird day and it's not even over yet. Not bad weird, good weird.

Woke up this morning and went about my business as usual. Except I wasn't happy or sad or anything. I just wanted to fight. Fuck shit up. Just wanted to find some fucker looking at me wrong and go toe to toe, which would be bad because I don't know how to fight. I'd totally get my ass handed to me. But that'd be okay.

Work is work. Made a grusome discover under my keys. Never make that mistake again.

Then today was team lunch. So the four of us drove to a place I'd always seen when I was a parts driver but never stopped in. Just a little burger shack, almost a dive. Walk in, feels like a dive with how many years of nicotine floating in the air. But the food was great. And we all had a good time. I love places like that. It was nice to go on a team lunch that was way out of the way and to a place hardly anyone at work goes to. I love those little adventures. Maybe one of my personal adventures will be to grab a beer or a gnt at one of the little watering holes I pass on my way home.

So now I'm all happy and shit and I don't know what to do with myself. I sure as hell don't feel like being here, don't feel like going home or feel like going to all the places I usually go. I still feel agitated I guess, but I don't feel so much like fighting now. It's a good time I'm a straight up chicken shit or I'd have no teeth in my head.

I also feel like sleeping.

Once You Know It

So, this morning I made a monumental mistake. A member of my team showed me how to pop the keys off of my keyboard. Damn it. Now that I know how much crap is still stuck under there I don't think I'll ever be content. Not until I take every fucking key off of the keyboard at the same time, use Q-Tips and rubbing alcohol to clean everything down and then re-assemble the friggin' thing.

It's kind of like a carnival ride. You get excited to try something and you get your chance and go for it. Before you know it you're upside down with your change falling out of your pocket and covered in puke.

At that point it's too late to turn back. Ignorance is bliss.

Things I wished I'd said

"The blood stays on the blade." yeah, I just watched the Gangs of New York. I'm a bit behind on my movie watching. Don't know what kind of situation i'd be in to say it though.

"Okay. Let's magnetize this motherfucker." God bless Stever Earle.

"This ain't no mecca man, this place is fucked!" God bless Rancid as well.

Boyo a bad word?

Okay, so this was something I didn't expect to find. And it's fairly current too. According to this article from Wales, boyo is a racist term.

I know it's a word that's been around awhile and I'm guessing it followed the Irish, British, Welsh and Scotch immigrants over the Atlantic. But racist? Who'da thunk it?

Advice

A word to the wise-
Don't drink a brand of coffee you like at home and then try to drink whatever they brew at work.

Don't put your betta tank up on some boxes that it doesn't fit all the way on.

Don't ever count on your car performing the same non-starting trick for the mechanic as it does for you.

Don't volunteer to do something you don't want to do because you'll end up doing it.

Never tell people you spend your days working on a computer. They'll assume you work on computers.

Never pick up a hitchhiker that's just standing along side the road. He's more than likely the one that'll stab you in the kidneys, dump you in the ditch and steal your car. Pick up the one walking with a lunch box in his hand.

If you're hitch hiking, never get in a car the proceed to insult either the car, the driver's up-keep of the car or the driver's taste in music. It's a sure-fire way to get your ass dumped in the middle of nowhere.

Always pack an extra pair of boxers. Or briefs. Or panties. Or whatever you choose to wear.

Calling Bullshit on the Draft

This weekend I read on op-ed piece by a gentleman, Michael Rooke-Ley, declaring Charlie Rangle's draft was just the thing the US needed to not only shore up it's thinning military enlistment but also as a solution to the problems between the wealthy and poor as well as the blacks and the whites. Maybe it would ease tensions between urban dwellers and suburbanites. But the cost would be on rural Americans' shoulders.

I'm hoping the author of the op-ed isn't either as arrogant, ignorant or dis-hinest as his writing seemed. Using a military draft as a social justice tool is unmitigated bullshit, and I have a feeling those who support this bill, this horrendous idea that would be stained with the blood of rural Americans as well as poor Americans, know that it is.

