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If by some miracle I fathered a childthen that child would never know his great-grandparents. He wouldn'tknow Abraham Lincoln either so that might not come as a big surprise.But my point is that he would not know people who were instrumentalin his own existence and formative to my own.
I drove both of my grandfather's cars.They preferred larger 8 cylinder cruisers with power windows andblue or brown interiors. Neither of them owned as much as a socketset. Their cars smelled like baby powder and aftershave. Their wordsas we cruised down the street were casual references to my beard, jobprospects and girlfriends.
My mother's father, Sam, rubbed hisknee replacement while he drove with a hand covered by white hair onthe knuckles, his blue polyester slacks binding at the thigh. He worepatent leather loafers and white socks and button up short sleeveshirts with a white tank top underneath. He wore silver dollar bolo ties and didn't think that was unusual. He had a way of working thesteering wheel like it was a ship's anchor line that needed turning.That was a sturdy steering wheel, by the way, strong, indestructible.It's probably still out there somewhere!"Well, Oggy, you won't get richdoin' nothin'. Clothes a mess...face all a hairy. Boy-o-boy!"His tone, a toothy New England farmfolk slang, said it all, that I was hardly worth lecturing with mygirl hair length and fake frame glasses and flowery tank top shirtwith nothing to cover it."Good looking boy like you hidingbehind all that hair? Look, there's a barber. How about it? I'llpay!"Never mind that this grandfather hadlost his hair by the time he was thirty so the option of growing amane like mine was never one to choose. I would nod because when heframed the topic thusly I really had no rebuttal. He had enjoyedtaking photographs and one picture he took of our house in Maine willforever represent an idea and image I have of my early childhood. Icould have argued that like his interest in photography had bornfruit, I too had amateur designs on a life as a writer and my firstassignment to myself was to read. But raising the lofty example ofHermann Hesse or Jack Kerouac would have been futile so I was contentto listen to the talk radio station and watch the college studentsmerrily march their books to class. Our big blue Oldsmobile thundereddown the street under my grandfather's sure hand. I'd say he was 83at the time and we were on our way to visit his wife in the long-termcare facility. He made me banana pancakes for lunch with maple syrupand butter and considered it the height of acceptable gluttony. Hiswife liked playing scrabble and getting postcards from her daughters.She didn't drive at all from what I could remember.
The last time I drove with my father'sfather, Bob, the source of my middle name, it was down a tree linedcorridor in the college town of his adult life. I was certain wewould crash because he was genuinely oblivious to other drivers,pedestrians, obstacles, stop signs, lights, cats, everything. Hesquinted through his glasses and muttered with grumpy dissuasion.He'd had a stroke some years earlier and a man of few words became aman of no words. He was probably 92 years old and we weregoing to fill a prescription at the drug store."Stop sign!" I blurted as weglided through a four way stop.He muttered while I gripped the doorhandle.His wife had been the talker of thefamily...her elocution and mannerisms borrowed from KatherineHepburn. Bob was the keeper of the cigarettes, the guy bringing inmore wood to the fireplace."School?" He askedtentatively as he had long abandoned my fate to the Gods.My college career had beendisillusioning so I'd decided to take some time for independentstudy. I summed this up by saying, "One day. But latelyI'm reading.
I emphasized this last word like he washard of hearing, but he wasn't. His lack of voice command made methink he couldn't understand words either."Bullshit!" he said andmuttered something to the effect that this was blowing smoke up hisass and that I was malingering. I tossed my hands up futilely,surrendering. I had to save my strength up for real arguments with myfather about the nature of violence and the effect hunger strikeshave on world affairs. My two sets of grandparents lived inthe same small town for most of their lives, a detail that isn'tcommon and is becoming less common as biology and chemistry becomeless reliant on sociology.
