No heaven on earth. No utopias. Just more people

Finding stereotypes capable of holding up under close scrutiny is necessary for humans, but generally goes unrefined.

Finding stereotypes capable of holding up under close scrutiny is necessary for humans, but generally goes unrefined.

Hi readers.  Thanks for coming by for a read this morning.

I spent a while bouncing around RV full timers forum-type discussion board-type places lately.  Curious about whether any stereotype applies.  What I found was not a single good, solid stereotype a person could hammer down to perfection, but rather a number of herds of them.

Not much of this sort of thing out there among the modern nomad population.  Whether they're van dwellers or motor homesters, clean lines, shiny paintjobs and glitter are major attractions.  If it ain't eye candy it belongs in a different universe.

Not much of this sort of thing out there among the modern nomad population. Whether they’re van dwellers or motor homesters, clean lines, shiny paintjobs and glitter are major attractions. If it ain’t eye candy it belongs in a different universe.

Fields of peas pretty much running with other peas, cornfields sticking with their corny neighbors, and everyone seemingly well fed.  A few farmers within each stereotype weeding and watering.

I was especially interested in Slab City and what the people who stay there winters have to say to one another.  I thought because it’s as near anarchy as a person gets in the US, it might tell some worthy things about us as a place viewing itself as a free people, thinkers, individualists.

There’s some of that on the surface.  Everyone saying to one another, you have to take whatever comes in Slab City.  Everyone celebrating and patting themselves on the backs for their rugged individualism.

But in fact there’s an undercurrent a lot less worthy of self-praise among them.  An undercurrent of bullying and intimidation hidden in the “gotta take it as it comes” platitudes.

Turns out “take it as it comes” means, “take me as I come” and don’t even think about me taking you as you come.  If you try I’ll probably slit your tires.  Or shoot your cats.

It manifests itself subtly in the matter of cats.  Seems over the past few years women visiting the slabs have had their cats killed by dogs, or shot by dog lovers.  Always women.  How about them apples?

For folks who don’t have much interest nor love for cats and don’t have any desire at all in going on crusades, sacrificing the soothing rewards of rugged individualist wildass self-image community, it just flows down like Jack Daniels Black Label.  Everything bad hiding inside “taking it as it comes” harmony.

I’m figuring it would be a place I’d have to go to war if I landed there.  Can’t see myself sitting still for having my tires cut, knowing someone else who got his tires cut, me having a firm idea who did it.  And most especially knowing who some cat-shooting human was, or cat-killing dog-running-loose owner.

Sometimes wars can happen without anyone having to go looking for, drive so damned far out of the way.  I hope I don’t have anymore wars left ahead of me this lifetime, but if I do I ain’t going to drive 1000 miles to find them.

Old Jules

They still want to do the Dirty Bop – And they all want to play Hamlet

I’m trying to remember my partner in disgrace.  Might have been Patsy Bohannan, maybe.  Around that time I recall we sat on opposite ends of a seesaw in the park surrounded by other kids, her singing, “Why do fools fall in love”, had me squirming something awful.  But she was a preacher’s daughter.  Not a good candidate for the Dirty Bop.

So it might have been Linda Kiker or a girl with a really bad reputation named Nancy Koch.  Seems I ought to remember, but at the time the disgrace was so overwhelming and the likely consequences so widespread, identity got swept into the grader-ditch of history.

Anyway, it was one of those Junior High School events at the Portales Memorial Building.  I’d never heard of the Dirty Bop, presumably the female side of the equation also had never heard of it.  The only time either of us had ever danced the bop was probably sneaking around practicing behind locked doors at home.

But great minds think alike, I expect, and there’s always becoming absorbed in the event, showing off, whatever.  We danced the Dirty Bop.  A Portales First, most likely.

Got our asses kicked spang out of the Memorial Building for our trouble, got to have a long prayer meeting with Mr. Livingston.  A man in authority who had a lot of familiarity with my backside with the paddle he kept in his office.

