A Jaunty Little Blog

Night Of The Momentum Killer

Kids,

To the terrible monsters, meth addicts, or emasculated monkey wet nurse fanboys from Nevada who were driving in the PT Cruiser up the Hill this afternoon: die. It’s that simple. Die you bastards, die.

They’ve joined, without even knowing it, the Anti-Destination League by shucking (without actually jiving) their idiot way up the twisty road to my little alpine chalet. For that, I continue with my call for their demise. Real soon too, I hope.

Please fall off a road. Please catch on fire. Stroke. Heart attack. I don’t care.

Your vengeful pal,

bob

The Choices We Make

Friends,

Back during my High School days, my Dad presented me with a choice that would be life-defining: “there’s a ’79 Chevy El Camino for sale from a guy I know for cheap, it’s got a little V8 and runs okay for a thousand bucks, or from another guy a ’74 Ford Courier that blew a head gasket.

He started taking the motor apart and most of it’s in the bed. He only wants five hundred for it though…”

Those were my transportation options presented in, what, 1982? I was friendly with the El Camino/Ranchero owners at school. Mullets, mysongeny, and Milwaukee’s Best were the rule with that crowd. Fashioning myself as some sort of thoughtful intellectual, the baggage with the “pickup-car” wouldn’t really fit the image I was working on. I ended up, happily, with the broken Ford-badged Mazda B1800.

Dad and I spent a bunch of happy afternoons putting that thing back together which led to thousands and thousands of miles of trouble free teenage vehicular idiocy (until the head cracked and stranded me outside an insane asylum, but that’s another story).

But you know how you get a song stuck in your head? Even songs you hate? That’s what this Jalopnik.com El Camino thread sounds like to me. It’s grimly fascinating when you realize how many people have succumbed to the urge to turn a car into a pickup.

Call me old school, but I like my pickups to start as pickups. And in pieces.

Your pal,

– bob

R.I.P. Buck Owens

Aw Geez.

Buck Owens died this morning at his home in Bakersfield. I really liked the guy on Hee Haw. After all, that was our weekend ritual when we were growing up. Corny jokes, great musicianship, girls in not too many clothes (before Daisy Duke even thought of her now eponymous short shorts). There was something for everybody there.

He was the straight man to Roy Clark’s larger personality. It was hard to figure out which one was the greater talent. There seemed to be a competition, unmentioned, going on there, but I found out much later that both of them were giants.

And now that I’m doing the tiniest bit of research for this post I’ve found that Buck had a huge empire of media holdings, a restaurant/cabaret in Bakersfield, and had something of a resurgence in the 80s. Here’s a truncated video clip from Buck’s own site (sorry for the Real Media link, but that video was the cleanest) of his duet with Dwight Yokum from 1986. It holds up nicely, I think. (wonder if it’s on iTunes?)

The man was the go-to guy for West Coast Country and cripes! he played to a packed house last night! Jeebus Jumpin’ Jehosephat! That’s commitment.

“Gloom, Despair, and Agony?” I hope not. Rather my prayers to Buck’s family and friends in their loss, and ours too.

– bob

Everything In Moderation

Hey Typists!

You may have noticed that when you try and leave a comment it isn’t published right away, waiting for me to vet your sparkling retorts. “What a pain!” I hear you shout to the heavens. “Instant gratification!” you demand.

Heck, I don’t blame you. The troll problem was getting out of hand though, so I had to do something. I could’ve just turned comments off, but that’s even less fun (for me, anyway).

Thanks for dealing with the inevitable delays.

Your pal,

bob

Snowstorm: 2006! – PowerShot Purge Edition

I took a bunch of pictures of snow. I even wrote something about little kids and snow in this post. What I failed to share was my now favorite picture from the whole adventure. You’ve got to love this:

It’s got everything, doesn’t it?

More in a bit.

Your pal,

bob

The Benefits Package

Friends,

I’ve been thinking recently about why on Earth I’d want to drive an hour and a quarter each way to work each day. What about it, besides the paycheck, that compels me to leave my alpine paradise for the grit and traffic of the Coachella Valley. It’s certainly not a moral imperative for me to help the help the homeless. “To Serve Man” was a cookbook, after all.

It’s not the bubbly personalities at my little I.T. fiefdom. After all, it’s not hard to imagine that they put up with my nonsense and present a half-smile only because they might want some new piece of equipment at some point. It’s certainly not that I’m appreciated—I don’t get that vibe whatsoever.

The only thing (on top of the paycheck, which isn’t supporting the fuel bills) that I’m getting out of the whole thing is, sadly, seasonal. It’s cold up here, but it’s warm down there. I get the chance to thaw out during the day.

That’s it. No real job satisfaction to speak of. I do what I do, unchallenged, unprovoked. Standard-issue office politics abound. There are cheerful and chirpy newcomers who might as well have “throw me to the wolves” tattooed on their foreheads. Jaded old-timers, keen to point out how everything sucks. Tweeners who think they can buck the system and change the world. I don’t swirl in any of those circles.

