What happens when a bunch of guys from maintenance and engineering decide to do lunch pot-luck? You get an array of meat and desserts. The only vegetables present were loaded with meat. The only fruits available were loaded with sugars. I was a bit of a black sheep and brought some rye cracker bread, but I also brought sweetened walnut rolls covered with powdered sugar.
At the end of the night I used the left-over desserts to bribe operators into turning their maintenance lights off. It worked.
Friday, June 30, 2006
Kinder Care With Hans and Frans
Supposedly weighted toys help kids get fit during playtime.
"Handling heavier objects, either through play or instruction, may provide opportunities to increase workload intensity in a benign manner allowing for subsequent improvements in children's physical fitness," Ozmun's group concludes.So I am a big strong Viking god of a man because I played with big die-cast toy tractors instead of the 'safer' plastic ones as a kid after lifting buckets of feed and water, pitching shit, fighting off alien invaders, and wrestling cows. So for all you rich yuppie parents out there who are scared your child might grow into a great big lard ball, I've got my old die cast tractors in a crate upstairs. Let's start the bidding at, oh, let's say $1,000 each! Come on, this is your child's future we're talking about.
Acme
Because we all like to compare ourselves to others and show how we are better...
I beat Ze Frank to the close circle of friends story! In your face space coyote!
I beat Ze Frank to the close circle of friends story! In your face space coyote!
Insane Inflation Idea
I have an idea that is so stupid and so full of flaws that I am going to propose it as one of my Presidential Platforms. Yes, it is even dumber than 'lock box' and 'fuzzy math'. And unnecessarily complicated to boot.
First things first. While we try to get a handle on inflation it will be necessary to freeze prices exactly where they are. Your hourly wage is now frozen. If salaried, your annual salary is now frozen. Your monthly rent or mortgage payment is now frozen. Monthly utility bills now frozen. Even the price of a loaf of bread, an ice cream cone, or a pack of cigarettes is now frozen. Just have to do it while we get this sorted out.
Next, we move from a 12 month Gregorian year to a 5 month Discordian year. So while you are paying $1k a month for rent (for example) you now only have to pay it five times a year. Same with your credit card bill and your utilities. We also move from a 7 day week to a 5 day week. This means there are only three days between the weekends, and I think we can all handle that a lot better than what we currently got going. There will be 73 days each month, which means 14 weeks each month with 3 'non-days' each month that are national holidays when people are prohibited from working. Stock up on provisions early. Why 73 days? I was born in '73 and like the number. What does this mean for your wages? Assuming the standard 8 hour day, 3 days a week, at $10/hr your monthly income would be $3,360. Under the current antiquated Gregorian system of working 5 days a week you have a monthly income of only $1,680. Not only that, but you only have to work 210 days a year as opposed to about 250, vacations not yet included!
Lastly, all money will be converted to hemp script. That way even if inflation continues along its current trend, you've still got money to burn.
First things first. While we try to get a handle on inflation it will be necessary to freeze prices exactly where they are. Your hourly wage is now frozen. If salaried, your annual salary is now frozen. Your monthly rent or mortgage payment is now frozen. Monthly utility bills now frozen. Even the price of a loaf of bread, an ice cream cone, or a pack of cigarettes is now frozen. Just have to do it while we get this sorted out.
Next, we move from a 12 month Gregorian year to a 5 month Discordian year. So while you are paying $1k a month for rent (for example) you now only have to pay it five times a year. Same with your credit card bill and your utilities. We also move from a 7 day week to a 5 day week. This means there are only three days between the weekends, and I think we can all handle that a lot better than what we currently got going. There will be 73 days each month, which means 14 weeks each month with 3 'non-days' each month that are national holidays when people are prohibited from working. Stock up on provisions early. Why 73 days? I was born in '73 and like the number. What does this mean for your wages? Assuming the standard 8 hour day, 3 days a week, at $10/hr your monthly income would be $3,360. Under the current antiquated Gregorian system of working 5 days a week you have a monthly income of only $1,680. Not only that, but you only have to work 210 days a year as opposed to about 250, vacations not yet included!
Lastly, all money will be converted to hemp script. That way even if inflation continues along its current trend, you've still got money to burn.
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Man and Machine
During the heat wave I was desperately missing my favorite fan. It's an old Emerson Electric model from the 1950's or 60's, not sure which. A lot of nostalgia in that old fan. As a young boy growing up in Minnesota I would spend summer days with my grandparents. My grandpa Art saw no need for air conditioning and this same old fan was the one constantly circulating the air in their small living room. When we cleared out his house I convinced my mom to let me keep the fan. It has been my favorite household fan ever since. This year when my wife went to plug it in, the fan didn't turn on. Being a maintenance minded kind of guy, I decided to tear into the old fan and see what was going on.
This thing is a real beauty of American design. From the way the whole thing is put together you can tell that it was designed by some guys in a shop. Every step of the disassembly was completely transparent, requiring exactly one flat bit screwdriver and one wrench. Even getting into the coils that powered the electric motor you could see the simple elegance of function. Each of the coils was hand wrapped, hand tied with nylon, and kept propped back in place with wooden pegs. Three wires lead from the button to the coils. One constant feed, one that would power two coils, and another that pumped juice through all four coils for high speed. The motor directly powers the shaft for the fan. It has a worm screw on the back which feeds to a simple gear reducer, turning a flywheel for the oscillation armature. And all of this is metal. There is just enough wire cage to protect your butt should you bump into the fan. Don't go sticking your fingers in there or you might pull back a bloody stump hacked off by four solid metal fan blades.
Everything looked fine when I tested it, so I took the coils into work. One of the electricians at work gladly tested the coils for me, showing me what to look for. He marveled at the beauty and craftsmanship of the coils, telling me stories of when he used to work in small appliance repair. He lamented that if there was something wrong with the coil, a replacement motor would almost certainly come from Taiwan. The coils tested good. My test on the button had been positive. Really there was nothing else to do. All signs said the thing had no fault.
So today I put the whole thing back together. It works! There must have been a loose connection somewhere. Since neither speed setting was working it must have been the constant feed connection. It all looked fine as I tore it apart, but you never can tell. Still, it was a fun experience.
This thing is a real beauty of American design. From the way the whole thing is put together you can tell that it was designed by some guys in a shop. Every step of the disassembly was completely transparent, requiring exactly one flat bit screwdriver and one wrench. Even getting into the coils that powered the electric motor you could see the simple elegance of function. Each of the coils was hand wrapped, hand tied with nylon, and kept propped back in place with wooden pegs. Three wires lead from the button to the coils. One constant feed, one that would power two coils, and another that pumped juice through all four coils for high speed. The motor directly powers the shaft for the fan. It has a worm screw on the back which feeds to a simple gear reducer, turning a flywheel for the oscillation armature. And all of this is metal. There is just enough wire cage to protect your butt should you bump into the fan. Don't go sticking your fingers in there or you might pull back a bloody stump hacked off by four solid metal fan blades.
Everything looked fine when I tested it, so I took the coils into work. One of the electricians at work gladly tested the coils for me, showing me what to look for. He marveled at the beauty and craftsmanship of the coils, telling me stories of when he used to work in small appliance repair. He lamented that if there was something wrong with the coil, a replacement motor would almost certainly come from Taiwan. The coils tested good. My test on the button had been positive. Really there was nothing else to do. All signs said the thing had no fault.
So today I put the whole thing back together. It works! There must have been a loose connection somewhere. Since neither speed setting was working it must have been the constant feed connection. It all looked fine as I tore it apart, but you never can tell. Still, it was a fun experience.
Sweet Zombie Jesus!
The redesign of the monolithic Freedom Tower that will be erected on the former site of the World Trade Center is using the dead to protect the living.
The tower will be surrounded by groups of steps leading to the entrance, serving as a public plaza and security buffer zone. A series of thigh-high rectangular slabs on the site's perimeter -- resembling tombstones in an artist's rendering -- will guard against truck bombs.I have to repeat my initial sentiment: Sweet Zombie Jesus!
Gabbly Gabbly Hey?
As the Jewbacca has pointed out, Gabbly may or may not be extremely cool. It lets people chat about the content of any given page on the web simply by adding the url after the gabbly url. For instance, Jake boosters (or detractors) can chat about what transpires on my blog by going to http://gabbly.com/http://votejake.blogspot.com/. As vain as I can be, you might just find me hanging out there. I'll embed it at the bottom so people have easy access to it. Just as a trial run for now.
Smiling at the Man
On a number of occasions I have been pulled over or followed by police while riding my chopper. Typically it is for no immediately apparent reason.
Tonight, shortly after leaving work, I was pulled over while riding my chopper. The lights went flashing, I pulled across two lanes, stopped the bike, and killed the engine. Knowing the routine, I reached for my wallet and started to pull out my license, plastic proof that I am approved by the state of Oregon to ride dangerous vehicles. As the officer came into view I flashed him a hellaciously big grin and said, "Howdy!"
The man in the blue uniform stood there silent for a moment, staring at me in what looked like disbelief. When he asked for license and insurance I handed them over with a smile. Turns out he had paced me doing almost 20 mph over the speed limit. I had no idea how fast I was going since the stripped down bike has no speedometer. A once over with his flashlight proved that I was telling the truth.
The nice man returned after a couple of minutes, commended me on my clean record, and asked me to try and keep my speed down. No citation necessary today. I thanked him and wished him a good night.
There is an entire laundry list of things a cop in a foul mood could have been a dick about. As I have found time and time again, a pleasant disposition can be very contagious. It's my secret weapon. But as often as I have come across men who feel a shiny chunk of metal on their chest gives them the authority to act like pricks, I appreciated one who caught me dead to rights in the act of breaking the law choosing to give me a gentle suggestion instead of a ticket.
The chopper loves to show off around cops. One quick kick and I was back in action. Sera is such a good girl.
Tonight, shortly after leaving work, I was pulled over while riding my chopper. The lights went flashing, I pulled across two lanes, stopped the bike, and killed the engine. Knowing the routine, I reached for my wallet and started to pull out my license, plastic proof that I am approved by the state of Oregon to ride dangerous vehicles. As the officer came into view I flashed him a hellaciously big grin and said, "Howdy!"
The man in the blue uniform stood there silent for a moment, staring at me in what looked like disbelief. When he asked for license and insurance I handed them over with a smile. Turns out he had paced me doing almost 20 mph over the speed limit. I had no idea how fast I was going since the stripped down bike has no speedometer. A once over with his flashlight proved that I was telling the truth.
The nice man returned after a couple of minutes, commended me on my clean record, and asked me to try and keep my speed down. No citation necessary today. I thanked him and wished him a good night.