Anyway, it all worked out for the good in the end.  I eventually became me.  Likely, whomever the girl was eventually became her.  And I don’t recall ever encountering her later in any waterfront bar or strip joint somewhere.

But I guess the Dirty Bop is still around after all these years.

High school requires signed dance contract that bans twerking

http://news.yahoo.com/video/high-school-requires-signed-dance-210216483.html

Annapolis High School in Maryland is now requiring that students and parents sign a dance contract which aims to cut down on provocative dancing at the school’s next homecoming. As reported by WMAR ABC 10 News, the contract outlines the school’s policies and expected student behavior very specifically. Junior Lexi Pline said, “The first day we get it, it’s usually just kind of funny to read it because of the way, like the way they describe everything. It’s kind of hilarious.” The contract states that “sexually explicit dancing will not be tolerated,” and defines explicit dancing as “grinding,” “making out,” and “buttocks touching a partner or in the air.” The last point apparently intended to stop twerking at school functions.

Just goes to show, as Carl Perkins or someone once said, “You can’t stop Rock and Roll“.   Or maybe it was Bill Haley and the Comets.  I heard a while back he died as a street person in Alabama or somewhere.  Still dancing.  Nobody ever explained the consequences of dancing the Dirty Bop to him.

Old Jules

Afterthought:  Actually I think it was Carl Perkins talking about that British group, the Beetles or whatever, when they first showed up on the radar,  “They aren’t Elvis, but they aren’t all that bad.”

Giant oarfifh found on beach in California – Cecil the Feafick Fea Ferpent

This ominous portent from California last week:  Giant oarfish washed up on the beach.  Second one since I-don't-know-when.

This ominous portent from California last week: Giant oarfish washed up on the beach. Second one since I-don’t-know-when.

Beware the feafhoref and tremble in your homef when ferpentf of the deep emerge with their mouthf miffing.”  Josephus Minimus

I was fairly certain this was written down somewhere.  Maybe the Bible, or Nostradamas, or Mother Shipley, or some other trustworthy source.  Turned out it was Josephus Minimus.  Or would be Josephus Minimus once I post this.

Old Jules

Drill pump disambiguation, home body part remover, et al

Home Depot plumbing section.  NOT in the Home Depot drill and power tool accessories section.

Home Depot plumbing section. NOT in the Home Depot drill and power tool accessories section.

Disambiguation is a word I love.  Sadly neglected except by pointee headed people.  Here’s an attempt to compensate for some of the injustice.

Failure to attach a drill to the item will reduce efficiency and performance.

Failure to attach a drill to the item will reduce efficiency and performance.

I offer the $7 225 gpm Home Depot drill pump for those considering paying $75-$100 to lift water out of a ground level container into the RV.

Not recommended for people who want to have a stroke from consuming MSG.

Not recommended for people who want to have a stroke from consuming MSG.

Dollar Tree.  Broth.  32 oz for a buck.  No better deal in Christiandom.  $1 US, 2013 dollars. 

Remove the guard and throw it away.  Then take off that non-macho small abrasive wheel that came with it.  Put on a big one so's your hand is up close and personal when the torque hits.

Remove the guard and throw it away. Then take off that non-macho small abrasive wheel that came with it. Put on a big one so’s your hand is up close and personal when the torque hits.

Home surgery kit, body part remover.  The phrase, “Make my day!” just before you hit the ON button is appropriate and recommended.

Old Jules

Never trust a Free Mason who doesn’t look older than you.

At least don’t trust them more than you’d trust anyone else.  Josephus Minimus 

Hi readers.  Thanks for coming by for a read.

Free Mason who didn’t look a day older than me sidled up to me in the hardware store parking lot yesterday.  “I want to sell you a ticket to a fish fry.  I hope you’ll come join us for a while.”  He gestured with a packet of tickets.  “We’ll have a lot of prizes to give away in drawings.”

Respectable enough looking guy, but too damned young to be a Free Mason, thinks I.  For something to say courteous to him, “What’s the cost?”