The closest I come is by being able to deal with the management there. There’s a weird deal going on at San Diego’s Omnipresent Charitable Organization’s Far Eastern Outpost. They feel like second class citizens, which isn’t too surprising considering they’re an outpost, but they have a certain reverence for refugees from the mothership, like myself. Maybe reverence isn’t the right word. Trepidation might be better. I might be a spy for the “home office” for all they know.

Being the weird outsider (insider), I’m given a wide berth. One of the thoughts I had about working there was to interrupt the self-imposed isolation of mountain living. To mix it up all week with actual people. Despite the +40 degree temperature change between there and here, I’m really not feeling the warmth.

So what next?

Your pal,

bob

Snowstorm: 2006! – Boring Anticlimax Edition

Hey Thrillseekers!

Nothing much to report anymore. The snow is on the ground. The sky is tapped out for the moment. The families driving up from Hemet (who can blame them?) to have their little frolic are fewer and further between.

Frankly, it’s over people, move along now. Nothing to see here.

There are still some snaps trapped in the camera, but those might have to wait for a Christmas card or something. The roads aren’t even very treacherous anymore. What’s the fun in that?

I do have work tidbits to share, but that will have to wait too. Tomorrow sounds like a good time for that.

Doesn’t it?

Your pal,

bob

Snowstorm: 2006! – Eureka! Edition

Hey Little Dudes,

Remember this shot?

By the time I left for work down in the desert this morning, the snow pile on the roof of the Jeep Grand Livingroom had hardly diminished from what you see here. On the way down the hill, I was waging a fantastically entertaining snowball fight with tailgaters. In that, I won!

Down at sea level, I still had over a foot of snow remaining on the roof. I got startled looks from the denizens of the date groves, but it still seemed like an opportunity wasted.

Then I saw her. The program manager for Children’s Services at San Diego’s Omnipresent Charitable Organization’s Far Eastern Outpost was signing in for the morning. There was the answer: little kids. Little homeless kids! In the desert! Perfect.

“Would your kids like to play in the snow today?” “Um, why do you ask?” “I brought a lot with me and they might have a lot of fun with it.” “Oh, that’s your car…”

We filled two huge trash bags (with a bunch left over) and she built a giant pile on the lawn in the playground. Then, my friends, the grand snowball fight began. I stopped by after the fight ended and the kids where painting the snow (primary colors save yellow, I presume).

All goodness, and a good use of fluffy frozen rain, don’t you think?

I think so.

Your pal,

bob

Snowstorm: 2006! – P.T. Barnum Edition

Howdy Ecotourists,

Oops. Forgot to post yesterday’s pictures…

…and I might as well throw in today’s better shots too.

So to answer the query entered into the Goog’ by a recent visitor to this shambles, “Yes Virginia, it did snow in Idyllwild.”

Your pal,

bob

Snowstorm: 2006! – Whump! Edition

Hey half pipe hooligans!

The temps have soared to almost forty degrees (twenty eight degree difference in seven hours?) so the snow is melting. Notably, the larger clumps of snow in the trees are losing their grip on branches. Whump! times a million.

It’s been “raining” all afternoon, which along with the sudden warming trend, has made the town into a sloppy, slushy mess. People who live in the Midwest and Northeast call March “mud season.” The inevitable result of snow melt-off constantly plowed and churned into a nearly frozen black morass. In Southern California though, we’re in a hurry! Only next-day melting will do, thank you very much.

Your best pal ever,

bob

Consequences – UPDATED!

Got a call from somebody (which somebody? THAT somebody? -ed Yeah, that one. – Bob) that a certain dopey dog had done a particularly stupid dog thing and is now paying for it. The scenario as I understand it is simple enough; a roasted chicken carcass was placed in the trash, minor distraction leaves trashcan unsupervised, opportunist dog takes advantage of free treat and scarfs up leavings. “Inhales” may be more apt.

Now that particular dog is undergoing tests at the emergency animal hospital to see what part of his digestive tract is bleeding. Fractured chicken bones can be very sharp, but the dog didn’t get the memo.

He’s done astoundingly stupid things before, like devouring a five pound box of chocolates (certain death for all dogs but him, apparently). He as eaten plastic irrigation pipes, books, and a wedding album (that you were married at all is more disturbing to me. – ed Oh, thanks for that. – Bob).

I’m sure he found the scraps delicious, and if he survives this episode (which is not certain) he won’t learn a thing at all from the experience. I know that I’ve learned to be extra diligent in protecting him from himself but it can’t be easy. His magnetic north points to trouble and mischief and there’s not much to be done about that.

Here’s to hoping our furry kook gets better soon. Poor little guy.

