Monday, December 20, 2010

Merry Christmas


Trashy Blond Girl and Captain Consumption wish you a Merry Christmas and a Fat and Happy New Year.

Monday, December 6, 2010

Wood stove in Van?

The stove idea was an experiment. I'd heard of wood stoves in boats and RVs but never in a van and my trip to Labrador demanded some solution for how cold and damp it gets. A propane tank would run a heater and with proper insulation that's not a bad idea. The van wasn't air tight at all so the risk of dying from lack of oxygen was actually less than dying from exposure but I was going to one of the most remote places in North America where wood and not propane was plentiful. And the challenge of a wood stove was something I had to try. Then someone sold me the Fatsco wood stove and I bought 7 feet of stainless steel flex pipe ordinarily for pellet stoves. The hardest part was figuring out where the stove pipe would exit the van. I considered the sliding windows but finally decided to put it totally out of the way through the roof so the stove pipe would heat up and radiate heat. I think there's a good argument for putting the stovepipe chimney horizontally through the back of the fiberglass roof, instead of vertically through the very top of the roof. It adds like a foot onto an already high roof so can catch on tarps and bridge underpasses and tree branches. IF it went through the back it would be out of the way and if the angle was still sloping up then the smoke would still draw out and not get stuck. I don't know. I think the way I did it looks more "traditional" but it would work as well if it went horizontally but not cause me problems with tree branches.

apple-eating wolves?




I saw an apple with bite marks that may have been left by an Arctic Wolf. No sightings but I feel I'm getting closer.

Sunday, December 5, 2010

This article explains the time I come from

Check out this Royal Society article.

"A 4C rise in the planet’s temperature would see severe droughts across the world and millions of migrants seeking refuge as their food supplies collapse."

All of that came true. Humans live in aluminum houses. I was sent from the future to explain how important it is to heed these warnings. That's why it irks me that the Canadians would banish me from their borders because of something simple like money. This is a global crisis that every kid alive today will see. 50 years and counting. I'm not making it up. I would show pictures but they couldn't return with me in the time machine. The Arctic Wolf is the key to everything.

Saturday, December 4, 2010

Low Tech - use your imagination


Let me tell you that the 21st century has not reached the territory I now find myself in. Videos of any size can not be transmitted except as hand shadows cast on cave walls. I ponder the entertainment Early Man enjoyed. Were they any less spellbound by a Shaman's oral history of creation than we are by images projected onto a white screen? If happiness is only found through gadgetry then only those people with gadgets would be happy and that can't be true. How else could you explain emotional biblical stories? Now, being frozen solid near a frozen pond is no gateway to orgasmic joy but it leads me to wonder what is? There is no shortage of philosophical questions to keep me occupied as I wait for my can of beans to thaw out.

I recently read a book called "The Moneyless Man" by Mark Boyle. It's hard to suppress the cynic inside me when I read about a healthy 29 year old man with no children "proving" we can live without money because he can do it. I simply think about the 1200+ superfund sites before his experiment runs into a wall. How is someone going to benevolently barter his environmental/chemical engineering skills to address these toxic dumps? What possible exchange could be made? How many carrots or chakra balancing sessions is worth a decade or two spent sealing nuclear waste that was dumped before you were born?
The more I read it, and the similarities between he and I were not overlooked, the more I felt he was basically imposing a blanket boycott of everything because the global economy has entangled everything and you can't ethically proceed if you extrapolate every purchase to its logical end. Yes, purchasing with cash essentially isolates the details of the transaction and makes the cash the end goal rather than community building and friendship. But can 6 billion people be wrong? It sounded like Boyle had fallen in love with masturbation and was going to prove that people can abstain from sex by only masturbating for a year. It would suck at first but eventually he grew to love it and others saw his point and they masturbated together. That's how it sounded at least as he bicycled 36 miles a day to dumpster dive bread and jars of jam.
It was hard not to laugh when he wrote, "I don't think money will be abolished any time soon. At least not in my lifetime."
Really, Mark. You think? It reminds me that if you abolish self reflection along with money or meat then you'll end up sounding totally out of touch. I recall the two extreme years I spent with Food Not Bombs in Santa Cruz, CA living in a stick hut, growing food in 5 gallon buckets that were suspended from the tree tops. Why? To remove my conscience from the then ongoing occupation of Iraq.
Now, that experience will be applied to something that I'm working on and Mark Boyle's experience will help me add some details I'd forgotten (fermenting beer from apples).
Mankind takes the path of least resistance but it sometimes has the most impact.

Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Trail North

I don't want to blame anyone for the difficulties I've encountered thus far. I've failed to see a wolf of any kind. Heck, I haven't even seen a dog! And the condensation in the van in the morning has everything covered with Mt. Everest Frost. Frozen Bananas. Frozen Cheese. Frozen toes. Gandhi called his Bio "Experiments with Truth" and I didn't want to lie to the border police that I intended to do anything less than go to Ellsmere Island and see Arctic wolves because the climate changes will affect them most drastically, etc. The police did not concur with my rationale and after some tense arguments that I don't want to detail here I was evicted under threat of arrest and imprisonment. And told not to "Border Shop" by way of finding an alternative way in.

The worst part is that now I have a crush on the female official who argued with me for thirty minutes.

"You're not listening to what I'm saying," she said, which was true because she had the prettiest hair and fingers that I know have played the fiddle or piano...and she's from New Foundland. She was saying something about "immediate arrest" and violation of some "international law" and all I could do was stare at her eyes behind her stylish glasses. And she said "Aboot" in the most thrilling way. Like, "I'm aboot to arrest you."

Oh! True love!

I'll never forget your name, "140783"

God, I really thought we were a good match. Her kevlar bullet proof vest and my sea shell necklaces. I begged her to come with me.

"You're from Newfoundland and I'm going to Labrador. It's a perfect match."

"You can't drive there in that van."

"And you know the way! Be my guide! I'll buy everything."

"With $600?"

"I'll work along the way."

"That's exactly what you can't do. You're not..."

"I'll play guitar in the streets of Cape Breton. Please! I feel Canadian at heart!"

"You'll turn around and go back across the bridge."

"Help me. The wolf is in deep trouble. See, I'm from the future. And I need to save the wolf. See, right now mankind is using resources at a rate of..."

Not long after that I was explaining to the U.S. border police why I didn't get into Canada. And they were about ready to force Canada to take me after my tale of wolves and Baffin Island and climate change. This is the thanks I get? I feel trapped but must continue. Thanks to James Taylor for the soundtrack. Terra Nova is the tune and that means New Foundland. I dedicate this to the beautiful border patrol woman who touched my heart as she frisked me for weapons. I'll see you again in my dreams.

Saturday, November 27, 2010

On the trail of the arctic wolf



The trail was littered with broken cars, haphazardly overturned dreams, but Oggy plunged forward into the teeth of the first winter storm, asking advice from truckers and hunters and homeless and librarians. They all pointed into the white wind and said, "Go North."
"But there must be at least one Arctic Wolf here."
"No. I don't think so."
"Are you sure? Look at the picture."
"Nope. I'd know about it. We don't have wolves in Maine let alone Arctic Wolves."
"Where do I go then?"
"Canada."
"But isn't this Canada?"
"No."
"Oh, I forgot. In the future, where I'm from, Canada annexed Maine."
"Annexed it?"
"Claimed it as stolen territory from some war in 1805."
"ok..."
"Yep. And the United States did nothing. The people of Maine ended up way better off as citizens of Quebec. They were poor as hell."
"When did that happen?"
"2030."
"Are you feeling alright?"
"I feel great. I'm cold but...where are you going?"

Friday, November 26, 2010

Canada ho

The lesson with any trip is to get miles behind you. We are gypsies who have the hooks of percieved comfort holding us back. So now that miles are behind me and the way becomes more clear I see that all my carefull laid plans were foolish. 389 is impassible. Will that stop me? No, I choose to go to New Brunswick and then to Nova Scotia and then New Foundland and then north. I will bypass the unplowed 389 tundra road and circumvent failure. The wolf howls in the distance and I hear his cry. The journey truly begins when the plans are cast aside. That happened within a few hours of leaving town.

Thursday, November 25, 2010

A close call

I thought I found an Arctic Wolf, but was defeated by reality....





