Get in Line Foremost Insurance - You Assholes

"Dear Oggy Bleacher :

Our records show that coverage for your auto insurance policy has been cancelled for nonpayment of premium.  There is a balance due in the amount of $20.00 on your account. 

If a payment in the amount of $20.00 is not received by 4/12/2013, we may use a collections agency to assist us in collecting the past due balance.  This may adversely affect your credit rating."

I was in the city hall registering my van in Texas the other day and she handed me a $200 invoice and although people were waiting I asked, "What did I pay for?" and that simple question is something I want everyone to start asking. All these penalties and fines and bullshit and taxes..."Ok, but what am I paying for?"
"That's our policy, Mr. Bleacher."
"Fine, but what's the money for?"
"$90 is for fees assessed."
"What does that mean? There are five other numbers on that invoice so are those not also fees assessed?"
"Those are different categories."

Motherboarding

I should open my own repair service as long as it is an old moped or an obsolete ipod. You might ask why I would go through the trouble and expense of repairing a motherboard of an old ipod but this particular 4th generation 40gb black and white ipod has a remote control port that none of the new ones have. And I own the remote control and have it rigged in my van so I can change songs on the go by reaching up to the ceiling above my head as I drive. The alternative was letting go of the wheel and getting out of the seat at 40mph and quickly skipping that Sade song in favor of something by The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band. That's against the law even in liberal Texas.

Declining Health

While my mental state has bounced back from the depths I've noticed the beginning of finger tremors that indicate Parkinson's Disease. I was diagnosed with Hodgkin's disease in Alaska and given a few years to live. Another doctor said I'd never run again because of a ruptured Achilles tendon and fractured heel bone and he was sort of right. But this Parkinson's Disease is the progressive decay of nervous system as motor functions cease.  The middle finger on my right hand now dances in circles to an Afro-cuban rhythm that only it can hear.

Vespa Ciao Rear Brakes

If you are looking at this then you took the wrong route to the rear brakes.

So, I'm driving down the brakedown lane on my 1974 Vespa Ciao. I run over a 5'' roofing nail and it punctures the tire and actually goes through to the other side of the tire, tearing two holes in the tire and two holes in the inner tube causing a minor crash.

Fast forward a few days later to when I ordered two 2.25/17 inner tubes from a shop in California since nothing that size is available around here. The tubes arrived.

I take the rear wheel off and really struggle to take that tire off and replace the inner tube. The rim liner needed to be replaced but I forgot to order one so I had to mess with that and in turning the rim upside down all the gear oil from the rear hub poured out onto my rug. I didn't care about the rug and after puncturing one inner tube by being sloppy I got the thing installed again...and took it for a ride... and after speeding through town to get to the library I ran directly into the bike rack because the rear brake didn't work. Why didn't the rear brake work? Because the oil from the hub had leaked into the brake assembly and contaminated the pad.

Unicornio Azul

I'm clearing the hard drive of stray song recordings as I feel I'm going to be going back to work soon in a big way...moving...or else being off the grid so there will be no time.
My mom turned me on to this song by Silvio Rodriguez, one of the trovadore singer/songwriters. I prefer Fernando Delgadillo but he sings so fast that it will take a long time to learn one of his songs.

Dedicated To Sam

Bring it On Home To Me Sam Cooke As performed by Oggy

Nouveau Riche

I wanted the inlay to say "Western Swinger" but decided against it. It's like a tattoo for your guitar.

 I did more damage to the guitar face taking the old guard off than the new pick guard is going to protect against. It sort of irks me that the guy couldn't get the stems in the right direction. Notes below the middle line have the stems go up. Notes above the middle line have the stems go down.

