Axle Shaft

We've done so much work on our vehicles lately that we might as well open our own garage. The Grand Marquis continues to disappoint as the code reading indicates the #4 cylinder is misfiring during the first 1000 RPMs. That is a problem with the individual ignition coils which are cheaply made in Mexico and cost more Oggy cookie money. And the drive belt is cracked like my lips after a dry night in the Mexican desert. Other than that it runs pretty good.

Please note the use of the stick to hold the wood. In Labrador I decided a small cut could prove fatal because of lack of any medical facilities. So safety became a priority and I got in the habit of using Hatchet safety procedures.

This 12mm wrench was used to loosen the flange on the 4wd axle where it mates with the front differential.
My thumb is still feeling the effects of the moment when it snapped in my hand and sent vibrations through my hand like I'd been struck by lightning.

Penhallow Cookie

I made a whole $40 in November and I spent at least $60 in cookies at Ceres St. Bakery. This is a Penhallow Cookie named after the street where the bakery is. I feel it's a good store where no employee is forced to watch a sexual harassment video. The food is good and even though this cookie had gluten, they cater to other diets. Incidentally, Ceres Street is the street that Penahallow turns into after it crosses Bow st by the docks. I don't remember the bakery every being on the docks and I don't remember Penhallow ever being called Ceres Street. The discrepancy irritates me but if I can solve the answer then I will include it in my "Bygone history of Portsmouth" tour.

Unschool Bus

 I was at the park the other day, doing my laundry, washing pots and pans on the tennis court, fixing the transmission, etc. when a man walking a pair of dogs asked me if I lived in the van. "Are you a full-timer?" is how he phrased it. Now, since I've recently had The Law on my case and have been evicted/banned from the C&J Parking lot and am still trying to rectify the genocidal conduct of my colonial forefathers, I'm reluctant to talk about my living status with perfect strangers. I've got a lot on my mind! If you want to watch me and judge for yourself how I spend my days then that's up to you. I studied the man and shrugged in a vague way. "Well, it comes and it goes," I said which could mean anything.

Then the man said he lived in his school bus with his family and his dogs. Really? Yes. And I felt better about saying that lately I live in the van full time. I gave him a tour of the van and he admired the stove pipe running from the wood stove.
"My wife really wants a wood stove."
"It was an experiment to see if I could do it," I explained.
"Why did you run the flex pipe all the way back?"
"To get the most radiant heat from the metal and also to give it space to cool down before coming into contact with the fiberglass."
"That's like the Quakers, who have stove pipe run the length of the room."

I imagine that was before the phrase "Waste Not, Want Not" became a joke among Americans. Now, we want waffle irons from China and buy bulk potato chips.
So, Jeff is in town to repair the roof on the health food store in downtown Portsmouth. He's a pioneer in a time when there is no more West to explore. His family has a blog that is interesting. They aren't self righteous, like me, and seem to have more on their plate than concern for blood spilled in 1680. Ron Paul, the Texas Congressman running for President is a cause celebre of the unschool family for reasons you may read about on their site.

 So, I walked downtown since Ron Paul made a visit to Portsmouth the other day in his tour of the state to get his limited government platform some press time. Did anyone see him? I showed up 5 hours too late but saw Jeff and then walked to the bus where it was parked on Hanover and Maplewood in front of the last two remaining coin operated parking meters. Everything else in this town has gone futuristic with kiosks where you pay and then put a piece of paper on your dashboard. This reduces the number of money collection locations. So, I took some pictures of the Ron Paul 2012 a vote for Peace and Freedom message that is chalked on the side of the bus.
I had been there no fewer than a few seconds when the ever present, vulturous meter maid came shambling up with her dragging, plodding, merciless shuffle. She looked at the meter and I looked at the meter. Both expired, I suddenly noticed. I didn't think to record the whole exchange but it was amusing and went basically as follows:
Oggy: Top of the afternoon to ye!
Meter Maid: (unintelligible)
Oggy: I just now noticed that these meters are expired.
Maid: Yep! And I'm gonna write two tickets.
Oggy: Two tickets?!
Maid: Yes. One for each space they taking up. Too big to fit in one space.
Oggy: And here on this beautiful day? [Oggy waves hands at the air]
Maid: Type of day don't have a damn thing to do with this.
Oggy: I stand corrected. It doesn't matter that it's a school bus?
[The maid's tone at this point became unnecessarily blunt and unfriendly.]
Maid: Ain't no school bus! You busy taking pictures of the side, go look on the front!
Oggy: I do see yer point. Hold on. What's this? [Oggy fishes in his pocket and finds 14 cents.]
Maid: You tell me?
Oggy: Why don't I help these folks out?
Maid: Ain't your bus?
Oggy: Ah no. I live in a van down by the river. The one with the wood stove.
Maid: Lawd! Who you supposed to be? A comedian? Families living in busses. Men living in vans.
[Oggy slips a nickle into each of the meters. 3 minutes show on each. There is an uncomfortable pause.]
Oggy: Just a community activist.
Maid: Oh! You some kind of comedian!
Oggy: You know Ron Paul believes in self regulation. We're all rational self interested individuals. And this is in my...
Maid: I don't have no time for this! Pay the meter! That's all.
The Maid shuffles off ranting loudly as a teenage boy pokes his head out of the bus doors.
Boy: What's up?
Oggy: Well, I happened to be taking pictures of your fine living quarters when that lady walked up and was going to give you two tickets. Luckily for you I had broken my piggy bank earlier today and had two nickles in my purse.
Boy: Cool. I guess we forgot.
Oggy: I'll say. The meter maids in this town are like crack addicted stock brokers. They'll ticket a fart if they can find the windshield wiper.
Boy: Uh...
Oggy: Do you need some change? Or is it some kind of protest to not pay the meter?
Boy: We have change.
Oggy: I don't want to tell anyone what to do but a couple quarters here and there will save you some dough down the road.
Boy: Thanks.
Oggy: Good day!