I will keep looking

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

Should I stay or should I go?


There are no excuses anymore. Live like a dog or die like a man?

Monday, November 22, 2010

A little trouble from a landowner

Onward North




Still no wolves but I met this nice man who showed me the way. Let me say that in the future it is never this cold so I'm going to have to adjust.

Live Free or Go to Labrador

Two dogs and a moped. That's how we tackle the arctic in NH.

Saturday, November 20, 2010

Oggy Reports From The Year 2030: "Clim8 change ain't cool!"

The basic message (if you can't understand me over the wind) is that the climate in 2030 is terrible and I've traveled through time back to 2010 to alter the course of history. PLEASE LET US MAKE ENORMOUS CHANGES TO OUR LIFESTYLE is the theme of my mission. For the sake of the wolf.




The climate has to be protected and the scientists who sent me here decided that the best way for me to relay this message is to go to Baffin Island to visit the Arctic Wolf for a Man/Wolf summit meeting. Politically, the United States is a total fraud with elections deciding which thief will steal the most money. So any changes will be from the bottom up and if you are reading this then you are on the bottom.




If you think the state of the world is bad now then let me tell you it is even worse in 2030 where a reincarnated Michael Jackson is Secretary of Defense and reruns of Jersey Shore are worshiped like the bible. Osama Bin Laden is still running amok but in 2030 Afghanistan has the climate of Brazil so he wears bermuda shorts in his videos.




The lessons we learned is that anything is possible and everything has a price. Most people understand the first part and ignore the second so my mission is to demonstrate that price. 350 ppm of CO2 is the limit. In 2010 the concentration is like 380 ppm. In 2030 the concentration is 520. We can avoid that future even if it means I'll be erased from existence.




What I learn along the way depends on my ingenuity and your curiosity. There is no where I won't go to educate and illuminate.

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

Is the converse true?

If I can't have a bad day in Bell Bottoms does that mean I can't have a good day in plain beige cargo pants? I tested this theory today and let me tell you it was a shit storm from start to finish with the bulk of the abuse laid on Oggy's wallet and lungs.

Awoke to the smell of latex paint and fumes from the painting going on near Oggy's bed. The guy was trying to get work done around my old socks and dirty thoughts.

Next step was to ask advice on how to assemble a pedestal for my wood stove. That's right. It went from a simple stove to a damn set piece from Citizen Kane. Now who is the Pharaoh? But all the metal came from the Wentworth scrap and salvage yesterday where they gave me the stuff for free because I was wearing plaid bell bottom pants. The guy next door who trades penny stocks and counts his nickles and memories all day advises me that the plate metal is no good for my 23 pound stove. "It's flimsy," he says as he leans his 250 pounds of impacted fecal matter on my pedestal. No shit! This isn't true but he thinks so in his bulldozer dreams. The other guy who nearly amputated his finger with a metal grinder laughs at it and says, "he don't want to listen..." which is a clear statement of ignorance and condescension which will always lead me to listen even less. That old bag up in Laconia said the exact same thing to me and she was very close to ending up in a carpet along with the scraps of aluminum heat sink fabricated from Vietnamese slave children. The only people who don't listen are others when I say that I live my life by a vast set of unwritten rules so complicated that I'm still trying to return to Alaska to pick up a piece of trash that blew out of the back of the pick up truck I was laying in as I hitched down to the Kenai peninsula to see eagles. But does anyone listen? No. I'm the stubborn asshole! Ok. Keep up the good work in the Gulf of Mexico. Maybe one day we'll light it on fire and eat cooked crab as they leap from the flaming water.

All of this taking place with normal old pants on as my damn plaid bell bottoms were so wet because the fucking rugs in my van are soaking from an ill-advised bath I gave them.
Yeah, I'll have clean fucking rugs when I freeze to death in Labrador. Idiocy. I'm sure all the Inuit villagers there would look down on me if my rugs were dirty

So, everyone has great advice about how to weld plate metal onto a platform except I've got a leatherman tool and a drill with no battery as tools so how to cut the piece is beyond me. So it is off to another scrap yard where a Maine junk man with a limp like a wounded moose gave me a piece of plate metal from the inside of the naval shipyard prison and with the screws I fished from the inside of a computer housing I think I can manufacture something ON MY OWN. Of course no one wants to help a guy in cargo pants so they charged my ass to take a piece of rusty metal from their bin. Great.

Then the fucking starter on the van starts making sounds like it is mixing glass marbles in a blender and all this reminds me of the traveler's adage which is, "Go. Go. Go." because if you tarry then the universe will close its ugly fingers around your plans and will laugh in glory as you fumble for recovery. If you can't solve problems on the road then you should just stay home and watch Jeopardy. But I can't leave with actual problems so now I'm fucked. Joseph Campbell said, "Follow you bliss" he didn't say "Watch your bliss fade over the horizon until it is out of sight and you have a broken washing machine and the parts will take a week to arrive," which is exactly what I did following the shitty advice of NASA engineers and car salesmen. Bullshit!

So, the starter is fucked...I've got moldy rugs...numerous rusty pieces of metal on the moldy rugs which are now as dirty as they ever were...$60 worth of stainless steel flex pipe that glowed devil red hot when I accidentally fed it particle board with toxic glue...the brakes are juddering...my bank account dwindles every time I go and flirt with the fake tan\hair extension girl with the nice ass at the BBQ shack...and I'm wearing cargo pants. FUCK!

Wish list:
plaid bell bottom pants for every day of the week.
pac boots size 10.5 good for -40 or below. preferably used.
remanufactured starter for 1969 E 200 5.0 liter Gypsy van
tall glass of vodka
new cartilage for spine
a sunny day SO I CAN DRY OUT THE RUGS
a cure for my eyelid affliction that leaves my eyelid skin peeling like a snake in the desert.


My quality of life index is proportionally related to my bell bottom pants index, which is also zero.

Monday, November 15, 2010

You can't have a bad day in bellbottoms

That's my new motto and these past days have proven me correct. It's like an Amish barn raising where everyone is contributing something to the expedition. the van may ultimately break down but this bit of community coming together to put me right is nice. Parts, time, advice. Even the bell bottom pants came from San Fran courtesy of the junk prince of Sunset.
Then I got some expensive stainless steel flex pipe. That's 6 feet of stainless steel and that's pricey. But it's going to work. Cut a hole in the roof and stick the pipe in, add some custom flanges and put the stove on top of a nice steel platform that I tracked down at wentworth scrap and salvage along with some other scrap metal. Man, what a day of dumpster diving and it reminds me that for 12 hours of arduous hole filing in my van passes by effortlessly as I am engaged and focused while five minutes of making harnesses or mailing hockey equipment caused me to have a stroke from anxiety and depression. I problem solve with the best of them but the first thing I ask is if the problem has to be solved. That takes a long time because unlike the engineers who developed the microchip I pondered for more than ten seconds the effects of vast amounts of mercury bombarding the water table. I guess the nitwits at MIT don't teach that in their classes.

All of this leads me to washing my rugs in Bell Bottom pants and playing piano at the clipper home. Man, there's only one way to get out of that place. All the joys and pains will fade into a foldout table and batting a balloon with a fly swatter while a kid in bell bottom pants plays The Entertainer. Maybe holding your grandchild for a few minutes. A woman there once played piano but her right hand was crippled by arthritis or stroke and the rest of her was due for a trade in too. So I played what I know. I was there to visit the mother of the lovely lady in the picture...


Note the plaid bell bottom pants and their proximity to a pretty woman. Coincidence?

I don't know if it is better to deny that we all eventually get too old to dress ourselves or if it is a good thing to embrace our final destination. Does it make me appreciate the life I have now? Maybe. I guess your ability to tend to your parents as they age and fall down and forget who you are depends on your personality and situation. They did give us life even if they were really just having unprotected sex, and they put up with incredible bullshit when we were running around and refusing to listen and cutting our foreheads and fussing about how the broccoli touched the macaroni and cheese and they fought bitterly with each other over who would take full responsibility of us when their ability to tolerate each other evaporated. They did love us at some level and after we could feed ourselves they didn't vanish but instead grew frail and ended up at the Clipper Home with a fly swatter in their hand as a balloon floats slowly toward a sippy cup.

