Protected: Meeting Extremo at Fremont Solstice
June 23, 2008
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Protected: The Criss Cross Circus
June 6, 2008
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RNB at Lacey Spring Fun Fair (06 blip tv vid)
May 30, 2008
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Posted by Jusby the Clown
Bye-bye, Black Blazer
October 20, 2007We gave back the Black Blazer we’d borrowed from Uncle Luke.
Now I just have to attract a vehicle of my own, preferably a hybrid or biodiesel.
Although it had a number of quirks that might speak to Luke’s WAY, its biggest liability was its lack of PROOF OF INSURANCE.
Trish got to see my favorite color today in the rear view mirror: RUE (alternating red and blue). The nice officer stopped her for a burnt out headlight and gave her a warning that was worth $500!
Instead of staying stressed about it I suggested that we return the truck and manage like we had so many times before. It’s going to stretch our comfort zones and creativity, but that’s a good thing.
Here’s a quick story about some of the Black Blazer’s quirks though.
It had been in an accident, so Luke had not yet looked under the hood when I first saw it. It required someone to lean on the hood while someone else pulled the switch inside.
The driver’s door had some issues too. It took a very forceful pull to get it shut properly. The interior handle didn’t quite catch right, and on several occasions I was stuck inside. Once I climbed out over the car seat in the passenger’s side. Another time I kicked it and scuffed the van parked next to us. The automatic window wouldn’t work. I didn’t eat any drive-through food while driving the Blazer.
Either the recline control had been poorly designed or it was missing a part, but there was an open metal slot that was just the right size and position to catch the chain of my wallet on multiple occasions.
These quirks indicated a WAY with glitchy inappropriate boundaries: trapped in your own body armor.
One morning I got the message from an animal spirit as well. I was on Z street almost to Capital Blvd when I felt something on my left elbow. I brushed it away and my right hand caught in a spiderweb. I brushed and brushed again.
Then I saw her. A spider was on my lap crawling between my legs.
I slammed on the brakes and jumped out of the truck without unbuckling my seatbelt. Well, my legs turned sideways and my arms went out the door. My middle was trapped. I freed myself and hopped around the road batting at my pants and shirt, then just as quickly resumed my position as a car came up behind me.
Phew! That was close. First I was almost poisoned. Then I was almost laughed at.
I’d been visited by the totem of the writer, the keeper of alphabets and languages, the weaver of fates. My first instinct, of course, was to get her off me and crush her dead. We’ve had too many hobo spiders in and around our house for me to risk the dreaded flesh eating necrosis.
In retrospect, and with the help of wikipedia, I realize that this spider had an Orb web not a Funnel web. Oops, my bad!
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Posted by Jusby the Clown
The Kia Key, uh
October 19, 2007I don’t like admitting that I have unfinished projects or loose ends. I tied one up today.
It’s been bugging me that I finally blogged about the RM landscaping debacle that ended with a big loose end. I guess I HAD intended on keeping that Kia Key hostage until I got my MONEY!
This morning I took it off the rack and drove it over to RM’s place. I really had to stretch outside of my comfort zone. It was to be a difficult and awkward conversation, but it was to salvage something of the relationship and move on without the baggage (and most probably without any more money).
Originally she had explained her financial situation thus:
“I’m trying to sell this place while I build my new log cabin. I’m a contract software tester, and I’m between contracts, so I don’t really have the money to pay you until I get another job or sell this place… but I could come up with some money if that makes a difference…”
It did make a difference. The difference between some money now and no money never.
I had heard a similar story from SC about some property of hers in Yelm that was for sale and would help pay my salary. Please, children, don’t work for the promise of money contingent on the real estate market!
I arrived in the middle of Democracy Now.
Her Saturn was there. Her dog was there barking from inside. Her doorbell worked, but she did not answer.
The power washer, gas can and ladder were all right where I left them in August.
I turned the borrowed Black Blazer around and left. I stopped at the mailbox and put the Kia Key inside.
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Posted by Jusby the Clown
Boundaries and Left-overs
October 17, 2007RM and Oma had similar issues around their property.
- They were both overwhelmed and seemed to welcome my suggestions, but they both kept vetoing them.
- They both planned on selling.
- They both had divorce left-overs to purge.
- They both would’ve preferred that I bill BY THE HOUR
It was all about boundaries. It was all about better defining them, cleaning them up, making them enticing.
On my first day I started with something obvious: lopping the blackberries growing up through her deck!
She also wanted the white plastic lattice taken off the deck, the deck to be power washed, and the railing to be repainted. Along with power washing and repainting all the trim of the (double-wide) ‘house’.
I ripped off the lattice, but the power washer she had was missing a piece. Several days later she brought a bigger one. We couldn’t get it to go until my last day. By then I’d logged almost 32 hours in six days, so I billed for FOUR DAYS.
As she handed me a check for $400 she said, “I thought about offering you the Kia in trade.” I laughed loud enough for her to get the idea that I would not be giving the check back in exchange for the car.
Months later she called again and we made an agreement that I borrow it again, and that it would probably take up to five days more work.
I spent much of it power washing.
Twice I experienced humorous demonstrations of over pressurization related to the device. Once I let the gas can sit too long in the sun. When I went to refill the washer the cap went flying with a POP. It was a little yellow cap lost in an area with little yellow flowers. I spent about 10 minutes retrieving it.