If my son were born I would tell himhis grandparents live in Australia and Holland and I'd need a map ofthe entire planet to show him where those places are. Mygrandparents, on the other hand, lived in the same zip code andprobably shopped at the same grocery store and had their paperdelivered by the same paper boy. I could find both their houses on asingle town map. More importantly, I'm thinking of the lack ofemotional connection my child would have with his predeceasedgreat-grandparents. Most of us don't know who our great-grandparentsare so we can all relate. We come into the world and can only hearthe echoes of their voices in the behavior patterns of ourgrandparents, whom we hardly give a second thought to until they dieor are stricken or send us large Christmas checks, and in the barelycontained battle our parents wage for control. It's already laid out,our genetic infrastructure, and the architects are dead. We drivethrough town oblivious to the stop signs and intersections theypreviously paved, plowing through the fields they planted and parkingon their flower beds.
6 Şubat 2013 Çarşamba
Recuva data rescue review
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The outpouring of concern over my losing all the footage from one of the most implausible adventures of the 21st century was overwhelming. The letters arrived from all corners of the globe. But never worry! I'm too obsessed with the past and my ego would not allow the loss of all these photos of my crippled feet and Bakeapple or Bunchberries and birds and hundreds of pictures of my bell bottom pants. I decided to get serious. There was at least $1000 worth of music on that drive not to mention irreplaceable pictures of me wearing 70s clothes in Labrador. But Three different computers coughed and laughed when I tried to get that hard drive to mount. The computer repair place looked at me like I was trying to dub a John Denver cassette tape from 1982 to Blueray DVD. Another failure. I even put the thing in the freezer hoping it would work but it didn't. Maybe I should've baked it at 350 for an hour. The external drive had no fan so it always would overheat. I was a fool to use it to edit video. It was strictly designed to be used while it was backing up files and then shut down. I mean, it had an ac/adapter plug!
But my malware software could scan the rocketfish Chinese 350gb external drive disk though it would not mount. "Unreadable/parameter failure." So I downloaded something called virtuallab. That eased my worries because it immediately read all the files but cost $99 to allow me to save them.
Being the penny pincher that I am, I then checked out this site and downloaded two freeware applications. One was called PCinspector. and the other was Recuva. The first time I ran Recuva it only searched for deleted files and scanned my hard drive but I wasn't looking for deleted files so I figured it was the wrong thing. It also didn't find any deleted files. So I checked out pc inspector and that could not read the disk at all. something was still wrong with the parameters. I couldn't even close pc inspector as it froze trying to read the disk. I still had virtual lab to fall back on but I tried again with Recuva and discovered the options tab was checked to default as only hunt for deleted files. so I checked the box "search for undeleted files" and set it to work again. And it rebuilt the folder tree and then, since I had purchased a 500gb toshiba external drive already, I copied 190 gb of files onto that while I was working on my moped. It took about 4 hours.
So I know everyone was real concerned and you can all sleep easy knowing I will eventually complete that stupid Arctic Wolf Quest video.
Something like Recuva should be standard on any pc. It's obvious that a logic failure on a hard drive can easily be circumvented so why doesn't Bill Gates stop trying to save the world and provide something on each windows operating system? Thank you to Recuva...
The outpouring of concern over my losing all the footage from one of the most implausible adventures of the 21st century was overwhelming. The letters arrived from all corners of the globe. But never worry! I'm too obsessed with the past and my ego would not allow the loss of all these photos of my crippled feet and Bakeapple or Bunchberries and birds and hundreds of pictures of my bell bottom pants. I decided to get serious. There was at least $1000 worth of music on that drive not to mention irreplaceable pictures of me wearing 70s clothes in Labrador. But Three different computers coughed and laughed when I tried to get that hard drive to mount. The computer repair place looked at me like I was trying to dub a John Denver cassette tape from 1982 to Blueray DVD. Another failure. I even put the thing in the freezer hoping it would work but it didn't. Maybe I should've baked it at 350 for an hour. The external drive had no fan so it always would overheat. I was a fool to use it to edit video. It was strictly designed to be used while it was backing up files and then shut down. I mean, it had an ac/adapter plug!
But my malware software could scan the rocketfish Chinese 350gb external drive disk though it would not mount. "Unreadable/parameter failure." So I downloaded something called virtuallab. That eased my worries because it immediately read all the files but cost $99 to allow me to save them.