Oh, I don't understand this fickle life, this long line of cars and music and arguments that all must end with death. Our damn culture makes visiting our own elderly family almost impossible due to space and time. I swear we should all just adopt another person's elderly parents that are close to our house and visit them and treat them like they were our mother or father. Like, it makes no difference to someone who can't hardly remember or move or see. They don't want to be forgotten but they have also forgotten how seldom they saw their own parents when they were 40 and had kids demanding socks and shots. There's a line in Rabbit is Rich, where Rabbit is reflecting on his age and place in life: "Rabbit can't believe he will ever be as dead as his mother in law."
And I interpret this to mean that Rabbit can barely remember her existing...and I guess outside of Rabbit's son and ex wife, he will be exactly as dead as his mother in law...just a ghost on a mantle in a black and white picture looking young and handsome, someone's whose effects will be cursed over, "Why did he save this?"

It's overwhelming to me in a hospice/elderly house with the frailty and decrepitude. One man was fumbling with one of those foldable cartons of milk we used to drink at school. His thumbs were working the opening and no one was around and his skin was paper white and green veins bulged on his glossy hairless back. There were remains of some kind of porridge in front of him and the milk carton had green substance on it from his lips. He wasn't completely helpless as he managed to open the carton but he couldn't leave the table without help. Where do you begin? He was probably a naval officer or a reliable mechanic or a jazz guitarist and now he fumbles with milk cartons. Makes me cry a bit.

I got a glass of water for the woman I was visiting and she held it in her bony hands and put a finger in the water so she could tell the depth of it before she drank it. That's a technique used by blind people so I figure her vision is fading though she did recognize me and even had a nice anecdote about walking downstairs in 1987 to find me sleeping on the couch with my eyes open. She raised like 6 kids and maybe the best way to honor her is to keep living.

At one point she said, "Look at those pants!"

Saturday, November 13, 2010

Agism

You know you are your father when you abhor pop music. I think the chances that someone would choose to read Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse instead of getting stoned on crystal meth with your horny girlfriend and dancing in a glitter filled pool are zero. Hesse is going to be like the dead sea scrolls one day in a land of all night raves and drug wars.

Ke$ha is basically Madonna, whom I loved in 1985, so it is my prejudice that fills me with dread about the content of this video..in another song she rhymes "Famous" with "Anus"


Katy Perry had a tune covered on Glee (teenage visual crack) and this is the video for that...pure softcore porn. Something I would hesitate to allow my kid to watch but secretly jerk off my withered penis while watching. Keeping your music old is as likely as keeping your parents young.



But it must be modernized our pop culture and it is only good if a 40 year old balks at it. I want to embrace it but am horrified by it. If the climate is destroyed at least people will be stimulated and sex will be honored and humanity will blunder onward, leaving a wake of destruction, in pursuit of a teenage dream.
I do wonder how much of it is pure market manipulation by music production companies and how much of it is natural youth rebellion.
And for those who prefer to see us all succumb to the temptations I should point out that a puritan resistance/separtist movement IS ALSO HISTORICALLY NATURAL. So go screw yourself. You pick your side and roll with it.
Note: these songs may be stuck in your head for a day so proceed with caution.

Thursday, November 11, 2010

Call of the wild



I realize that the earth will find its own balance and the fittest will survive and that if I do nothing but eat potato chips and solve crossword puzzles there will not be any medals handed out at the gates of heaven either way.

And yet, some things are valuable in spite of the nihilist vacuum we use to justify our sloth. The Arctic Wolf is one of those things. I'd say that our nobility is measured by the autonomy/sanctity of the wolf. Here's Slim Whitman with a theme song...

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

Stove Pipe madness

the problem with putting a stove in your van is that it will not be the same van after you are done. I'm trying to change the least amount of the layout as possible and this is not feasible. Everything has to change to put a stove in your van. That's a lesson I'm stubbornly refusing to acknowledge. No matter where I put the stove it has to vent and the easiest way to vent it is by putting it next to a window and going through the window. But that means one door can't open. ANd if I put it through the roof then there will be a stove pipe zig zagging around over my bed and also a 2 ft piece of pipe sticking out of the roof waiting to snag on a bridge or a dunkin donuts drive thru arch or a toll booth sign. And that will tear a huge hole in my roof if not tear the whole bubble top off the roof and leave me with a convertible van in a labrador snow storm. Now, that would make a funny story and I'm sure you'd all laugh but I'd be the one with a shitload of trouble to deal with and my projections give me trouble. It has to be done but I want it done in a way that will not tempt disaster. Maybe that isn't possible. Maybe I should tempt as much disaster as possible to get it over with. No matter what I do it will look like the yellow submarine. Run with the devil.

Monday, November 8, 2010

The Sons of Job

The following is an excerpt from my forthcoming stageplay titled "The Sons of Job". Hopefully the local theater will see fit to accept it for their 2011 lineup. Any actors out there want to make an easy buck?
Job could be pronounced like what you do for work but it is really pronounced like the biblical Job (open 'o') whose life was upended by a spiteful Lord to prove Job's loyalty to a suspicious devil. It's a variation of my old rant that the Dali Lama is smiling because his life is actually pretty fucking easy. Let him go crimp wires for 10 hours a day and that'll wipe that smile off his fucking face. Here's the D.L. on another tough day of publicity photo shoots and talks about peace and other bullshit. How many ditches you dig today, Dali? What? I can't hear you with your mouth full of fine cuisine cooked by expert chefs...

In the Book of Job the hero proves me wrong as he's beset by plagues and loss but remains devout. I'd like to see Dali Lama's thumb in a rack and see how he's smiling.

Anyway, this play was written as most of my work was written with absolutely no commercial objective in mind but an inspiration that would not quit. I did not see it as a movie or even as a play but I wanted to dramatize an average day of my life in Los Angeles. I got the work setting correct and am still working on the home life where rats as big as gophers ran through the rafters and I beat them back with a broom handle while puppies ran wild through the house and a housemate film editor snorted cocaine until he would wake me up rudely at 2 am and pay me to drive his 1970 convertible to Hollywood Park (he was shitfaced and had a suspended license) where he would play craps and I would cry over miracle aces that beat my pair of kings and we would drive back with stops at Del Taco and swerve through the mob of homeless people eating from the dumpster. IT was like a post apocalyptic landscape with gigantic LED billboards private leer jets landing at the Santa Monica airport for the "award season" and hookers and trash in the street and Thai donuts cooked in so delicious Cambodian baby fat . Anyway, that part is another subject. The place I would go for work was a depression era work camp that attracted the lowest of the low. I didn't do much work there but I watched and I listened and at night when the rats were calmly eating the poison crumb cakes we left out for them I would write it all down in sweaty fits of expulsion. In the morning I would become one of the Sons of Job:


EDWARD
Don’t call me crazy! You don’t know anything about me. You don’t know my life and how I live. What do you know about anything? I’m the one being mistreated. I offer to decorate your office and you hardly acknowledge me. Now you can’t wait to bring all the attention to me. And you presume to play the victim? What about me?
CHARLOTTE
Coach? You got an answer for me? He thinks he’s the only one who has to take the test again?
EDWARD
Why are you announcing this to the world? I’m very hurt by all this. Hurt and disappointed. My skin is only so thick.
Coach stands up and approaches the desk.
COACH
I got ten or twenty wrong on that test. You just read for the answer and change it. See? You only got four choices.
EDWARD
(low volume)
They are making fun of me. Throwing my failure in my face.
COACH
Well, they assholes. You pay attention to every asshole you meet?
CHARLOTTE
That ain’t helpin’, Coach. I got paperwork and can’t do this.
COACH
Look, take the safety pamphlet and the answer sheet and go correct your answer. No big deal. You fail that test and it’s the best thing that happened to you all year. Don’t have to work here and put up with this bullshit.
EDWARD
Must I be made to feel so inadequate? Must they bring my score to the attention of the whole world? This is exactly what happened in my classes at college. Pretentious professors lifting their egos on the shoulders of my humiliation.
COACH
You think any of us got dropped off by the driver in a long limousine?
EDWARD
I am the owner of a very successful business. I am not a failure.
COACH
(points to each person in turn)
Neither am I. Neither is Becker. Neither is Rubio. Neither is...well, Code Blue is worthless. But most of us doin’ the best the lord allows.
CODE BLUE
Damn. That’s some cold shit.
EDWARD
All I ask is some courtesy. Not an unreasonable request. Not at all.