So, feeling like a good samaritan I wandered around downtown and bought a slice of heart attack pizza with bacon and pepperoni. "Everything but the oink," as they say at Oscar Meyer. It came from Joe's NY pizza and it's not much different than the self serve pizza at the gas station on 33 across from Target where Darvid gets his paper. Except this has bacon reheated to a consistency of a dog's chew toy.

After that, my day became a hectic affair of raking leaves and I ended up burning the wood stove and the wind blew all the smoke across Route 33 and I thought, "Ah, Oggy, this can't last. Why don't you find a wide assed lady and settle down in a mobile home park in Epping? Raise some disappointing kids." And the wind whispered through the glow of the neon Target sign.

Time

Because I am Oggy and I can not see everything happening at once I sometimes wonder if I have it all wrong. For instance, this spruce tree is planted inside an old 100 Caliber Land to Sea Gun emplacement at Fort Foster in Kittery. Now, I like to pat myself on the back and think that the hippies of the world have replaced guns with ploughshares but I don't think that's true. I think I don't get to see enough of the world and enough time on the world to make an intelligent comment on the state of the world. I can make comments all I want but they aren't intelligent. There are either reformists or there are engineers. When I read that the South Platte River in Colorado has been polluted by pipeline fracture from hydrofracking methods, then it's easy to become enraged. North Dakota's current employment boom (which I want to exploit by opening a strip club/brothel for illegal Mexican hookers (who lost their Alabama cabbage picking jobs recently) and make lots of money so everyone can be proud of me) also relies on Hydrofracking and is inconveniently located at the confluence of the Yellowstone and Missouri Rivers. Basically, any problems or even the natural result of hydrofracking and everything downstream of Williston, North Dakota will be as polluted as a Nascar ice cream cone when it falls on the asphalt. But is that bad? Because if you crunch the numbers in the right way then you could suggest that even murdering everyone in St. Louis via pollution would greatly benefit mankind because the gas profits exceed the value of the residents of St. Louis. And in 100 years we might not miss St. Louis, even though the Lewis and Clark expedition that went up the Missouri River and past Williston began their journey from St. Louis. You could look at it like the American wolf or Bison. No one misses them. The Grizzly Bear is extinct from California. Does anyone care? So, eventually, the lack of St. Louis would be something we adjust to. Short memories are good! And since it would be an accident then it doesn't really count as genocide. It's collateral damage in the war against the Earth. Nature deficit disease will be dispelled as a myth.

All this debate would be solved if I could see all history at once. So I must speculate that continued oil exploration will succeed in providing fuel and will continue to enable development of alternative fuels which will eventually be the only sources of energy in a land of compromised rivers and radioactive fish, but no one will remember fishing in rivers so that won't really be a bad thing because all judgement is a matter of perspective and once perspective is adjusted to warfare and pollution then there will not be hippies who question it. Thoreau, for instance, who is my hero is looked at like an oddball malcontent who didn't get along with society and was a crybaby and hypocrite and dirty. Eventually, he will be seen as an urban terrorist. Does the ends (cheap fuel) justify the means (polluted rivers)? This is a puzzle I can't solve because I don't see enough time to judge. I suspect that with time comes an acceptance that Native American Indians were impediments to the natural expansion of the white man, and "failed to adapt" and were thus exterminated. It's justified this way and we don't miss their arrows or teepees. Or, more likely, that is now water under the bridge and to cry over it and demand justice (which can't be quantified) is silly and a waste of time. The living's responsible is to live and not drag our feet through social justice. We got this far by ignoring social and environmental justice as much as possible and only throwing crumbs to their memory when absolutely necessary. So, if the internet is our ultimate goal and discontentment is merely a sign of Mal-adaptation then I'm completely wrong and no one should listen to me.

Oggy Powers Activate

 I don't want anyone to forget that I shop at the most expensive market in town for my organic eggs and overpriced yoghurt. $2 bananas and no lines. Most importantly, I do not have to read any tabloid magazine covers regarding cellulite or celebrity divorces...because that is offensive to me. I'd rather pay more for my apples.

 File these Oreos under "F" for "fucking disgusting." Triple Double stuffed, meaning three cookies with two different flavored cream fillings. It's for those who want to become diabetic three times as fast. I didn't buy them even at the bargain price of $2.50. They were at Big Lots, where I go for my budget noodles. Incidentally, they also don't have stupid tabloid magazines. I should start a Facebook fan page for stores with no tabloids. Or maybe I could call it "Tabloid Free Food Stores" NO Celebrity Gossip!

 This is Fort McCleary in Kittery with the sun directly behind me.

This is a gift for Dave, the guy who helped me get ready for the Arctic Wolf Quest. I don't know if he is still alive but I'm pretty sure he'll throw it immediately into the garbage.