Another time I turned the spigot of the hose too far and it shot into the air. The 10 minutes I spent retrieving that seemed a lot longer, and a lot wetter.
I had to do some quick mental math to figure out the likely distance it had traveled.
It was a case of the handle being quicker than the eye. My eye followed the spray of water into the air and assumed the handle had gone 10 feet. I found it in the tall grasses about a foot from the nozzle.
Razr Phone Shots
It sure would have been nice if we had figured out how to get all that area mowed and trimmed. RM did hire a neighbor’s grandson to go over most of the yard with a riding lawn mower (for $8/hr), but we never did get the edging done on this particular section.
At the end of that second week I had logged 35 hours in 7 days and had to leave town [on the bus with Orion] before I could get paid or return the key to the Purple Truck. Negotiations broke down, and Trish accepted a lesser amount (than 4+ days worth) on my behalf but did not return the key. I still have it.
A key with no car is as good as none at all.
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Red Van, Purple Truck
October 16, 2007Flashback to Spring of ’06 – TCTV- I was on freelance assignment for a gig at the St. Martin’s Worthington Center when we discovered we needed a completely different power pack for a camera, so they sent me back to the station, but the best the station could offer was a battery.
In the midst of the hub bub I saw an old colleauge, SC. She said that she needed a PA.
I was momentarily confused by the term. She did not mean Public Address system but Production Assistant.
I had worked with her before, and I knew she had her own video production company. We started an e-mail and phone conversation about the details. I found out that her greatest challenge was lack of good business sense.
For instance, she asked me what I charged.
Since I am not a professional PA I had to think it over, and I used a formula that doubled my resentment rate ( the amt below which I’d resent working) and gave me a healthy dose of self-esteem AND THAT equaled my pleasure-t0-do-business-with-you rate or $20 an hour.
I quickly learned that SC was in over her head. She had about fifty websites for various projects none of which generated any income for her. She had two bosses that needed web content; her son and daughter-in-law made jewelry; her long-time family friend was building a podcasting empire.
I helped get the jewelry pictures and text and buttons and shopping cart going and then we discovered the bad news
- Yahoo Merchant Services is incompatible with the Bank of America!
I also helped her get buttons and text and MP3 podcasts up, but that boss kept painting her castles in the air. It sounded like this, “Big things are just around the corner… We’re getting ready for our launch… We’re going to rent a space and get you all new computers, etc.”
At first SC offered her husband as my chauffeur. He could pick me & Orion up, take Orion to daycare, bring me to their home office and reverse it five hours later. Sometimes I could drop Trish and Orion off and have the car. Sometimes Trish would be the chauffeur.
Then Trish started commuting to the Sol Duc hot springs for long weekends. I asked aobut the Red Voyager parked out front. It was redundant, a hand-me-down from a previous PA, and it was available for my use. I got the keys and took it. I’ve already blogged about it a little.
It didn’t have a working odometer or gas gauge, so I found myself walking on more than one occasion.
I’ve already mentioned the idea that Your Car is Your Way. Even though SC wasn’t using that Voyager -her mindset was a little ‘Broken-Gas-Gaugey’. I found that out when one of my paychecks bounced. Eventually we both realized that she couldn’t afford me, and we parted ways. She let me have the Red Van on indefinite loan.
I kept the Voyager until right after the big windstorm when it died. It died because I killed it by not adding any oil probably because I knew that it was not my way.
I had enjoyed my ability to haul my clown bike [Oh, yeah, a clown is supposed to be writing this blog], and to commute twice a day down Yelm Hwy to my horrific job.
To haul the bike I’d removed the rear row of seats. We had that row of seats in our carport for almost a year – until a few weeks ago when it left in the back of our currently borrowed jalopy truck!
Let’s not skip the actual death scene, though.
I was out of work again. Luke was visiting because his power had been out for a week. I got the message that I really ought to go down to LABOR READY again. I didn’t leave as early as would be prudent to expect work. It was probably 7:30 AM. I fully intended to resume blog-composition-mode in the lobby.
Right at the exit to Labor Ready the Red Van gave up the ghost with enough inertia for me to get off the FWY and coast through a roundabout and into a the parking lot of Goodwill.
Luke came to rescue me. His assessment was “Serious issues: cracked head gasket or seized pistons.” I called SC and told them. They said, to the effect of, “Oh, well.”
We waited at Labor Ready for a while and went home and dinked with the new computer Oma had brought the day before.
Along came Spring break and an offer of freelance landscaping for RM, a friend of a friend. I met the original friend, JG, working at the Capital Mall Food Court. She was a custodian. Her friend, RM, is some kind of software tester. She wanted her place cleaned up to sell. She’s building another house. “She pays good,” said JG.
Okay. On Easter we checked it out. A Double-wide mobile home on an acre. Going wild. I gave her a rate of $100 per DAY. This turned out to be a problem later on. This was the same rate I had charged OMA though. It’s a rate that’s supposed to reflect the scale of the project and the speed of the worker. I may get there very early. I may take a long lunch. I may stay late or leave early. I have to work smart, vary my activities, and compensate for weather and family duties.
