Ourselves and our environs

[waldopaper]

What’s left of us… where we’re coming from… and where do we go? Post it under here. Did you just think of underwear?

[waldopaper]

Taking a break from waldoworld.

I got one keyboard riff left in me tonight, and I’m gonna do it here. Got into OEN thinking it may sharpen my chops, and I should have known what happens when among other “writers:” it’s farting thru a pillow in a herd of crazy trumpeting elephants.

The waldos have been living in this recycled farmhouse since 1992. We moved it out of the way of an approaching 4-lane beltway… playing “chicken” with the state and dickering with neighboring Mennonites over the price of dirt. The brick-veneer house was built in 1930 with WPA labor… there aint a straight line in the place… out of recycled bricks from the Packard Piano Company, razed in the city—and now the site is a immigrant-ghetto park.

I was so much older then. It was a winter of despair on a field of mud with a new geothermal system that was the house’s heart. I liked it so much, I went to work for the company… my undergraduate Korporat education. I later went on to Korporat graduate studies for a Fortune 500 Company… after an 18 year stint as an “entrepreneur.” Ancient history. I clabbered at the old Mac keyboard while the pile-driver outside clanked all day driving pylons for the soon-to-be-constructed overpass. Like Chinese Water Torture.

I kept hitting a professional wall when the suits found out I didn’t have a “degree.” The boys making the serious cake were MBAs who wore natty suits and fucked everything up… and floated away on their Golden Parachutes to the next place to plunder. In the process of getting that MBA so I TOO could get serious cake for fucking things up, was drawn into History… and Literature… and academia where there were people who were NOT dumb as a turd in a Dixie-cup. Hit the stop button and fast-rewind to 1968.

I got busted for marry-wanna… a felony. Silly “revolutionary” busted again for somebody else’s illegal firearm in 1972… strike TWO. The social milieu offered a simple choice: BMW and Bordeaux… or prison and death. Well gee… I took choice one and became the 1980s archetypical Yuppie Puke… cigars and all. Hey—the hippies were gone… co-opted… the “revolution” never happened… my heart was broke… and so was the checkbook… so… why the hell not?

I applied for two “jobs” today. Pan, how do ye do it? The first one blew up right away. “Here are some potential deal-breakers,” I told the guy over the phone. 1. I’m 59 years old and do not suffer fools gladly. 2. I got long hair and a beard. If that’s a problem, I probably don’t want to work there, and 3. The “academic taint:” I’ve been teaching college courses for past 8 years. What broke the deal? The “academic taint.” You may as well have leprosy. Ball #2 is high-tech… still in the air… but not much hope.

So in three days, I’m off to the North Woods for a 16-year redo of “what-the-fuck-am-I-gonna-do-with-my-life… only THIS time, there aint much of it left. I fell off the cigarette wagon… dammit… so out to the bush to get back ON. Maybe I will bring back some pictures and narrative. I shouldn’t have “sold out” in 1974… now the choice is the same… but without the BMW and Bordeaux. I made a deal with the Devil… to stupid to realize that it was only temporary… until I was harmless and safe behind laws.

My Country ‘tis of thy people you’re dying. Thanks for listening.

[BO]

Well, if it weren't for you fuckers and your gardens, I wouldn't be lying here on the couch with a sore rotator cuff and a fucked up Achilles heal from shoveling several yards of soil and carrying a ton of architectural block just so I can keep up with you fucking Jones here. I need a quart of cortisone.

A BMW and Bordeaux sounds pretty damn good 'bout now. Better than the Mitsubishi and Coke lifestyle I've been living for way too long. Time to dump the wife and kid, sell the passive solar hippy pad (that doesn't fit the neighborhood anyway), and move into a condo downtown. Work out, get a cell phone, and start selling mortgages. The chix will dig me again.

OK, wait. I love my wife and kid. And people are already paying me big dough to design crappy websites for 'em. Life is really quite sweet. And I just built a fucking terraced rockery to impress my online friends. I can't move now.

If I just didn't think of everyone I encounter as a stupid, narcissistic asshole driving the world to ruin, I might die a happy man. But then, I'd lose my own elitist stature and that wouldn't do at all. Yep, I'm a fucking elitist. So shoot me already.

And you thought you had it bad, Waldo.

Just remember...I love you guys. Ain't it great that we can come here to confess?

[BO]

BTW, when is Pan going to do the Pocatello report? I'm dying to hear what it's like there.

Pretty please, Pan?

[waldopaper]

ah... you got an income, bra. if it weren't for Brunhilde's REAL job, I'd be sticking up gas stations or robbing Amishmen. Today I pulled some weeds outa the raised plot as big as me arm... cos Mr-can't-tell-one-plant-from-another (hey- they all got leaves- wothefuck?) let these big ugly fuckers get among the sweet potatoes.