Dedicated to Broken Hearts

While 1966 is a year of music that makes me quiver with delight, 1962 also deserves special attention specifically because of Sam Cooke. It's a rare voice that can sing simple words with real emotion. It's part acting and part entertainment and part reflection on the lovers who never returned your phone call or left you waiting at the bar.
This tune has been covered quite a bit by the greats; Van Morrison did a cover version of this song back in 1974 and it's pretty good but without even hearing Sam Cooke's version I know it's going to be the winner. I don't know if this particular recording is the best but it's one of the few times I pity a happily married man because Sam Cooke and Otis Redding make heartache and loneliness cooler than contentment. It's a little ironic since Cooke was the one staying out late at night...maybe he was writing from the perspective of his jilted lovers.

No Paper

This is at the Puerto Rican Fag's House

The closest to sex I've gotten in a while is having a Puerto Rican Gordita salesman grab my chest hair through the window of my van yesterday...."Pelo rico" I think he said as felt me up.
"Perdon," I said as I buttoned my shirt.
Why can gay men uninhibitedly grab straight men? Any gay men out there explain this casual flirtation? Is he testing me to see if I'm into him?

Texans Are Even Better At Conservation

Have I almost lived in Texas a year? How did that happen? I'll tell you, kids, it happened because I lack the long term planning gene. I don't have DNA. I have DN. As in I "Don't 'No" what I'm doing...and end up living in the desert in Texas for a year by accident. I remember trying to drive to Guatemala some time in 2012. Running out of money...having the police badger me like a junkie hiding body parts in my van...then I remember almost dying on the beach...there was something about working as a wreck recovery tow truck operator and rebuilding a Firebird engine...after that it's a blur. If I didn't have this blog I would have no way of knowing what I did last year. Like I sometimes can't remember when I lived in Santa Cruz. Was it 1994 or 1996? OR both? No idea because the internet didn't exist for me.

Today's conversation on the way back from the ranch where I was throwing paint on the wall reminded me that the Texan determination actually bleeds over to their conservation efforts. I chuckle to think of the Santa Cruz set sitting on the sidewalk to block bulldozers from plowing our community garden under to make way for a Sam's Club. It's a joke. But listening to a Ranch owner talk about almost killing a man because he shot a roadrunner made me see the contradictions you will never appreciate if you only see the King of The Hill side of Texas.

Positive Thinking and Other West Coast Ideals

Let's stay positive...I think this is one cut... ha! I had totally forgotten that this song has a ton of nonsense syllables....man I wish I were 15 again so I could think it was cool.

Leather Effect



Before

Because my life isn't hectic enough I had to drink some beer and talk my way into a job "painting" a utility/laundry room and bathroom at a ranch way out toward Mexico.
"Oggy, can you do a leather effect?"
"I invented the leather effect," I said sucking more Hurricane beer down my throat and giggling.

It's all a big joke to Oggy. Take a perfectly good wall and dab some paint on and the wipe it off with a wet rag, smearing the paint around into these intentional gouges in the sheetrock so it looks like a wall in a monkey shit house.

After



Because one hole isn't enough to stop Oggy

 I don't understand much but I got a call today that basically told me my fortunes were going to change...despite having a tire on my moped blow up yesterday while weaving in the brakedown lane. You'd laugh too if you were me.



the view toward Mexico, Look very close on the left horizon and you'll see windmills



Recent Purchases

If there is a pattern here then please let me know:

Texan Apprentice Electrician License: $20
C4 Transmission Overhaul kit: $129
C4 performance shift kit: $30
Transmission Overhaul Manual: $30
Rosewood Pickguard and truss rod mother of pearl inlay: $246
(2) moped inner tubes 2.00/2.25 x 17: $27
Sexual Health Pills: $12
4th generation 40gb ipod motherboard: $22
Roach Spray: $3

Hog Fair

$3 for a monkey. $5 for a banana.

Wild hogs are poetic creatures, caged chickens with one leg are also on the wing of prayer and decrepit salvation. Kids chase hogs with mud in the ego of god, and chickens rest on foam beds. Oggy lapsed into the realm of Hurricane and Lone Star. He's weak and lonely as the roaches have him thinking of decay and his friend, Cow Milk Blues, testified to the prostate and hepatitis problems of his future.