There is an entire laundry list of things a cop in a foul mood could have been a dick about. As I have found time and time again, a pleasant disposition can be very contagious. It's my secret weapon. But as often as I have come across men who feel a shiny chunk of metal on their chest gives them the authority to act like pricks, I appreciated one who caught me dead to rights in the act of breaking the law choosing to give me a gentle suggestion instead of a ticket.
The chopper loves to show off around cops. One quick kick and I was back in action. Sera is such a good girl.
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Creepy Hayduking
I was staring at my Google Hompage, lazily rolling my cursor all over the place, not paying any attention. I'd swear I didn't click anything. Can't be too certain. Never can. But all of a sudden the screen refreshes and up pops a page for Edward Abbey. You know, that guy I blogged about last night with a quote on anarchism.
So I use that nifty little back button and return to my Google page. I look all over it for signs of something I may have inadvertently clicked to land me at such a spot. Nope. Nothing. Freakin' Hayduke.
So I use that nifty little back button and return to my Google page. I look all over it for signs of something I may have inadvertently clicked to land me at such a spot. Nope. Nothing. Freakin' Hayduke.
Your Own Personal Google
On my Google homepage I found a message that I am certain is just for me and nobody else has on theirs because Google has tracked my internet activity, not given it to the government, and styled their service to provide me with exactly what I want to hear.
Quote of the day:
Quote of the day:
Anarchism is founded on the observation that since few men are wise enough to rule themselves, even fewer are wise enough to rule others.Edward Abbey
Call Me Old Fashioned
Duke University Professor Lynn Smith-Lovin has discovered that Americans' circle of close friends is shrinking.
Who knew?
Nearly a quarter of people surveyed said they had "zero" close friends with whom to discuss personal matters. More than 50 percent named two or fewer confidants, most often immediate family members, the researchers said...I can come up with five such individuals without any effort. More come to mind if I sit and actually think about it. My cover is completely blown. I fancy myself a misanthropic curmudgeon. Turns out I'm Mr. Social.
"It's one thing to know someone and exchange e-mails with them. It's another thing to say, 'Will you give me a ride out of town with all of my possessions and pets? And can I stay with you for a couple or three months?" Smith-Lovin said.
Who knew?
Sunday, June 25, 2006
Giving a Glimpse
It's a hot, hot day in P-town. The little weather do-hickie in the corner of my web browser shows a thermometer with red squiggles rising from it. But the promise of iced coffee and watching the hippie chicks stripped down for the heat was too strong to keep me locked up in our fairly cool (even though unairconditioned) home. I had figured I would walk in my Utilikilt, braving longish stretches of open industrial area under the blazing sun, to get to my favorite coffee haunt. Well someone else thought that was a stupid idea. She requested, nearly demanded, that I ride my chopper so as not to over exert myself in the heat. Not only that, she encouraged me to do so in my kilt!
So I gave it a shot. By the way, helmets of any size really, REALLY suck when it is this hot out. REALLY! Thank you so much to those who feel they know what is better for me than I do. As for riding in a kilt, at least I did not cause any accidents. Utilikilts come equipped with vanity snaps that allow the wearer to attach the front and back sides of the hem, ostensibly for climbing ladders and such. It forms something that still looks somewhat kiltish while trying to mimic shorts and hanging like a saggy adult diaper. Still, it kept the peep show to a level just short of what could get me arrested. Upside: my genitalia got a very nice and welcome breeze. Downside: I had to be extremely conscious of where I put my right thigh so as not to lean it up against the oil reservoir. Some might think the idea of a man riding a chopper in a kilt is kind of sexy. Seems like a bit of role reversal of the miniskirt clad vixen draped over a custom bike. Even if my thighs got sun on a regular basis, I feel fairly certain that the whole endeavor looked just plain silly. Maybe it would have been different had I been wearing my knee high shiny black leather punk-as-fuck boots. I might try that some day. Today was not the day. Way too freakin' hot for sitting around the coffee shop in those things. Just plain old combat boots today.
At least one person seemed to appreciate the effect. A queer kid on bicycle gave me a sly smile with a raised brow while we were stopped at an intersection. I grinned back at him with a nod. As foolish as I felt, kilt bunched in front of me and hairy white thighs exposed to the elements for the first time this year, the 'compliment' was appreciated. And hey, June is Gay Pride Month!
So I gave it a shot. By the way, helmets of any size really, REALLY suck when it is this hot out. REALLY! Thank you so much to those who feel they know what is better for me than I do. As for riding in a kilt, at least I did not cause any accidents. Utilikilts come equipped with vanity snaps that allow the wearer to attach the front and back sides of the hem, ostensibly for climbing ladders and such. It forms something that still looks somewhat kiltish while trying to mimic shorts and hanging like a saggy adult diaper. Still, it kept the peep show to a level just short of what could get me arrested. Upside: my genitalia got a very nice and welcome breeze. Downside: I had to be extremely conscious of where I put my right thigh so as not to lean it up against the oil reservoir. Some might think the idea of a man riding a chopper in a kilt is kind of sexy. Seems like a bit of role reversal of the miniskirt clad vixen draped over a custom bike. Even if my thighs got sun on a regular basis, I feel fairly certain that the whole endeavor looked just plain silly. Maybe it would have been different had I been wearing my knee high shiny black leather punk-as-fuck boots. I might try that some day. Today was not the day. Way too freakin' hot for sitting around the coffee shop in those things. Just plain old combat boots today.
At least one person seemed to appreciate the effect. A queer kid on bicycle gave me a sly smile with a raised brow while we were stopped at an intersection. I grinned back at him with a nod. As foolish as I felt, kilt bunched in front of me and hairy white thighs exposed to the elements for the first time this year, the 'compliment' was appreciated. And hey, June is Gay Pride Month!
Desire
For years now I have planned on getting a set of upswept fishtails for the chopper. I keep putting it off because the 2 inch drags I've got work just fine and don't look bad. Recently the craving has been getting worse. I might have to do something about it.
Saturday, June 24, 2006
Identifying the Enemy
Hats off to the lovely, intelligent, and insightful isirkus for alerting me to this news story. In response to the 'home-grown' terror threat, US Attorney General Alberto Gonzales said;
So while I doubt the speeders are going to unite and wage jihad on the police, thinking of your government as the enemy is not such a strange idea.
"They were persons who for whatever reason came to view their home country as the enemy."Correction. Not their home country but the ruling government. It is a very important distinction. Everybody I know spends at least part of their day thinking about some government agency as the enemy. Cops are the enemy of speeders. The IRS is the enemy of the worker and the business man alike. The FDA and DEA are enemies of the medical marijuana user. I am fairly certain that the DMV is the bane of every driver.
So while I doubt the speeders are going to unite and wage jihad on the police, thinking of your government as the enemy is not such a strange idea.
Krazy Kat
This is for the Robert Anton Wilson fans out there.
In the Schrödinger's Cat Trilogy there is a bit involving a professor and a student. The stage is set for them to ball and then we find out the student has come down with a case of the clap. So instead we get scenes of them discussing various topics including a deconstruction of Krazy Kat. So for those who want a little more perspective on these chapters here is:
In the Schrödinger's Cat Trilogy there is a bit involving a professor and a student. The stage is set for them to ball and then we find out the student has come down with a case of the clap. So instead we get scenes of them discussing various topics including a deconstruction of Krazy Kat. So for those who want a little more perspective on these chapters here is:
Krazy Kat and Ignatz Mouse at the circusFor everyone else, watch them for the heck of it. 1916 animated goodness.
Krazy Kat, bugologist
Krazy Kat goes a-wooing
Friday, June 23, 2006
More LORDI
This band's videos make me laugh out loud. Hardrock Hallelujah seriously had me laughing hysterically. So for those who just can't turn away from the pure hardrock awesomeness that is LORDI, I give you Blood Red Sandman. I'm not ready to sell my soul, but I would certainly consider a short term lease agreement.
Campaign Promise
This blog started as a bid for President and every now and again I remember that. Sorry. I'll try to make it less frequent. But deep down everyone harbors that little imp. You'll be going along reading a news story... okay, for most people they are going along watching a news story when the little imp pops up and says, "If I were in charge, I'd do things thusly." It is usually followed by some personal agenda like food for all children, the abolition of taxes, nuking anyone who so much as looks at our country sideways, or making it legal to chase and harpoon dolphins while on a jet ski with your 16 year old mistress.
Unfortunately no matter what you do, someone will get mad at you for doing it. You just can't please everyone. But one thing most people can agree on is status quo government. Anything a President does will piss off a good number of people.
When elected, I promise to do nothing. My running mate has already made me promise him that he won't have to do anything. Have you ever heard anyone complain about the Taft administration? So there you have it. We'll draw our salaries for eight years then get the hell out, leaving government exactly the way we found it. What you do with it after that is your business.
Unfortunately no matter what you do, someone will get mad at you for doing it. You just can't please everyone. But one thing most people can agree on is status quo government. Anything a President does will piss off a good number of people.
When elected, I promise to do nothing. My running mate has already made me promise him that he won't have to do anything. Have you ever heard anyone complain about the Taft administration? So there you have it. We'll draw our salaries for eight years then get the hell out, leaving government exactly the way we found it. What you do with it after that is your business.
NSFW: Kind Of
WoW movie "Internet is for Porn". At first it's only mildly funny. Then you find yourself singing it at work. Then you share it with all your friends.
Grab your dickAnd now Theme From Shaft has synchronistically popped up on my iTunes. Oh yeah.
And double click
For porn, porn, porn
Who's the black private dick who's the sex machine to all the chicks?
Wargasm
US says captures senior al Qaeda militant in Iraq. Those damn senior al Qaeda are droppin' like flies. I bet we'll win that war on terror any day now. Yep. I mean, how many more of these al Qaeda top dogs can there be? Pretty soon it'll just be Osama and his dialysis machine hangin' out in a cave somewhere. Because capturing him, dead or alive, would prove a diplomatic nightmare for US/Saudi relations.
Thursday, June 22, 2006
Problem Solved!
Dr. Kunio Kitamura has a solution for Japan's problems.
More sex.Doc, I think you've got the cure for just about everything troubling the world.
Doctor Who ReAnimated
The BBC has recreated two lost episodes of Doctor Who for DVD release. The inner nerd is pickled tink about this.
Doctor Who fans have always applauded the excellent scripts of the show, scripts solid enough to overshadow a guy covered in green bubble wrap doing the worm as a supposed alien larva (Arc in Space). ReAnimating the lost episodes is probably an improvement. It will be interesting to see how one episode flows to the next when jumping between animations and live action.