Being the penny pincher that I am, I then checked out this site and downloaded two freeware applications. One was called PCinspector. and the other was Recuva. The first time I ran Recuva it only searched for deleted files and scanned my hard drive but I wasn't looking for deleted files so I figured it was the wrong thing. It also didn't find any deleted files. So I checked out pc inspector and that could not read the disk at all. something was still wrong with the parameters. I couldn't even close pc inspector as it froze trying to read the disk. I still had virtual lab to fall back on but I tried again with Recuva and discovered the options tab was checked to default as only hunt for deleted files. so I checked the box "search for undeleted files" and set it to work again. And it rebuilt the folder tree and then, since I had purchased a 500gb toshiba external drive already, I copied 190 gb of files onto that while I was working on my moped. It took about 4 hours.
 | ||||||||
| recuva screenshot of options window |
Something like Recuva should be standard on any pc. It's obvious that a logic failure on a hard drive can easily be circumvented so why doesn't Bill Gates stop trying to save the world and provide something on each windows operating system? Thank you to Recuva...
Tire Failure
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I admit I am living with one foot in the past and one foot in the present. The future and I never cross paths. My moped has a bad crimp in the rear rim from someone going over a curb in Mexico drunk on false love and tequila. Then a spoke broke so it was like riding a fucking Carousel horse down the street. I got a replacement spoke (real easy to find for a 1974 moped) but the whole rear wheel and chain assemblies have to be removed for this to happen. I did that since I'm finally feeling human and mobile and Spring has apparently arrived on January 20th to Texas (84 degrees) meaning humanity is totally fucked because the climate is completely upside down.
But to repair a spoke I have to deflate the tire and what do I find but a 2'' long nail sticking in the tube. For some reason, maybe the angle of repose or the material or God smiling on Oggy, the tire never went flat. Amazing. But there was nothing I could do but remove it and set into motion a shit train of problems. The nail had managed to puncture both sides of the inner tube so one patch didn't work. I could not find a 2.25x2.50'' x 17'' Italian inner tube so I spent hours trying to repair the tube with shoe goop. The tire side held up but the rim side wasn't flush so air managed to escape. Failure after failure until I finally used my emergency tire repair spray rubber bottle for the van. That fixed it. The whole can went into my moped tire and I reused the tube and tire. A bit of grease under the nails and I was back on the road. Unfortunately, it did hardly anything for my rim problem.
Then I really got crazy and tried to manufacture a head gasket out of aluminum foil. The backfiring woke up dogs in Houston. This engine is best with no head gasket. It has a cylinder to engine gasket but no head gasket.
 |
| 1974 Vespa Ciao in the shop |
But to repair a spoke I have to deflate the tire and what do I find but a 2'' long nail sticking in the tube. For some reason, maybe the angle of repose or the material or God smiling on Oggy, the tire never went flat. Amazing. But there was nothing I could do but remove it and set into motion a shit train of problems. The nail had managed to puncture both sides of the inner tube so one patch didn't work. I could not find a 2.25x2.50'' x 17'' Italian inner tube so I spent hours trying to repair the tube with shoe goop. The tire side held up but the rim side wasn't flush so air managed to escape. Failure after failure until I finally used my emergency tire repair spray rubber bottle for the van. That fixed it. The whole can went into my moped tire and I reused the tube and tire. A bit of grease under the nails and I was back on the road. Unfortunately, it did hardly anything for my rim problem.
Then I really got crazy and tried to manufacture a head gasket out of aluminum foil. The backfiring woke up dogs in Houston. This engine is best with no head gasket. It has a cylinder to engine gasket but no head gasket.
No TV
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My time off from the oil field after the embezzlement and fraud scam cost everyone their job was mostly spent in recovery as my spine, shoulder, neck and knees all revolted. And I made the mistake of putting my television near my bed so I could watch it at night when the spasms of pain made moving impossible. I also have a mirror so I could watch myself lose my mind as network television has sunk to incredibly low depths of reality shows and then shows that show bloopers of the reality shows with commentary.