He told me and I’d run spang out of conversation pieces.  There’s a fish fry I might attend for the Harper Fire Department in a week or so, but I didn’t figure I’d care to drive to Kerrville for one.  “So when is it?”

Ah.  That’s the catch.  It’s in March.”

March?  I figure I’ll be dead or somewhere else in March.”

He shrugged.  “I wish I could join you.”

Two things seem clear to me. 

  • The guy was older than he looked.  A lot older, assuming he’s a Free Mason.  Probably uses some kind of Free Mason black magic keeping himself looking young like regular people. 
  • Secondly, he was trying to trick me into having to stay around here until March, 2014.  Likely has some sort of Free Mason conspiracy doings.  Wanting to tanglefoot me into them.

Anyway, having deftly sidestepped the Free Mason Conspiracy I had a good trip to town, generally.  Got me a water pump to get water from a container on the ground up into the RV tank.  Impeller with hose bibs on each side, shaft to turn it fits into the chuck of an electric drill.  Moves 250 gallons an hour.  That thing’s going to save me some heavy lifting in the future. $6.95 US.  2013 dollars.

Also picked up a set of fancydancy 21st Century screwdriver heads of all different shapes and sizes to foil the efforts of engineers everywhere.  And a damned cheapass volt meter.

Then down at the Dollar Tree store picked up all manner of things a person needs to get by in this life, each for a dollar.  A person can spend a $20 bill in there and come away with $100 worth of groceries anywhere else.  [32 oz box-like containers of MSG-free beef or chicken broth for $1 US each.  I bought 128 oz, two of each.  Stocking up for The End of Life as We Know It – TEOLAWKI.  MSG free TEOLAWKI won’t bring back telephones, computers and radiation levels people can survive in, but it beats boiling 2-headed mutant horses to add flavor.]

Stopped on the way home to talk to the guy up the hill.  He told me about the Marfa Lights, which I’ve heard of over the years, but never seen.  Came away entertaining the thought I might swing out that way and have a look when I get out of here.

Lessons in life, flashes of insight about things I haven’t done yet, and busted a Free Mason conspiracy.  All in one day.

Life is good.

Old Jules

Adding spice to the boring “Policeman’s your friend” school programs

I don’t know what these people will find to complain about next.  Finally Americans can begin to feel safe.

The militarization of U.S. police forces

By Michael Shank and Elizabeth Beavers

This month, more Mine-Resistant Ambush-Protected vehicles (MRAPs) have found their way from the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq to the Main Streets of America. These are just the latest acquisitions in a growing practice by Pentagon that’s militarizing America’s municipal police forces.

Police departments in Boise and Nampa, Idaho, each acquired an MRAP, as did the force in High Springs, Florida. The offer of war-ready machinery, at practically no cost, has proven hard to resist for local police departments. Increasingly, they are looking like soldiers equipped for battle.

The growing similarity between our domestic police forces and the U.S. military is a result of the Pentagon’s 1033 Program. This allows the Defense Department to donate surplus military equipment and weapons to law enforcement agencies. In addition to the frightening presence of paramilitary weapons in American towns, the program has led to rampant fraud and abuse.

http://news.yahoo.com/;_ylt=AvsfYvN755g6Hd7RhCSnRBKvulI6

Old Jules

Recognizing those space aliens who’ve been selectively breeding our species

Allofus 1954 1955

Good morning readers.  Thanks for coming by for a read this morning.

A lot of you have probably been wondering how you can identify the space aliens who have been selectively breeding human beings to create more palatable cuisine for so many generations.  And the people who’s minds are controlled by space aliens to assist them in their husbandry efforts.

This morning I’m going to take a few minutes to explain for those who haven’t figured it out yet.