If you give someone power tools and leave them in your yard, you’d better trust them. RM decided to trust me with more than power tools. In order to spare Trish the job of chauffeuring me we agreed that I could borrow her spare car, a Kia (“the Purple Truck” ~ Orion). She primarily used it to haul hay for her sheep and llamas. It smelled like a barn in there. On of my first discoveries was a dead mouse.
We had to jump start it, but I drove it away and made my second discovery: the speedometer didn’t work. Well, go with the flow of traffic, I thought. Then I got pulled over.
She had assured me it was insured, but there was no paperwork. Also the tabs had expired. I got off with a warning, and she met me at Ralph’s the next morning to get current tabs. She also had to spring for new plates, but she reassured me that she’d talk to her insurance company. I never did get any paperwork from her that week or the week I worked for her that sandwiched the reunion.
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Posted by Jusby the Clown
The surprise trip
September 26, 2007Sunday, after the reunion, Bracco comes over to survey the damage. It’ll be $20/hr no matter what he does. [compare to my flat rate of $100/ day (up to 10 hours w/ paid lunch break)] The bulk of his visit will be devoted to removing the bulk of the debris I’ve accumulated. After multiple mowings and rakings I’ve shortened the straw grass from 5′ to 5″. I piled the grass and weeds all over the yard. It’ll fill his truck easily.
We request a better transition from the last step off the deck to the yard [It gets floody and muddy]. He advises a 1/2 yard of 3/4″ minus gravel. I later learn that the ‘minus’ means ‘and smaller and smaller down to dust’. It packs better.
A few weeks later I ride the Greyhound with Orion back to Oma’s.
We decided that morning that he could ride along with me to Portland.
The bus is late. The bus is crowded. I get us two seats opposite each other. The guy in the window sleep wakes up and tells me there’s other seats behind him. I say, “Yeah, but I gotta have this guy with me!” That shuts him up. Orion doesn’t want to sit across the way. He wants to be in my lap.
By Exit 104 shortly after departure we’re falling both asleep.
Bracco liked the idea of meeting on 8/8 at 8am, but I think we didn’t get started until 10. After hauling the debris and laying gravel we got Oma’s old wood stove up on his truck. He said he was also a scrap metal recycler, so we didn’t have to leave it on the curb and wait for some other dudes mom had lined up.
We planned to have an adventure alone after Trish joined us. The trip turned out to be Tony’s way of Re-Using instead of Re-cycling the stove. We drove it out to Horning’s Hideout, his home away from home.
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Posted by Jusby the Clown
extra years, extra beers pt.2
September 25, 2007So what? And why do I keep picking on Ron? I’ve noticed some parallels in the lives of two other men: Tom and George. All three:
- Are over 40
- Are the youngest of 3 or 4 (I’ve never seen Tom’s siblings)
- Still live in their parents’ last home (Ron has the only living parent)
- Deliver newspapers (Oregonian, Olympian, Detroit Free Press)
- Haven’t read this blog! Do not read for pleasure. Do not generally read the papers they deliver. (Ron reads the obituaries)
- Quit college or never started.
Ask yourself, “Who has a paper route?” Answer yourself, “A Kid.” These guys are not growing up in the same way as their siblings. This has its advantages, of course. It’s called neotony: the continuation of juvenile characteristics into adulthood. It’s been said that culture itself is a neotonizing force. It keeps you from having to think.
In the spirit of generalizing, these three are “draw-string-collar workers” which is a neologism, or invented phrase of my own, thank you very much.
Draw-string-collar ‘jobs’ include all those marginalized positions taken by perpetual adolescents. They work indoor-outdoor, swing-shift/ graveyard-shift/ perpetual shift. They work outside the box. They work for cash. They wear hoodies. They panhandle. They sell drugs. They are DJs. They are newspaper boys.
Compare to the other collars (dates courtesy Word Spy):
- White-collar worker (1921)– business types
- Blue-collar worker (1950)- manual laborers and factory wokers
- Pink-collar worker (1975)- clerical workers, waitresses, nannies, cosmetologists
- Plaid-collar worker -Rural workers (see Wikipedia’s plaid collar crime)
- Gold-collar worker (1985) – professionals; over 55 (see Word Spy) OR “knowledge worker”/ “Professional ecclectic” (see World Wide Words) OR (Wikipedia)[as a marketing term] full/ part time service industry workers (i.e. McDonalds, Starbucks) with high disposable income
- Scarlet-collar worker (2000)– female pohr.noh.graf.ik shop operators
- Dirty-white collar worker (1980) – corrupt businessperson
- Open-collar worker (1988) – people who work at home
- Green-collar worker – workers providing environmentaly friendly products or services
- Grey-collar worker (1981) – (Wordspy) skilled technicians OR (Wikipedia) health care, aged care, child care and the personal service sector, or protective services and security, or beyond the age of retirement
- Black-collar worker (1998)- miners and oil workers (see Word Spy) OR Media Males, creative or entrepreneurial types that wear only black (See The Spoon Blog)/
- Dog-collar worker [UK](1991) – they wear the Roman Catholic Priest’s collar
- Frayed-collar worker (1995) – working poor
- Steel-collar workers (1980) – Robots
- Polka-dot-collar workers (2005) – Clowns and Comedy Consultants
- Draw-string-collar workers (2007) – Labor Ready/ Manpower light industrial temps/ substitute recess paras/ newspaper boys, hip-hop artists, DJs, hoods
The closest match is an open-frayed-gold-collar. Ron had basically colonized one of his offices at one point, so work was home. He lived in the loft when he first showed me his guns. Now they’re in the garage of his mom’s house. Plus he can’t seem to save but for working ALL THE TIME!
