B Goode

Another song from the Parking Lot Sessions. This time a slow cover of the popular blues tune about an illiterate guitarist from Louisiana. Johnny B Good by Chuck Berry

Sangria Blues

I made it easier for all my fans in the UAE to make this your screensaver.

The Sangria Blues is yet another song inspired by living in the Walmart Parking lot. I just now notice that I can see the Walmart sign over my left shoulder. classic. As I have proposed, we are all living in the 'Walmart Parking lot', but only I live in the official Walmart Parking lot. But do not deceive yourself that you live outside the parking lot. No, it's a big lot. And the junkies and nickle prostitutes, the worn car parts and flea dogs and puppies and abused diaper pails are your neighbors. Some people park in a distant space, and some people park near the Walmart door, but everyone is in the parking lot, bathed by the blue neon sign. Sangria is in the wine section, near the Dairy fridges. There are two architectural layouts of Walmarts. One has the dairy and wine on the right hand of the store, and the other has the dairy and wine on the left hand. I like the 'gender neutral' bathrooms in the back because I can sponge bath my ass crack in private there. Enjoy the song and remember to turn the light off on your way out. If my guitar sounds odd it is because this is my old Seagull that I glued the bridge back on with a hacksaw, and when I put a set of light strings on I found the G string was missing from some long distant patch job. And I had given away the original full set to a traveling band of gutter punks destined for New Orleans...so I had to take a bus into the Alamo district to find a spare 23 gauge string to complete the set. The guitar sounds good enough for the Sangria and Walmart parking lot crowd.

Drubk and disorderly

The details are fucked. A man saod he would kill everyone in taco town. "Where is my shit?" This taco town in the place to b tonight. I am going to stay until the massacre and then live blog it with bilingual annotations. Snake skin boots and ego roots.

Oggy, watching the drama unfold as police, white trash and Taco town employees fight like rats over a piece of greasy fried chicken.

Things Doc Sends Me

I hung out with Doc in Texas in October 2016. He lived in a tarp hut that he pulled in his trailer on a bicycle. the bicycle motor was having problems and I almost let it go since I'm seldom in a situation where I can help anyone, but I am curious about those motors so I asked if he needed some help. And we cleaned the carburetor and it was ok, then we took the clutch apart and not only were the friction pads worn down to absolutely nothing, but one of the springs had broken and embedded into the clutch bell, so it had only 2 of the 3 clutch pads and the remaining two were worn out. Well, it was a surprise it ran at all. And he ordered a new clutch pad assembly...and then we dug into the transmission after the whole mechanism stopped turning and found that the two roller bearings on the clutch bell had worn out completely and all the bearing balls had fallen out after the retainer ring crumbled. This was caused by back pressure from the drive belt that can't really be adjusted.

I had dreams of a reality show where I go around the country helping people who live in their vans get the thing fixed up so they can drive again, doing it all in parking lots, on the side of roads, in snow, getting to know the owners in their own habitat, and fixing my van in the process too. It would be interesting, but of course no network has contacted me yet so this is the next best thing....

Lack of Privacy

I learned how to repair shoes in Nicaragua so I bought some more time for my worn out running sneakers. The trick is to do it all on the side of a busy street under a shade tree. Americans throw too much away, waste frivolously and irresponsibly. The waste is out of control.

Can you pick which Jerk Hook is Guatemalan and which one is Nicaraguan? The difference is 80 years of U.S. Marines occupying your country and keeping it a defacto slave plantation to produce cheap fruit.

The heat loosened the glue of my bridge, so I stretched it open with overtight guitar strings, rammed a shim in the crack, forced some glue in there by standing the guitar on end and shoving a piece of plastic in and out...

...then totally panicked when my plan to clamp it failed because the C-clamp was half an inch too short. What followed was typical Oggy, shirtless in a public parking lot, tossing everything around to find some combination that will work before the glue dries. Ended up using my suspension strap rig, two wooden shims, and an old metal hacksaw. This guitar is my oldest possession but the thin tone does not warrant a $200 bill to pay a pro luthier to do this in a more pretty and private manner. All that matters is sufficient glue and strong clamps for an hour.