  • First off, you need to keep in mind that space aliens don’t want to be recognized, don’t even want most of humanity to know they exist.  So the obvious and most easily recognized trait of a space alien is denial.  Anyone who smirks, postures, declares space aliens don’t exist is almost certainly a space alien, or mentally the puppet of space aliens.
  • Secondly, in the US, particularly, political office holders are almost universally either space aliens, or persons under the bizarre and sometimes contorted thumbs of space aliens.  In fact, anyone who has a strong opinion about one political party or the other and gets noisy about it insisting this or that candidate or office holder’s better than the other side.  Lead-pipe cinch the space aliens have him in a mindlock.
  • Then of course, there’s the 87 layers of cops now firmly entrenched in US operations furthering the interests of space aliens.  No point even going into that.
  • But the most subtle these days are the online dating services.  Now that the Internet is matured the whole focus is getting people together to propagate who will have tastier children.

I hope this helps. 

[If you missed the earlier posts explaining about selective breeding humans by space aliens you can search the blog using the bar in the lower right side-bar.  ‘Space aliens’ ought to do the trick.]

Old Jules

Saimen – Another trek into Ramen country

Hi readers.  I’ve been planning to share this with you a while but keep forgetting.

Back when David McCreary and I got bounced out of Peace Corps India X training at Hilo, then jumped the plane to seek our destinies in Honolulu  we were dirt poor.  Sharing a room at a rooming house up on East Manoa Road.  Him working as a drink waiter at the Kohala Hilton, me busboying down at the Makahiki of the Hilton Hawaiian Village.

Dirt poor, so we ate a lot of Saimen.  Something I’ve never heard of since, but a person could get a bowl for a quarter at any food joint in Honolulu.

So I began a while back experimenting, trying to recreate Saimen using Ramen.  Bought green onion, chopped it all the way back to the tips of the green, all the way forward to the root.  Threw in minced garlic, ginger, fish, or chicken, or meat if I had some.  Sometimes a dash of curry, habenero, whatever comes to hand.

Boiled down all the other ingredients a considerable while to make a strong flavored broth.  Then at the last minutes of the just-right tastehood, added Ramen noodles, or small diameter pasta sticks.

This stuff’s as good today as it was in 1964 in Honolulu.  It would even be good if 1964 never happened and had to get replaced with some other year.

Just saying.

Old Jules

Bonfire of the vanities

Hi Readers:

I’ve got this box of US Archives microfilm of all the US Army Civil War correspondence for the Department of New Mexico and Arizona staring at me.  Wasted a phone call to the  Arizona State Archives, talked to a clerk who’d have her boss get back to me if they wanted them.

Microfilm of Yankee Army Civil War correspondence

No joy.  I suppose I might yet find a university, or the NM or Texans might want them for their State Archives.  It’s got the California Volunteers activities, and the Union perspectives on what all those Texas troops were doing raising hell up the Rio Grande.  Nice description of how, when the last Texans had retreated to Fort Davis, left their wounded in the hospital there for the Union to treat when they arrived.

Apache got there between the exit of the Texans and the arrival of the Union troops.  Slaughtered them all in their beds, mutilated the corpses.

We’re talking good stuff here.  Somebody sure as hell ought to want it.

Maybe I can swing up by Ruidoso and blackmail the Mescalero with it.

Or maybe it’s time for all that stuff to go into the burn pile.

Old Jules

The Great Continental Divide – The Rot Started at the Top

Trickle down economics, you might call it. Jack

So Far From Heaven

A few generations ago this parking lot was full of people journeying along Route 66.  People stopped here because their engines were overheating, or the kids needed to stretch their legs, or they just wanted to pause for a view of how the water divided.

The view wasn’t all that much, but a dad could walk down below with the kids, step behind a phony hogan, and tell they chillerns if they pee here their water would go both ways, ending up in two different oceans.

The hogan was a lot more inviting back then.

It hadn’t played hotel to a thousand stranded hitch-hikers and drunks looking for a roof.

The roof, of course, still held out the rain and snow.

It hadn’t entered the phase before even the drunks avoided it.

Though all the seeds were planted.  All they needed was nurturing a generation or two.

Garden Deluxe comes…

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