I’ve totally had that collar. Now here’s another thread. If you jump from the mundane color to collar palette matching to the broader context of the social stratifications of class (as Wikipedia does) you might notice that above most of us are further gradiations. For example, the varying degrees of RICH: nouveau riche, gentry, old money, nobility, upper class, ruling class, political donor class, power elite. There’s nothing stopping us from putting a coded collar on them too, however. If we have a gold-collar already why not:
- Platinum-collar worker
- Titanium-collar worker
- Diamond-collar worker
- Bling-collar worker
- Uranium-collar worker
- Rhinestone-collar worker
- Whatever-else-you-wanna-put-in-there-collar
I suppose this leads into a question for my Comedy Consulting intake form: what collar-worker are you? What collar-worker would you like to be?
And what about those extra years? What about those extra beers? Well, landed-gentry readers, it goes like this: I led you on a 90 year goosechase when we could’ve found the goose in 20. You see, I was at the bar…
You remember the bar? and the smoking section? and I was whiling away my time because the docs had told Trish that our boy might be having an APPENDICITIS! and I was going to miss the midnight release of Harry Potter 7!
So I needed a ride home, and who should offer but Tony Bracco! I’d been trying to call him all week to work on Oma’s yard for the party, but he hadn’t returned from Oregon Country Fair. I finally get to see him AT THE BAR! and his lovely wife too.
When we got to the car, she crawled in the back and lay across the two car seats and fell asleep!
Eventually (weeks after the party), I got Tony to come and work on Oma’s yard! While she watched the kids watch tv!
Then he and I took her old wood stove out of the house and hauled it to Horning’s Hideout! But wait, that’s too far in the future.
First we have the picnic. Ron does not show up. He does not answer his phone.
I get stuck grilling, but Galloway gets stuck bringing charcoal and lighter fluid and 80s music. We have a few photos taken, but our biggest group pic only features about half the gang who came. I get stuck with a case of unopened stubbies that last nearly as long as this narrative.
Dan, Kathy, Rob, Tony with Luna, Andy, Chris, Mike G, Justin [not pictured: Susan, Mike D, Jean, Jennifer, Julie, Scott, Deedee]
But wait, first we make a final stop in the Safeway near the park. Heading for the exit I notice a lone copy of HP7 standing on end at the Lotto & film counter!
I grab it and say, “Look! Look! Hey, is this for sale?” Of course it is. Last one in the store.
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Posted by Jusby the Clown
From Sherwood Forest to the 100 Acre Wood
August 3, 2007A tale of two broken Accords, four firsts, and dozens of lions reunited
Flashback to July 1st
Orion’s friends invited us up to Sherwood Forest, a “rustic retreat” on Willapa bay. They have an annual 4th of July week-long gathering. I needed to be back for the Red Nose Brigade’s participation in the Tumwater Independence Day parade, so we arrived on Sunday and left on Tuesday the 3rd.
Orion mainly wanted to spend time with his friend Isaiah. On the ride up he vocalized this sentiment with increasing frequency as we approached the site.
“I’anna camp ‘th’Isaiah!” he pleaded. “We’re almost there! Isaiah’s waiting for you!” we assured him.
However, when we arrived Isaiah had NOT yet arrived. He did have two other friends waiting for him, but we kept expecting Isaiah.
Orion rode a horse for the first time. He played darts.
He cooked a hot dog over a camp fire. He flew a kite with dad. Isaiah’s family had been delayed by work. They were expected to arrive with their wood-fired pizza oven trailer as soon as a deck project was done. They travel to festivals and shows and events to cook pizzas as “Dough Nations”. In their absence we ate massive quantities of Pad Thai and work resumed on a permanent outdoor brick pizza oven project that had begun years ago.
I ate oysters cooked over the campfire well after midnight. I cooked massive amounts of home fried potatoes the next morning in the communal kitchen. We looked for eagle feathers. Still no Isaiah.
We stayed through lunch on Tuesday: a delicious shrimp and pesto pasta prepared by Lisa of Enterprise for Equity. We were timing it so that Orion would nap during the trip, of course. We loaded the car and said our goodbyes.
Then we saw the pizza trailer pull in. Luckily, Isaiah was a few minutes behind in the car with his mom or we wouldn’t have been able to leave when we did. It was awkward, and Orion did put up a fuss, but he was soon fast asleep.
As we departed I noticed the battery light on, but we seemed to be running fine. We were two hours away from home.
In the middle of a conversation Trish interrupted me to note that, “The speedometer and odometer just stopped working.” We were an hour from home, and we seemed to still be running fine, but she called ahead to the mechanics at Done Rite who’d replaced the alternator a few months ago. She planned to drop us off and take it in to see them.
We started using a quote of Yoda’s as a positive affirmation: “Feel the Force around you.”
We’ve been listening to Star Wars Breakbeats by Supergenius recently. Orion does a pretty good Yoda impression.