The only people I know who could pay me to do whatever-the-fuck-it-is-that-I-do are either alienated... or dead. The rest are broke-ass fucks just like me. Drinking cleaning products... open for suggestions.

[BO]

You know, I hardly Know any guys who aren't relying on their spouses for the major portion of household income. My brother, my best friend, me, you, Pan (sorry Pan).

Yep, I'm working but I'm making less than half of what I was in the corporate zone. That, and I'm not an employee. I'm contract labor. I wouldn't stand a chance in hell of becoming an employee again. But, I'm much happier as contract labor anyway.

On the other hand, my corporate manager wife can't be fucked with. (OK, knock wood) She'll have a job as long as she wants it. Why? She's the only woman out of the five managers in her department and she's competent. If she was a man, her job wouldn't be secure. But--as a rare female manager--she's essentially untouchable.

It really doesn't matter how good you are at your job unless you're working contract. As soon as you're captive, you need to fit the hidden demographics, and in corp amerikkka, middle-aged white guys are the first to go. And once you're out, there ain't no way back in--no matter what your schooling or credentials.

Do freelance marketing writing. Sign up with a creative outlet. Teaching school is too difficult a task to keep separate from your personal life. Hell, I know the drill, I got in trouble for expressing radical views as a student--let alone as a teacher. Fuck 'em. Let 'em rot in their narrow-minded provincial-ness.

All the marketing writers I've ever known--and it's a lot--have all been intellectuals and liberal. You'd fit right in. And you're better than most. Trust me.

And the best part? You get to work in your pajamas--virtually from home. Couldn't be a better gig.

[pan]

Been painting and driving to Lowes to get painting supplies. The house was built in '58 in that period right before the concrete boxes took over architecture. Enough modern touches to be cool without being cold. Love the glass brick throughout. Someone remodeled it as a bachelor pad so it is damn near perfect for us empty-nesters though, there isn't enough storage for all of our books, LPs, art and beer-making supplies.

We are going to have to make some friends who live nearby because this would be the perfect party house.

After the last two Studios, we are inclined to "improve" the space. Right now it is painting but we brought the stainless sink from the first Studio and the long shallow sink from the second Studio and plans are to turn the laundry area into a beer/dye/laundry room.

Then there is landscaping. We have a slope out back that has a southern facing. Going to have to move lots of dirt and rocks to terrace it to what we want. First thing will be planting trees at the bottom. This will be a long project. We will enjoy it. Fatty, our orange cat, seems to love it here. The view from our deck of the mountains is spectacular.

I, of course, am a bit uneasy about my so-called career. The new Dean made some noise about nepotism so Medusa is going to have to make a case for hiring me that demonstrates that my credentials are more than twice as impressive as the next candidate. If it does work out this could be sweet.

[curt]

Son of a farmer's son, learned to swim in a muddy creek full of aligator gar before I could walk. Swim or drown and be washed downstream. Some things never change. Now swimming in a muddy Telco full of bean counters. Could work from home but they won't let me, or anyone else. Grew up with a roundhouse just over the backyard fence. Was facinated with trains. Ride one to work and back each day now. Not what I would call fun. People here use their elbows a lot. Not very friendly or curtious. Just all elbow. It's elbows getting on the train, elbows in the train, elbows getting off the train, through the station and onto the tram (streetcar), elbows at work. All elbow and no ride makes curt a dull guy. Still, they pay me for the torture I put myself through. How long? Nobody knows. The bean-counters are working hard on a new wave of RIFs. RIF. "This aint the fucking Army, ya know?" That was my fav saying in school and after the Army. Life in the Army was okay, no war except the cold kind. Went in cause it semed like the best thing to do. Got out cause it sucked. The fuckers sent me to Germany. I stayed. Fuck them. I'm staying. Been 30 years now. Still in Germany. The Army is pulling out. Fuck them, FTA ! Kinda lonely now, me and all these elbow people. Gotta work on growing me some elbows, but I don't wanna be like that. Na, that won't do. Don't wanna go back. Can't "go back". You can never really go back, can ya?

Son, 21 is gonna start college soon. Wallet is looking thin already, just thinking about what this is gonna cost us, me. Son 17 is learning a trade..."ich bin Metaller!" Good for him, good for both.
I now live for them, and for my bike. Damned bike. Stinks like gasoline.

Had an old tattoo revamped while over last month, treated it wrong afterwards and got me some real good bacterial infections. Waited too long to go to the Doc. Fucker cut me up without warning. Tattoo looks like hell. Stupid shit biker. Arm's still okay, can still ride. gonna have me a couple of ugly scars in the middle of my tattoo. Oh well, I'll get over it. I've seen worse stuff, much worse.