The bill, as described by Rooke-Ley's op-ed, would re-introduce a draft without a college-deferment provision and effect all men and women between the ages of 18-26. The hopes, as outlined by Rooke-Ley, would be that with this draft the children of the wealthy would be drafted as equally as the poor. However, there is a catch. Those who proclaim themselves as "conscientous objectors" could defer military duty for some other form of "national service". Nothing was necessarily outlined, but I'm guessing programs such as the Peace Corp would be used.

This sounds somewhat reasonable, right? Rooke-Ley even has children who are pre-draft age. Plus, as he mentions, poor black and Latinos are dying in disproportionately high numbers, as are the poor from rural and urban areas. Surely this'll make sure the wealthy white people's children will die on the field of battle as well and maybe make those in power think twice about going to war.

Bullshit. The loophole about other "national service" is the out that will ensure not only rural and small-town Americans continue to be sacrificed for war, but also blacks and Hispanics. In my opinion, much like the bad old days of Tammeny Hall, this nothing but a get votes to get our guy in power ploy. But that's just my take on it. Perhaps they're not trying to be devisive but really care about the under-privileged. If so, why have the opt-out?

Something else to consider, as far as "national service" programs are concerned, if they're set up to work like the Peace Corp we're going to have a problem with them looking for the right profile, if you catch my drift. The ranks of these service programs will be filled with the children of the privilege, the children of those with influence and those who are lucky enough to be in areas where that sort of service isn't seen as "shirking duty". There will be no room left for the others (read blacks, Hispanics and rural whites) even if they chose this route.

And what if a Senator's daughter is sent into the military? What are to expect then? Will it be different than what we saw in Vietnam? A certain Senator's son was drafted. Instead of carrying an M-16 and humping packs through the swamp, Al Gore carried a typewriter and worked as a journalist instead of general infantry. With Rangle's draft, we can expect the same to happen again. Children of the powerful will be safely tucked away from the front while the poor are shoved forward, their sacrifice making our way of life possible.

If Vietnam taught us anything, the wealthy have money to send their children to the safety of another country. The poor couldn't do that then and they can't do it now. I realize the hope behind Rangle's draft is that by having a loophole, er, "national service" opt-out means people won't dodge the draft. However, unless you're going to have written into it that men and women caught moving to a different country to avoid being drafted lose their right to citizenship and won't be legally allowed into the US for an extreme number of years, it's not going to change a damn thing.

Another reason why rural people of all races are going to be the ones sacrificed for the comfort of the rest of us is because for some reason, and this is more anecdotal than taking the time to research numbers, rural people seem more inclined to fly the flag, act more patriotically, speak more highly of their country and as a result will die fighting for their country. It's one thing if that's their choice. However, Rangle's draft will likely result in these people, when drafted, going into the military and dying while their urban and suburban counterparts join some sort of "national service" program.

Not only are we willing to send more rural and poor Americans to die to make people in power on the American left feel good about themselves, we're also willing to sacrifice the quality of our military to do so. There is no denying that the military is spread thin. But filling in the gaps with people who do not want to be there is not the answer. It's the perfect recipe for another situation where the disaffected and uninterested are sent in to be bodies, not warriors. Instead of sending people who'll just go through the paces, it would be far better to send people who are willing to be there.

Charlie Rangle's draft, which, if the article is correct, is bullshit. Rooke-Ley theorizes if the rich have their children being called to fight, there'll be less of a chance that the United States will go to war unnecessarily. Bullshit. When the people in power deem a cause for the US to fight, they'll send troops. Even if the ranks are filled with the privilege (yeah, I'm being optimistic here), they'll send people to fight. Fighting in Vietnam started when Eisenhower was in office and Kennedy and Johnson sent more troops. Clinton sent American soldiers to die in Bosnia because of ethnic cleansing. And then there's Iraq. War is war. Presidents, regardless of party affiliation, will send soldiers to battle. In my opinion, what Rooke-Ley, Rangle and his type are trying to do is clear their consciouses with not only the blood of rural Americans but also their poor, urban counterparts. They want to feel like they're helping solve the skin-color rift by sending people to un-voluntarily die. This won't help solve any problems and more than anything increase tensions.