We're delighted to announce that in November, 1968's Cyber-epic The Invasion will be released on DVD - including fully-animated recreations of two missing episodes, by world-renowned studio Cosgrove Hall.For those who don't know, Doctor Who was one of the longest running television shows in history. Due to the age of the series and inadequate early archiving of footage, there are over 100 'lost' episodes. However, most of the sound for these episodes is archived and available to the BBC.
This Invasion stars Patrick Troughton as the Second Doctor in a battle with the Cybermen. Episodes One and Four from this eight-part story have long been missing from the BBC's archives, but the soundtracks survived.
Doctor Who fans have always applauded the excellent scripts of the show, scripts solid enough to overshadow a guy covered in green bubble wrap doing the worm as a supposed alien larva (Arc in Space). ReAnimating the lost episodes is probably an improvement. It will be interesting to see how one episode flows to the next when jumping between animations and live action.
LORDI
From Finland comes Lordi, a heavy metal band akin to Gwar. It's the kind of evil that makes you giggle. Check out their video for Hardrock Halellujah!
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
Headlines
Bush urges Iran to respond faster on nuclear offer. Presumably because he has to pee and doesn't want to miss the call.
Southern San Andreas fault waiting to explode. Then it will grow to twice its normal size, turn green, and have to buy new clothing.
Episcopal Church votes to curb gay bishops. To avoid a potential conflict with the Anglicans, Episcopalians agree not to ordain those who bend over and take it, effectively bending over and taking it.
Southern San Andreas fault waiting to explode. Then it will grow to twice its normal size, turn green, and have to buy new clothing.
Episcopal Church votes to curb gay bishops. To avoid a potential conflict with the Anglicans, Episcopalians agree not to ordain those who bend over and take it, effectively bending over and taking it.
Another State of Mind
For 30 minutes at work all employees had to sit through a meeting. It was to review the company's quality policy in preparation for the upcoming quality audit. So we sat in the lunch room and listened to a consultant that the company pays to help them develop and track our quality processes.
Needless to say, I was riveted. The content of such meetings is trivial. What makes these things fascinating is watching a person who not only is a quality process consultant, but seems to actually enjoy her work. What kind of mind derives satisfaction from creating quality policy mission statements and developing quality processes and the accompanying forms for tracking such things? And why is she so intent on getting the rest of us all excited about these things?
As she encouraged us to familiarize ourselves with the company's quality policy so that we might put it into our own words when confronted by a quality auditor, I had a vision of the entire plant breaking into a choreographed Broadway style show tune that would explain everything.
What would Brian Boitano do?
Needless to say, I was riveted. The content of such meetings is trivial. What makes these things fascinating is watching a person who not only is a quality process consultant, but seems to actually enjoy her work. What kind of mind derives satisfaction from creating quality policy mission statements and developing quality processes and the accompanying forms for tracking such things? And why is she so intent on getting the rest of us all excited about these things?
As she encouraged us to familiarize ourselves with the company's quality policy so that we might put it into our own words when confronted by a quality auditor, I had a vision of the entire plant breaking into a choreographed Broadway style show tune that would explain everything.
What would Brian Boitano do?
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
Monday, June 19, 2006
Back Tracking
In my hunt for a set of missing tools I had to think back through where I had last seen them.
BTW, watching a woman lie on her back and stick her head underneath a car to torque on a bolt is super hot. Women, leave the little red dress in the closet and grab a ratchet instead.
I had them in Minneapolis. They were in my toolbox in the garage. Then I noticed some rust spots on them. So I dumped them in a coffee can of used oil. Then we were cleaning everything up to sell the house. I had to get rid of the coffee can of used oil. I took the wrenches I had soaking in their out and placed them somewhere safe. How safe? Plastic bag safe! What kind of plastic bag would I have had in the garage? One that motorcycle parts would have been in.So I dug around the basement and in a thick plastic Drag Specialties bag found my set of metric box ends.
BTW, watching a woman lie on her back and stick her head underneath a car to torque on a bolt is super hot. Women, leave the little red dress in the closet and grab a ratchet instead.
Sunday, June 18, 2006
Chaos Built My Chopper
As we rolled into Couer d'Alene there was one thing on my mind; Zips. So first thing we walked downtown where I got myself a greasy chunk of goodness in the form of a Zips Triple Cheese, a large bag of onion rings with that famous Zips fry sauce, and a chocolate malt. Right behind me as I munch away, the cars gathering for the weekend's events were already cruising the strip. Lost in my gastronomical bliss, I couldn't even hear them.
Watching the cruise after the meal was grand. Between Friday night's cruise and Saturday's car show, I have decided that the urge to build a 1930's Ford chop and drop rat rod was just a temporary amusement. My true love of the four wheeled world is the 1960's Firebirds and Camaros, classic American muscle. I wouldn't give up my chopper for that kind of car, but I will eventually have one in my collection.
Speaking of collections, we have added another project to the pack. We towed back a 1972 VW Super Beetle. Every 100 miles we had to pull over and fill up one of the tires, but other than that, she towed beautifully. For that I am grateful. After all, we spent a good portion of Saturday trying to get the tow bar mounted under the front end. With a trip to the hardware store for some longer bolts and a carbide dremel bit to widen a couple of holes, we eventually got the bar into place. There was one particular bolt that just didn't seem to want to catch threads. Late in the afternoon as the sun was going down, steaks were on the grill, and the beer in the fridge was calling, that last bolt finally caught and snugged down. At times like this there is only one thing to say. "MY DICK IS HUGE!"
Earlier on Saturday we had to take a break so I could get some chopper riding in and wander the streets looking at cars. The wife and I rode along the lake shore, wind in our hair, basqueing in the freedom of riding in a state that doesn't have a helmet law. Three years since I've been able to ride without the lid. It was fantastic. At one point my passenger leaned forward and said to me, "I like TAZ, but Sera is more fun." That is both good news and bad. On the one hand, I love hearing affirmations of my passion for choppers reflected back at me. On the other hand, she now has no intention of letting me convert the chopper to a sprung solo saddle instead of the old two up nostalgia seat I've got now.
As we later walked the streets of the car show, the two of us found ourselves drawn to the same cars. None of the vehicles in the show were ugly. One of the benefits of a show that only allows vehicles at least 30 years old to participate is that each entry is a chunk of history modified or restored to meet someone's notion of what vehicles of that time were really all about. There was only one car in the show I didn't get to see. A group of pentecostals hovered around it clapping and singing glory glory hallelujah. With nerves already barely tolerating street speakers blasting old time radio friendly rock and roll, I could not force myself nearer to see what kind of hot rod Jesus had built. Back on the secondary street were the muscle cars clearly assembled by Satanic mechanics. We managed to keep ourselves from salivating over old Camaros with gas guzzling blowers and classic Firebirds with aggressive front grills. There is nothing angelic about the deep throttled screams of 350 horse power, but it is bliss. I found myself remembering the previous night's cruise when the sun went down and people started shooting flames out their exhaust while letting their engine howl. It's a dance for demons and the crowds love it.
That is one of the best things about these types of events. Saturday night after preparing the Bug for transport and eating a healthy meal of steak, bacon, and beans, I took the chopper out for another ride. Young men were desperately tugging at their girlfriends' hands as they stared and smiled at the wild mohican on the chopper. I went screaming past police, because this was a 'freebie' weekend. When an entire small town is filled with screaming engines and wild street designs, even the man clad in leather and metal is allowed to open up his two inch drag pipes and give a little show for the ladies. It is not only expected of him, one would think it is mandatory.
A good number of the vehicles at the show will be rolled back into storage tonight, ready to come out when another occasion arises. The wild chopper guy is back in P-town, riding his interpretation of history to work every day and once again getting followed by cops.
Watching the cruise after the meal was grand. Between Friday night's cruise and Saturday's car show, I have decided that the urge to build a 1930's Ford chop and drop rat rod was just a temporary amusement. My true love of the four wheeled world is the 1960's Firebirds and Camaros, classic American muscle. I wouldn't give up my chopper for that kind of car, but I will eventually have one in my collection.
Speaking of collections, we have added another project to the pack. We towed back a 1972 VW Super Beetle. Every 100 miles we had to pull over and fill up one of the tires, but other than that, she towed beautifully. For that I am grateful. After all, we spent a good portion of Saturday trying to get the tow bar mounted under the front end. With a trip to the hardware store for some longer bolts and a carbide dremel bit to widen a couple of holes, we eventually got the bar into place. There was one particular bolt that just didn't seem to want to catch threads. Late in the afternoon as the sun was going down, steaks were on the grill, and the beer in the fridge was calling, that last bolt finally caught and snugged down. At times like this there is only one thing to say. "MY DICK IS HUGE!"
Earlier on Saturday we had to take a break so I could get some chopper riding in and wander the streets looking at cars. The wife and I rode along the lake shore, wind in our hair, basqueing in the freedom of riding in a state that doesn't have a helmet law. Three years since I've been able to ride without the lid. It was fantastic. At one point my passenger leaned forward and said to me, "I like TAZ, but Sera is more fun." That is both good news and bad. On the one hand, I love hearing affirmations of my passion for choppers reflected back at me. On the other hand, she now has no intention of letting me convert the chopper to a sprung solo saddle instead of the old two up nostalgia seat I've got now.
As we later walked the streets of the car show, the two of us found ourselves drawn to the same cars. None of the vehicles in the show were ugly. One of the benefits of a show that only allows vehicles at least 30 years old to participate is that each entry is a chunk of history modified or restored to meet someone's notion of what vehicles of that time were really all about. There was only one car in the show I didn't get to see. A group of pentecostals hovered around it clapping and singing glory glory hallelujah. With nerves already barely tolerating street speakers blasting old time radio friendly rock and roll, I could not force myself nearer to see what kind of hot rod Jesus had built. Back on the secondary street were the muscle cars clearly assembled by Satanic mechanics. We managed to keep ourselves from salivating over old Camaros with gas guzzling blowers and classic Firebirds with aggressive front grills. There is nothing angelic about the deep throttled screams of 350 horse power, but it is bliss. I found myself remembering the previous night's cruise when the sun went down and people started shooting flames out their exhaust while letting their engine howl. It's a dance for demons and the crowds love it.
That is one of the best things about these types of events. Saturday night after preparing the Bug for transport and eating a healthy meal of steak, bacon, and beans, I took the chopper out for another ride. Young men were desperately tugging at their girlfriends' hands as they stared and smiled at the wild mohican on the chopper. I went screaming past police, because this was a 'freebie' weekend. When an entire small town is filled with screaming engines and wild street designs, even the man clad in leather and metal is allowed to open up his two inch drag pipes and give a little show for the ladies. It is not only expected of him, one would think it is mandatory.