There is silence as Edward reluctantly takes the answer sheet and safety pamphlet back to the desk. He is wounded and makes sure everyone sees it.

CHARLOTTE
One day is all I ask.
DON
Do they make all criminals go to San Diego?
CODE BLUE
What pipe you been smokin?
DON
If they can extract you to the work camps then they can make you do time in San Diego.
CODE BLUE
How the fuck do I know?
DON
I could learn to be a plumber. How can I get them papers? I need to move on!
CODE BLUE
You got to know someone in the union. That’s the only way to make a living. You got to suck someone’s dick.
DON
Suck someone’s...have you?
CODE BLUE
Hell no. I got it all figured out. That’s why I’m saving up my money to move out of the shelter.
DON
What are you gonna do?
CODE BLUE
I tell you and then you tell Becker and everyone’s doing the same thing. Where that leave me? Fucked.
DON
I won’t tell anyone.
CODE BLUE
I don’t believe you. Code Blue is on his own.
BECKER
What about the golf course in West L.A.? The storm probably knocked some shit down. Fucking rich folks probably pissing their pants because they can’t play golf.
RUBIO
They no call.
BECKER
So call them. Shit. You want me to call? No? So ask those cocksuckers if they need men.
RUBIO
I call them now then I am the asshole. Me.
BECKER
You the asshole no matter what, Rubio. At least you get us some work.
RUBIO
Alright. If I call you’ll stop yelling at me?
BECKER
I’m here to work. This ain’t no vacation. You think I want to spend my time talking to these assholes? I’ll stop yelling at you when I get work. Just get me a ticket and I’ll leave.
RUBIO
Then I call.

Rubio makes the phone call.

BECKER
Tired of this, Coach. No breakfast. No lunch. How’s a man supposed to work? Spend a dollar to make a dime. Whose side are they on?
COACH
Not yours.
BECKER
(hushed)
Seriously, you think we could start something up. Sell something or do some work? Then we keep the dough. We do the hiring and the firing.
COACH
You need money to make money, Beck. What kind of operation you thinking about? Drugs? I can’t sell drugs. The law hits hard. I go downtown and that’s the end. No more steak. God’s Law.
BECKER
Fuck drugs. That’s a young man’s hustle.
(as spoken to a drug supplier)
You front me some shit and then climb down on me when I don’t produce? No. Bust my shine box for a dime bag? No. The drug hustle is straight fast food. Something else.

Sunday, November 7, 2010

Universal Forces


With each step I take towards Labrador the universe is taking one step toward me. This is the underlying lesson of the Follow Your Bliss ethic. When I am ready for my destiny I will find it. Speaking of finding shit has anyone seen my Alaskan axe? This stove accepts 4'' pieces or shorter.
I am also taking advance advice on my "Un Mundo Sin Drogas" tour of Mexico. I believe war has a place in human affairs but a war over drug profits is lowering the bar beyond my tolerance level. Come on. Would you fight someone over a six pack of Natural Ice? I hope not. It all starts with a sober population so Oggy is going clean from now until the cartels make peace.
p.s. when I posted this Google gave me links to rehab houses. How about links to organizations dedicated to ending the war on drugs!!!

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

Puppetry

Until our brains are safe from the marketing dragons then all education is like bailing water on the Titanic...or worse like using gasoline to put out a fire. I'm telling you that the forces of Wall Street are more powerful than the seven books of Moses. My efforts to subvert and compromise the power of consumer marketing will increase proportional to the abuse designed by Proctor & Gamble falsehood. Is it not my right to fight back, to strike the necks of commercial piracy and manipulation?

Learn as you go


I'm no expert in these things but that won't stop me from trying to make it work. The stove worked properly with the stove pipe in place. I received low grades for my license plate custom roof flashing experiment and so have opted for a regulation part. I ask people to come with me so they can see exactly where their advice will be applied but excuses fall like leaves in the forest. And this is the problem because until you are 300 kilometers from anywhere and have to survive then all the fancy custom applications are meaningless. I have to be able to replicate everything I'm doing on the road. Anyone who has ever gone on a long distance journey would know this. So, if it can't be done with a leatherman then it's vetoed. I also dislike living in complete chaos but it is easy to give advice based on the ownership of several cars and an incorrigible hunger for credit. I pay cash and I drive/live in my van. The condition of my van dictates the condition of my living space. So remodeling, which will happen at some point, is no small decision. Especially when both thumbs cramped up so bad yesterday as me and chicken man were removing the radiator hose that tears came to my eyes.

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

Stove

Two inch stove pipe is as hard to find as white meat chicken salad. After some investigation this stove I have will only work properly with stove pipe attached. Don't ask me why an empty hole won't draw air, but it doesn't. The fire goes out when I put the lids on. But with pipe there is suction and oxygen and the air doesn't fill with smoke around my crusty eyes.
I'm excited and hesitant as another episode of A&E's "Intervention" has me wondering if I've taken Al Gore's words too seriously. Shouldn't I ignore Lester Brown's "sky is falling" prophecy? I could get stoned and work at the robot factory like the other employees. I might even own a mobile home in a few years at the rate of $40 a week. Not bad. But I'm unsatisfied with that future and so launch into an unprecedented voyage in a stove-equipped 1969 Econoline van into the tundra of Quebec and Labrador. I've heard rumors of these places but never seen them with my own eyes and I've learned those are the only way I learn anything. Still, is my gallivanting a cry for help or is the vacuum of silence I hear in response to my plea for the Arctic Wolf proof that it is not I who needs to rectify his worldview? That's really what it comes down to. If there is a place on earth that does not raise wage slave puppets then that's where I want to be. If that is the natural end of Mankind then it is indeed me who has run aground on the sandy shores of philosophical extremes. Basically, are we truly at a turning point or have I amplified the dangers in my head and been brainwashed by Naomi Klein to the point that my cause has become my worst enemy? Because one answer has me alone in a padded wall. The other answer has me outside the padded wall looking in at Microsoft's obedient workers. Either way there is no return of my serve.

NTB final judgement

Returned to NTB and was granted a refund of the alignment cost. Cost of tires was not refunded and although I am not satisfied I have weak grounds to pursue this matter. I am the master of my vehicle. I know that their negligent action caused my tires to wear but I can't prove anything and tire warranties are generally given by % of tire wear remaining. So if I say that 3/4 of the tire is new then I'd get a 3/4 refund. But the reason I'm returning the tires is because 1/4 of the tire is completely done, which would get me a 0% refund...since I technically used the entire tire before returning it. This conundrum is easy for me to explain but would take a lawyer to prove.

And when they ask, "Mr. Bleacher, did you go to Freyburg, Maine to hike Bald Faced Mountain before or after you had a tire blow out, a seized bearing, and suspected the alignment was bad?"
I will stammer..."After."
"And how long of a journey was that?"
"Including my search for my lost youth?"
"Yes."
"About 200 miles."
"And did you make any other long journeys after you suspected the tires were wearing unevenly in the time when you made the discovery and returned for a second alignment adjustment at the defendant's shop?"
"You mean, like playing Golf in Wells? And driving to Hampton Beach? And taking to Nottingham and back to play the Gone With The Wind theme on a piano? And going to Exeter to flirt with a waitress?"
"Yes, those are the incidents I mean."
"Well..."
"Isn't it true that you realized the alignment was bad merely a few weeks and hardly 100 miles of wear on the tires?"
"It's true but..."
"And that means you drove 1400 miles on tires you knew were not aligned and are now blaming my client for your insousance."
"But I was WORKING."
"On your putting game...?"
"I..."
"Isn't it true that you are a self abusive deviant who lives in his van and told my client that, 'I just want the alignment done. Don't give me any theories about loose bearings and shocks.' When in fact, you would end up spending hours and hours and $300 to determine something my client would have told you had you asked."
"Well..."
"Are these the actions of a responsible car owner?"
"I..."
"Did you have doubts about my client's abilities?"
"Grave doubts."
"Yet you proceeded with the order."
"I thought I was doing the right thing."
"But you had doubts. Whose responsibility is the van?"
"Mine."
"Speak up, Mr. Bleacher. The jury wish to hear your mutterings."
"MINE! It's my responsibility. All Right. I'll pay for the fucking tires! I'll die in Labrador if that's what you want! Will that make you happy?"
"Let the record show that the plaintiff is clearly deranged and is looking for someone to blame for his early death."
"YOU'LL ALL BURN IN HELL!"
"CASE DISMISSED."