Garden is growing. Summer now full blown, thunderstorms about. Not the way I like em. Not anywhere close to what we got back in Ks. I miss Ks.

I miss home, where the Buffalo used to roam. Bloody Ks. Smack dab on the friggin line, neither here nor there. Just like me. Black like me, unpredictable like me, an unknown, like me.

I wanna try brewing my own beer. Drink enough of the stuff. I likes beer.

Gott go see what's on the tube and get to bed early. Never seem to get enough sleep. Never. Can't lay in bed long, back hurts like hell after 6 hours. Should probably go back to sleeping on floors. Did that a lot as a kid and as a soldier. Then I got sopfisticated n shit.

A body don't need much. Not much at all. But a body does needs a friend or two.

I got you !

Aint it grand ?

[hannah j]

Garden is growing. Summer now full blown, thunderstorms about. Not the way I like em. Not anywhere close to what we got back in Ks. I miss Ks.

I miss home, where the Buffalo used to roam. Bloody Ks. Smack dab on the friggin line, neither here nor there. Just like me. Black like me, unpredictable like me, an unknown, like me.

just so's you can't edit that out!
something about the elbows, not a problem here, as you know.

there was a bison that wandered around the wellington golf course a few years ago, maybe 2 or 3, i love that.

[curt]

I aint no edit tor and I'll stick with what I say about my favorite place on this earth. Just need to get back there soon. Next time over the pond, I guess. Loved laying down in buffalo wallows and letting the wind try to get at us. Them things save lives. It gets shit cold in Ks. Lay me down in a buffalo wallow for a few minutes and I'm good for another mile. Tis the truth !

[hannah j]

I don't know about cold, often Patrick has been able to cut stones outside into December. It just depends on the year. And the springs are to die for as you know.

[Mouse]

Been busy reading online today, eating peas from my pots just when I feel like it, looking at the sky a lot. Haven't told you how bad the weather's been for months. So overcast. Then some sun the last few days, burning hot, no chance to get used to it. Torrential rain last night and found this:

[Mouse]

Good morning everyone. How's your back Curt? Have been wondering if you (ahem) managed to get Lettvin's The Back Book yet, with all its helpful drawings. On the first page it says How quickly you heal depends greatly on how little damage you do to yourself while healing. And every time you start up a severe pain you delay your recovery. If you know what to avoid, and train yourself to avoid it, your back heals and you recover much sooner.
For example I learned from this book to roll gently out of bed instead of sitting up first, the way I used to. It makes a heck of a difference.
Intermittent relief from low back pain means you almost certainly can prevent yourself from having low back pain again!
THE IMPORTANCE OF NOT CAUSING FURTHER BACK PAIN
Important - As you continue, do not do anything (change position or posture, or exercise) that causes you pain. You will be inflaming, irritating, destroying more tissue!
Pain, whether sharp, dull or intermittent, should not be allowed to continue. Your mission is to reduce the pain as promptly as possible, once you have become aware of it. Failure to do so will mean that more tissue will become involved and your pain will become more difficult to diminish or stop completely.
Pain is a danger signal. Do not ignore it. Recognize it and deal with it immediately.

And Bo, when I hear about people like you and Waldo digging the soil and suchlike I am agog, amazed, impressed; but I do worry about your joints. The slugs love my cardboard, its such a feast. Little else has happened down the garden, a flock of starlings is annoying me with their churlish behaviour, I chase them away. They frighten away the sparrows, blackbirds, tits and song thrushes that I'm so fond of.

Still go out on slug and snail patrol round my vegetables in the small hours and take part in the secret vice of snail throwing. I'm much softer on them all now, having murdered an amazing slug and still feeling bad about it weeks later. It was beautiful, about 4 inches long, with a wide girth, green and yellow. The markings were unlike anything I'd seen in a slug before; I'd say it was mature, it had lived there a while in the thick Mind Your Own Business under the Scharlachglut climbing rose.

I was using salt water, dropping the poor things in it. And I acted too quickly, as I'd been very firm with myself about who gets to eat the vegetables, monopods or bipeds. Which does so remind me of last night's reading.

Until 2.30 this morning I was reading a pdf file of Dr. Gary Glum's book
Full Disclosure, the truth about the aids epidemic. Perhaps you've already read it. I've put it next to The Authoritarians on my desktop.

And I'm up to something here. Can anyone recommend effective and easy free downloads for sound and for video to use on my Mac OSX 10.4.11. (video cam has inferior sound and would like to record sound on separate system I have). Haven't tried imovie because iphoto was so restricting and seriously got in the way.
Trying to avoid those heart-lurching, computing experiences that are not nice for middle-aged biddies who have already got heart conditions thank you. Just a thought.