It reminds me of the lifestyle and mentality of Hollywood when I lived there and you don't know vacuous and frail and vain behavior until you spend some time in Santa Monica. That you can get paid taking pictures of celebrities picking their nose and then get paid to mock those celebrities while your video plays in slow motion with thought bubbles and sound effects and then you get a spinoff sitcom based on your own celebrity stalking...that was all considered totally acceptable and even desirable. Killing someone is only cool if you behead them or do it to perpetrate a race war.
As a friend said once of L.A. culture: "If this isn't tasteless, then what is?"
Truly, if you took the most depraved person in Labrador and brought him to Santa Monica he would be immediately humbled by the most commonplace events perpetrated by average Starbucks baristas. I almost let that kind of paradigm suck me into the moral mire when a friend ran into a homeless lady and her shopping cart riding his motorcycle and THE ONLY RESPONSE I THOUGHT OF WAS HOW TO TURN IT INTO A CLAY-MATION MUSIC VIDEO OR COMIC BOOK SERIES. Before I could even finish plans the homeless lady had her own agent and a fan club on Twitter and her panties were up for auction on Ebay. We are talking about essential corruption, poisoning the well, core rot. I fled in the nick of time.
Well, recent news events have made me realize this kind of fundamental sickness has spread across the country. People truly believe elves make ipads. Ironic attitudes about rape, murder, shooting sprees, environmental apocalypse proves we're no longer in a concrete universe. Or we ARE but we don't act that way. It's all an issue of vanity and fame and fraud...Hollywood staples. Did you know that penitentiary systems were invented by Quakers in the early Americas. Why? Because before that the punishment for crimes such as counterfeiting WAS TO BE BOILED ALIVE IN PUBLIC. Not much need for jails with that attitude. Then someone figured out how to make money off prisons and we were fucked! Now the punishment for counterfeiting is being put in charge of the federal reserve or a bank.
Anyway, I felt myself skidding away into insanity as I watched one reality show after another. It's a mirror of our own demise...armies of cameramen actually videoing themselves videoing gold mining. It's a self-reflective demise of ego...like positioning mirrors so you can see smaller and smaller reflections of yourself and your fake smile.
I tossed the television in the closet with the cockroaches and rat shit. I felt much better, played the piano more. Without internet access I started to read and study Mayan dialects for my trip to Belize.
I went to find a PG Woodhouse book but the library has none so then I found a book by Kurt Vonnegut, whom I admire, but this book was non-fiction, a collection of his commencement speeches and such and his own commentary about the speeches.
Vonnegut was a prisoner of war in Dresden the day it was firebombed simply because it was the only German city that hadn't been firebombed yet. It was a city that manufactured china plates and chocolate...a refuge..not a military target...renowned for old world architecture and quaintness. probably 200,000 people died and Vonnegut survived because the slaughterhouse the prisoners were living in was brick and didn't burn. His combat history was brief...he was captured in his first battle (of the bulge) and immediately went to prison camp. He basically had to compete with concentration camp escapees for food as he wandered west after V-E day. Then The Russians caught him and threw him in their prison. Most people in his situation died.
This probably shaped his view of the world which was scathing satire of man's follies. Sound familiar? I feel that whatever I could say bluntly (We must try to be more reasonable and peaceful) to American graduates of Yale and MIT and Harvard, Vonnegut has already said it. It doesn't matter...and it made Vonnegut depressed and he eventually tried to kill himself with pills "to get out of here" and they pumped his stomach and he went to want he called "the laughing factory" to talk it out with a shrink.
I don't know what his hurry was since he'd be dead in a few years naturally.
When I talk about going to Mexico people say that I'll be kidnapped and killed. My fear is that I won't have anything like that happen but will incrementally deteriorate naturally. I'm not invincible, but I'm going to be taken in pieces. I'm past the point of playing it safe. Now the question is if I can play it dangerous enough to actually die a romantic death. Executed in Mexico with bongo drums hung around my neck would fit the bill. Eating mashed peas and pissing myself at the long term care facility doesn't work for me. I'm a few shitty jobs away from not having the option of leaving a good looking corpse. One guy was concerned about dying magnificently and he eventually died of convulsions under a grand piano. I think that would be good enough.