We don't need the blood of the poor and rural Americans spilled to make these people feel like they have the moral high ground and we don't need to hinder the well-trained men and women whom volunteer for military service either. If you want the moral high ground, you can't just throw bodies at it.

The Perfect Ending

Ah, thank god this friggin' week is over.

Today though was the perfect ending. Pedro actually started. Upgrade. I had a doctor's appointment. Down grade. The blood work came back not only saying that my triglyceride and good cholesterol levels weren't where they need to be. And now, thanks to the daily doses of aspirin and niacin, the ol' liver ain't doin' too hot either. So, it was recommended I cut my drinking in half- to no more than one beer a day.

It's not all as bad as that. It's just the shits to feel like you're an old man at 29. And one of the simple pleasures in life is becoming dangerous to your health.

I'm missing people too. I miss my brer. He's just fun to hang out with and I enjoyed hauling hay with him. I like the person he grew into being though I wish he knew how good he really is. I miss the tart. It's weird not having our lunch time chats, but at least I can keep tabs on her to a certain degree. But it doesn't keep me from worrying about her. I miss the squid too. I haven't talked to him in a long time and I miss visiting him on Whidbey. Sometimes life takes us in weird places and I guess not all the trails always meet up. I just hope he's happy.

It feels like I'm in Bob Dylan's Dream. I know I'll see my brother again, perhaps in October. I hope to meet the tart in person someday, but if not it's been nice knowing for the time that I get to. And I'll call the squid again this weekend, leave a message on his answering machine saying hello and hope we get to have another night of beer drinking.

Tonight I'm supposed to go to a hockey game with some guys from work, and I know I need to. But I don't want to at this very second, though I don't want to go home either. I just want to go park somewhere, smoke cigarettes (though I'm not a smoker) and think about the people I've met and what they're all doing.

The weather report- lingering dark clouds, but I know why they're around which is nice for a change.

Thursdays can be Mondays

Oh, the joys of automobiles. On one hand they make it so I can travel to a job outside my community (well, my road) and on the other hand totally fuck up a quick lunch break errand.

So, Pedro is out of commission on account of not wanting to start when the temperature drops below 70 degrees. Fine, whatever. Be that way, prick. So I'm driving Blue. In an attempt to get better performance, I used an old-school trick to increase air-flow to the carburator by turning the air cleaner lid upside down and exposing about an 1/2 inch section of air filter. The screw that holds the nut on wasn't as long as I would have liked it to be, but the nut was holding it on. Until today.

An old pickup shakes and shimmies alot, especially when you have a dumb fucker like working on it. Anyways, while I was going down the road, I felt something crazy bang along the bottom of the floorboards and all of sudden Blue is acting funny. I get to where I was going to get the dog food and sure as shit the fucking nut fell off. As did the air cleaner. Which then knocked a house out of the valve cover. Which then ripped a grommet in half that was holding the hose inside the valve cover. Mother fucker.

So, I'm sitting in the Petco parking lot, hood up on my rusted heap, looking classy as fuck in my undershirt trying to McGuyver my way out of this situation. With a rag I used to wipe the moisture off the inside of the windows (on account I have no heater core for defrosting them) and a sandwich baggy, I managed to jerry-rig the fucker back together. Looks like my old Okie roots came through on this one. I would've done a lot better of a job if I'd had some baling wire.

Now, as 5 o'clock approaches, I'm hoping I can limp Blue home without a lot of trouble. I wanted to stop and take some pics on the way home to send to the tart, but I guess that won't be happening. And I know I won't make it to NAPA in time to get the parts. So it looks like I have another weekend project.

