Road Hog

   Pork Fillingsworth is a moderately successful investment banker.  Normally, at this time in the morning, he would be at work, sitting behind his desk making money for his clients and, in doing so, himself. Today, however, he was on a freeway, driving to his Aunt Charlotte's house on the coast. He rarely drove and didn't even own a car, he usually took public transportation or a cab to go wherever he needed to get to. He had taken the long bus ride to his aunt's house many times over the years and each time he swore it was the last. He felt it took took longer than necessary, especially when seated next to someone who wanted to tell him their life story, which seemed to happen more often than not. He liked a good story, but most people who rode a bus to the coast told long rambling tales of woe that went off on one digression after another and never seemed to get anywhere close to an ending, despite having three hours to get there. His Aunt Charlotte, on the other hand, knew how to tell a story well and he loved to hear her talk about the family history. His favorite story was about the old family friend she was named after. It was a sad, but inspiring tale.

   Today he had rented a little two-door hybrid and was feeling good about his choice. If he was going to drive by himself then he wanted to at least try and not waste precious resources with his self-indulgence. He had the radio tuned to the local NPR station to keep him company and was driving a steady sixty-three miles per hour, no sense in risking a speeding ticket. The cup of hot tea sitting in the cupholder was one of his favorite things about driving a car, you didn't have that on a bus. As he pulled over to take a picture of an old rustic barn he realized another thing, you could stop whenever you wanted when you had a car. He had passed by that barn for years and this was the first time he been able to get a picture of it that didn't have any blurry trees. It was also the first time he was able to snap more than one picture of the barn. He didn't get back on the road until he had shot a whole roll of film.

   He drove on, pulling over whenever it struck his fancy. Whether to take more pictures or buy more tea, it didn't matter, he got to decide when and where to stop. The longer he thought about it the more he wanted to get something for the occasional drive out of the city. Two hours into the drive he was passed by a group of choppers and, for the next twenty minutes, he found himself daydreaming of riding one on a country lane with the wind in his face. He imagined packing a little picnic lunch and eating it by a small stream with birds chirping happily at him. By the time he pulled into his Aunt Charlotte's driveway, he had decided to buy a motorcycle. Maybe not one of the big ones, like those that had passed him, but he definitely wanted to buy something with two wheels.

Pork Fillingsworth will return in Hog Wild

The Malady

   I have a weird obsession, maybe even a sickness. It's not healthy, I know this and yet, I don't do anything to reign it in. I allow it happen. I allow it to grow. There are times when it lies dormant, only to come roaring back to life bigger than before. I am an audio equipment addict. Even worse, I'm a vintage audio equipment junkie. The bug had been under control, simmering quietly beneath the surface, for over a year. Then, a couple of weeks ago, I was given an Atwater Kent Receiving Set, Model 32 and I could feel the fever starting to rise.

 It's an interesting little piece of radio history and you're lucky that I won't bore you with the details. There are, however, two problems that need to be addressed before I can even find out if it works or not. First, it originally was powered by three or four external batteries, so I need to buy a kit (available online) that will allow me to plug it into a wall outlet. Second, it requires an external speaker. Here's where the fun starts, I've been searching the interweb for something that is (A) period correct and (B) in working condition. They are out there in varying combinations of A and B, it comes down to how much I'm willing to spend. However, before I was properly lost in the problems and possibilities of this nifty little radio, I was distracted by another gift; a product from the RCA Victor Co. Inc.

 

   This is a Model 10K, given to me by my mom-in-law. It came from her great-grandparents ranch. She remembers listening to it when she was a youngster. I brought it home last Saturday and, with fingers crossed, I plugged it in. I had visions of listening to game four of the World Series the way it was meant to be heard. I imagined traveling back in time, hearing the crack of the bat and the cheers of the crowd while the announcer painted a word picture of the action, all coming out of this wonderful piece of furniture. Alas, it wasn't meant to be, despite having rigged up a makeshift antenna, the only sound was the quiet hum of vacuum tubes warming up. Sadly, I had to watch the Giants win, on a TV. I'm happy the Giants won, I just wanted to hear it, with my eyes glued to a glowing dial instead of a glowing flat-screen. Still, it's a beautiful addition to the living room and a duck decoy has managed to make it a home.

   These two recent acquisitions got me thinking about the ultimate score, the stereo console. This piece of equipment is my Holy Grail. I don't even know what brand I want. I do know that I don't want something cheaply made, that's for sure. There are enough great brands that I wouldn't need to jump on the first one. Now, my wife will say that there is no room in the house, but I think I could make room for the right one. I need to start saving my pennies, because I hear the siren song of vintage audio equipment calling my name and the sickness won't go away. I think I could give any of these a good home.