A good number of the vehicles at the show will be rolled back into storage tonight, ready to come out when another occasion arises. The wild chopper guy is back in P-town, riding his interpretation of history to work every day and once again getting followed by cops.
Friday, June 16, 2006
One for the Road
For all of you to stare at while wondering what makes "Vote Jake" so much fun to visit.
A graphic visualization of votejake.blogpsot.com.
A graphic visualization of votejake.blogpsot.com.
Thursday, June 15, 2006
Because Nobody Listens When I Say It
Hawking: Humans Must Spread Out in Space-
And damn it! I want to live in space! Can't ride my chopper there, but I would make that sacrifice.
Humans could have a permanent base on the moon in 20 years and a colony on Mars in the next 40 years, the British scientist told a news conference...I did a video project on this very topic for my college astronomy class. The ideas espoused in this recent article have been around for a long time. The technology to do what he suggests has been around for a couple of decades. We just need to make it a priority as a species.
"It is important for the human race to spread out into space for the survival of the species," Hawking said. "Life on Earth is at the ever-increasing risk of being wiped out by a disaster, such as sudden global warming, nuclear war, a genetically engineered virus or other dangers we have not yet thought of."
And damn it! I want to live in space! Can't ride my chopper there, but I would make that sacrifice.
No Worries
Some scattered showers after work. Strapped on the government mandated helmet and let the water wash away any cares I may have had as I rode off into the rain. Actually, I love my job. Getting a machine operating well is music. In fact, an assembly machine has a 4/4 rhythm with a back beat. Get it running and you are rewarded with some rockin' tunes, if you like industrial.
Riding an old school stripped chopper in the rain has it's down sides. Without the front fender the water on the street rooster tails up and over the headlight. Getting stuck in the rain in Minnesota, where I always rode without a helmet, meant a face full of street rain. It's not just water. All that dirt and oil that normally coats the road lifts up and flies onto you with the rain. So the full face helmet has that small advantage on nights like these. I can still get a lap full of the wet stuff, though.
In typical Portland style, the rain was gone in less than a minute. Within a mile or two almost no road spray at all. Just another pleasant ride home.
There on the other side of the street is an ambulance, lights flashing, parked in front of the adult video store. I ponder what kind of emergency could have taken place in such an environment, who was involved, and if they maybe didn't need that little extra bit of excitement this evening.
As I take a fast right I remember what it was like to ride this old chopper years ago when I first built her. I was not only new to riding choppers but fairly fresh to motorcycles in general. Each ride was an adventure leaving me wondering if perhaps I hadn't gotten myself in beyond my abilities. It was a constant state of alertness and fear as I rode the over-powered and under-weight old girl through dense city traffic. Fight to stay alive. Let the engine scream so that guy in the SUV on his cell phone knows you are there. Over time as I learned the ins and outs of chopper riding, I got comfortable. The dangers have persisted, but my skills are honed. I ride with confidence. And that is what now scares the hell out of me. My reactions are all second nature. No thinking is necessary. Will this 'riding on automatic' lead to a tragic end?
No worries. The future reveals itself however it chooses. Even with all the guys at work hovering over the article about the football player who went through a windshield while riding his motorcycle this week, I know that I will continue to ride. I'll ride hard and dangerous. And this weekend, I'll ride without a helmet with no worries at all.
Riding an old school stripped chopper in the rain has it's down sides. Without the front fender the water on the street rooster tails up and over the headlight. Getting stuck in the rain in Minnesota, where I always rode without a helmet, meant a face full of street rain. It's not just water. All that dirt and oil that normally coats the road lifts up and flies onto you with the rain. So the full face helmet has that small advantage on nights like these. I can still get a lap full of the wet stuff, though.
In typical Portland style, the rain was gone in less than a minute. Within a mile or two almost no road spray at all. Just another pleasant ride home.
There on the other side of the street is an ambulance, lights flashing, parked in front of the adult video store. I ponder what kind of emergency could have taken place in such an environment, who was involved, and if they maybe didn't need that little extra bit of excitement this evening.
As I take a fast right I remember what it was like to ride this old chopper years ago when I first built her. I was not only new to riding choppers but fairly fresh to motorcycles in general. Each ride was an adventure leaving me wondering if perhaps I hadn't gotten myself in beyond my abilities. It was a constant state of alertness and fear as I rode the over-powered and under-weight old girl through dense city traffic. Fight to stay alive. Let the engine scream so that guy in the SUV on his cell phone knows you are there. Over time as I learned the ins and outs of chopper riding, I got comfortable. The dangers have persisted, but my skills are honed. I ride with confidence. And that is what now scares the hell out of me. My reactions are all second nature. No thinking is necessary. Will this 'riding on automatic' lead to a tragic end?
No worries. The future reveals itself however it chooses. Even with all the guys at work hovering over the article about the football player who went through a windshield while riding his motorcycle this week, I know that I will continue to ride. I'll ride hard and dangerous. And this weekend, I'll ride without a helmet with no worries at all.
Pointing and Giggling: ZeFrank is Creeped Out by Minnesota Nice
Jewbacca posted a video blog of ZeFrank being Creeped Out by Minnesota Nice. As a Minnesota escapee I can say that it is a decent overview of what the MSP is like. However I take issue with his definition of 'cool'. For myself, what he describes would more appropriately be labeled as 'hip'. People often confuse the two, especially if they aren't cool.
When looking for property in Portland our realtor kept showing us all the neighborhoods he though 'cool people' like my wife and I would appreciate. They were, in fact, the 'hip' neighborhoods full of 'hip' people. And that's just freakin' annoying.
When looking for property in Portland our realtor kept showing us all the neighborhoods he though 'cool people' like my wife and I would appreciate. They were, in fact, the 'hip' neighborhoods full of 'hip' people. And that's just freakin' annoying.
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
Bovine Love Doll
For those who thought the Kiwis were just into sheep, think again. Seems bovine voyeurism is the new trend.
Actually, I'm pretty sure this was reverse engineered from alien technology found in Nevada. Remember that night you got smashed, met a gorgeous babe who thought you were smart and funny, the two of you did the deed in the bar parking lot, and then you never heard from her again? Yeah.
Live "sex shows" of bulls mounting a simulated cow have become a big attraction at an agricultural exhibition taking place in New Zealand.Hey. No need to be ashamed. Whatever floats your boat.
The fake 'cow' -- a small go-kart with natural cowhide on its roof -- was developed by Ambreed New Zealand Ltd. to collect semen from bulls more safely and efficiently and improve artificial breeding of cows.
Actually, I'm pretty sure this was reverse engineered from alien technology found in Nevada. Remember that night you got smashed, met a gorgeous babe who thought you were smart and funny, the two of you did the deed in the bar parking lot, and then you never heard from her again? Yeah.
Rave
Walked out of work tonight and thought all the young twenty-somethings were holding glow sticks. Then I realized they all had their phones flipped open and were smoking.
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
Ugly Fish Hat: Bloodthirsty
A wee bit of discussion over at UFH about Zarqawi: Man or Monster.
Bree says Zarqawi=Man
Rothman says Zarqawi=Monster
As a presidential candidate, I am a uniter. I am reaching out across the aisle, so to speak. I may not be short or use a fake Texas accent, but I can still pretend to do these things. I am presidential material.
And a Libra (astrology, like the Reagans used). Can't we all agree that at times Zarqawi was a man and at times he was a monster? You know, a Monsterman. We all get the impulse to smash a person's head in now and again. Zarqawi had the misfortune of having a faulty restraint synapse, like Hitler, or Bush. I myself will be walking around the factory with a huge wrench and think, "Wouldn't it be funny to drive this thing through the back of that guy's skull? He'd think I was joking around, and then it would hit and we could all have a good laugh at his expence." Then the restraint synapses fire, reminding me that he would be dead, and that wouldn't be very funny to a lot of very serious type people.
To be fair, he probably thought his brain was controlled by God, so it was God keeping that synapse from firing. He also probably didn't spend enough time participating in creative activities like oil painting or poetry. Creative exercises help stimulate synaptic activity throughout the brain. So can we really fault a man for having a brain malfunction? Even if he was a Monsterman?
Bree says Zarqawi=Man
Rothman says Zarqawi=Monster
As a presidential candidate, I am a uniter. I am reaching out across the aisle, so to speak. I may not be short or use a fake Texas accent, but I can still pretend to do these things. I am presidential material.
And a Libra (astrology, like the Reagans used). Can't we all agree that at times Zarqawi was a man and at times he was a monster? You know, a Monsterman. We all get the impulse to smash a person's head in now and again. Zarqawi had the misfortune of having a faulty restraint synapse, like Hitler, or Bush. I myself will be walking around the factory with a huge wrench and think, "Wouldn't it be funny to drive this thing through the back of that guy's skull? He'd think I was joking around, and then it would hit and we could all have a good laugh at his expence." Then the restraint synapses fire, reminding me that he would be dead, and that wouldn't be very funny to a lot of very serious type people.
To be fair, he probably thought his brain was controlled by God, so it was God keeping that synapse from firing. He also probably didn't spend enough time participating in creative activities like oil painting or poetry. Creative exercises help stimulate synaptic activity throughout the brain. So can we really fault a man for having a brain malfunction? Even if he was a Monsterman?
Posers vs. Posers
I am a poser. There is another guy at work that I consider a poser. We are on opposite ends of the poser spectrum.
This other guy is trying desperately to portray a biker image. He bought a rigid bike at the height of the chopper craze and never rides it because it hurts his back. But he has several shirts proclaiming "Choppers Forever". While he has two electric start motorcycles and lives only a few blocks from work, he drives his truck every day. He brings his motorcycle and custom car magazines to work and scatters them around his work bench for all to see. He is a really nice guy, but he is not what he is trying to portray himself as.
I'm not really what I try to portray myself as, either. I may love my bikes and ride the hell out of them. I may love my old leather jacket with the spikes and studs and handcuffs. I may love my mohawk, piercings, and tattoos. To the world at large I may look like a punk rock biker delinquent. "Jake" is a character I've played so long now that he is indecipherable from "me". To the best of my understanding, Jake seems to make very deliberate choices about his appearance based not on gaining acceptance into a particular sub-culture, but on making certain that he does not fit into any of them. That seems like a bloody stupid thing to do, but I can't wait to see where it all leads.
So maybe it's all just a matter of who is the better actor. To believe that is just as pompous as believing I am a better brand of poser. No matter how I choose to look at it, I feel superior. Some days are like that. An alcohol binge ending with me hovering over a toilet puking my guts out is one of the few things that can kill the superiority complex. That has only happened once. On two other occasions I was outdoors and had no need for a toilet, so that made me feel superior again.