Monday, November 1, 2010

Abandoned Barn


We were crossing a dark field like Indian upstarts on private property when I felt the hair on my neck stand up.
"Is it hunting season?" I whispered.
All I could see was a silhouette of a person limping nearby. Far off behind the leafless branches of an old apple tree was the shape of a hulking abandoned barn, dark and silent and deadly. No wonder we were so spooked that every hint of a sound caused us to get on our knees and crawl.
"Yes."
"Because you look just like an injured deer."
"I think Arctic Wolves are in season. One pelt could buy enough wood for the winter."
"I should cut your throat with my machete for saying that."
And I did have a machete for some reason on my belt. That is what happens when two scorpion bowls are followed by Crab Rangoon and a drink called "The Scorned Bastard: Make you forget your problems." You end up in an abandoned barn on Halloween night at midnight with a machete waiting to defend yourself against bow hunt attacks.


All emotion has been drained from my body at this point and it will take a solid experience in Labrador to replace it. I see life as a continual struggle to maintain equilibrium in the face of fuel costs and emotional drains such as ion implantation components. It must be nice to casually benefit from the efforts of slave workers but this is not in my blood. I will barter straight up from now on. I will ask of you nothing that I would not do myself and I will provide nothing I wouldn't expect from you. This will prevent me from sucking the life blood of the Chinese factory worker WHO IS NOT ANY MORE OR LESS IMPORTANT THAN STEVE JOBS. I can't emphasize that enough. There is no justification for one's being pampered like A FUCKING PHARAOH and the other being strapped to an electrostatic discharge wire because he doesn't want to fry the IC of the Wii wireless cheerleading baton. BULLSHIT! I reject this paradigm and can not take part in the grotesque abuse of exploited nations. I start to wonder if smallpox is better or worse than a lifetime of microsoft enslavement. I wonder if the price of a small pox vaccine is a lifetime spent dismantling the computer systems that the Pharaohs used to implement their plan of destruction. These thoughts can not be pondered or solved without complete silence and peace. OR else the struggles and dangers must be so acute (such as an arrow to the neck) that my brain will not address both at the same time. My brain is slowly burning itself out trying to understand the insane path humanity is on. Yet I press on because I am the Steve Jobs of mental masturbation. I definitely see America as an elite nation of vampires feeding on the thin blood of the starving Haitian. But go ahead and reuse your plastic bag! You should get a fucking medal.


Here is the last resting place of the faceless gangster who pillaged the farm stands of New England. His ghost haunts the pits and quarries of Nottingham. Take note all pirates:

Friday, October 29, 2010

This bird will fly

Ordinarily this is where I would moan and curse about the state of my life. But a wise man once said that if nothing changes then nothing will change. So I've changed my life by choosing to concentrate on my trip to Labrador. It could not coexist with my job so the job has been sacrificed. No one cried any tears upon my departure. In fact, the last thing I heard was, "Oggy, you got any food in the fridge, cause we're cleaning it out." I did have some yoghurt and claimed it for my breakfast. Then I was gone and forgotten like the worthless temp worker I am. $400 a week and my expenses were about $350. Pathetic.



Goals: Spiritual thinking. No more copper and doodads. No more gadgets. This may mean the end of my digital career but I think it is for my own improved mental health. No, I don't think my choice will change the world, but it will make me more content. My mental disability forces me to consider the source and effects of all this plastic and copper and ion implantation and it is driving me insane.



Outfit van for trip: Stove, camping equipment, food, alternator, spare tire cover that says "Labrador or Bust: Arctic Wolf Tour 2010"



Say goodbye to everyone: Goodbye. It was nice to know you.



Con my brother into buying me a suitable camcorder for the trip.



Edit and deliver my stageplay that the local theater wishes to produce for next spring.



That is all.

Thursday, October 28, 2010

See the Aurora Borealis! Answer The Call of the Wild!

You want an adventure? You want to behold the glory of the northern lights in their natural setting? You want to travel North to Labrador, Canada in an authentic 1969 Ford Econoline Adventure Wagon customized specifically for this trip with a twenty-year experienced wilderness guide and storyteller extrodinaire? This is your once in a lifetime opportunity to see the Northern Lights as they were meant to be seen, from the middle of an unihabited tundra.

This trip includes, Door to Door service from New England to the Arctic and back.
meals cooked to order in the van.
wilderness survival training and camping tutoring.
A safe and insured driver who wants to change the world starting with you.

Itinerary is up to you! No strings. No strict plans! No cocktail hour where you mingle with phony people. This is not a meet and greet where you talk about your past life. No. This is the part where you actually live. We will travel as the ancients did with the stars as our guide and with adventure as our destination.
We can go through Northern New Hampshire or Maine or Vermont. We can stay in Montreal or Toronto or Quebec City. It's up to you! We can visit a safari park or a university expert on Sea Turtles. Eventually we will drive up the incredible route 138 from Quebec City to Baie-Comeau. From there we will literally leave the world behind on the seldom traveled route 389 through the lakeland marshes and tundra of Northeastern Quebec. You will see terrain that few have ever seen and mingle with animals in their natural habitat. It is North America as it was 500 years ago, as it was before Man's footprint fell so strongly on the land. We will study the stars by a campfire and commune with nature in a way that will connect you with our wolf-nature. Don't worry about bugs as it will be too cold for that nuisance. We will be outside every network calling area in existence. You will be unplugged and so will the music be soothing and acoustically transparent. Songs of youth and heartbreak and nature will relax you as you sleep under the stars, your breath hovering above you. We will be taking short day hikes every day to further increase your connection to the land and we will follow the northern star until we are blessed with the vision of the Northern Lights. Don't be afraid to cry because they will inspire you to tears as all of nature would if we were not bombarded with manipulated cleavage images and expectations that are merely a marketeer's grip on your humanity. Break the bonds to the consumer age!

This trip will turn you into a new person and it is impossible to put a price on such a spiritually liberating course of action. Nothing can prepare you for this adventure that you will remember for the rest of your life and relive in countless dreams of happiness. You will come to understand the old adventure saying, "Even the bad times were good."

This is a team adventure. Money doesn't buy anything of value in this world. You pay your own way and we become a team only because we trust each other. You can't buy trust even if some limp dick lawyer can write a clause that claims to sell it. No, you earn trust with exercises that will take place in New Hampshire and beyond. That's what separates this adventure from others. There are no free rides and you will be escorted by a veteran adventurer. Bring every penny you have because where we are going you won't want to come back.

I estimate $2000 will bring you home safely but the real price will be to the claws of capitalism that have you anchored to your desk, working for the wrong reasons, suffering in quiet desperation. Had enough of Tea Party lunacy and Democratic preposterousness? I have the answer and the answer is a dancing rainbow of light that will almost make you forget the negative 30 degrees that will freeze every part of your face and hands if you aren't careful. But it will change your entire point of view, it will change your soul, it will reveal to you the power of the earth and your place on it. In the distance a wolf howls to its mates in an ancient ritual of communication that will change you. Are you ready to listen to the message?

Contact Oggy Bleacher if this sounds like your cup of tea. Or keep poking at your computer screen and hoping a Wall Street fat cat doesn't mismanage your pension fund. There is more to life than 401K and aromatherapy. I will show you what that is.

Trips leaving soon. Be part of it or forever wonder what could have happened...

You do not pay for this adventure; you earn it. The Northern Lights are waiting for you.


· Location: Labrador / Arctic


· it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

Dear Mr. President,

I urge you to protect the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge as a new National Monument.