Do yourself a favor and don't watch television. Live. Yes, the bogey man might get you and that's tough luck. Or you could witness a charming German city reduced to steaming rubble. Vonnegut said the bombs missed the slaughterhouse but they didn't miss the zoo. "You should have seen the giraffe," he wrote. "I did."
...and he didn't need to provide any more details.
It reminds me of the lifestyle and mentality of Hollywood when I lived there and you don't know vacuous and frail and vain behavior until you spend some time in Santa Monica. That you can get paid taking pictures of celebrities picking their nose and then get paid to mock those celebrities while your video plays in slow motion with thought bubbles and sound effects and then you get a spinoff sitcom based on your own celebrity stalking...that was all considered totally acceptable and even desirable. Killing someone is only cool if you behead them or do it to perpetrate a race war.
As a friend said once of L.A. culture: "If this isn't tasteless, then what is?"
Truly, if you took the most depraved person in Labrador and brought him to Santa Monica he would be immediately humbled by the most commonplace events perpetrated by average Starbucks baristas. I almost let that kind of paradigm suck me into the moral mire when a friend ran into a homeless lady and her shopping cart riding his motorcycle and THE ONLY RESPONSE I THOUGHT OF WAS HOW TO TURN IT INTO A CLAY-MATION MUSIC VIDEO OR COMIC BOOK SERIES. Before I could even finish plans the homeless lady had her own agent and a fan club on Twitter and her panties were up for auction on Ebay. We are talking about essential corruption, poisoning the well, core rot. I fled in the nick of time.
Well, recent news events have made me realize this kind of fundamental sickness has spread across the country. People truly believe elves make ipads. Ironic attitudes about rape, murder, shooting sprees, environmental apocalypse proves we're no longer in a concrete universe. Or we ARE but we don't act that way. It's all an issue of vanity and fame and fraud...Hollywood staples. Did you know that penitentiary systems were invented by Quakers in the early Americas. Why? Because before that the punishment for crimes such as counterfeiting WAS TO BE BOILED ALIVE IN PUBLIC. Not much need for jails with that attitude. Then someone figured out how to make money off prisons and we were fucked! Now the punishment for counterfeiting is being put in charge of the federal reserve or a bank.
Anyway, I felt myself skidding away into insanity as I watched one reality show after another. It's a mirror of our own demise...armies of cameramen actually videoing themselves videoing gold mining. It's a self-reflective demise of ego...like positioning mirrors so you can see smaller and smaller reflections of yourself and your fake smile.
I tossed the television in the closet with the cockroaches and rat shit. I felt much better, played the piano more. Without internet access I started to read and study Mayan dialects for my trip to Belize.
I went to find a PG Woodhouse book but the library has none so then I found a book by Kurt Vonnegut, whom I admire, but this book was non-fiction, a collection of his commencement speeches and such and his own commentary about the speeches.
Vonnegut was a prisoner of war in Dresden the day it was firebombed simply because it was the only German city that hadn't been firebombed yet. It was a city that manufactured china plates and chocolate...a refuge..not a military target...renowned for old world architecture and quaintness. probably 200,000 people died and Vonnegut survived because the slaughterhouse the prisoners were living in was brick and didn't burn. His combat history was brief...he was captured in his first battle (of the bulge) and immediately went to prison camp. He basically had to compete with concentration camp escapees for food as he wandered west after V-E day. Then The Russians caught him and threw him in their prison. Most people in his situation died.
This probably shaped his view of the world which was scathing satire of man's follies. Sound familiar? I feel that whatever I could say bluntly (We must try to be more reasonable and peaceful) to American graduates of Yale and MIT and Harvard, Vonnegut has already said it. It doesn't matter...and it made Vonnegut depressed and he eventually tried to kill himself with pills "to get out of here" and they pumped his stomach and he went to want he called "the laughing factory" to talk it out with a shrink.
