Monday, December 20, 2010
Monday, December 6, 2010
Wood stove in Van?
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
"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
Thursday, November 25, 2010
A close call
I will keep looking
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Monday, November 22, 2010
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.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Oggy Reports From The Year 2030: "Clim8 change ain't cool!"
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Is the converse true?
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
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
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.
Friday, November 12, 2010
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
Monday, November 8, 2010
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Universal Forces
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Puppetry
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
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
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
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
This trip includes, Door to Door service from New England to the
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
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
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 /
· 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.
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
"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
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....
Psychologist: And what about the biggest thrill you've ever had outside of gambling?
Dan Mahowny: Twenty.
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Sacrifice...
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!"
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
stove
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Wood stove in Van
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.