Sausage Exam Party!

Brought to you by freshly brewed coffee and Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon.

   Years ago, I used to choose three random words out of a dictionary and create a short story using those three words in the title. Today I decided to try an online random word generator, the first three words were (in order) sausage, exam and party. Wow, the possibilities were endless.
   Aside from the obvious sexual innuendo,what the heck is a sausage exam party? Is it something that a group of USDA inspectors do on a Saturday night? Each one brings a sample of sausage from a meat processing plant they inspected that week and then they try to figure out which ones passed inspection and which ones failed. At the end of the night the winner gets driven by the loser to the Emergency Room. Everyone else can get there any way they choose I suppose, I haven't figured out all the rules yet.
   Maybe it's where Assistant Charcutiers bring their best sausages to some sort of judging event. They have a chance to become Master Charcutier if their sausage is deemed good enough. Of course, they would have to pass the regional competitions before making it to state and then, finally, on to nationals.  Only the best will move on, but everyone would have a good time because, hey, it's a party.
   It's quite possible that it's a strange political party. I'm not sure what their platform is and I'm not sure if I even want to. Seriously, I really think I don't want to know.
   Whatever a sausage exam party is I'm sure it's amazing! Except for the last one, I'm starting to weird myself out just thinking about it.

Pig In A Blanket (part II)

   Pork Fillingsworth is a moderately successful investment banker.  Normally during the afternoon he would be at work, sitting behind his desk making money for his clients and, in doing so, himself. Today, however, he had spent the afternoon on an exam table at the local VetStop. His neighbor, Mrs. Furter, fearful that he might have come down with Hog Cholera, had insisted he come in and get checked out. She had been nice enough to give him a ride in her car and sat in the waiting room, worrying the entire time about the diagnosis. Pork hadn't been surprised when the doctor came in and told him it was just the swine flu and that there was nothing to worry about, he just needed to keep hydrated and get plenty of rest. On the way home Mrs. Furter stopped at a pharmacy to buy both Day- and Ny- Quil, along with chamomile tea and saltines. Waiting in the parking lot, nestled in the comfort of the 1965 Chrysler New Yorker Town Sedan, all he just wanted was to get home, crawl back into bed with his cat, Applesauce, and burrow as deep as he could into his blanket.

Twelve Years

   Today a good friend, Terry, posted a picture in memory of another good friend, Chris Whited, who passed away five years ago. The last time I saw Chris was Christmas day, 2002 at Disneyland. I was in line for Mr. Toad's Wild Ride, with my friends Mike and Kate, when I saw him. He was about a dozen people in front of us and I yelled out, "Whitey!" It came out involuntarily and you wouldn't believe the looks I got from everyone in line, one apparently just doesn't yell "Whitey!" in a crowd. I think people thought someone was trying to start a race riot. Chris looked around, bewildered, saw me and smiled. We hadn't seen each other in a few years, he introduced me to his fiancée and we caught up as the line snaked back and forth. We said goodbye when he entered the building for the ride.
   I met Chris in the summer of 1986. I was a few days into my short career as a fry-cook at McDonald's in Atascadero when one of the managers asked me if I knew Chris because he was into punk-rock, too. I said I didn't, I went to high school in Morro Bay (just one of the fun things about living in the middle of nowhere, school was 10 miles to the east and work was 10 miles to the west). The manager said I should meet him, he was a cool guy. It would be a few more weeks before we met, he worked days and I worked nights, but we eventually crossed paths. For the next five years, if we weren't at work (unless we were working together) or school, we were hanging out. He was a record collector and I remember we spent many Saturdays sitting in his room listening to all the new stuff he got. To this day there are certain bands that, whenever I hear them, bring me back to that room. When I went to the (Black) Flag reunion show last year all I could think was how much Whitey would've loved it.
   We played Uno with his parents. We spent a year where we would go the movies almost every Friday. I saw Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure with him. We also saw Mystic Pizza, we thought it was going to be about a space pizza delivery place, we learned to read reviews before seeing a movie. He introduced me to some great people, Terry being one. We drove up to the Bay Area countless times where I met his buddy Ace and went to 924 Gilman Street. I got to see a ton of great bands there, including Green Day (still my favorite pop-punk of all time). We were housemates for a year, I don't remember much, that was the year we turned 21. When he moved out, my girlfriend and I got a place of our own and he moved to San Luis Obispo, one town away, into a (I swear to God) haunted house with a group of our friends. We still saw each other at the community college and I partied at his new place, but we slowly drifted apart, life got in the way.
   When I moved to San Francisco Chris would come visit either me or our buddy Scott, who also was living in The City. One time he picked me up from work and, in the ten minutes between parking, getting me and us walking back to his car it had gotten broken into. Someone smashed a window and stole his backpack. We went to my apartment to hang out, but he was so depressed by the break-in that he had to leave before we had a chance to really hang out. I would see him one last time before I moved out of SF and back home to San Luis Obispo. Scott called me up one day and said Whitey was coming over, we should all hang out. The three of us drank beers on the roof of Scott's apartment. It still is one of my favorite memories of the six years I lived in The City.
   It would be five years until I saw him again, December 25, 2002, at the Happiest Place On Earth.