Midnight Snack

It's 2:30 am. I made myself some huevos mexicana con tortillas de maiz. and some raisin bran. I might have some french toast because I'm trying to gain weight. Silk brand soymilk is now my favorite for anyone keeping track. "Oggy likes Silk" will be this week's advertising campaign. If I could get 10,000 page views a day I could actually ask Whitewave Foods to sponsor me. But since only 5 people seem to be viewing my blog every day and none of them drink soy milk, I'll have to give free advertising to the wrong target audience. Fuck you and your cow juice. (Did you know they spliced the DNA of a spider into a female goat and when the goat matured and was given hormones to simulate pregnancy it produced milk as well as spiderweb-like strands that can be woven into bulletproof cloth by Vietnamese slaves?)

High Definition Wish List

If there is any doubt about the difference in the definition of cameras...I'm watching a clip of an interview I gave for the No Kill No More project and aside from my rambling answers that will never be shown...the definition of the camera, I think it was a Rebel SLR...nothing too special...and it's excellent. This is a screen capture from it and there was natural lighting...no attempt to enhance the video.

Not stoned but talking like he's stoned because he's happily sober...(why did I leave La Paz?)

The size of the video and pictures makes this an option I can't really work with since uploading anything takes forever but one generation from now the quality of digital content is going to be so incredible they won't even believe what bloggers like me had to go through to post crappy pictures that came out half monochrome. Still, I suspect it's all a terrible mistake that has a price no one would pay if they could get their faces out of a television screen long enough to understand what that price will be.

Lanny Barby Tribute Song

Maybe pop culture has finally caught up to my bottomless irreverence and disdain. I'm trying to be honest from now on...and also catch the zeitgeist of my generation...in a timeless way. I think the only thing an artist can do is be true to himself and his age...hopefully completely true to himself and his age...and then he might make something timeless. If you aim for timelessness then you won't get it. The best thing I can say about anything is that it comes from the heart and has no commercial aspirations.

If I had about $10,000 I could make a pretty funny video for this. Of course $9,000 of that budget would be to hire Lanny to star in the video...and the way I visualize it would be walking in circles around a fountain playing my guitar and Lanny is sitting down in all the park benches (either quick costume changes or a green screen) and I walk past her as she flirts with me and I'm too distracted singing the song. Yes, I would hire a porn actress and not fuck her...because I've got problems. Maybe I'll make a Kickstarter campaign...
Other than the mockery of Jack Johnson and the lack of a Bruno Mars melody to parody, the inspiration is the fatal irony of the current hip crowd like The Bloodhouse Gang singing "The Ballad of Chasey Lain"
add this to the list of songs inspired by erotic actresses.
I'm not immune to any of it...

The Lyrics of the song are here if you can't understand what I'm saying. The chords are based on a capo at the 3rd fret so I'm playing in Bb, a key that actually suits my voice. But it's a revolving G, C, G, D progression with an A7 thrown in there once in a while. I don't think it will show up in a campfire songbook any time soon. And I'll be leaving the lyrics home when I go perform at the old age facility...they prefer Sinatra.

Lanny Barby Tribute Song

You came into my life
a download video tramp
taking two guys at one time
Lanny, your ass blew my mind

Current Living Conditions

I want to set the record straight. I'm not only a hypocrite because I wrote anti-hydrofracturing essays and then worked directly in support of the hydro-fracturing industry, but I also edit a blog that is about a guy who lives in a van. But I currently live in a house.

Now, my most uproarious moments have been in the van. Without question. A quick list of 10 of them...

1) Nazi Germany arrives in Santa Monica...a hopelessly stoned Oggy must navigate the entire Santa Monica police department riot squad by moving not just one but two (2) derelict vans (and a broken moped) from the street that is being reclaimed by the police. At one point Oggy is stalled in the middle of the street facing the curb as the police march through red tear gas smoke whipped by a helicopter.