The one good thing about the Jinx. Since it doesn't run it can't break down!

Why the Hell . . . .

. . . . is Adam Carolla famous?

Seriously. I try to watch his show and barely interesting. Once in a while he'll say something funny, but honestly he's no funnier than the people I work with I don't have to pay for a channel to listen to their shit! I actually get paid to hang out with them. But Carolla- what the fuck?

Yeah, I know he did a popular sex-talk radio show back in the day. But you know what? He wasn't funny back then either. Little Doctor Drew was funnier than Carolla, plus he knew shit about STDs and junk. But Carolla, all he has is a mono-brow and a big mouth. He looks like a fuckin' Muppet. Not one of the ones that you remember but one of the ones they scavenged other Muppet bits from to create a new Muppet every week.

It's bad enough the Comedy Channel thinks he's worthy of a talk-type show, but now TLC is giving him one too. What the fuck? What the hell we going to learn from him? How to be fucking annoying? What I'd really like to know is how he got so far ahead in the game.

The Keyboard Saga: Mission Accomplished!

That's right. Today when I banged the keyboard against my desk very little crap fell out. I think I won the battle. Sure, there was still a little bit that fell out, but nothing like the dander, pubes, eye-lashes and other un-recognizable crap from the previous days.

Most of the gunk is scraped off the keys. However, now I wash my hands everytime I get up from my desk- whether I need to or not. I did a Lysol wipe the other day but they still feel a little tacky. Could be from the Lysol, but I bet it's from the gunk and thousands of germs and crap that are stuck to the keys.

But for now, I've won. I might keep up on the occasional cleaning with Lysol, but outside that and a regular keyboard banging I think the worst of it is gone.

An interesting side note- now almost everyone in the company is worried about keyboard cleanliness. I hear people blowing and bangin on their keyboards all day long now!

Our Modern Opera Coupe?

I know and to a degree appreciate the whole auto makers taking "retro" styling cues, but instead of trying to make a knock-off of an old ride why not just make the new designs cooler?

It's going to be sad when in the future our kids are stuck with plain-Jane run-of-the-mill styled cars or ones that look like something from long ago. I hope they all don't just think of them like those mid-70's and early 80s Cadillacs and Lincolns designed to look like opera coupes from the 30s. God help us all if so.

Notebooks of Optimism

Ahh, how I miss the days of September from when I was still a kid. Nothing felt more optimistic than a stack of fresh notebooks, un-sharpened pencils and the feel of new, unwashed clothes. Every year I'd make the same promises to study hard, get all my homework done as soon as I got home (or on Friday night so I wouldn't have it hanging over my head all weekend) and to drag my ass out of bed so I wasn't having to run for the bus or late for my first class. By the end of September I was back to all my old habits. I studied hard, but in front of the TV. I'd get my homework done, but it was always after practice and dinner, meaning I rarely went to bed before 10 or 11. And Sunday nights- those were spent catching up from procrastinating. I still was always dashing for the bus or hauling ass down the highway trying not to be late for school.

But it's the optimism those crisp mornings and fresh supplies brought on that I guess I'm nostalgic for. Even when I go to the store and buy a new notebook, I feel a little happy inside. Maybe this will be the notebook I pen the great American novel in or get my life all figured out. Maybe this is the notebook my children and grand children will find and realize I was a dumb kid at one time too. Maybe this is the notebook that will change everything.

I'm no good at New Years Resolutions. Never have been, never will be. But maybe I'll set my goals and plans for the year in September from now on, on a fresh notebook, free of flash designs, grocery lists and novels that only make it to one paragraph. Even if they stay empty, there's still the unfulfilled dreams waiting to be written down.

Latest on the Keyboard Saga

So I've got most of the crap scraped off the keys. But I still feel like I need a shower after I type anything and eating at my desk has stopped.