Fifteen minutes away from home and the car started sputtering. Then the power went, and we pulled over to the side of the highway. We’d stopped on the exit ramp by Steve Suski’s place. I used to live in the trailer behind his house. I gave him a call and left a message. Then we decided that I should take Orion there even if Steve didn’t answer because we could get out of the sun in his backyard.
He was there, however, and he gave us a ride home while Trish rode with the tow truck to the shop. Since it was after 5 o’clock on the 3rd of July we wouldn’t get our car back until the 5th. Since they had installed the previous alternator it would be covered by the warranty! Since we also needed a new power steering belt our total cost for the breakdown would be under $30.
Two weeks later Mom would not be so lucky.
Let’s not skip so far ahead though. The previous blog [before the video] already skipped the Tumwater parade fiasco.
Last year the brigade were Grand Marshals for the parade. This year when I arrived by clown bike to check in at City Hall I was told, “You’re not on the list.” The official had been quite surprised. This was the first time that we had not registered for the parade (probably in the whole history of the alley since 1994).
I took it upon myself to ride upstream along the parade route until I was nearly back at the grandstand. I found Bubble~Trouble. We then spoke with a parade official in a cart. They confirmed that we were not registered and said we could ‘do our thing in front of city hall’ but all the slots were filled. “Next time you need to register even if you didn’t want to get judged.”
A woman and her two daughters stopped us and asked if we knew where the Tumble bus was. I recognized them, but they did not acknowledge me as Justin. Sadly, they were instrumental in having me fired from my previous job! But that’s another story.
Trouble and I went upstream along the parade route together a second time. We played Chicken with the motorcycle drill team.
We finally encountered Professor Buzzy and Stormy who had decided to walk alongside… the Tumble Bus. We decided to continue parading backwards since we had almost seen every entry and were ready to quit.
Phew!
The next we got the car back. The cruise control was working again! It had stopped after the previous alternator replacement.
Now I can drive with no hands AND no feet!
Next up, a trip to Oma’s for my 20th High School Reunion and the release of Harry Potter 7, the Deathly Hallows.
Leave a Comment » | :o), Friends, Red_Nose_Brigade, Restaurants, SON, Vehicles, WIFE | Tagged: Magic | Permalink
Posted by Jusby the Clown
Best of 2006
January 20, 2007Tante Tia came to visit us.
Trish & Orion flew on an airplane to visit friends and family in Memphis. DeeDee came to visit us. She and Trish took a car trip along the coast.
GRUB gave us 3 raised garden beds and we grew herbs and vegetables. In the back yard, Justin cleared ivy and blackberries to create a Secret Garden with a tunnel. Our fruit trees produced plums, pears, and apples. We made several gallons of applesauce and ate it at every meal.
Orion had his birthday party at our house. We removed our dingy grey living room carpet and had wood laminate floors installed. In the process we added two yellow accent walls.
Justin got his business license and began clowning professionally. He continued work on Red Nose Brigade projects and was elected Historian/ Pencil Pusher. Orion participated in his first parades and the by-laws now include accommodations for a Junior Joey category member.
Orion’s progressed from tricycle to scooter to bicycle with training wheels. He also took swimming lessons. Orion’s vocabulary has increased considerably and includes numerous Latin phrases such as “Lumos Maximus!” and “Wingardium Leviosa”. We have continued to use sign language as well.
Trish spent part of summer working at Sol Duc hot springs in the Olympic National Forest. She also coordinated the massage practitioners who volunteered at the cancer research fund raiser Relay for Life. Trish has had 7 – 10 clients in her private practice most every week. Her office got painted with lime-based, hand-made paint.
Orion had a Dedication ceremony at the Olympia Unitarian Universalist church and was welcomed into the congregation. We welcomed a new member to our family, “Peach Tortatilla”, a peach-faced lovebird.
Justin acted in two commercials and an MTV show. He helped produce 12 more episodes of Dance O’ Dance and eventually decided to officially return as producer for the 2007 that will mark ten years on the air.
Many of our digital pictures finally got printed and framed or put in albums. Justin worked on a number of websites and appeared as a guest on his first podcast. “Uncle Luke” cobbled together several computers for us from parts he gleaned from the Evergreen dumpsters. The last incarnation included two operating systems: Windows 98 & Ubuntu (a Linux kernel). The day after we set it up Oma Barbara arrived with an early Christmas present: a new computer system running Windows XP media center 05!
Mimi Terry gave us a new washing machine with a Super Large capacity basket. We especially appreciated it because Orion made the transition from diapers to Big Boy Underwear. Yes, our biggest and bestest success of 2006 was Toilet Training!
Leave a Comment » | :o), Animals, Birthdays, Communities, DIY, Family, Feng*Shui, Friends, Holidays, Olympia, Performances, Pets, Red_Nose_Brigade, SON, Tech, Vehicles, WIFE | Tagged: Poopy Diapers | Permalink
Posted by Jusby the Clown
A New Low, A New Rob
August 23, 2006A New Low
My neighbor, Rob, asks, “What are you doing Monday? Wanna go under a house and rake gravel?” Of course I do.
There’s not enough room to crawl on all fours. I’ve got my raincoat on with the hood drawn tight and I’m crawling on my belly. I’ve got a paper mask on, but the dust gets everywhere. We stir it up in giant brown clouds. I can tell the color from light coming around the edges. We’re here to get the place closer to code. The large crossbeams are made of giant raw trees. We need to have 18″ clearance under each beam.