RIP Chris Whited

There Is No Cuteness, Only Death - A Short Rant

   When I was a kid, in the 19mumblie's, nature programs were, for a lack of a better word, nice. Sure, shows like Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom and Disney's True-Life Adventures portrayed a sugarcoated view of nature, but, sometimes, that's what I want to watch. Life isn't always pretty, it can be quite messy and sad, however, when I'm watching a documentary on the life of sea turtles you can just tell me that not all the baby turtles aren't going to get off the beach or even make it through the breakers, you don't need to show me crabs lopping off tiny flippers and dive-bombing birds going in for an easy meal. Seriously, it was like watching the beginning of Saving Private Ryan.

   There was a time when a bear cub could safely scramble up a tree and the mama bear would scare away any and all dangers. There might've been a brief moment of suspense, but you knew everything was going to turn out okay and they soon would be back to eating honey and juicy, ripe berries. Today, the baby bear only has a one-in-ten chance of making it to the tree and, once there, still runs the danger of getting one of its arms lopped off by a tree-crab (they're real, trust me, there's no need to do any fact-checking, please). Even on the off chance the cub ends up safe in the tree, the mama bear faces the danger on the ground and may very well leave that poor little baby bear cub a lonely orphan. Left alone in a tree, little bear arms getting too tired to hold on anymore, it cries for its mother as it slowly slides down the tree trunk to a certain death from the danger feasting on the mama bear's corpse. Such is the gruesome circle of life.

   Animals do survive, look around, they are everywhere. Please, bring back nature documentaries where the biggest danger is when the mama animal loses sight of the baby animal for two seconds, only to find it frolicking in a meadow filled with wildflowers. I realize that children need to learn about the horrors of real life, but c'mon, they also need to be able to believe that there can be happy endings. Life is hard enough already.

I'm on a bit of a writing hiatus. Don't worry though, I'll be making a real post soon!

The Last Day of July

   I don't have my office set up yet, so I've been writing out on our side porch.  At only sixteen square feet it's not as spacious as our front porch, but it is somewhat hidden from my neighbors and is big enough to fit a beach chair.  I have to use the railing as side table for my drink because the cup-holder in the arm of the chair is holding my iPod and phone.  I like this setup for writing though, I have fresh air, a drink and music. The air is seventy-four degrees, the drink is RC cola & Jim Beam on the rocks and the music is Genre > Rock > Shuffle.  The combination of the three is making me lazy. Take a sip, close my eyes and enjoy a little Cracker. I wonder, what will come on next, as I close my eyes and drift off, remembering when I used to listen to this album in the office of the Clay Theater while doing paperwork, probably payroll.  Oh, the Beatles? Good choice iPod.  Is the real Paul dead?  No matter, this one did some good work and went on to write a great song for a 007 movie.  Thin Lizzy, nice.  When I was a kid I thought they were some crazy hard rock band, like KISS.  I associated them with the axe murderer Lizzy Borden.  Turns out they were just a hard rockin' Irish blues band, apparently (if the internet is to be a trusted research source) named after a comic book robot, how cool is that?  The iPod thinks so, it's playing a two-fer.  Hmm... more Beatles, "Paperback Writer", well played iPod.  Okay, try to get back to writing.  Nope, the sun is sneaking around to this side of the house and is now hitting my back, making me warm and sleepy.  No work on the book today, but at least I managed to get some writing done today and that's better than nothing.

4:20, dude!

   Today's post is brought to you by a Coffee and Baileys.  No ice today, I had freshly brewed coffee.  It's not morning drinking if coffee is involved, right?  I'm pretty sure that if I was drinking that Bourbon and Ginger Ale I've been thinking about it might be a problem.

   Random thought of the day, I like Adele.  She has a great voice and the album '21' sounds like it could be from any of the last five decades.  Great album.