While pondering these things on my chopper on the way home, thankful that the rain storm I narrowly missed on my way to work had passed by for a dry ride, I came up with this simple line to explain it all. Because we all, deep down, love catch phrases that gloss over the pesky details of a much more elaborate reality. It sums up not just posing but all of what we could consider as modern cultural movements.
There are those who do it, and those who buy into it.
This other guy is trying desperately to portray a biker image. He bought a rigid bike at the height of the chopper craze and never rides it because it hurts his back. But he has several shirts proclaiming "Choppers Forever". While he has two electric start motorcycles and lives only a few blocks from work, he drives his truck every day. He brings his motorcycle and custom car magazines to work and scatters them around his work bench for all to see. He is a really nice guy, but he is not what he is trying to portray himself as.
I'm not really what I try to portray myself as, either. I may love my bikes and ride the hell out of them. I may love my old leather jacket with the spikes and studs and handcuffs. I may love my mohawk, piercings, and tattoos. To the world at large I may look like a punk rock biker delinquent. "Jake" is a character I've played so long now that he is indecipherable from "me". To the best of my understanding, Jake seems to make very deliberate choices about his appearance based not on gaining acceptance into a particular sub-culture, but on making certain that he does not fit into any of them. That seems like a bloody stupid thing to do, but I can't wait to see where it all leads.
So maybe it's all just a matter of who is the better actor. To believe that is just as pompous as believing I am a better brand of poser. No matter how I choose to look at it, I feel superior. Some days are like that. An alcohol binge ending with me hovering over a toilet puking my guts out is one of the few things that can kill the superiority complex. That has only happened once. On two other occasions I was outdoors and had no need for a toilet, so that made me feel superior again.
While pondering these things on my chopper on the way home, thankful that the rain storm I narrowly missed on my way to work had passed by for a dry ride, I came up with this simple line to explain it all. Because we all, deep down, love catch phrases that gloss over the pesky details of a much more elaborate reality. It sums up not just posing but all of what we could consider as modern cultural movements.
There are those who do it, and those who buy into it.
Monday, June 12, 2006
Competition
Looks like I've got some stiff competition for the 2008 Presidential election. I can handle the talking apes that Reps and Dems throw my way, but Doug Stanhope? It's a good thing I don't want to actually win.
My Gut Saved My Ass in Nam!
Or in this man's case, his gut saved his ass when run over by a VW.
A 440 pound German man discovered that being overweight can be good for your health... German police said the extra body mass prevented the 30-year-old man from suffering potentially fatal injuries when a Volkswagen Polo drove over him...
Sunday, June 11, 2006
Extreme Caution
Blizzard has started a Recruit-a-Friend campaign for their hit title, World of Warcraft. As you may know, I got into this game early. It sucked the soul right out of me, I quit for a while, and have now returned on a much more occasional basis. My wife plays far more than I, but she always was more of a gamer.
So here's the deal:
If for some reason you have always wanted to see what this World of Warcraft thing is all about and you meet the system requirements, drop me a line and I'll give you the hook up for a free 10 day trial. But I am dead serious when I warn you that if you have an addictive personality, this game will suck you through the Dark Portal never to be seen again. People have flunked out of school, lost their jobs, and gotten divorices because of this game. So only ask for the free trial if you think you can handle it. Serious, this stuff ranks up there with crack and meth. And I'm not going to let Bliz turn me into a pusher. But if you REALLY want to try it...
On the other hand, everyone over 30 should try LSD. Hell, go ahead and smoke some grass, drink some beer, eat some mushrooms, engage in casual sex, have a ball. Kids should do it too, but saying that tends to get people into trouble.
So here's the deal:
If for some reason you have always wanted to see what this World of Warcraft thing is all about and you meet the system requirements, drop me a line and I'll give you the hook up for a free 10 day trial. But I am dead serious when I warn you that if you have an addictive personality, this game will suck you through the Dark Portal never to be seen again. People have flunked out of school, lost their jobs, and gotten divorices because of this game. So only ask for the free trial if you think you can handle it. Serious, this stuff ranks up there with crack and meth. And I'm not going to let Bliz turn me into a pusher. But if you REALLY want to try it...
On the other hand, everyone over 30 should try LSD. Hell, go ahead and smoke some grass, drink some beer, eat some mushrooms, engage in casual sex, have a ball. Kids should do it too, but saying that tends to get people into trouble.
Chopper Economy
Filled the chopper up with gas today. I have no way of knowing with any certainty what my gas mileage is as I have no odometer. No gauges of any kind as I have stuck to the pure minimalism of the chopper form. Instead I have to make guesses at my chopper fuel economy based on what I have experienced on the less stripped down 73.
The Temporary Autonomous Zone (TAZ, 1973 Sportster) gets approximately 35 mpg city and 40 mpg highway. Some serious fuel economy for a high power ride. Seraphine (or Sera, 1965 Sportster chopper), based on a daily commute of 15 miles plus a little putting around town for errands, is getting somewhere between 40-50 mpg. Probably really close to 43 mpg city driving. That is some SUPER serious fuel economy for a rolling work of art.
Why the difference when both are powered by Ironhead Sportster engines? The devil is in the details. TAZ is a 1200cc engine with a Super E carb, battery powered ignition, generator, swing arm frame, saddle bags, inline oil cooler, and has a small diameter sprocket sticking out of the transmission. Sera is a 1000cc with Bendix carb, batteryless magneto ignition, alternator conversion, rigid frame, and larger sprocket. The street geared TAZ weighs over 200 pounds more than the highway geared Sera. Somehow all that comes together and manifests as a nearly 10 mpg difference in fuel economy. Cool. But some of that just seems backwards to me.
Above the economic sensibilities of the chopper in these times of rising gas prices, there is the art. It is not uncommon for someone walking down the street to stop and stare at my bike for a while. This can happen in front of my house or while parked at the coffee shop. Just last week as I sat at an outside table writing at the Red and Black, a man appeared on the corner and yelled, "Whose chopper is that?" Early this week a biker on a new Sportster pulled along side of me and yelled, "What year is that?" These people don't need to know this information, they just want to make the extra connection to the artist. You don't need to see your favorite band in concert to appreciate their music, but backstage passes to hang with them are awesome.
Then there are those who roll their eyes and say, "Boys and their toys." Next week I am hauling the chop up to Car d'Lane, a street gathering of classic and custom vehicles from around the Pacific Northwest. Some will see a playground full of boys and their toys. For me it is an open air gallery for artists who work in steel, rubber, and high octane. Much of the offerings will be paint-by-numbers restoration jobs. It is a craft to completely restore and old vehicle to its former glory. Those who are master craftsmen will stick out from the crowd. Then there will be those of us who transform the mundane into the exceptional. There will be fully functional works of art from the full on customs of the expert builders to the rat chopper assemblages of outsider extremists. From starving artist velvet Elvises to She Wolf like Pollocks, they will all be there. And I'm sure there will be some playing in the streets, too. Artists should never take themselves too seriously.
The Temporary Autonomous Zone (TAZ, 1973 Sportster) gets approximately 35 mpg city and 40 mpg highway. Some serious fuel economy for a high power ride. Seraphine (or Sera, 1965 Sportster chopper), based on a daily commute of 15 miles plus a little putting around town for errands, is getting somewhere between 40-50 mpg. Probably really close to 43 mpg city driving. That is some SUPER serious fuel economy for a rolling work of art.
Why the difference when both are powered by Ironhead Sportster engines? The devil is in the details. TAZ is a 1200cc engine with a Super E carb, battery powered ignition, generator, swing arm frame, saddle bags, inline oil cooler, and has a small diameter sprocket sticking out of the transmission. Sera is a 1000cc with Bendix carb, batteryless magneto ignition, alternator conversion, rigid frame, and larger sprocket. The street geared TAZ weighs over 200 pounds more than the highway geared Sera. Somehow all that comes together and manifests as a nearly 10 mpg difference in fuel economy. Cool. But some of that just seems backwards to me.
Above the economic sensibilities of the chopper in these times of rising gas prices, there is the art. It is not uncommon for someone walking down the street to stop and stare at my bike for a while. This can happen in front of my house or while parked at the coffee shop. Just last week as I sat at an outside table writing at the Red and Black, a man appeared on the corner and yelled, "Whose chopper is that?" Early this week a biker on a new Sportster pulled along side of me and yelled, "What year is that?" These people don't need to know this information, they just want to make the extra connection to the artist. You don't need to see your favorite band in concert to appreciate their music, but backstage passes to hang with them are awesome.
Then there are those who roll their eyes and say, "Boys and their toys." Next week I am hauling the chop up to Car d'Lane, a street gathering of classic and custom vehicles from around the Pacific Northwest. Some will see a playground full of boys and their toys. For me it is an open air gallery for artists who work in steel, rubber, and high octane. Much of the offerings will be paint-by-numbers restoration jobs. It is a craft to completely restore and old vehicle to its former glory. Those who are master craftsmen will stick out from the crowd. Then there will be those of us who transform the mundane into the exceptional. There will be fully functional works of art from the full on customs of the expert builders to the rat chopper assemblages of outsider extremists. From starving artist velvet Elvises to She Wolf like Pollocks, they will all be there. And I'm sure there will be some playing in the streets, too. Artists should never take themselves too seriously.
Cleaning Up, Down and Dirty
Pretending to be a geek today and doing a little house cleaning around the blog. My curious little human nature got the better of me, so you can now subscribe to Vote Jake via FeedBurner.
In other news, had to laugh at Brit talking about riding around MSP on her scooter. One of my favorite hobbies while on the chopper is Vespa chasing. It's fun to watch a hip young thing in a shiny leather jacket being followed by a punk rock refugee on a rolling roaring big black and chrome phallus. Some might call it Cat and Mouse. When you are howling and leaving a trail of fluids in your wake, I think it more appropriate to call it Hound and Fox. I'm glad Brit doesn't live here. She's the kind of fox that would whip around and jump all over the hound.
In other news, had to laugh at Brit talking about riding around MSP on her scooter. One of my favorite hobbies while on the chopper is Vespa chasing. It's fun to watch a hip young thing in a shiny leather jacket being followed by a punk rock refugee on a rolling roaring big black and chrome phallus. Some might call it Cat and Mouse. When you are howling and leaving a trail of fluids in your wake, I think it more appropriate to call it Hound and Fox. I'm glad Brit doesn't live here. She's the kind of fox that would whip around and jump all over the hound.
Saturday, June 10, 2006
Guilty
If you found a USB thumb drive in your workplace parking lot, what would you do? I'll admit that before reading this, if I still worked at a computer every day, I would have done the same as these other workers.
Interesting piece on the role of human curiosity.
Interesting piece on the role of human curiosity.