I decide the easiest way to work is laying on my back. I’ve got more range than trying to hold myself up on my belly in snake pose. When I get tired. I lay my head down on the rocks.
It’s like the tunnel in Hogans Heroes or Shawshank Redemption. I dig towards freedom. I’m (sort of ) innocent. I’m a POW (Prisoner of Wages). I’m at Ground Zero. I’m a West Virginian Coal Miner.
Neighbor Rob keeps taking smoke breaks. He’s used to being a foreman and pointing for other guys to work. I’m used to sitting at a computer.
Cobwebs are everywhere between the joists where there’s no insulation. Sometimes the insulation dangles in our way. It’s all going to get replaced. Maybe by me. We pull it down indiscriminately and stuff it toward the door. I focus on the incremental successes instead of the potential spider attacks and carcinogens I’m breathing.
I get so filthy that I blow black boogers for hours afterwards. In fact I get a bloody nose that neighbor Rob attributes to the insulation. He got one too.
The 2nd day Rob brings a giant rock rake that increases efficiency tri-fold.
I work on the other side of the beam until we can see daylight through. I take off with enough time to clean up for an interview. I explain to them at the end of the interview that my eyes are bloodshot because I’ve been exposed to a lot of dust.
“You’ve heard of working under the table? This was working under the whole house!”
They laugh. I know both of the interviewers and I’m encouraged to pursue a specific opportunity with one of them in Rainier. I am riding a wave of optimism as I leave.
Two blocks later the van dies and I’m coasting. I’ve run out of gas. It’s understandable. The gas gauge doesn’t work. The odometer doesn’t work. I barely work, so I don’t put gas in as often as I ought.
I also don’t carry the empty gas can because of the smell. A van doesn’t have a trunk. I guess I’ll be figuring out a way to wrap up the can in a bag. Lucky for me I can coast to a parking lot, and I can even start it for short bursts until I am in a space.
Also it’s a weekday, during the middle of the day, and I’m within walking distance to TCTV dressed in my interview best. Also, I had already stopped in there before the interview and I know basically who’s working.
They do have an empty can they use for the truck and Bill gives me a ride to the gas station and then to the van. I’m on my way home.
The following day, however, I squeeze in four hours of work and pay for five hours of child care.
The contractor, also named Rob, has new and improved masks and eventually brings in a light for the delicate subterranean surgery. We jack the house up with us underneath it. We hear floorboards popping. They spend a lot of time cursing whoever built the place. The bathroom is held up by the edge of a 2″ x 4″.
Eventually I get paid in cash and make the mistake of turning it over to Trish instead of depositing it into the bank. It’s a gesture of appeasement, but it backfires when outstanding checks clear and automatic withdrawals are automatically withdrawn.
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Abundant What?
August 22, 2006Later I do research on the word abundance. After 25 definitions and a hundred synonyms I reach the etymology of the root abound: ab ‘off’ + bundare ‘wave, water’ = the overflow, the spilling and trickling off a larger mass, liquidity.
Out of our 30+ vision statements most have waffle-words and loop-holes that would give the universe justification to say, “What? You’re getting what you asked for. You exercise daily. You move. You spend time in nature. The backyard is nature! Abundance? Don’t get me started. Look at the abundant clutter, the abundant laundry, the abundant dog hair!”
This is part of how I spent the three days watching Orion while Trish worked at the hot springs.
However, it really came off as nit picky quibbling to Trish. She mulled it over for a while and stormed out of the bedroom after a nap and tore up the vision statement I’d taped to the door. Because she’d concluded the list was now invalidated.
The car has run well for a whole week. It had taken her on the 3-hour trip to Sol Duc, and it brought her safely home. Now it’s Sunday again.
We load up the family (including the dog) for a judicious and meager trip to the co-op. The car doesn’t start.
The relay is out. We’re dead in the driveway on a Sunday afternoon. Trish is not willing to risk riding in the van and tempers escalate until I make a horrible mistake.
I know it’s going to be expensive. To the tune of about $150. I didn’t realize that the relay NEEDED to be replaced or that it wasn’t included the last time. We all assumed it ‘Got Better’. My plan is to put the car in the street and take the van. Trish wants to know what my plan is if we get a $500 ticket for not having insurance. [We CAN’T insure a car that doesn’t belong to us.] I’m flabbergasted. I sputter and hem. Is this a trick question and why is she preoccupied with it? I suppose I’d cross that bridge if I came to it. My plan to get money to pay rent and buy food would then include this hypothetical ticket. I don’t actually say this, and she’s too angry to make a plan. She unloads everybody but asks again LOUDLY about the hypothetical ticket.
I lose my cool. The anger is contagious. She’s got her back ¾ turned from me. I clench my fist and cock it back like “To the moon, Alice” with a bug-eyed glare.
After about three seconds I drop my hand to my side. She has noticed with her peripheral vision and turns to have a stare-down.
Two gargoyles, with smoke pouring from their nostrils and ears, face off, each hoping the other will burst into flame or crumble to dust.
Eventually the male breaks away from the withering gaze of his mate. He leaves the home and starts to spend more time with his old college pal. But first things first.
I browse back in our workbook and find what we wrote was the importance of a shared relationship vision. “It’s a vehicle that helps us get to where we want to go.”