A few more items dropped out of the keyboard- mostly whitish dander and what I'm hoping is chocolate. Thank God there were no more pubes.

I'm trying to figure out if I can spray Lysol on the keys or if I'll be back where I started.

Fucking disgusting keyboard.

I need to go wash my hands. Again.

I Bitch, You Decide!

Alright, I only know of one person who's actually read this damn thing, and if you want to know which movie to watch and which sucks check her out (though the whole damn thing is pretty entertaining), but here's the question I post to all you anonymous passer-byers:

Should I make it so people can't spam this?

Here's the deal. I like to bitch. I like to bitch about stuff alot. Especially stuff that, in the whole scheme of things, don't matter a whole helluva' lot. Shit like blog spammers.

But it is annoying. I mean, I know what these assholes are doing. And I get a little joy out of it, but by ignoring them I'm a willing pawn in their dumb-assed game.

So, to block or not to block? What do you all think? Or do you even give a shit? Or are you thinking "I wish this navel-gazing mother fucker would quit typing this bullshit and get on to something serious." If that's you, then why the hell did you read this far down?

Anyways, I'll decide Friday. Comment as you want. This is your one chance to tell some prick in Oregon what to do.

Looking Outside

Now, this isn't supposed to be one of those Eeyore (you know, that mopey-ass donkey from Winnie the Pooh), poor me type of posts. But, inevitably, it will sound like one.

There's a lot of shit I have to reconcile with, and today, the most glaring one is the fact I don't really belong in a lot of places. I think as much as everyone wants to be an outsider and a lone gunman, deep inside, to a certain degree, we want to belong to something. The outsider and lone gunmen belong to a whole society of outsiders and other lone gunmen.

At work, I don't fit in. The forum where I moderate I don't fit in. I fit in to a certain degree with my friends, but not really. I'm somewhere between the professionals and the blue collars but not really either. Elementary school, high school, college, the same story. My family, my hometown- the same thing except for I'm the fucker who left and never visits. I guess we all feel like that, but I feel like that all the time. It's like the ringing in my ears; it's always been there and I suppose it always will be.

I guess I'm the guy sitting on the edge of the circle but not on the inside but not way off on the outside with all the other people who don't want to fit in. It's not like I give a shit if I fit in; if I did I'd probably dress better and not cuss every damn thing that pisses me off or wave my arms like a frustrated chimp. I'd change my politics, my point of view, the way I do whatever it is I do.

Alright, enough of the whiny ass bullshit that I'm always being a fucking whine-ass about. Stuff it down, zip it up and let 'er roll.

Now this is really disgusting

I just banged my keyboard against my desk and what looks like a scab fell out. I think I need to go wash my hands.

Coffee and Keyboards

A word to the wise: don't spill coffee in your keyboard. If you do, you'll have to get one and you don't know who used it last.

So far, I've dumped skin flakes, eye lashes, eye brow hairs, head hairs, pubic hairs, food stuffs, boogers (yes, boogers) and only God knows what else out of this damn thing. On top of it the keys are covered in sticky schmootz. I think I'm going to contract a hand-washing disorder because of this damn keyboard.

It's fucking disgusting.

Just about when . . ..

Just about when you think everything is going to be alright, it seems like something you've either neglected or ignored jumps up to bite you in the ass. Yes, I'm speaking of my dear, loyal car, Pedro. The little fucker just wouldn't start. Again.

I'm just getting tired of this shit. Really, I am. I know it's such a trivial thing to get upset about, but it just seems like about the time I feel like I'm getting my footing something comes along and gives me a hard buck and knocks me on my ass. Yeah, it's a car. So take it to the mechanic. But what is the mechanic going to find? More wrong than not probably. So then it's clean Pedro up, and take him to the dealership where we hope to not get overly screwed over by an eager salesperson.