Friday, June 09, 2006
AWPC
Jess: Can I ask you a stupid question?
Jake: Can I give you a stupid answer?
Jess: Sure.
Jake: Then yes.
Jess: Is there anything you can do to fix this?
Jake: Hmmmm. Neeep neeep nip whooop puhtang WAAAHH! That stupid enough for ya?
Jess: (Laughing hysterically) Yeah, that was pretty stupid.
Jake: Can I give you a stupid answer?
Jess: Sure.
Jake: Then yes.
Jess: Is there anything you can do to fix this?
Jake: Hmmmm. Neeep neeep nip whooop puhtang WAAAHH! That stupid enough for ya?
Jess: (Laughing hysterically) Yeah, that was pretty stupid.
This is America- Speak Stupid
A restaurant owner in Philadelphia has put up a sign that reads, "This is America -- when ordering speak English." I have no problem with a restaurant owner's right to request a specific language be spoken when ordering in their establishment. I'll admit that if I was forced to order bento in Japanese I would be at a total loss and as such, would probably choose an establishment that used English. I could limp my way through ordering in French and could at least get a beer in Spanish. I'm linguistically handicapped.
My problem with this guy's sign is that he prefaces his language request with, "This is America." Is this the same America where the first amendment to the constitution supposedly guarantees freedom of speech? Excuse me, but I have the freedom to place my order in any language I please. Freedom of speech protects not just what we say but what language we choose to say it in. In return you have the option of disregarding anything I say, even if it is spoken in English.
To make things worse, along comes another idiot.
Und I'm spuooteeng ignurunt cunsteetooshunelism. Bork Bork Bork!
My problem with this guy's sign is that he prefaces his language request with, "This is America." Is this the same America where the first amendment to the constitution supposedly guarantees freedom of speech? Excuse me, but I have the freedom to place my order in any language I please. Freedom of speech protects not just what we say but what language we choose to say it in. In return you have the option of disregarding anything I say, even if it is spoken in English.
To make things worse, along comes another idiot.
Roberto Santiago, executive director of Philadelphia's Council of Spanish Speaking Organizations, said he was "appalled" by the policy.Nothing racist on that sign. Looks to me like the guy doesn't want me ordering in Swedish. "I vuoold leeke-a a pheelly cheese-a steek und a cuke-a. Bork Bork Bork!" No, the restaurant owner is spouting ignorant nationalism and Roberto is spouting ignorant reactionaryism.
"I think what's coming out of his mouth is racist," said Santiago.
Und I'm spuooteeng ignurunt cunsteetooshunelism. Bork Bork Bork!
Profiled
I got profiled today! Not by FARK for my insane blogging. Not by Street Chopper for my insane working class chop and scary knowledge of Easy Rider. Not by any literary review journal for my insane book.
No, I was profiled by the Portland Police Department. Riding home from work on my chopper I watched as a squad car, upon sighting me, did an immediate Y-turn in the middle of the street to follow me. They tailed me for two blocks then turned around and headed back the other way.
It amuses me that cops not only do this all the time but that such strategies are actually part of police doctrine. They are encouraged to profile. I sometimes wonder what they are hoping to find. It used to make me giggle when I was a state employee returning from my night job of teaching college. If any of them had searched me they would have found me with a bag of text books, lesson plans, tests to grade, and an array of dry erase markers. Once my tail light had broken off and an officer pulled me over thinking it was a deliberate absence. He kept telling me that I had no tail light. Yes officer. I'll get that fixed right away. You have no tail light. Yes, you've said that. I've got spare bulbs at home and I'll fix it there. He pointed out the spot where my tail light should have been. Oh My Gawd! I need a whole tail light! YOU BET YOUR DAMN FLAMING PHOENIX YOU NEED A TAIL LIGHT! I could not keep a straight face at that moment. To hear him say that was well worth the repair ticket.
The times have changed and tonight they would have found on me a Swiss Army knife and a pocket full of cough drops. Maybe they were hoping I was one of those rough and tumble outlaw bikers who was driving with a suspended license and had three warrants out for my arrest. Perhaps they thought I had been drinking, since that's what ALL chopper riders do in their spare time. I can imagine their hearts sinking as my plate came back clear and I executed a near stop at a light that was about to change without wavering an inch and without putting my foot down for balance. This is a move more common amongst the Honda and BMW crowd, not some crazy chopper guy late at night.
I did resist the urge to give them the finger as they drove away. They don't need any more profiling ammo.
No, I was profiled by the Portland Police Department. Riding home from work on my chopper I watched as a squad car, upon sighting me, did an immediate Y-turn in the middle of the street to follow me. They tailed me for two blocks then turned around and headed back the other way.
It amuses me that cops not only do this all the time but that such strategies are actually part of police doctrine. They are encouraged to profile. I sometimes wonder what they are hoping to find. It used to make me giggle when I was a state employee returning from my night job of teaching college. If any of them had searched me they would have found me with a bag of text books, lesson plans, tests to grade, and an array of dry erase markers. Once my tail light had broken off and an officer pulled me over thinking it was a deliberate absence. He kept telling me that I had no tail light. Yes officer. I'll get that fixed right away. You have no tail light. Yes, you've said that. I've got spare bulbs at home and I'll fix it there. He pointed out the spot where my tail light should have been. Oh My Gawd! I need a whole tail light! YOU BET YOUR DAMN FLAMING PHOENIX YOU NEED A TAIL LIGHT! I could not keep a straight face at that moment. To hear him say that was well worth the repair ticket.
The times have changed and tonight they would have found on me a Swiss Army knife and a pocket full of cough drops. Maybe they were hoping I was one of those rough and tumble outlaw bikers who was driving with a suspended license and had three warrants out for my arrest. Perhaps they thought I had been drinking, since that's what ALL chopper riders do in their spare time. I can imagine their hearts sinking as my plate came back clear and I executed a near stop at a light that was about to change without wavering an inch and without putting my foot down for balance. This is a move more common amongst the Honda and BMW crowd, not some crazy chopper guy late at night.
I did resist the urge to give them the finger as they drove away. They don't need any more profiling ammo.
Thursday, June 08, 2006
Too Much Information
Today I completed the final stage of my vasectomy. First I had to masturbate into a medical specimen jar. When I was first told of this, I was a little disappointed. They gave me a jar to collect the sample at home and bring in. Or am I the only one who would like hospital permission to masturbate on premises? Not that permission is necessary, it just would have been an interesting twist.
Masturbating into a medical specimen jar isn't the easiest of things to accomplish. Enjoying the act and getting to the moment of truth is simple. I'm not some old fashioned guy who needs to take the jar out for some dinner and dancing first. No amount of alcohol was needed to ease this partner into the relationship. The hard part has to do with geometry and biology. Pointing an erection down towards the collecting vessel tends to cut off the flow. That is unnatural.
You would think the nurses at the clinic would be used to this sort of thing. They've seen puss filled wounds, cancerous tumors, and regularly handle urine samples. So why when I placed the specimen on the counter did the nurse blush and look away? She stammered and glanced around then finally said she would make certain the doctor received it right away. Maybe they aren't used to tall handsome men sauntering up to their desk and proudly plopping down a semen sample with a smile.
Back at home I got the call. "No sperm living or dead."
In my swingin' singles days I used to start some conversations with, "So I was beating my wife the other day..." Then I fell in love and got married and it wasn't so funny anymore. Now I can stand tall and proclaim, "So I was beating my kids the other day..."
Masturbating into a medical specimen jar isn't the easiest of things to accomplish. Enjoying the act and getting to the moment of truth is simple. I'm not some old fashioned guy who needs to take the jar out for some dinner and dancing first. No amount of alcohol was needed to ease this partner into the relationship. The hard part has to do with geometry and biology. Pointing an erection down towards the collecting vessel tends to cut off the flow. That is unnatural.
You would think the nurses at the clinic would be used to this sort of thing. They've seen puss filled wounds, cancerous tumors, and regularly handle urine samples. So why when I placed the specimen on the counter did the nurse blush and look away? She stammered and glanced around then finally said she would make certain the doctor received it right away. Maybe they aren't used to tall handsome men sauntering up to their desk and proudly plopping down a semen sample with a smile.
Back at home I got the call. "No sperm living or dead."
In my swingin' singles days I used to start some conversations with, "So I was beating my wife the other day..." Then I fell in love and got married and it wasn't so funny anymore. Now I can stand tall and proclaim, "So I was beating my kids the other day..."
AWPC
I can't believe I kept a straight face throughout this actual workplace conversation.
Jess: Can you fix this?
Jake: What's the problem?
Jess: This doesn't fit in my can.
Jake: Let's see. Hmm, looks like your can is tapered.
Jess: Tapered?
Jake: It's too small on the bottom.
Jess: So it's not because of the pole?
Jake: No, I'd say it's your can.
Jess: Can you make it fit?
Jake: Well, maybe if there was a slit in your can right here the pole could go a bit deeper.
Jess: Can you do that for me?
Jake: Just try to stop me.
Jess: Thanks so much! Just give it to me when you're done.
Jess: Can you fix this?
Jake: What's the problem?
Jess: This doesn't fit in my can.
Jake: Let's see. Hmm, looks like your can is tapered.
Jess: Tapered?
Jake: It's too small on the bottom.
Jess: So it's not because of the pole?
Jake: No, I'd say it's your can.
Jess: Can you make it fit?
Jake: Well, maybe if there was a slit in your can right here the pole could go a bit deeper.
Jess: Can you do that for me?
Jake: Just try to stop me.
Jess: Thanks so much! Just give it to me when you're done.
Wings for Marie
If you have the new Tool album, 10,000 Days, try this trick out.
Listen to Viginti Tres (track 11) followed immediately by Wings for Marie (pt 1) (track3). While listening to these two tracks in sucession, simultaneously listen to 10,000 Days (Wings pt 2) (track 4). Some theorize that this combination of listening to 10,000 Days while simultaneously listening to Viginti Tres (Latin for 23) followed immediately by Wings for Marie (pt 1) is the 'conplete' Wings for Marie.
I tried it, enjoyed it immensely, and could not get it out of my head the entire day at work. More on the mix here. At the very least, it's better than Dark Side of Oz.
Listen to Viginti Tres (track 11) followed immediately by Wings for Marie (pt 1) (track3). While listening to these two tracks in sucession, simultaneously listen to 10,000 Days (Wings pt 2) (track 4). Some theorize that this combination of listening to 10,000 Days while simultaneously listening to Viginti Tres (Latin for 23) followed immediately by Wings for Marie (pt 1) is the 'conplete' Wings for Marie.