Flashback to my Oma telling me, “Your car is your way.”
We have discussed what it may have meant that Trish’s ‘Way’ would only get me ½ way and leave me stranded. I need my own way. We need to agree that our way is shared; our car is shared, and it works for both of us.
Rip up the paper, stop the vehicle. I share this insight with Trish, and she bursts out laughing.
In the morning, I start the car on the first try. I drop it off at the nearest mechanic so I can ride my bike home. Trish had another plan. The place she has in mind is closer to Orion’s day care and significantly less expensive, but most importantly they will be able to fix it that day. The other place has a long wait, so I bike over and retrieve the car.
“Sorry,” I tell them, “It’s my old lady. She gives me mixed messages.” Then we caravan across town. The relay has just arrived as we pull in.
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Posted by Jusby the Clown
Stranded Pt. 3
August 22, 2006Stranded Pt. 3
“Jusby?”
I get choked up as I ask, “What are you doing today? (SOB-LAFF) Want to take in a friend in need? (SOB)” BIG HUG
“Want a cup of coffee?”
“YES!” Mmmm. Ah, she’s got it already brewed.
She’s got heavy whipping cream and pure white sugar to go in freshly dripped Coffee. Then she asks, “Is somebody dead?” I can’t resist saying, “Just the guy I killed.” Then I get the shocked look I was after. “No, just kidding. Only my car died. Downtown. At 2:30. I had it towed to Top Foods and walked here.”
So we all go it down in the office. Ray has a new computer with a three-foot letterbox flat screen. Quata has her computer going. We’re having coffee. They’re having cigarettes. I call Trish.
She hadn’t heard my message but woke up at 2:30 feeling that something was wrong. She looked for me or the car but found neither.
We all start to work on the problem. Two side-by-side computers hooked to the internet via cable modem. Trish contacts Val who uses CarTalk.com to get a list of mechanics in Shoreline. Her search yields faster results than Qs. In spite of their hokey name I decide to have it towed to Honest Auto. They gave the best help over the phone.
Our insurance treats my second call as a brand new incident and they dispatch a truck for the less than 5-mile trip down Aurora. I probably could’ve gone home in eleven-mile increments.
While we wait I get a consultation about doing magic. Q says words to the effect that, “It’s all coming true. You just have to find how it is.”
She tells me the story of her friend.
THE FRIEND WHO DID A MAGIC SPELL
Q’s friend did a magic spell and asked for three things. She had a crush on a man named Phil, but she didn’t know his last name.
She asked for: “That Phil guy, a husband, and a man to help me climb the corporate ladder.” Nothing seemed to happen for a while.
Within 90 days she meets a silver-haired gentleman named Phil Guy. He’s married. They have an affair and he recommends her for a job in his company. However, she’s not qualified for it, and within another 90 days she’s lost the job and Phil Guy.
So I need to clear up what I really want and make sure it’s the same as what Trish wants and give thanks for what I’ve received.
Thank You, Universe, for the “Humorous explorations in academic, technological and cultural literacy while creating your new public media”. I get into messes and blog about them. How about Humorously LUCRATIVE explorations!
We determine that I need a career that includes applause for my creative efforts. I need more than a salary. I need more than Good Job.” I need, “WOW! How do you come up with these amazing things?” So I create your new public media to THUNDEROUS APPLAUSE.
“Act in a commercial” was on my list. Now I realize I want more… a close up, a speaking role, flexibility to improvise and impress the director, producer, and crew.
Then the tow-truck arrives. I shake his hand and introduce myself. His name is Mohammed. I think of moving the mountain. He gets me almost exactly into a parking space with the truck and then pushes it uphill with his bare hands to fit neatly in. “As salam alaikum,” I say as he leaves. “As salam alaikum”. Peace be upon you.
Then we run errands that include getting art supplies, searching for an air conditioner in vain (they’re sold out across the county), and getting supplies for instant smoothies. I’ve had it. Back at Q’s I crash out for a few hours to wait for the mechanics report. At first they think it’s a burnt relay. They give an estimate of $150. It may be ready before 5 PM. A few hours later they tell us that we actually need a distributor cap, and it won’t be ready until 10 AM tomorrow morning.
During the 5 o’clock news I stay rapt to the screen until I catch my big Taco Time debut. Q sits for a while but then goes out back with the theory that, “As soon as I leave it will come on.” True enough. I yell when it comes on, but it’s a bigger deal to me than it is to her. I see myself about three or four times, but I’m pretty blurry. I did score a good spot, right behind the action.
The rest is dénouement. We have great food, conversation and stories, but we’re whipped. Ray has to get up at 4 AM. I’ve only had a few hours of sleep in the past 48.
On the drive South I feel peace and contentment and optimism. It’s a swell feeling. In spite of the hardships I’m coming home. In a week I’ll be starting a trial separation and praying it’s not the separation before the trial.
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Posted by Jusby the Clown
Stranded Pt. 2
August 19, 2006Stranded Pt. 2
PHONE CALLS
The nearest phone booth is across the street next to a huge air conditioner turbine.
Five minutes for a dollar. Recall that I have a handful of change from my son’s piggy bank. Lots of pennies. About three dollars in silver coins.
My first dollar goes to a wrong number: “I’m so-and-so, and I’m out of the office until” AHHH!