Like I said, I'm just tired of this shit. Blue needs a whole pile of work done plus tires, the Jinx needs a starter and God only knows what else on top of a paint job, window and door seals and new carpet. Add a nice heaping of all the other shit I can't get handled in my life and I'm done.

I'm sick this shit.

Hmmmm

So, is it a bad sign when the company safety guy comes down and starts talking about various dangers, brings up the subject of bomb threats and disgruntled employees with guns and everyone turns and looks at you?

On Stealing and Looting

Seeing the images of people stealing stuff after Katrina hit in New Orleans brought a lesson I heard over and over again while growing: if you're going to steal, steal big.

I think there's more to it than just stealing big. Those guys hauling off TVs and DVD players and crap might have had the right idea, but I think perhaps there's something else to consider when looting: if you're going to steal, steal smart.

What the hell good is packing a big screen TV going to do when your fucking home is washed away? None. And if you pack it off with you, aren't you going to look a little guilty when the rescue crew comes to pick you up and you have 20 pairs of Levi's still on the hangar under your arm? Of course you are. Stealing electronics during a time like this is just flat out stupid. If you insist on stealing shit, at least make sure it's either easily portable and concealable or something useful.

Like what you might ask? Jewelry is pretty portable and can be stashed under clothing, up buttholes, in bellies and stuff like that. Plus the value is higher and it won't be ruined by water. In situations where chaos ensues, guns and ammunition are excellent items to rip off. Not only are they good for bartering, they make it so you can steal stolen property from other thieves and innocent people as well protect all of your stolen property.

With major flooding going on, life jackets and a rubber raft might come in handy. Same with blankets and warm clothes. Things that you can use to keep yourself alive are just smart to steal. Honestly, how far you going to be able to float on boombox or a big screen TV?

In the Little Town of Goshen

While I was getting ready for work this morning I heard something on the news that made me stop and watch the TV.

Apparently, in the attic of an outbuilding near a house, two hired hands found the corpse of a woman when cleaning out the building. They believe it might be the guy's wife, who just up and disappeared back in March.

Hearing "Goshen" and "corpse" in the same sentence made me take notice because Goshen is such a sleepy little town. It's wedged between I-5 and Hwy 99, has a school, two or three streets, a bar and a few other small businesses and mills. I drive through it on my way home almost day, opting for the slower pace of 99 versus the chaos of I-5. This little house isn't on the main highway, but still, to think about all the little universes that exist in each little house on I peek at on my way home just seems weird. Everyday as I trekked back and forth to work, inside this little attic space a woman sat in some sort of quiet darkness. Sounds from the outside made their way to her ears but were never registered by her brain. While the rain came and went and the sun rose and fell, her body quietly rotted while in another close-by universe her husband went about his life without her.

Who knows about the little dramas unfolding in each little universe we pass by on the way to and from our lives. The dust settling on the TV, the dishes sitting in the sink, the phone ringing unanswered as well as the times when the houses are filled with fighting, crying and laughing, fill the walls whether we see into them or not.

Weather Report

Black clouds still lingering. But instead of feeling low yesterday I felt more like laughing and breaking shit. Coming down from it today, but what the fuck.

A Whole Herd of Oregon Barney Fifes?

"Huh?" you ask.

Well, Oregon is sending in a ton of National Guard men and women, many fresh from Iraq and other places around the world. One guardsman I know the girlfriend of just returned in March, was getting ready for classes when he was called up again.

But that's part of the deal when you join the Guard. You can be sent out at anytime, regardless of what kind of sense it makes.

What makes no sense to me is the assertion that the members of the Oregon National Guard that are being sent to New Orleans are taking guns, but no bullets. Granted, this story is from a news talk station that isn't a big fan of Oregon's governor. But assuming it is true, what kind of sense does it make? Why not tell them to just leave their weapons at the armory if they aren't going to be able to use them against the armed thugs and looters? It's kind of like a mother with a paddle telling her 5 year old if he doesn't straighten up she's going to redden his little backside and then never using it. Only in this instance she still can use her weapon of force. These Guards are going to be called on their shit and then have no recourse.