I tried it, enjoyed it immensely, and could not get it out of my head the entire day at work. More on the mix here. At the very least, it's better than Dark Side of Oz.
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
AWPC
Jake: Bums and government have the same opinion. The less money you make, the bigger the percentage they think you should give them.
How to be Cool
Last night as I rode home from work, it seemed like everyone was following me. Today at work I found out they were doing exactly that! People were coming up to me and saying things like, "We were following you for a while, and dude, you get 10 out of 10 for style points." Another said, "You look so comfortable on your bike. I couldn't ride that." I know of at least seven people who followed me last night, just watching me ride the chopper.
So if you want to be cool you should build a killer custom chopper, right? Wrong! That's how I do it. I always wanted a chopper so I built one that looks the way I want it to look and is a custom fit for my extended frame with its long arms and legs. Because it embodies my transportation hopes and dreams, the chopper known as Sera is an extension of myself. When you buy a Hummer "in your choice of factory colors" you cage yourself in an icon of someone else's making. Sera is a power-pentacle expanding my worldly presence. An H2 is a demonic seal used to bind you into the servitude of those who control the design. Slavery is very uncool.
If you want to be cool, do as Joseph Campbell suggests and, "Follow your bliss."
So if you want to be cool you should build a killer custom chopper, right? Wrong! That's how I do it. I always wanted a chopper so I built one that looks the way I want it to look and is a custom fit for my extended frame with its long arms and legs. Because it embodies my transportation hopes and dreams, the chopper known as Sera is an extension of myself. When you buy a Hummer "in your choice of factory colors" you cage yourself in an icon of someone else's making. Sera is a power-pentacle expanding my worldly presence. An H2 is a demonic seal used to bind you into the servitude of those who control the design. Slavery is very uncool.
If you want to be cool, do as Joseph Campbell suggests and, "Follow your bliss."
Happiness is Abstinence
Last break. Sitting around the table with five other people. One is checking his text messages. Another is talking on his phone. Another is slipping hers back in her purse after a quick glance. Someone comments that they hate carrying around a phone all the time. Someone else makes noise about people getting on their case about not answering their call because they know they carry the phone. More talk about having to wait just to leave a message.
Jake: It's easy. I don't carry a phone. I don't answer my home phone. If people need to get in touch with me, they will.
Brandon: He's got it down!
Jess: Look at the smile on his face!
Then there is some gibberish about pay phones disappearing and the need to carry a mobile.
Jake: You don't see them because you don't need them. They're still there, all over the place. I see them.
Of course I did not convince anyone not to carry a mobile. I just made them jealous of my disconnected lifestyle.
Jake: It's easy. I don't carry a phone. I don't answer my home phone. If people need to get in touch with me, they will.
Brandon: He's got it down!
Jess: Look at the smile on his face!
Then there is some gibberish about pay phones disappearing and the need to carry a mobile.
Jake: You don't see them because you don't need them. They're still there, all over the place. I see them.
Of course I did not convince anyone not to carry a mobile. I just made them jealous of my disconnected lifestyle.
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
Let's Be Honest
Reuters-Canada plot suspect accused of plan to behead PM
Accusing someone of wanting to decapitate the commander in chief is like accusing them of wanting to play the boss' bald head like a bongo.
"There's an allegation apparently that my client personally indicated that he wanted to behead the prime minister of Canada," (Defense Lawyer) Batasar said.Really, can't we all be accused of secretly plotting the same thing? At one time or another everybody has harbored visions of the head of state of their country with her/his head in a guillotine. I think the world makes fun of the French out of cloaked envy because they actually DID it, in SPADES! Well, that and their odor.
Accusing someone of wanting to decapitate the commander in chief is like accusing them of wanting to play the boss' bald head like a bongo.
Celebratory Music
Here are 10 suggestions from my own music collection that people might enjoy on a day like today.
10. Demonica, Dwarves
9. The Devil Made Me Do It, Voodoo Glow Skulls
8. Sympathy for the Devil, Rolling Stones
7. Yummy Yummy Yummy (Satan Remix), Elvis Hitler
6. Three Thoughts (Devil's Sect), Einstürzende Neubauten
5. Die Eier Van Satan, Tool
4. The Devil's Chasing Me, Reverend Horton Heat
3. Last Song About Satan, Slim Cesna's Auto Club
2. Born With a Tail, Supersuckers
1. Devil's Night Out, Mighty Mighty Bosstones
10. Demonica, Dwarves
9. The Devil Made Me Do It, Voodoo Glow Skulls
8. Sympathy for the Devil, Rolling Stones
7. Yummy Yummy Yummy (Satan Remix), Elvis Hitler
6. Three Thoughts (Devil's Sect), Einstürzende Neubauten
5. Die Eier Van Satan, Tool
4. The Devil's Chasing Me, Reverend Horton Heat
3. Last Song About Satan, Slim Cesna's Auto Club
2. Born With a Tail, Supersuckers
1. Devil's Night Out, Mighty Mighty Bosstones
Spread of Democracy
Reuters-Iraq to free 2,500 but no "Saddam loyalists"
"Those who will be released will be people who are not Saddam Hussein loyalists or terrorists or anyone who has Iraqi blood on their hands," said Maliki, who took office on May 20 at the helm of a U.S.-backed government of national unity.Because if we weren't dismantling a state sponsor of terrorism and we didn't go because of WMD's, then we must have gone there to spread democracy. One of the corner stones of a free and democratic society is to lock up all the people with different political views from your own.
Oh Holy Night...
Happy 6/6/6 people!Break out the whips, chains, cocaine, butt plugs, video games, maybe a little Dungeons & Dragons, and Richard Simons' Sweatin' to the Oldies. It is time to celebrate all things evil.
That's right. He's making a list. Checkin' it twice. Gonna find out who's made their sacrifice. Satan Claus is coming to town.
Monday, June 05, 2006
New Proof God Does Not Exist
Reuters-
A man shouting that God would keep him safe was mauled to death by a lioness in Kiev zoo after he crept into the animal's enclosure...Females don't care for loud, obnoxious men.
"A lioness went straight for him, knocked him down and severed his carotid artery."
Sunday, June 04, 2006
Blurring My Reality
As most people don't know, because I have never had much of a reason to share, I have a stigmatizm in my left eye. The eye doc told me about it a number of years ago and tried to correct for it in my prescription.
Today, for the first time, I played with my stigmatizm. Correcting for it is futile. The severity of the distortion changes as I flex different muscles around the eye. I was changing the size and location of a coffee shop table by simply squinting. Using the same technique I am currently causing my monitor to expand and contract and pinch at the center. No lens currently available can correct for that degree of variance.
What a fascinating lesson, though! A direct experiment in the mind's ability to shape reality. Not only did the person next to me see a very different table from what I saw, but I could actually CHANGE my experience of the table with little more than a thought. When we see a table, we are experiencing sensory signals that are light reflections off of atomic particles. The sensory signal sent by the eye is assembled and interpreted as a table by our brains. While we cannot actually experience a table, our brains can trick us into thinking that is exactly what is transpiring. A table 'exists' in a very real world. Another table 'exists' as a cerebrally developed entity. Did you think you could fit that actual table in your brain? The table that existed in my head was pulsing, undulating, and moving as a range of probabilities. I touched the table to make certain it was still solid. In actuality nerve endings in my hand sent signals to my brain for it to assemble with my fuzzy visual perception of the table. I'd swear it was a bit spongier than a table should be. One of these days my hand will fall right through all that empty space between the subatomic particles my brain has experienced signals from and assembled the data of as a piece of furniture.
And yes, my brain was under a chemical influence: fair trade organic iced coffee.
Today, for the first time, I played with my stigmatizm. Correcting for it is futile. The severity of the distortion changes as I flex different muscles around the eye. I was changing the size and location of a coffee shop table by simply squinting. Using the same technique I am currently causing my monitor to expand and contract and pinch at the center. No lens currently available can correct for that degree of variance.
What a fascinating lesson, though! A direct experiment in the mind's ability to shape reality. Not only did the person next to me see a very different table from what I saw, but I could actually CHANGE my experience of the table with little more than a thought. When we see a table, we are experiencing sensory signals that are light reflections off of atomic particles. The sensory signal sent by the eye is assembled and interpreted as a table by our brains. While we cannot actually experience a table, our brains can trick us into thinking that is exactly what is transpiring. A table 'exists' in a very real world. Another table 'exists' as a cerebrally developed entity. Did you think you could fit that actual table in your brain? The table that existed in my head was pulsing, undulating, and moving as a range of probabilities. I touched the table to make certain it was still solid. In actuality nerve endings in my hand sent signals to my brain for it to assemble with my fuzzy visual perception of the table. I'd swear it was a bit spongier than a table should be. One of these days my hand will fall right through all that empty space between the subatomic particles my brain has experienced signals from and assembled the data of as a piece of furniture.
And yes, my brain was under a chemical influence: fair trade organic iced coffee.
Wizzy What?
In a conversation last night, a friend brought up how his union is demanding strict enforcement of the attendance policy. It's an office type job and his supervisor was fine with a call saying, "Hey, I'm running a little late this morning. I'll stay after to make up the hours." The union demands people be written up for showing up late regardless. He found it odd that a union would 'punish' a supervisor for being understanding, for trying to be more human.
In an on-line gaming community forum to which I am a member, an individual was trying to make the case for rules. He suggested that absence of rules for a group game event where valuable items dropped would be fine if it weren't for the selfishness and greed of human nature.
So one of them calls it human to try and be nice to other people. The other calls it human to grab everything that's not nailed down and possibly kick the cat for good measure. Might I suggest a little self fulfilling prophecy?
There was a term in the early days of computer graphics: WYSIWYG (pronounced Whiz E. Whig). What You See Is What You Get. The implementation of this once grand idea is now so thorough nobody bothers to even say wysiwyg anymore. I'm going to revive it, rearrange it, and re-apply it. The above stated situations are wysiwygs. If you see humans as generally good folks, you'll notice a lot of generally good humans around you. If you see humans as scum sucking pig dogs, you'll distrust everyone you meet.
My mom once told me a simple but popular parable that really illustrates my new use of wysiwyg.
An old man sat along the road leading into town. A stranger came walking down the road and greeted him. "Can you tell me what the people are like in this town?"
The old man asked, "What were the people like where you came from?"
"Oh, they were wonderful! Very friendly. Always willing to help someone out. Always having a kind word to say."
"You'll find the people here are just the same."
A while later another stranger comes walking down the road and greeted the old man. "Can you tell me what the people are like in this town?"
The old man asked, "What were the people like where you came from?"
"Oh, they were wretched folks. They ignored everyone around them. Wouldn't piss on you if you were on fire. Couldn't shake a man's hand without him trying to steal your wallet."