I VERY carefully dial again BEFORE putting the money in. It picks up after three rings. I have to wait through the message that I made sure filled up the entire available minute.
“If you dialed the right number, you’ve reached the Wright residence. You can leave a message for Trish, Justin or Orion. You can also try Trish’s cell phone at 507-0524. If this is about any funny business you probably want to leave a message for Jusby the clown. If you ever call here and get a busy signal you might want to try e-mailing or instant messaging jusbytheclown at yahoo.com cuz hes on the internet A LOT! (Then through toy bull-horn) Theres nothing more to see here. Move along! (AIR HORN) (Electronic BEEP )”.
Followed by, “Trish, pick up the phone please! (SOB) I really f-d up. I’m stranded in Seattle, and the car won’t work. It’s not flooded. (SOB-LAFF) It won’t work! I’m running out of money. I’m really sorry I didn’t leave you the keys to the van! USAA says they can’t even find anyone to tow it, and they’ll only go eleven miles. (LAFF-SOB) The only place I can think of to go is either Amanda’s or Ray & Quata’s but I’m not sure of the address (LAFF) and I don’t have their phone number. Please call me back at this pay phone 206-something-something-something with some CLICK – (machine cuts off) other numbers” AHHH!
[Much later when I'm safe at home I reset the machine to the longest number of rings, shortest robot voice and the longest recording time (four minutes).]
Then I go back to the car to get an address for the towing company. My map isn’t detailed enough. I know they Q&R don’t live in Seattle proper. I’ve only been there one time. The closest I can place it is Forest Lake Park.
I call my dad’s toll-free number in Michigan. Its still only 6:30 AM his time, so I leave another rambling message.
The tow-truck shows up. He circles the block until I flag him down. He’s flipping me attitude. Is it because I’m dressed like a businessman? He wants to know where I want to go before he hooks it up. He wants to know how I will pay if I go over eleven miles. It’s $3.50/ mile after that. Back to Tumwater would probably cost over $200. I’ve forgotten about my last paycheck for the Taco Time commercial. I think I still only have $19.95 in my account. I’ve started to hold my breath. I’ve got to decide.
The downsides about Amanda’s are that she has no driveway to speak of, she lives on a busy street, and she has a day job. I choose to go to Quata’s. However, as we start driving up the highway, further and further from home, in the dark I start getting freaked out. We pass 145th and I see a sign for Shoreline. The light bulb goes on over my head. That’s where she lives! I have him get off at 172nd, but then I’m just guessing. There’s some kind of red digital odometer by my feet. I can’t tell if its reading off the money I’m gonna have to pay or what. I’m subtracting and multiplying and trying to figure out where to go. In the trough of pessimism I think its gonna cost $60 and I’m still gonna be stranded. We take a couple of lefts and I see a “Top Foods” grocery store.
“Leave me here!” I tell the guy. He pulls it into a parking space. “Eleven miles exactly,” he says. I can’t really tell if he’s serious.
Maybe it’s more, but he feels for me because I’m obviously lost. Maybe it’s less, but he’s going to charge my insurance for the full amount anyway. Maybe it’s EXACTLY ELEVEN MILES! Looking back, I probably had a canary-feather smile at that point. I AM the blessed one. Why I gotta get so stressed? Top Foods symbolic of capitalism’s apex, 24 hours of fresh brightly colored orderliness. I have cleaned the floors of various Top Foodses, so I know a little about their pattern at this hour. Most of them are scurrying to finish their work before the day manager arrives. I have put myself back together. I’ve tucked my shirt in. I’ve used the lavatory. I am now an average businessman on a Monday morning. I ask if they have maps, and I select a Seattle area map that includes Shoreline and the streets I need in detail. I fold it in half and put it in my pocket. Then I interrupt the cashier again to ask about a payphone, and she graciously directs me to it.
A few hours of sleep deprivation and anxiety have turned me into a sociopathic shoplifter.
It’s quiet in the deli area. My dad is now awake. He gives some possible diagnoses, but his suggestion is to get it to an actual shop. He also lets me know that the other payphone didn’t accept incoming calls. We successfully test this one. I could stay here all day and do my business. Dad also suggests taking a nap. I’m too wired, so I head out. I’m still worried about the repercussions for Trish and us. It’s daybreak, and I’m on the optimism wave. Maybe I’ll get home in time to make that appointment. We’ve waited a month to schedule an allergy test for Orion. The doctors office is in Tacoma. The appointment is at 1PM. The other repercussion is that his day-care is two bus rides away from our house since I have the van keys.
I look at the map and figure that I’m about a mile and a half away mostly in a straight line and mostly downhill. With the Anniversary mix playing I’m strolling on my mission. The sun is rising and people with jobs are starting their commutes. Tears of joy and sorrow are bursting out of my head.
I find the house precisely where I expect it as the Decemberists come on singing, “July, July, Ju-lie-E-I, never seemed so, never seemed so STRANGE!”
On the doorstep I ring the doorbell. I’m struggling to keep a straight face in the absurdity of it all. I have to ring and knock several times. I can understand the delay. They aren’t expecting anyone before 7 AM. I hear Quata, “There it is again. Someone IS at the door.” She opens it, and says, “Hi, sweetie.”
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Posted by Jusby the Clown