Your pal,

bob

UPDATE: Good news? Sounds like it:

[snip]
The X-rays last night showed no perforations or blockage, no bones. He evidently developed Hemorrhagic Gastroenteritis (HGE) I transferred him this morning from the Emergency Hosp. to [the local vet], where he’s being watched and given fluids. Hopefully I will be able to pick him up this afternoon. Emergency had to administer Vitamin K, due to blood clotting problems, and he had an allergic reaction to that—hives—making his face all puffy. So they gave him an analgesic, which made him a little dopey. (So what’s new, right?) But other than that, he’s okay for now.
[/snip]

Snowstorm: 2006! – Blue Skies Edition

Hey ski bums,

It somehow seems appropriate to start work on Christmas lists here in the middle of March. Certainly you’re working on your list for me, I would think. My wish?

Snowshoes.

Sure, wearing plastic bags on your feet, tied up above your knees, is attractive, but I’m reinventing myself! I’m changing from plastic bags to something else. It doesn’t snow here very often, but when it does I’d rather not sink down in it. So sharpen those pencils!

By the way, it was twelve degrees this morning. I had thought that the thermometer was stuck at twenty two as it had been there for three solid days. No more.

Blue skies and bright sun greeted my little village this morning, but I had called a snowed-in-work-at-home day last night. I’m sure the drive would’ve been just fine this morning, but why risk it?

Why? I don’t even know!

Your pal,

bob

P.S. More pictures in a bit.

Snowstorm: 2006! – Where’s My Calendar? Edition

Snow Bunnies,

We’ve had a fairly dry winter here in my little alpine village. The occasional rainstorm was punctuated with long bouts of not much. This weekend arctic, La Niña-fueled storm has put an end to all that. My very unscientific guess is that we’ve received ten inches of fluffy powder so far, with more to come. It’s like an entire winter’s worth of snowfall in one weekend.

It appears that the county road crews have even given up on plowing the roads, so the daredevils are having to pick their way past The Lodge at a screaming two miles per hour. Even then, they slam on the brakes while whipping around the hair-raising five degree sweeping turn that forms a corner of my yard.

You folks East of the Mississippi will scoff, but this is Southern California. Cali! people! There was a woman skiing down the street an hour ago. On skis! The Lodge is thirty five miles from the desert for crissakes! (okay, we get it. you’ve got a real situation there. whoopee. – ed Okay, okay. It’s still kinda startling for a desert rat like myself. Thanks for indulging me though. – bob)

I took these pictures a couple hours ago and much more snow has fallen since. I guess I’ll have to take more, eh?

(Well, no getting out that way…)

(…and no swinging today either.)

There used to be tulips under there, somewhere.

That’s the view from the center of the living room looking South…

…and this is the view looking North. Cozy, no?

Your pal,

bob

EDITOR’S NOTE: did you notice that you can now click on the photo thumbnails to see larger versions? ol’ whatisface tried doing this a month ago and screwed it up, but now the full-sized images are full-sizier for your enjoyment. no need to thank me, just send cash. – your ever humble ed.

Snowstorm: 2006!

It’s late, I’m not ready, but you’re the one’s who’ll suffer because I’ll be posting lots of garbage tomorrow!

(way to sell it. – ed)

Your pal,

bob

Not Funny – Really Not Funny Update

Friends,

I’d heard some things about my aunt’s condition but I had to go see her. That was Sunday.

“She’s doing better this week” was the word. The breathing therapist was brought in to help her breathe. I learned only today that she had a bout of pneumonia on top of the “heart problems” and all of the rest. Once the pneumonia was cleared up, she had became more lucid, but more than what?

Apparently, that was a fairly low bar to raise. On Sunday, my heart sank. I saw the woman who was once quick with the quip, keen to see another solution, engaged and engaging now fumble with a fork while working on the hospital lunch. She was easily distracted by golf on the television (golf!), unable to maintain focus or a train of thought beyond ten or fifteen seconds.

She used to do the New York Times crossword in pen, she used to count cards while playing cribbage (that’s not cheating, is it?), now this. It was heartbreaking. Nearly as bad as watching how her two surviving brothers dealt with what was unfolding.

My uncle’s a mess. He witnessed her difficulties with lunch and simply had to excuse himself. Everyone else in the room offered help which she curtly refused. My dad though, is trying to remain a rock, naturally. It was apparent that he wasn’t dealing very well either, he just wasn’t showing it. Much.

She hasn’t much time left until the cancer overwhelms her basic functioning and there’ll be nothing the breathing therapist can do. They moved her to a facility today that I’ve seen online variously called a hospital, convalescent home, and finally, a hospice.

My aunt showed me how to be an adult, helped me when I was down, and encouraged me to follow my passions (whatever they might have been at any given time was okay with her, just pursue them). Now that she would need our help, we have none to give. Nothing but a hand to hold.

Your pal,

bob

There’s still a sly glimmer hiding underneath the incapacity. Dark as it may be. When I left her room at the hospital on Sunday I gave her a hug and let her know that I hoped the doctors could help her at least “feel better.” Her response, whispered in my ear; “Yeah, right.”