I'm Wrong For The Right Reasons

...another 8 hours spent under my van. Awoke with the solar flares warming up the blood caked on my lips by my vagrant ulcer. Radiator coolant pooling in pockets on my water pump. I thought it was the water pump failing like I know it will soon along with my arthritic knees, then decided it was loose hose clamps like the prostate gland that pulsates like a broken heart on valentine's day, then decided it was loose bolts holding the thermostat on from when I changed it in a walmart parking lot in Cornerbrook, Newfoundland. I don't know what will fix it. Should I work 8 hours a day on other people's cars so I can pay someone to fix my van or should I personally spend the 8 hours working on my van every day? I replaced the exhaust donuts/gaskets two months ago but the other day one of them blew out and it sounds like death race 2011 rolling up on the school yard where I park to self-inflict my own misery as penance for the injustice that runs like a swollen river through our diseased culture.



Yes, my blindness is pointed out repeatedly by other blind mice. It amounts to compromise and indifference of my spineless adventures through Oggy Land.
I'm the bitter monkey left outside of the pack. I'll dance for your nickle but I'll resent the attention I crave more than brown hair on my head.
"Chasing time" with razor blades and men's health pills. The creatine has helped my shoulder pain but it moved into my lungs as gaseous fumes became trapped in the diseased fibrous tissue of my left lung.

Watched an upsetting set of television about liars and crooks and child rapists and blind acrobats. It should remind me of my luck at avoiding the criminals of the world but you could also look at it as unlucky because now I only have myself to blame now.
Tom Waits (the writer of the song the blind boys from alabama sing in the video) said that the world is full of "The Dead on Vacation" and I think my vacation time is going to expire soon. Maybe I could ask for an extension.

North Conway Brings back Memories

Customer Service With Nikon

The chicken man's nikon camera was taking photos in a pink spectrum that led us on a trail to the earthquake ravaged country of the Dominican Republic and a conversation with Jose, a customer service outsource tech. It was all going down hill into a comedy of errors "Hello, Mr. Hawkings...:" and email addresses and mocking tones by all three of us when we decided to video the whole affair to share with all you who are hungry for news into the decline of mankind (or how we spent our sunday afternoon).

Darvid said, "What was I doing in Franconia? Making a living." and I'm pretty sure his idea of making a living was not hunched over a computer talking about pink picture salutations in the Dominican Republic of Hatian downfall or posting viral videos of skateboarders getting their teeth knocked out by their own board. We're a nation of hot sauce-phobic munchin eaters and we got no backbone because the service industry stole our soles for the rockless rolls and panini bread sandwiches. I'll rant and I'll rave like true newfoundlanders.

Low Point

Girls, this could be the face you wake up to every morning if you want to live with me in the van...

Chicken Out Of Hell

The chickens ran for cover when they saw me hauling along. The timing was off by about 25 degrees but the dwell was ok and it's a statement about how well these vans were designed that they can still run at all with the timing off. I know I can't get worse gas mileage than I am right now so maybe this will improve things on that front so we don't have to go to war with Canada for their tar sands.

Any day I learn something about my van is a good day and today I sanded off the rust covering the timing marks on the flywheel and realized what I was looking at. The Sears timing light kit I won on Ebay paid off because it allowed me to check the dwell and the tach and the points and the timing and also included a push button starter. It was the one thing I couldn't do to my van because the tools are obsolete and only antique dealers carry them. Now my back feels like an antique.