I don't know what his hurry was since he'd be dead in a few years naturally.
When I talk about going to Mexico people say that I'll be kidnapped and killed. My fear is that I won't have anything like that happen but will incrementally deteriorate naturally. I'm not invincible, but I'm going to be taken in pieces. I'm past the point of playing it safe. Now the question is if I can play it dangerous enough to actually die a romantic death. Executed in Mexico with bongo drums hung around my neck would fit the bill. Eating mashed peas and pissing myself at the long term care facility doesn't work for me. I'm a few shitty jobs away from not having the option of leaving a good looking corpse. One guy was concerned about dying magnificently and he eventually died of convulsions under a grand piano. I think that would be good enough.
Do yourself a favor and don't watch television. Live. Yes, the bogey man might get you and that's tough luck. Or you could witness a charming German city reduced to steaming rubble. Vonnegut said the bombs missed the slaughterhouse but they didn't miss the zoo. "You should have seen the giraffe," he wrote. "I did."
...and he didn't need to provide any more details.
Really? 90 degrees?
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If it's 90 degrees in late January then I'm pretty sure it's going to be 150 this summer. I did the math last year and figured it would be 130...and that's exactly the temperature my van reached this summer around late july when I was patching drywall in crumbling mobile homes in Flour Bluff. 130 degrees in my van as I tried to sleep on the street, my thrombosed heart palpitating with fear and revulsion as the thrum of 10 million air conditioners mocked my lifestyle. The most ridiculous situation since I was north of Quebec City in the van with no heat, balding tires, frozen face no destination or visa. But it's too late to talk about warnings. America has turned into a clan of freaks who counterfeited money for so long they bought power to make real currency illegal. That's the solution to debt: Make it illegal. Good luck.
5 Şubat 2013 Salı
Trivial Facts You Would Know if You Were A Man
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1) How does an underwater welder manage to weld metal underwater? Don't worry, it's only something that your entire destructive way of life depends on. Nothing too serious. I'm sure you could figure it out given enough time and starvation was sniffing at the door of your emaciated children.
2) How many volts are the power lines carrying when the linesman works with them? When the electromagnetic pulse occurs at random intervals during the day what must the linesman do in order to avoid being cut in half by invisible electrical currents?
3) Average lifespan of an Ivory Coast gold miner? Yeah, GOOGLE IT! THAT"S REAL FUCKING IRONIC>!
Take your time. It's only a short quiz to demonstrate the stark difference in what you like to think of as your life and how ignorant you actually are of the foundations it is built on. Then you can get back to the coffee and donuts and reality television about fat chicks in tight dresses hiked above their ass like baboons in heat.
2) How many volts are the power lines carrying when the linesman works with them? When the electromagnetic pulse occurs at random intervals during the day what must the linesman do in order to avoid being cut in half by invisible electrical currents?
3) Average lifespan of an Ivory Coast gold miner? Yeah, GOOGLE IT! THAT"S REAL FUCKING IRONIC>!
Take your time. It's only a short quiz to demonstrate the stark difference in what you like to think of as your life and how ignorant you actually are of the foundations it is built on. Then you can get back to the coffee and donuts and reality television about fat chicks in tight dresses hiked above their ass like baboons in heat.
Fun
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Of course you know modern culture is repulsive to me and symptomatic of a corroded worldview.But when something forces itself past my blighted and depressed attitude then I will share it.The sr500 ibanez bass guitar for instance. Or the credit card sized HIV test. Or tacos made with Dorrito flavored tortillas. And a few songs by a band named fun.Their "Some Nights" album is not bad. It has at least 5 quality tunes. Probably won't win best album grammy but maybe best song. But the title track isn't my favorite. It's a good video but the song is actually unrelated to that video so I have to object. This song, "Why am I the One" is reminiscent of The Beatles with a strong chorus and good phrasing and good structure.If George Martin were alive today he could make this band huge.
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