"You'll find the people here are just the same."
See? WYSIWYG! (And I'm pretty sure my mom never said that bit about, 'Wouldn't piss on you if you were on fire,' but it makes the point clearer.)
In an on-line gaming community forum to which I am a member, an individual was trying to make the case for rules. He suggested that absence of rules for a group game event where valuable items dropped would be fine if it weren't for the selfishness and greed of human nature.
So one of them calls it human to try and be nice to other people. The other calls it human to grab everything that's not nailed down and possibly kick the cat for good measure. Might I suggest a little self fulfilling prophecy?
There was a term in the early days of computer graphics: WYSIWYG (pronounced Whiz E. Whig). What You See Is What You Get. The implementation of this once grand idea is now so thorough nobody bothers to even say wysiwyg anymore. I'm going to revive it, rearrange it, and re-apply it. The above stated situations are wysiwygs. If you see humans as generally good folks, you'll notice a lot of generally good humans around you. If you see humans as scum sucking pig dogs, you'll distrust everyone you meet.
My mom once told me a simple but popular parable that really illustrates my new use of wysiwyg.
An old man sat along the road leading into town. A stranger came walking down the road and greeted him. "Can you tell me what the people are like in this town?"
The old man asked, "What were the people like where you came from?"
"Oh, they were wonderful! Very friendly. Always willing to help someone out. Always having a kind word to say."
"You'll find the people here are just the same."
A while later another stranger comes walking down the road and greeted the old man. "Can you tell me what the people are like in this town?"
The old man asked, "What were the people like where you came from?"
"Oh, they were wretched folks. They ignored everyone around them. Wouldn't piss on you if you were on fire. Couldn't shake a man's hand without him trying to steal your wallet."
"You'll find the people here are just the same."
See? WYSIWYG! (And I'm pretty sure my mom never said that bit about, 'Wouldn't piss on you if you were on fire,' but it makes the point clearer.)
Worker's Song
Yeh, this one's for the workers who toil night and day
By hand and by brain to earn your pay
Who for centuries long past for no more than your bread
Have bled for your countries and counted your dead
In the factories and mills, in the shipyards and mines
We've often been told to keep up with the times
For our skills are not needed, they've streamlined the job
And with sliderule and stopwatch our pride they have robbed
We're the first ones to starve, we're the first ones to die
The first ones in line for that pie-in-the-sky
And we're always the last when the cream is shared out
For the worker is working when the fat cat's about
And when the sky darkens and the prospect is war
Who's given a gun and then pushed to the fore
And expected to die for the land of our birth
Though we've never owned one lousy handful of earth?
We're the first ones to starve, we're the first ones to die
The first ones in line for that pie-in-the-sky
And we're always the last when the cream is shared out
For the worker is working when the fat cat's about
All of these things the worker has done
From tilling the fields to carrying the gun
We've been yoked to the plough since time first began
And always expected to carry the can
By hand and by brain to earn your pay
Who for centuries long past for no more than your bread
Have bled for your countries and counted your dead
In the factories and mills, in the shipyards and mines
We've often been told to keep up with the times
For our skills are not needed, they've streamlined the job
And with sliderule and stopwatch our pride they have robbed
We're the first ones to starve, we're the first ones to die
The first ones in line for that pie-in-the-sky
And we're always the last when the cream is shared out
For the worker is working when the fat cat's about
And when the sky darkens and the prospect is war
Who's given a gun and then pushed to the fore
And expected to die for the land of our birth
Though we've never owned one lousy handful of earth?
We're the first ones to starve, we're the first ones to die
The first ones in line for that pie-in-the-sky
And we're always the last when the cream is shared out
For the worker is working when the fat cat's about
All of these things the worker has done
From tilling the fields to carrying the gun
We've been yoked to the plough since time first began
And always expected to carry the can
Far Sighted
I have to remember that I tend to be ahead of the times. In 1993 I drove cross country jamming out to old time swing music. In 1996/97 bands like the Suirrel Nut Zippers and Cherry Poppin' Daddies were makin' it big with their old time swing sound. When I started building a real old school chopper, two years later Street Chopper Magazine was relaunched and a few years after that shows like Monster Garage and American Chopper were hitting the airwaves.
Being ahead of the curve is not fun. As Robert Anton Wilson points out:
To this he replied, "That's your problem. We cum just the right amount!"
So until the rest of humanity catches up with my ideas, I'll just wear rubber pants with springs in the back side.
Being ahead of the curve is not fun. As Robert Anton Wilson points out:
"I think I'm the most ripped-off artist of our time," says Wilson... "People keep coming out with books 30 years after -- books on things I wrote about -- and they all become bestsellers.Once in a mock tirade trying to mimic a Nazi I shouted at my then room mate, "Ve Shall Overcome!"
"I wrote about them too early," says Wilson, raising a thin arm and shaking his finger to emphasize his point: "Don't be premature."
To this he replied, "That's your problem. We cum just the right amount!"
So until the rest of humanity catches up with my ideas, I'll just wear rubber pants with springs in the back side.
Saturday, June 03, 2006
Piss and Vinegar
Woke up with indifference. Starting to get in a fighting mood. I'm a bottle of Scotch away from barroom brawl. To head that off will require a one-two punch of chopper riding and strong coffee. The bike betters my mood, operates as a focusing point as my whole body and all of my limbs work together to navigate the old girl. The coffee makes me more cerebral, less emotional, and I soon find the very notion of pub conflict merely amusing. Glad I've got a doctorate so I can prescribe remedies to myself.
More on Anarchism
Why have I chosen and continue to choose Anarchism?
For the answer, I will quote "A Clockwork Orange".
For the answer, I will quote "A Clockwork Orange".
When a man cannot choose he ceases to be a man.
Friday, June 02, 2006
Reprise
This is quite possibly the funniest thing I have read in years!
Iran could have nuclear weapons within the next 10 years, according to the senior US intelligence chief.
If Americans will fall for the same old song and dance, so be it. If they can't see where this one ends up, they deserve every ounce of karmaic retribution headed their way. I'll just keep my slack going and try to roll with it. If a bunch of Islamic fundamentalists or the US government (depending on who you talk to) wants to plan a second attack on US soil to support this and it happens to involve getting blown up, I'll try to remember to die laughing at the absurdity of it all.
And if Iran gets a nuke it's just one more power hungry lunatic with his hand hovering over the button. That's a pretty funny thing to imagine. Lots to laugh about.
Iran could have nuclear weapons within the next 10 years, according to the senior US intelligence chief.
In his interview with the BBC, Mr Negroponte accused Iran of being the world's top state sponsor of terrorism.Where have I heard this before? Wasn't Afghanistan the world's top state sponsor of terrorism? Or was it North Korea with their nuclear program? No, I'm pretty sure it was Iraq and their WMD's. It most certainly was NOT the United Arab Emirates or the United Kingdom or the United States of America. Probably because they have 'United' in their names.
He added: "[Iran] seems to be determined to develop nuclear weapons.
"We don't have a clear-cut knowledge but the estimate we have made is some time between the beginning of the next decade and the middle of the next decade they might be in a position to have a nuclear weapon, which is a cause of great concern."
If Americans will fall for the same old song and dance, so be it. If they can't see where this one ends up, they deserve every ounce of karmaic retribution headed their way. I'll just keep my slack going and try to roll with it. If a bunch of Islamic fundamentalists or the US government (depending on who you talk to) wants to plan a second attack on US soil to support this and it happens to involve getting blown up, I'll try to remember to die laughing at the absurdity of it all.
And if Iran gets a nuke it's just one more power hungry lunatic with his hand hovering over the button. That's a pretty funny thing to imagine. Lots to laugh about.
Thursday, June 01, 2006
Crop Art and Other Deviances
Casual swearing is so over done. But what if your profanity could be picked up by satellite? That's an accomplishment.
I located it on Google Earth at 53º 32' 19" N by 1º 20' 49" W near the little village of Billingley, UK.
I'm with Grant Morrison on these types of things. Put cameras everywhere and watch everyone act the shit out of them. When in a constantly watched society, street cameras, reality TV shows, constant spying, total satellite surveillance, everyone is a movie star. Act like it. The show is just starting and it's all improv.
I located it on Google Earth at 53º 32' 19" N by 1º 20' 49" W near the little village of Billingley, UK.
I'm with Grant Morrison on these types of things. Put cameras everywhere and watch everyone act the shit out of them. When in a constantly watched society, street cameras, reality TV shows, constant spying, total satellite surveillance, everyone is a movie star. Act like it. The show is just starting and it's all improv.
Make Me Sweat
Seraphine has personality in spades.
Brand new kicker pedal on her. Brand spankin' new! It was the fourth one I've had to put on her. Damn thing fell off on my way to work and I didn't even notice. At least that's what the old girl would have me believe. She secretly plots to dispose of them. So I made a new one at work tonight. Drag strip rat bike special. I now have a big shoulder bolt on a swivel for a kicker pedal. Lighter weight so you can go faster.
Taking off for work she started with just two kicks. After work I kicked her for 20-30 minutes. Then there was explaining to the janitor why it wasn't the plugs and why it wasn't the battery. Finally I pushed her to the end of the factory driveway, rolled her down, and popped the clutch. Thinking back, I don't recal ever succesfully popping a clutch on a bike before. I can recall trying it once with the old Honda CB500T. Trying to pull off that maneuver on two wheels on gravel is... interesting. Tonight, Sera started for me. I rolled across the street into the post office parking lot. There I zipped up my jacket and strapped on my helmet. Yep, I broke the law again. The night air was warm, but the jacket helped to protect my sweat soaked body from cooling off too quickly.
Brand new kicker pedal on her. Brand spankin' new! It was the fourth one I've had to put on her. Damn thing fell off on my way to work and I didn't even notice. At least that's what the old girl would have me believe. She secretly plots to dispose of them. So I made a new one at work tonight. Drag strip rat bike special. I now have a big shoulder bolt on a swivel for a kicker pedal. Lighter weight so you can go faster.
Taking off for work she started with just two kicks. After work I kicked her for 20-30 minutes. Then there was explaining to the janitor why it wasn't the plugs and why it wasn't the battery. Finally I pushed her to the end of the factory driveway, rolled her down, and popped the clutch. Thinking back, I don't recal ever succesfully popping a clutch on a bike before. I can recall trying it once with the old Honda CB500T. Trying to pull off that maneuver on two wheels on gravel is... interesting. Tonight, Sera started for me. I rolled across the street into the post office parking lot. There I zipped up my jacket and strapped on my helmet. Yep, I broke the law again. The night air was warm, but the jacket helped to protect my sweat soaked body from cooling off too quickly.
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