I have pondered the value of reckless innovation and have reached the conclusion that it can not continue. While great advances have been made in quantity of life, there have been very few made in quality of life. Proportionately, Mankind is no more content than in the Middle Ages, but we have eradicated countless species in the pursuit of an impossible longevity and grotesque comfort. Stock prices and the increased pyramid of wealth seem at the true root of this heedless attack on nature, not the benevolent lifting on Man from the mud as some CEOs would have us believe. I'm unconvinced and plead my case to you, Mr. President. Do not be swayed by the countless hacks and theives who would pry your soul open with their filthy claws. The Arctic wolf, the Polar Bear, the Musk Ox, the Hare, the Caribou, the Native American ARE MORE IMPORTANT THAN THE DECADE OR TWO OF PETROLEUM THAT WILL BE STOLEN FROM BENEATH THEM! They are not yours or mine to sacrifice but ours to protect. America is not the lord sovereign of planet earth but without your moral action it will become its destroyer.

Please join me in this fight.

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

Dreams to Remember

Dreams to Remember by Otis Redding. This is how I enter my dream world...on the wings of velvet throaty tones, lyrics that observe the world without the satin sheets and post production values of manipulation. DO NOT DISCOURAGE THE VAIN FROM THEIR JOURNEY AMONG THEIR SORROWS! Otis beats me on the head with his Adam's apple language. Like a volcano I am emerging from a dormant period the subducted rock of my sadness slowly melting into magma that MUST ERUPT INTO ARCTIC WOLF MADNESS. Here you witness my desire for unattainable longings and flesh that once was warm and close and is now a million miles away and dreams I once gently guided with training wheel care into full growth but that have since withered into dry capers of agony and only through the milking of my weakened soul can i engorge them again to fullness and when ripe I align them with the unnamed stars in the sky. Otis, take my hand.

Collapsed at work after long bouts with high productivity. There is nothing there but arthritis and prostate problems there, discussions of the springtime we never had and the youth that has grown gray on my chin like a billy goat who nears death.

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

Review of NTB Tires in Newington, New Hampshire: Grade F

Tim of NTB Tires, Home of Bad Service, hand-delivered the best corporate cuntery quote that I could ask for:

"My hands are tied."

Ah, if anything reeks of corporate training, weakness, and incompetence it is that admittance of uselessness: "My hands are tied."
Everyone from Wall Street fat cats who eat blue collar pension funds out of the pussies of 16 year old whores to quavering Presidents with Alzehimers to true cunts wearing shiny flare buttons will mutter this repulsive trope. When the shit finally goes down they all smirk and say, "My hands are tied." with the obligatory shoulder shrug.

And we are bigger cunts if we allow them to get away with it.

Let me explain...

Went to NTB to discuss my alignment. I spent another $250 today to have the Ibeams tweaked so the tires would not be chewed up as they were after leaving NTB. It's a long tale and unless you have a mid '70s Twin Ibeam ford van or truck then this is not something you need to care about. But if you do have one then DO NOT take it to NTB.

The saga in short form:
Back in July I spent $300 at NTB for two new tires and an alignment. First of all, a rear tire exploded a day after leaving NTB. Then a rear wheel bearing seized up causing great and numerous problems. Once that was sorted out I saw that the tires were horribly aligned, visually off which means they were way off. Others agreed and I returned to NTB tires and they also agreed that the alignment, expecially the camber, was all wrong. Funny, the exact shop that had done the original work was telling me how bad it looked. They actually asked,
"Who did this alignment?"
"Uh, you guys. Here's the receipt."
"Oh."

They again could not do anything to help, scratching their asses as you do when clueless.

So, I left NTB again with a terrible alignment and upon closer inspection determined the inner 1/4 of the tire was actually below the wear marker indicating time to replace...after 800 miles. This postponed my Labrador/Arctic Wolf quest indefinitely and after digging into the depths of Banfield road it was decided that only a rare procedure known as straightening the I-Beam would actually reposition the tires correctly. Internet research confirmed this. The procedure could not be done on Banfield but rather on Route 1 by an RV and big rig/bus service shop called Coastal Truck and Auto Body. They estimated a $400 bite from Oggy's wallet but since the van is running so well and ion implanters are being ordered like bean and cheese burritos, I agreed. I can't keep running through tires (the last front tires bubbled out until they were running on metal radial...and this was becoming ridiculous.

So, this morning found me at 5 am running down the foggy road (route 1) trying to loosen my load on my 1974 Vespa Ciao after dropping the 1969 van off so I could get to work at the robot factory. I swear that watching 10 minutes of my life would leave most people hysterically laughing. 5 minutes of Jersey Shore made me want to shoot myself in the mouth but an average visit to the bathroom with me is like a Jerry Lewis short movie.

Anyway, I pick the van up after work and the thing is dialed in. They torqued the I-Beam with clevis hooks and bottle jacks, a procedure I've seen pictures of, and they adjusted the toe and all. The alignment looks good and feels good and only cost $250. Which leaves me with a $300 reciept at NTB that I am scratching my ass about. The alignment they gave me was useless and because it was useless the two tires are now toast. I understand that it is my responsibility to not patronize a garage of pot smoking idiots but let's not cry over spilled milk. I just want to have two new tires on an aligned front end. And I paid $100 for an alignment that was obviously totally useless. Which brings us to this afternoon as I walked into NTB with a handful of reciepts and a small attitude.

I don't want to transcribe the entire conversation even though I could do so. I will highlight some moments that are especially revealing.

Me: See, it actually cost $300 to get the alignment done correctly. I had no problem paying that. But my question is if I got it aligned somewhere else then what did I pay you for?"

Tim: uh huh.

Me: I mean, what did you do? I left here with a crappy alignment that burned through two new tires. What did you accomplish?

Tim: I'll be right back.


Tim brought reinforcements in the form of a square-jawed grease monkey who "Had never heard of straightening an I-Beam."

Me: That van is older than all three of us. They haven't done I-Beam straightening in twenty plus years. But it is a true procedure. Look it up.

Here's something I'll print out for square jaw to look at...

"If the Twin I-Beam axles are the forged variety, which were used from 1965 through 1981, camber can be corrected by bending the axle with a hydraulic ram. To make a make a positive camber correction, a rigid work beam is slung under the axle from a pair of clevis blocks. A hydraulic ram is then placed under the middle of the axle. When pressure is applied, the ram bends the axle upward and tilts the knuckle down to increase camber. A slight amount of overbending is usually needed to compensate for spring back in the axle. A negative camber correction is made by removing the outboard clevis block and inserting a spacer between the work beam and axle. The hydraulic ram is then repositioned directly under the inner axle bushing. When pressure is applied, the work beam bends the outer end of the axle up which tilts the knuckle and decreases camber."



Square Jaw: I've never worked on one but I think they gave you a line of bullshit. There is no way...

Me: Call them and tell them that because they've forgotten more about alignments than you will ever know.

Exit Square Jaw.

Tim: I don't know what I can do for you.

Me: Refund everything. All $300. The alignment was useless. It was negligent for you to attempt it in this shop.

Tim: Those tires have some life left on them. The steel radials won't be showing any time soon.

Me: Great! I'll give them to you when I replace them and you can sell them again.

Tim: You'll have to talk to our manager, Tony.

Me: Wheel him out.

Tim: He's not here.

Me: So you're the big man in charge and your hands are tied?

Tim: I can't help you.


Now, I'm not an abusive person and I know Tim has been trained to pass the buck because he isn't authorized to make a refund like this. It's corporate policy to avoid responsibility and avoid any refunds...always prolong the problem because most people will be too busy to pursue it. Sooner or later they will die. In fact, I'm too busy to pursue it. I'll call the manager who will also deny me satisfaction. I can call all the people I want and they will not refund my money. It will take a court order three years from now to get my $300 back and I believe all the evidence points to neglect and incompetence. For the service boss of NTB to say confidently that a pro auto alignment shop "Definitely fed you a line of bullshit." is just proof he has no idea what he's talking about. It's a procedure that he will never do in his life unless he works on thirty-year old Ford vans and trucks. But to run his mouth instead of admitting ignorance is proof that corporate monkeys will proceed without caution into things they know nothing about. That whole shop will go to their grave thinking they could align that van and a few miles away is a shop that can actually align the van. It should be NTB mandate to decline service to 1980 vehicles and older. Why? Because most of the kids working there were born in 1980.