Look, if you're going to send people in with guns, give them ammo. If not, have them leave the guns home and stick to sandbagging and search. It just makes certain people bigger targets than they have to be.

Regarding the Comments of the Previous Post . . . .

Do you idiots even read this damn thing? Seriously.

queenoftheforest, I imagine you're some sort of great hippy goddess, but if you bothered to read any of this you'd know the last thing I'd be interested in is a fucking yoga lesson. Ommmm on this, bitch.

Sonya, nice try. But I don't want a loan. And if I did, would I want one from someone who fails to read and understand what I have going on here? Hell no. Who knows what other shit you'd fail to read.

So, good people. Take a tip from the RHS- whatever you do, do not visit WayofYoga.com or cashadvance.com. In My Opinion, these people are thieves out to steal your precious, hard earned money and to eat your children and pets. Plus, sonya's loan site has a friggin' sketchy looking re-direct.

One more thing that pisses me off

You know what is really, really irritating? When you think someone is actually reading your bullshit and they're actually doing is spamming your comments. Yeah, fuckers, I'll check out your loans or pills or mattresses or whatever the fuck else you're trying to pawn. capestone, joe powell, you guys can go screw yourselves. Dickheads.

Something else that pisses me off

Hey! Do you know how annoying it is when you hit the "next" button on blogger only to get to a blog that doesn't have it so you have to hit back on your browser just to get out of your artsy fartsy design dealy-o? Really fucking annoying, that's how annoying!

And don't stick a fucking casino pop up to go with it! That just really really really pisses me the fuck off!

The TV commercial I hate most right now

Right now the TV commercial I hate most has to be the one for Lipton green tea. You know, the one that starts off with the buddhist monks (how trendy!) humming and meditating and then goes on to show various people closing their eyes, humming along to "mmm mm m m m-mm" (I know it's some sort of classic pop song from when my parents were young but I can't think of the name to save my friggin' life) and then drinking some Lipton green tea.

Wow. Not only is this commercial annoying, it manages to a make a whole spectrum of people look like, well, look like a bunch of Bay Area hippies and yuppies while flogging every cent out the Buddhism trend they can. Way to go, Lipton. Where will you turn next when Buddhism isn't as hip as it is now and you can't exploit it to sell greenish-brown water?

I miss the bears and the cougars

Ahh, how I miss the stories last year that seemed to have the nation panicked about bears and cougars and other large, people-eating types of animals.

I remember when I read a cougar was eating mountain bikers, I laughed. Yeah, I'm a real bastard. I know that and apparently you do too. I felt bad for the guy's family and I guess him, but still- what do you expect when you go riding in areas like that? Them to give you a high five and fill your water bottle? Hell no. You're prey. They're gonna' eat your mountain biking ass. It's part of the circle of life. When people start encroaching on wild animal habitat, wild animals are going to do shit. Like eat people.

It's like when some dumb ass sticks his arm in the bear cage at the zoo. What's gonna' happen? The bear is going to pull your fucking arm off. Don't be so stupid. That's why they put barriers up. To keep you from getting eaten, not because they're trying to be killjoys.

But it's nice to know we haven't conquered it all. It's comforting to know polar bears hunt people, bucks in a rut will gore some dumbass who isn't paying attention and cougars will make it down into town once in a while and eat someone. It's not as bad as all that. Really. It good to be humble.

WTF FEMA?

Yeah, yeah, yeah I know everyone who knows how to type is blogging about the Mississippi and New Orleans. It's a damned travesty and made worse by the fact the Feds couldn't get their poop in a group and get the damn thing handled.