Triumph

a picture to help me remember what they are supposed to look like

I wish I could say these were for my new barn find vintage motorcycle but they are for the garage...some kind of Triumph convertible they're working on. The diaphragms were shot and the pistons were stuck. These petty accomplishments are how I spend my days. Stromberg 175 CD-2

old but servicable

Cool Guitarist Needs More Hobbies

god please send me a job so I can occupy my time more productively

Honestly, I bought a jazz guitar masterclass cd-rom method and it might be the final piece of the puzzle. No single method has explained everything but between the ten different methods I've looked at and the hundreds of hours studying the constellations for philosophical correlations I've actually figured something out.

There are two main positions that matter and every pro guitarist uses them. One is called Aeolian...the other is called Phrygian...if you can't switch between the two effortlessly, which is actually childishly easy once you understand what has to be done, and if you can't play in the Aeolian position but then visualize that you will now be playing the Phrygian position of another key, without moving your index finger, then you are faking it. Every method basically adds up to that fundamental skill: visualizing simple scale formations and then either moving up or down the neck to play a different position of the same key or visualizing a new scale pattern beginning in the same position you already are playing in but in a new key. If you can do it for the two positions mentioned then you can do it with the remaining 3 positions. They are all based on chords you learn in the first week of guitar CAGED. The Aeolian position is based off the G major chord and it's called Aeolian because your index finger on the 6th string sits on the 6th scale degree of whatever key you decide to play in. And the Phrygian position is based off the C major chord and it is called the Phrygian position because your index finger on the 6th string sits on the 3rd scale degree of whatever key you decide to play in. Boom!

It's totally basic (it takes a single paragraph to explain) but everyone from Mel Bay to Joe Pass to Chet Atkins to Steve Vai all manage to confound the simplicity behind redundant scales and often totally ignore the obvious visualization skills you need...so no one ever learns how to play. This supports my theory that masters of playing an instrument may have forgotten how they learned to play and probably have no idea how you will learn to play. Ask Robert Deniro to teach you how to speak English. Even this excellent Jazz method book explains half of it and then fails to point out that the formations are based off basic chord formations. Hell, that guitar solo in the Take me Back to Tulsa song is almost all based off these two positions overlapped in the 9th position. Maybe this is one of those hidden benefits of my mild autism...so I'm happy to share it with the world as long as you don't make fun of me for posing shirtless with my guitar.

Cuatro Milpas

only four corn patches remain at the ranch that used to be mine
of the little house , so white and beautiful not even a wall is left.
if you would lend me your eyes, brown woman
with the heart that they see no more
the rubble of that little house so white and beautiful.
how sad it is.


Do not be lured by the merry melody...the song is of drought and death...and it's possible that even the woman he is speaking to is a ghost. I think I was in the right frame of mind when I first played this in La Paz, admiring the rubble of the fictitious romance that I'd cultivated...speaking to ghosts, loving shadows...but there is a verse that isn't included in my songbook...it's one of hope that since the brown woman or ghost is still with the narrator then he hasn't lost everything. Remembering the four corn patches that only remain of that grand hacienda, I realize that I have lost nothing, since you are here with me. That's what matters. undefined http://lyricstranslate.com Read more at http://lyricstranslate.com/en/las-cuatro-milpas-four-corn-patches.html#lVvfvCBHCOTYlMrr.99

Summertime

After a near electrocution I've taken some tips from my jobs. It'll be no accident if I survive much longer.

Call Oggy for expert furnace repair as long as it was manufactured in 1955

Summertime in March means making the furnace Joe-proof...so I disconnected all the heater terminals and taped them up and wired it for air conditioning only. 94 degrees and climbing...200,000 years from now some alien will surely locate our graveyards and mine our bones for fuel to run their air conditioners and it''s totally what we deserve.