   Yesterday my wife and I went to a local deli to get sandwiches for dinner.  We had a 'Buy one, get one 1/2 off" coupon and thought, "Why the hell not?"  It has been a few years since the last time we had been there, mostly because it's a bit on the pricey side, not outrageous or anything, just more than I like to pay for a sandwich.  However, using the coupon would make it a decent deal. 

  We walked in, a few minutes past 4:00, and the place was packed.  College kids occupied all the tables and most of the standing room.  One gentleman, he looked to be in his sixties, stood near the cash register chatting with a woman, whom, I believe, is the owner.  The five people working the food line were cranking out the sandwiches, one every thirty seconds or so.  The gal wrapping them was an expert, she took five seconds to double wrap, tape on the order sheet and put them in an ever growing pile of sandwiches.  My wife and I look at each other, she says, "They must have a big phone order or something." Looking at the pile, I agree with her.  We each grab an order sheet and fill it out, put our names on them and place it in the 'Orders Here' basket and find an out of the way spot near the door.

   Both my wife and I have worked in the restaurant business, the wait was no big deal, seeing as how the crew was really pumping out a those sandwiches.  After we had been waiting ten minutes or so, some guy and his lady friend come in.  She stays near the door while he goes up to the counter where the order sheets are and says something to the workers, one of the crew answers whatever question his was.  He comes back to his lady friend, quietly says something to her and they walk out.  As they were leaving I heard him saying, "...they're gonna lose fifty percent of their business because..."  That's all I heard as the door closed behind them.  Time goes by and the crew keeps pumping out food and putting it in the pile.

   Just after 4:15 the lady at the register announced that there were only a couple of minutes to go.  This was met with woo hoo's and clapping.  My wife and I looked at each other questioningly and shrugged our shoulders.  

   At 4:20 she said, "Let's do this!" and started to call out the names on the order sheets taped to the finished sandwiches.  People started lining up to get their food and pay.  A couple of minutes more and she called out our name, so we joined the quick moving line.  When we got to the register I hand the woman my coupon.  She gives it a glance and says nicely, "Sorry, I can't give you any better deal than what I have going on right now."

   "Oh, okay," I reply. "How much are they?"

   "Four twenty plus tax and an extra fifty cents for stuff like the sprouts. Keep the coupon for a lunch some other time."

   She goes on to tell us that they use fresh bread and veggies every day and from 4:20 until they close at 5:30 she does this so she can use everything up so she doesn't have to throw anything out.  What a genius way to get the stoned college kids to spend their money at your place.

   Oh yeah, the sandwiches were as tasty as I remembered, we'll be back, 4:20 or not.

Nom Nom Nom

Something to help celebrate our 8th anniversary, a Pink Champagne cake.

Pig In a Blanket

   Yesterday's procrastination brought to you by warm, muggy weather and a couple Whiskey and Sours.  Today's post made possible by an iced Baileys & Coffee and Motörhead

   Pork Fillingsworth is a moderately successful investment banker.  Normally, at this time in the morning, he would be at work, sitting behind his desk making money for his clients and, in doing so, himself.  This morning, however, he was still in bed with a fever.  The curtains were drawn, cutting off the sights and sounds of the outside world.  The TV was on, tuned to the morning news with the sound muted.  On the nightstand next to his bed were the remains of his breakfast: a half full glass of orange juice (with the pulp strained), a piece of toast (minus one tiny bite) and an untouched egg (over-easy).  He knew he should get up, get dressed and go to see his doctor, but he also knew going outside into the bright sun would make his headache come back, negating the DayQuil he had taken earlier.  After debating with himself for the better part of an hour he decided to just stay in bed.  Anyway, he knew what the doctor would tell him; he had the flu, he should get plenty of rest and stay hydrated.  He turned off the TV, rolled over and burrowed as deep as he could into his blanket.

Gotta have a first post. This is that post.

   Welcome to the first post on a brand new, sub-par blog!  Just what the world needs, another "look-at-me!" page on the internet.  Even worse, it's a place where I'll be writing about whatever pops into my mind, e.g., is the shuffle on my iPod really random?  It seems to be on a Man or Astro-Man kick at the moment, having played three songs in the last twenty minutes

   Even worser (worstest? more worseier?), I'll be using this blog as a way to procrastinate.  What am I trying to avoid doing, you ask? Well, I've been writing a book for close to ten years and I'm maybe 1/3 done.  Granted, there has been periods of years where I haven't written a single word and then there has been weekends where I've done nothing else but produce pages and pages of usable material.  At this rate I'll be done by 2032, if I don't procrastinate.

   One last note, I find that a drink (or two or...) both helps and hinders the creative process.  I'll let you know what beverage is taking a part of the process, today it's a Whiskey Sour.