So, I'm good at a few things and not resenting corporate buffons is one of them. I hold no grudges and consider it a lesson learned. Of course I will speak truth to power and discredit the NTB brand whenever I can but I will do it in a way that does not make me out to be a grudge-holder. I know they were unable to do the work and they know that too but they still tried and failed and charged me for their failure. NTB SERVICE TECHS FAILED. They failed and still charged me money for their failure which they now refuse to refund and claim that their hands are tied. It is this that makes them cunts. Would you bring your car to a mechanic whose hands are tied?

For me to ignore this would be irresposible because they also need to learn their lesson as I have learned: Namely, not to have my van worked on at NTB. I can move forward toward this goal without venom in my heart or hateful words on my lips. This is the universe speaking to me in muted words no different than the rustling of leaves when a deer takes a shit. I move through the placid river of life at times in eddies of sadness and tumult and in times of gentle repose. Money lost is not something I resent or begrudge. I see everything as payment for lessons and the greatest lessons cost the most and I will tell you that $300 is not a significant amount for anything. Wisdom costs much more and the currency doesn't come from your wallet.

I should mention that nothing short of refund will satisfy me. Even if they offered to replace the tires I will refuse. "That van never enters that garage again." will be my comment. You don't complain and then let them touch your car again just like you don't send food back at a restaurant. Either eat it or walk out.

The story isn't over but I've said all I want to say about it.

Monday, October 25, 2010

Analysis

I recieved a user report of my blog and someone visited these pages after searching for the keywords, "Hobo sucking cock for money"

Another was,

"Colonoscope guidewire"

and

"Book about Oggy Dog."

I don't know what to make of this except the terms "Climate Change and simple living" are never the terms that get people to my blog. I need to focus more on that. God, what did that person think when he wanted to see a hobo sucking cock for money and found himself reading my environmental/political rants? Did he feel he was misled? Did he instantly click back and adjust his search terms? I want him back and I want to change his mind. No, really, there are hobos sucking cock here...I swear! I'm a hobo and I'm sucking cock right now! Look!

Sunday, October 24, 2010

One year ago....


This was taken a year ago in Northern Quebec not long before I retreated south. Looking back I feel I was a coward for not pressing on in the face of freezing temperatures and mechanical failures and bad tires and dead batteries. Because now I'm on the same damn mission and it's later and I'm in worse shape and my kidneys are bad and I've got to outfit my van for the adventure. Not to mention the wolf is in trouble.

But I have a real video camera this time and I am determined to make it. This time, nothing will stop me. It's Labrador or Bust. This week will determine my fate either way. I had an epiphany last night in my frozen breath dreams that I've been waiting for life to miraculously fill me with love and contentment but I think that I must pursue and cultivate these things on my own. They will not grow by themselves. Like Joseph Campbell said, Follow your Bliss. Fame and fortune will probably not be in your future but some level of peace might be enough.

There's a good line in a movie called "Owning Mahowny" with Phillip Seymour Hoffman back when he was taking roles in everything.

Psychologist: How would you rate the thrill you got from gambling, on a scale of one to one hundred?
Dan Mahowny: Um... hundred.
Psychologist: And what about the biggest thrill you've ever had outside of gambling?
Dan Mahowny: Twenty.

Then the psych asks if he would be satisfied with 20. And that's the question all us addicts have to ask ourselves. Maybe I'm addicted to drama or abuse or self destruction. The times I get a thrill of 100 is getting lost in the forest or having a major mechanical breakdown or solving some motorcycle problem or writing an especially tasteful passage. Work, when I'm paying attention, is about a 10. Reading John Updike is a 50. Listening to Roger Waters is a 60. Everything else literally doesn't register on my meter. I daydream 80% of the time of a place where Roger Waters sings to me while I work on a motorcycle. That's a 100...but it isn't real...so it's really nothing. We're all looking for the 100 and it's easy to think that which gives you the biggest thrill is worth the pain it gives too. No one wants to be satisfied with a 20 out of 100. Maybe I can convince myself that the 20 is really 100. I'm good at self deception.

Saturday, October 23, 2010

Sacrifice...


Worldwatch has a blog that is transforming cultures. Unfortunately about ten people read it and they are all hippies living in their vans. The latest post contemplated the word sacrifice and how it could be reclaimed so it wasn't a dirty word. Like, when you try to save money by eating at McDonalds you really just sacrificed your health in exchange for you money. But if you told someone to sacrifice more money in exchange for good health they would think that was bad. Because, and I've said this before, the marketeers at McDonalds and Apple and Ford ARE THE BEST IN THE WORLD EVER. These are the best manipulators the planet has ever seen. I watch ads now with such a critical eye and I see exactly how they are manipulating the viewer and it's the kind of stuff George Orwell couldn't predict because it's so diabolical. Basically, in every Burger King advertising office there is a sign that says, "Fatty food = happiness" Plain and simple. That's how advertising works. Every campaign must follow that simple edict. It matters not that the food is poison. All that matters is that the advertisements will evoke a quality of home and friendship and family as equivalent to French fries and a greasy chicken sandwich. Now, they have actually succeeded in this goal but they will not stop because our collective memories are so fucking horribly ruined by drugs that if they stopped then we will all forget why we went to these trash dispensaries in the first place. So they keep pounding the message home and Ford and Apple all jump in. I think the latest one that made me sick is the Verizon one. "Powerful. Revolutionary. Unleash Digital Delight. Be The Master of Your Own Economy. Send a Strong Signal. Rule The Air."

Now, I'm an ad junkie and because of that, like a magician, I can see the strings behind any trick. It makes them less fun but then I'm only impressed by the ones that are so arresting that I forget for a second I'm being manipulated. This Verizon one is terrible. Obviously going for the "Frail Girl Empowered By Our Product" approach. Like, she's her own thinker and Verizon is just enabling her to text pics of her tits to her married lover. Awesome! Thanks Verizon! But I approve of a consistent propaganda campaign and theirs is good. Women are the over all number one income earner in America since the higher paid men were all laid off recently. They are the biggest spenders and the best market to manipulate so Verizon has completely tailored their campaign to under 40 women. I approve because this obeys the rule of branding which is to focus and be memorable. That's where I have trouble with my blog. This was supposed to be a branding exercise in counter culture joy. I would represent an agent of change that would be so magnetic that everyone would flock to simpler living...but life got in the way and all I represent is a depressed hobo spitting on the walmart parking lot. I've become an exact reason why no one should do what I'm doing. FUCK! How did that happen. It's like a cell phone ad where all the calls get dropped and the phone breaks. Well, I wouldn't buy that piece of shit. Now people look at me and say, "Look, that's the reason I shop at Walmart and work 9-5 filing paper. I don't want to end up like that!"
So, all I've got left is my honesty and my integrity and blepheritis syndrome. I'm a poor votary of the simple joyful life. I can only think of Japhy Ryder/Gary Snyder from Dharma Bums by Kerouac. He's the one who demonstrated a life of zen and joy and simplicity writing poetry and hiking and cutting wood. It could be done, but I have made a total mess of it. Sigh. I knew it wouldn't be easy but maybe I made it hard on myself by staying in the civilized world.

Anyway, I'm not going to quit but I just want to say that there is a purpose behind all this madness just like this Rule the Air campaign is trying to get you to buy verizon and feel good about it, make your feel like a traitor if you don't buy verizon. I want you to feel like my way of life is desirable, that the wolf is worth saving, that the earth is not disposable, that our culture is not the evolutionary apex of jack shit, and that it is time to do some critical thinking. That's all I do. let me help. Let's critically think together! If anyone wants to team up to make an ad campaign about the arctic wolf that is as equally manipulative then let me know.

Here's my response to the transforming culture post...I swear he writes exactly like I would've if I'd gone to Harvard instead of the Yukon Territory.

"The question you ask seems to be this: is a sacrifice really a sacrifice if it is done ignorantly/unwillingly? I'd say, no, it isn't. Cigarette smoking damaged a great many lungs but the marketing campaign behind it basically brainwashed people into thinking it would be a sacrifice if they stopped smoking. What North America seems to have created is a runaway consumer culture that doesn't really believe everything the advertisement says but also doesn't think critically either. So, the status quo is to purchase what is new and dispose of what is old. How can we get to a paradigm of fixing what is old and pondering deeply the value of anything new prior to mass production? It's not getting any easier as jobs move further from cities making long distance transport more necessary and raw food is being processed 1500 miles from the dinner table. The balance is definitely in favor of dependency on expensive, resource rich, outside technology for our comfort which leaves us vulnerable and fearful. No, North America doesn't have a smallpox epidemic but 1 in 3 Americans may have diabetes in 2050. It's almost like cigarettes were used as an experimental profit model that has now evolved into prescription drugs. Cigarettes took healthy people and made them sick for a price. Synthetic insulin will take sick people and make them well for a price. But you have to have diabetics first and fast food has guaranteed that.