Get Your motor Running

This is a never ending battle with the ghost of communist bloc nations. The starting and drive clutches seem to be engaged when they shouldn't be. and this leads to other problems..such as the near amputation of one finger when I strayed too close to the flywheel. I actually took the drive clutch out and it still turns the back wheel. That's a bad sign since that means the starting clutch/flywheel is slightly engaged with the transmission at all times...which means it won't stay running if you stop. Could this be the idle speed too high or something else? But if I lower the idle speed then it dies all together.

Czechmate

Computer level is set to 4 of 10...so I beat a teenager who is watching T.V. while playing chess.

I want you to note how few pieces I had left on the board to pull off this mate.

In other news I overfilled the gear box of the Jawa and it still ran like a wounded Czech soldier...and the fuel ratio was wrong...it smoked like a clogged Russian chimney but otherwise it might be useful.
Jawa mopeds use 30w motor oil in the crankcase (Vespa Ciao mopeds only use 90w gear oil in the rear hub) but not full up like a motorcycle or car since the cylinder is laying parallel with the ground...only fill it to where it leaks out of an inspection hole. I saw it leaking and thought something was wrong so I screwed a bolt in there and kept filling like an amateur. I basically flooded the cylinder with oil...and it still ran. Now I have it figured out and I'm amazed it still ran while burning tons of oil...gear oil no less. Probably good for breaking in the new rings I bought from Prague. You should have seen the pack of dogs chasing me and my Czech moped down the street like they could smell the decay of Communism on my fenders...

Keys to Failure

Headlines in the San Antonio newspaper are two oil related articles. Energy is the blood of Texas. Energy. Oil. Natural Gas. Water. Wind. Solar. Energy. I can't emphasize that enough. Those M.I.T. grads aren't bicycling to their electronic engineering jobs so someone has to get the gasoline to them. As I've said, the environmental movement is no match for the determination of the energy industry to find every drop of oil. Classic example is the Keystone Pipeline project that would cross the continent from Canada to Texas so a refinery doesn't have to be built in Alberta. So the pipeline is delayed because of concerns about the risks...and do you really think the energy folks are sitting on their hands waiting for someone to tell them what they can do? And unless you live in Texas this issue probably doesn't matter to you.

But the two sides of the debate are real simple:
1) I need the oil/job in Texas so let's build the pipeline.
2) Exploitation of the tar sands guarantees the end of civilization.

Man Eats Bunny

If you think this is bad you should see the rat I caught in my closet last night

Grateful Dead vocal harmonies plummeted from the car speakers dangling overhead the River Street Shelter’s aluminum roof, drops of condensation clung to the rusting cover screws. The notes dive-bombed the shivering audience like angry sparrows protecting their nest, but instead of protecting themselves the bleak children of the street peeked their noses from the damp blankets to find nourishment and motivation in the throbbing rites of spring. Now steel pan drums, no flute, now a set of hand drums, Spanish guitar…there were no rules and that’s how the fans liked it. Kerouac’s cool jazz dreams became a waking nightmare in the hectic poly-rhythms of the band from San Francisco. Why not two or three songs played at the same time?…better to stimulate the new generation. The groove locked a women’s hips into a grinding sway, impossible to ignore, every note attaching itself sympathetically to a vertebrae or pelvic component so that she was thrusting herself upon the air, fucking the distant voices with her own corporeal vibrations.

Some knew the words and these apostles of the faith sang them softly to the ghosts of lost lovers whose phone numbers written on wet skin dissolved metaphorically by morning as the sun burned off the fog and the wet blankets in the forest began to rise and fall with casual lover’s salutations. The feeling of brief intimacy and importance, the impression that this was important, these naked bodies in the forest, these tribal warriors all meeting before the stage returning with the blues melody, “Born in the desert… raised in a lion’s den.”