It's pretty pathetic when the Salvation Army and Red Cross have been running ads featuring hurricane footage of their organizations helping just as FEMA gets its shit together and starting to drop in water and food. Is this more proof some fuckers need to be fired and let this kind of stuff be handled by private organizations? It's sad. People are dying. Chaos, water and dead bodies of drowning and shooting victims fill the streets. And on TV politicians are grandstanding and governmental entities are pointing fingers at each other.

FEMA should have at the very least watching the weather channel and preparing for aid to arrive as soon as the all-clear hit. They shouldn't have waited for governors and mayors to ask for it. They should been off their asses and ready.

Local governments should have been more aggressive about getting people cleared out. I know in the rural areas of Mississippi and Louisianna clearing everyone out would have been damn near impossible, but in the larger cities there should have been a plan. It was a fucking cat 5 hurricane! I know these people have rode out many a nasty storm, but haven't they seen the pictures of Gavelston from 100 years ago? What about hurricane Andrew? Didn't anyone think that a city that sits under sea level might have a few problems when a storm of this magnitude hit?

I know it's easy to Monday morning QB from the NW when your friends and family were nowhere near the storm. But as a nation we need to look at how we're going to deal with these issues. Hurricanes, tornadoes, earthquakes and fires happen all the time. We need to realize the failings at the local and federal level and fix them. At the very least, shit can those who were asleep at the wheel. This kind of bullshit is unacceptable. This isn't a third world nation, regardless of what the news footage shows.

Of Smoke and Seed

I know people hate it when the grass farmers burn their fields, and, the missus having asthma, I'm not so keen on it either. The smoke creeps down the valley and it just fills the sky with a copperish haze.However, I also understand why they do it, unlike some people here in the Emerald Empire. It's the most efficient method of clearing the stubble from the field and returning the nutrients to the soil. Honestly, I much prefer field burning to them using fertilizer. Our water table isn't all that far down, plus, you take into consideration fert runs into the rivers, it can get even worse.The other thing I think we forget is this valley hasn't always been so free from smoke. Before the white man treked West and put up roots around here, local Indians would burn the valley floor every year, hence the reason there's no old growth timber. By burning the tall grass, they, like the "evil" farmers, were returning the nutrients to the soil to produce next spring's crop of grass for wild game to eat. Some people say it was so the Kalpuya could see their enemies better, but I imagine they realized the potential for game more. For some reason game animals prefer grass and seed to trees. Go figure.So is there a solution? Bailing up straw seems to help some, but there's little profit motive for it, and they'll probably have to resort to fertilizer. Tilling it under returns the stubble back to the earth, but I don't know if it's as effective as burning. And of course, there's always the extremem element in this area that would prefer we hang all farmers unless said farmers grow what they want to eat or smoke.So, no. People will still bitch. That is the nature of people. Fuck 'em or fight 'em, you aren't going to please even 50% of the people 10% of the time.

Black Clouds

Well, they feel like they're here stay a bit longer. And when they're not darkening things, they unleash angry storms that make no sense. But maybe this'll help.

A semi-confidant helped a little, and made it at least to where I could go home and not worry the missus. Though I call her a semi-confidant, in all honesty I could make her a full one if I could just type up the words. Sometimes typing shit is harder than saying it; on the screen staring back at you are the things you hate and the secrets you'd like to hide. You can't back down from them and when you hit submit, they travel through 1s and 0s to another screen that tells the other person what it is. The sc, like the missus, has a way of looking at things and they don't seem as dark and horrible. I wish I could feel that way about it. But if she ever stumbles across this (which I manage she will someday), thank you. I only wish you lived closer.

I know have shit to reconcile. I know there's shit out of my control. And I know I worry about things I'll never be able to have the upper hand on. That's just the nature of things. I know to a certain degree people who've known me all their lives (well, at least one person) looks at me like a time bomb waiting to go off. I don't know if he's right and I pray that he's wrong. But more than anything I hope I can get these stupid thoughts and desires out of my head so I don't hurt the missus. The rest of it will go where it always goes.