As far as redefining sacrifice, I think you are on the right track. Trans-formative-culture media such as this should concentrate on reversing the accepted paradigm. Thoreau would say that our gadgets aren't saving us time, they're stealing time from future generations who will have to clean up our mess. Maybe the mess cured small pox but it also eradicated honey bees which makes gardening impossible. A buddy of mine would say it all comes down to education and worldwatch is a leader in critical, humanist education. Keep asking the right questions and we will find the answers together.

Friday, October 22, 2010

Bob Guccione RIP


I want to pay tribute to Bob Guccione, the founder of Penthouse. I mean, here was a guy who figured out that men will pay to see naked women. That's right. He figured that all on his own. My first bit of pornography was probably a playboy on the rack of a truck shop where I was giving blow jobs to make ends meet. I thought, "Wait a second... this is something new." I would never again have to hoard the underwear section of the Sears catalog.

And then it was writing porn stories "pillow talk" for a few erotic mags and getting screwed (excuse the pun) out of my pay. I gave them the best years of my life and all my stories ended up getting stolen like A Kurt Vonnegut character and turned into major motion pictures. But what is a little guy like me going to do? Nothing.

Now, the era of Internet pornography such as the one embedded on this page has begun and Penthouse is basically a porn production company also selling thongs and dildos that are shipped from China in huge tankers full of illegal immigrants suffocating in the dank bowels with rats and vats of soymilk.

Well, my balls ache after wanking off and I want to tip my cap with my slimy fingers and give a nod to Bob The Pornographer. Playboy was classy (before the boob job/tattoo era began) but if you wanted teasing threesomes and open mouthed teenage girls pretending to be in the thralls of ecstasy because their "lawyer" has torn their blouse off them in front of a sexy 36D "judge" and a shocked "jury" of cheerleaders...then you needed to visit Penthouse...or High Society...or Jugs...or Barely Legal...or Hustler...or about fifty other magazines that I stole from the printing company I worked at in Junior High tearing covers off books and putting sunday comic inserts in newspapers. Many of those mags were Penthouse and the sex letters and advice about hand jobs were invaluable and my prostate has enjoyed countless explosives throbs with and without the help of another person...and I guess I owe it all to a man who exploited as many girls as he could. God bless him. Teen pussy never gets old!
incidentally, that locker room set is at Entertainium in L.A. where we attempted to open a production design studio but were thwarted by porn stars and crystal meth. If those walls could talk they would go, "blblblbblblblblblblaahagmalllbblbl..." and trail off into hysteria.


In more serious news anyone who cares about anything ought to read Matt Taibbi's article on the wholesale auction of America to billionaire oil sheiks that my father likes to call "Muslims" because they live in a country with a Koran. Yeah, they're real devout. There must be some hidden speech from Muhammad where he recommends leasing parking meters in Chicago and using the money to fly American porn stars to Abu Dhabi for orgies in the sand. "Don't forget to paint your Rolls Royce with 24K gold," said the last prophet...
Anyway, Taibbi is the best pop-political journalist since Hunter Thompson but Vollmann still smokes him in the writing department. He does a lot of hard work so you don't have to and from reading him and Naomi Klein and Ralph Nader and Lester Brown it's fairly obvious that some powerful and villainous folks have been running the United States while 300 million people argued about nonsense. But, like Nader says, go ahead and update your Facebook status...pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.

stove



The one I have is the same make and size but has a wider top for two lids and a heat shield around the sides. It is awesome but Fatsco from Benton Harbor, MI says it should only burn coal or charcoal. THe bottom is more for air and to get the ashes. You load coal from the top. IT is built like an enclosed charcoal grill with a grated platform at the bottom. I think it could handle wood on the very bottom but research suggests the heat will bust the seams in time, which I believe. I don't want to heat my van with charcoal . that's crazy. Maybe the Chicken Man can hook me up with pipe and stove etc. see the bird like my soul chirping songs to the white wolf.
ponderous.

Wednesday, October 20, 2010

Wood stove in Van

Following my unconventionality mandate I will be installing a vintage cast iron stove in the van to dry out my Burt Bacharach songbooks and to keep my spiderman underoos dry. But reading about this process on the magical information portal known as the Internet (that Oggy is continuously supporting with his ion implanter safety harnesses and webs of Faraday fiberoptics) I see that people think this is a bad idea. Like, "A wood stove in a van? Sounds dangerous. You could die!"

Well, someone should tell the Sherpas who packed them up Mt. Everest during the first ascents. Or the Russian vets who survived the siege of Leningrad by sleeping in tents heated with a wood stove. Or hell, is driving with 8 cylinders exploding highly volatile gas in a pressurized steel case safe? Is it?

Anyway, I'm freezing to death every night without some heat and I'm a caveman at heart so in spite of the carbon creating effects of burning my paper waste I will survive the cold Labrador nights with the wood stove. My only problem is where to put the thing. There's not much room in the 9 X 5 space. But that also means it won't take much to heat the thing up. Of course, the mini hot tub is going to much harder to fit in...

advice?
this is how it turned out

Monday, October 18, 2010

Is this crazy enough for you?

Not long after this was recorded I was escorted off the property following my calistenics routine in the middle of the parking lot. I was yelling, "IS THIS CRAZY ENOUGH FOR YOU?"













The problem is I'm not content with the status quo and am trying to get to Labrador but am being delayed by mechanical upgrades.







The hypocrisy is this: I say the deepwater horizon spill is a calamity that can not be ignored. We have to change our ways yesterday. There is no five year or ten year plan for the cormorants and dolphins of the Gulf of Mexico. They are suffering today. And the casual response is, "What are we gonna do? Mankind will eventually go extinct when we poison the ocean and acid rain makes all men impotent and women are either forced to pay a Tom Cruise clone (alien invader) to impregnate them or else remain barren."




But for some reason my personal emotional decay, one person out of 7 billion, is cause for concern. Uh, what kind of priorities are going on here? I'm talking about the species of the wolf and people are worried I sleep outside in a storm that poured gallons of water on my bed and I spent all night protecting my Lionel Richie songbook. Who cares about me? The wolves are in deep trouble. The whales. The damn Manta Rays. If you're going to worry about something pick a real cause. Oggy Bleacher's fate is already sealed. He only wants to make a grand exit.

Sunday, October 17, 2010

Cute kid becomes town menace...

Those pants are awesome!

In the toes of my left foot is a dandelion. Those very same toes are now crippled hopelessly by arthritis. Coincidence?


I'm surprised I didn't turn out gay by the looks of me here in 1975, 1976, 1977. Yes, that is a Thor underoos shirt at the bottom. I didn't mind hamming it up for the camera. There were a few years there where I danced spontaneously and sang for no reason and had all the making of a flamboyant stage actor, someone who would prance around in off Broadway productions of Cats or Grease. I taught myself to tap dance and gave grand bows whenever exiting a room. It was odd looking back. Even in High School I paid more attention to my impromptu monologues and theatrically farting than to quadratic equations and how to add protons. I belonged in a performing arts school and ended up in the bowels of Somerville grade school where creativity was locked in the milk locker along with the tin foil containing our meatloaf. I learned to bounce a ball against a wall and add numbers.
I guess this is a note to all parents out there that one day your kid might delve into the memories you are creating and reflect on it all...and yes, even judge you publicly.

Bike week comparison 1978-2010




These two pictures were taken 32 years apart. I think I'm getting to the source of my troubles. In one of them I'm riding a moped that was only 3 years old at the time the other picture was taken. And that bannana seat Schwinn one speed was probably my first bike and the chrome made me proud. I'm a little amazed that I took the more recent picture without remembering the existence of the older picture. It's like I'm reliving 1977.
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Man in the Van by Oggy Bleacher is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 3.0 Unported License.