Oggy had broken ranks with the sheltered hoards and climbed on top of the bus lockers following Bella’s manic outburst the previous evening.

Oggy’s begging appeal, “I’m in so much pain…stop hitting me…” had done nothing to sway Bella’s attack. Her fury had been unstoppable, only Oggy’s adoption of Gandhi’s Satyagraha philosophy would justify his lack of defense or counterattack. Finally he had limped into the rain with his one remaining redwood branch crutch (Bella had broken the other) crackling on the gravel. At first the gate guard had refused to let him out, citing the rules and regulations of the lockdown camp, but seeing Oggy’s determination to climb the barbedwire fence to free himself and the potential to comfort Bella now that Oggy was gone, the guard had unlocked the gate, reiterating the policy that once out, Oggy was out for the evening. Oggy had not responded but had used his crutches to retrieve a milk crate to use as a step to climb on the bus lockers. In the dark and in his confusion at being pulverized by his girlfriend he inadvertently bumped against one of the men who slept on the bus lockers regularly. There were shouts and apologies followed by Oggy locating an open area and hauling his bones to the top between two concrete pillars. Of course the reason that area was empty was because there was a leak in the aluminum roof, but Oggy solved that with a flap of cardboard that diverted the leak to one side. Then he curled himself inside the shrink wrap tarp and moaned until he fell asleep. That was how Kim found him three days later.

Citizens Bank Can Go Fuck Themselves

The phone rings....
Oggy (with mouth full of Spaghetti): Yep?
Recovery Agent (pleasant female): Good evening, Mr. Bleacher?
Oggy: I hope so, cause I'm wearing his dirty boxer shorts...
R.A.: I'd like to talk to you about your Citizens Bank Checking Account.
Oggy: What account? I have no money in there.
R.A: Be advised that this call may be recorded...
Oggy: Well, that makes two of us.
R.A.: Right now we're showing a negative balance of $111.97. When would you like to make a payment?
Oggy: Last I checked I had a negative balance of $2.09.
R.A. There have been service charges due to a negative balance.
Oggy: You charged me $109 to borrow $2?
R.A. You stopped payment on a $200 check.
Oggy: OF COURSE I STOPPED PAYMENT. YOU WERE GOING TO TAKE HALF OF IT AS PREDATORY FEES FOR THE ORIGINAL TWO DOLLARS!*
R.A. So when would you...
Oggy: I WILL NEVER PAY THOSE FINES OFF. I WILL NEVER EVER PAY YOU.
R.A. You should be advised that this will be forwarded to our claims department...
Oggy: You bastards misled me, you lied, you changed my contract, you signed me up for the overdraft account bullshit...
R.A. You were advised to opt out of th....
Oggy: IF YOU KNEW EVEN A FRACTION OF THE SHIT I WAS GOING THROUGH LAST YEAR YOU WOULD KNOW THAT OPTING OUT OF YOUR BULLSHIT OVERDRAFT PROTECTION WAS THE LAST FUCKING THING ON MY MIND. I SLAVE ALL DAY LONG IN A CZECHOSLOVAKIAN MOPED FACTORY AND THIS IS THE THANKS I GET? Really?
R.A: As of today we are showing a negative balance of...
Oggy: I HEARD YOU THE FIRST TIME. I EVEN WROTE IT DOWN ON MY CALENDAR WITH ARROWS AND UNDERLINES SAYING "NEVER PAY THIS"
R.A. Mr. Bleacher....
Oggy: It really vexes me that this is how we should meet. It vexes and irks and perplexes and hurts and causes me great anguish. You have a nice voice. It's pleasing. I almost want to pay you so you will show me some affection because I am lonely and sad. I see why they hired you. But they are vultures. If you...
R.A." Mr...Bleacher...

A La Plancha

Jawa Decompression Cable Bracket

I don't know if there is a philosophical correlation between these two topics but if there was it would be "no frills" or "Honest"
Mopeds use a feature called a decompression cable to release compression in the single cylinder so when you are pedaling to start the thing up it is easier since you aren't fighting against the compression of the engine. Then you release the lever and it compresses the cylinder at exactly the moment of ignition and you might start the engine... We managed to lose track of the simple metal bracket that holds the cable housing so when you move the lever only the cable moves and that engages the valve on the cylinder. I put the word out to my moped forum friends and came up empty. The Jawa is not a bike anyone knows much about.  But we found the bracket and I can sleep. It's not essential to start the thing but it's essential for all the parts of the universe to be aligned again in my anxious brain.

Czechoslovakian Restoration

This borders on madness...a 1976 Czech moped missing all the igntion components, which turn out to be one of a kind things called Tranzimos and Thyristors...

Thyistors are designed for high speed switching of large amounts of electric current. Their first use was in the precision timing of conventional explosive charges used to compress the radioactive materials in nuclear weapons order to initiate chain reactions. They are one of the banned items that were intercepted when a German company attempted to ship some to Iran. The Jawa peds are unique as they spanned the gap between breaker-point ignition and the CDI ignitions.

http://nuclearweaponarchive.org/Library/Pasley1.html

Maybe I do belong on American Restoration. I fouled the sparkplug of course seconds after I had it running but that was probably the fact I left residue of dirty carb cleaner in the tank. But it ran for a second...and that's one second longer than the last 15 years.

This is awesome. A fuel petcock that can be completely disassembled.

Wake up

Ok, either Al Gore IS COMPLETELY FULL OF SHIT and is living in a fictional reality that is ten times more hilariously out of touch with the facts than Mayan cult worshipers and Doomsday preppers...or we're totally fucked.

Am I the only one who read the final chapter of Gore's book "The Future" and felt like the condom full of cocaine that I had swallowed suddenly ruptured as the border police questioned me in a small room? The chapter is titled "The Edge" and it even specifically targets my pathetic hydro-fracking career....
"...the fracking process results in the leakage of enormous quantities of methane which is 72X as potent as CO2 in trapping heat in the atmosphere..."

Methane and Hydrogen Sulfide are closely linked but H2S isn't mentioned in the fracking section. I guess Gore hasn't worked on a instrumentation team in the shale field...

My favorite part says, "Due to the total volume of methane leakage....virtually all the benefit natural gas might have because of its lower carbon content compared to coal is negated."

Relic

Muskrat Falls meets Muskrat Man

It's funny that now this really is a picture of the past when I was pretending to be from the future. I remember that when I was setting up this shot I slipped on the wet rocks and I wasn't worried about drowning because I was sort of past the falls area, but I hurt my back and almost broke a leg quite a distance from my van and totally out of the path of average people. Eventually I'll fall in and I can swim about as good as a brokeback slug.

Great Commanche War Cry

Mostly Cloud to Cloud strikes

One thing I like about Uvalde is the lack of streetlights. I can see constellations that are totally obscured by the Brake Check/Taco Bell/Hunan Buffet light pollution insanity of Corpus and Austin.

The Future

Al Gore recently published a book called "The Future". It should be noted that he was writing it during the Mayan Apocalypse buildup and his book has no mention of that hoax. It's not light reading but it helps me go to sleep. Unlike Lester Brown's "Plan B" which was written by research assistants and edited by Brown, Gore's book really reads like he wrote every word...which means it's boring as hell. His attempts at jokes are painful..."I'm a recovering politician..." or "Note to PETA, I'm not in the chicken housing business anymore."
And his attempts to be a commoner are even worse, "I favor the African saying, "When you pray, move your feet."
OK, Al. You really make me feel like you are totally in touch with your average farmer in Malawi.
But he's an intellectual force who probably didn't deserve to be President since he really is better than your every day postal worker. A world full of Al Gore's would be totally awesome and a world full of Oggy Bleachers would be a mess.

Yah-Vah

That's how this Jawa moped is pronounced. Yah-Vah.
It's the first moped to have a transistorized ignition system and the last Jawa I will work on. But it's a piece of history that deserves some respect.
I have current but no spark becacuse something called a Tranzimo unit and a Thyristor and 4 v high tension coil have been swapped around 5 different kinds of Jawa mopeds when the decaying remains of eastern Europe tried to keep up with Italy and chaos reigned.
Inadvertently, this project has led to a line of customers out the door waiting for me to fix their motorcycles since I'm doing the work at an auto garage and there is only one motorcycle mechanic in town who seems to have pissed off a bunch of people with his "take the money and wait" attitude. But I don't really want to spend 8 hours working on Honda Shadows and ATVs and "can you figure out why my $30,000 Harley won't run?"
fortunately my lack of tools limits any project I can get involved with.

Washing of The Water

My first introduction to Peter Gabriel was on MTV. Sledgehammer was an odd video. I preferred Madonna's striptease offerings at the time. Later I learned he was in Genesis. Sometime in 1992, when I was out of the loop of modern culture he recorded this song. I nearly shit myself when it came on my iPod randomly today. It's pretty much impossible to sing without getting emotional but I'll give it a shot when I figure out the chords and melody - and how to avoid the falsetto. I wonder if he was listening to Jackson Browne albums when he wrote this song...

Look At Me Now

I think this song is appropriate for my current emotional state.

Film Reviews By An Illegal Alien In Mexico

I became an illegal alien somewhere between Piedras Negras, Mexico, the busy frontier town, and Montclova, Mexico, a town of paint stores and stray dogs. My last chance to obtain a tourist visa, or some kind of official evidence that Mexico agreed to let me tour her land, was at the border when I innocently rented a taxi and asked to be taken to "El Centro De Autobuses."

I'd read that visas are not required. Only a passport. Well, the truth is that you are supposed to buy a 180 day tourist visa at the border. If you arrive by plane then it's part of the plane ticket. If you arrive by land then you are supposed to find the immigration office and fill out the paperwork, especially if you are driving a car since you can't import your vehicle without the tourist permit, but definitely if you are walking. I did none of this, innocently ignorant at first, and then flagrantly irresponsible later.

This post is basically a self portrait so...

My planning for the trip was like this:

(V.O.) Oggy: Should I go to Mexico? Hmmmm. Fuck it. Yes. Pack your shit and go.

Oggy packs 2 extra shirts, the pants he is wearing, socks, bongos, claves, a songbook, presents for Mynx and his passport. Less than most people take to the gym.

(Cut To)

Oggy to Landlord: Hey, can you drive me to the bus station?

Landlord: What for?

Oggy: I'm going to Mexico.

Landlord: When will you be back?

Oggy: A week or two. I'll send you a postcard.

Landlord: Ok.
Oggy: One more thing...
Landlord: What?
Oggy: I might be bringing back a wife.
Landlord: ????Uh????
Oggy: There's my bus, gotta go...!

(Cut To)

Oggy getting on a bus bound for the border. Waving goodbye to puzzled Landlord.

Some cultural artifacts

The most sexy girls...are here us?

 Right, it's not like the strip club is full of Americans who could edit your business card...(These models had the night off when I was there.)

God Loves A Desperate Man

Oggy On The Road

I swear that I tried to avoid this situation but it was my destiny to be stranded near Alpine, Texas with no bus or plane or bike or alternative option to cross the desert, having nearly walked from the ancient city of Chihuahua to the frontier, lips swollen, but eyes no longer weeping loneliness.

And thus it was my destiny to be picked up by a pretty Mexican Doctor of Forestry on her way back to Monterrey, Mx from Big Bend National Park. She literally said it was because of the Bongo drums, laying in the cow manure near my ravaged backpack, that she turned around and came back for me.