Photo Evidence from Surreal Journey in SoFlo

Note the evidence of rain drops in the pond. This is proof that I stop for nothing when the job must go on.
Novices don't get why I cover up like this in SoFlo heat. I do it to avoid over exposure to sun, to avoid scratches on legs, and because I can't stand wet dirty Florida muck on my skin. In the long run you actually stay cooler. Using cotton clothes helps. Besides, if it was good enough for Mr. Greenjeans, it's good enough for me.

oh, you can't see me. I'm there but blogger cut me off. I'm leaving it. Why resize just to get in the pic?

This is a pebble and river glass depiction of the gardener who is at war with the iguanas. The foundation of the deck was not square so we dealt with it over in that corner by telling the tale of the war.

That's a palm tree under the gardener. Future scientists will know that as they read my stone-o-glyphics.

This one depicts the warrior iguana. Don't feel bad if these look like nothing or just rocks, they are there for future trained anthropologists and archeologists to decipher.


Here's some of the deck and the hollow duck which holds up the feed line for the sprinkler pump. There's a video story to go with that. We reworked that line, and one other, and secured both with crazy ducks. The bird on the duck is his own creature and not one of the projects we completed.


This one shows corner of deck and one of my iguana pals ---just left of deck.
Another look at the duck holding up the water line. Large as he is, there are larger there, 5 or 6 feet nose to tip of tail.


After the rain.

Band of Rebels in the Hood; I'm in the right place

Life is resuming after my month of no nonsense boot camp in Florida. Funny how things sink in after the fact. I have particularly strange delays in processing. Often it serves to make me more aware of details after a time lapse rather than in real time. This has been documented by well paid professionals. In this case, I am feeling the benefits of that experience more and more as I settle back in to life in the rarified air. We accomplished plenty, and much of it was pure art.

So, my Ballistic Mountain musician friends had a practice tonight. Those sneaks have been playing various benefits and rabble rousing events in my absence. Two of them play quite a bit. When they play with one set of others they call it one thing, and when I am included the band has another name, Copper Creek, I think.

I heard a song that Kevin wrote in protest to the "Powerlink" the electric company is railroading through, or trying to. It is being sold as something which will bring San Diego green energy and move it into the next century, or similar tripe. It was discovered that the true deal is to hook up to Mexican power plants, oil fired, and run the power through Cleveland national forest on up to serve LA and other infidels.

The problem it poses here is that the very substantial towers are a significant hindrance to the fire control people. It also constitutes an additional fire hazard itself. The whole thing is quite sneaky. My bandmates being homeowners here, and long term residents, the matter is of great concern to them. The song is really good and to the point. I was impressed. They played it at a rally in Lakeside. If this keeps up I bet they'll be calling me to bail them out of protest jail.

Is it just me or does the corruption and blatant deception in governmental matters seem more transparent than ever? It is probably mostly me because people are putting up with it and allowing their kids to be inundated with pure horse crap in matters of rights, weather, and relative values of various activities.

What a nice thing it was when I was walking along the deck entrance to the practice house and they all running out the door cheering because I was back. People out here sure are affectionate like that. I've never seen anything like it. I guess they secretly knew I was combatting the blues recently due to a bout of self doubt. They did chide me a bit for not finding a woman to bring home while I was down in SoFlo. I was too busy, and it don't work that way anyhow. It must be the natural condition of humans to have a squeeze in the shack. I've been there and do think it a preferable situation, except when you hook up with an unsuitable mate for your constitution. I've done that and it is not something I think is worth it. Right one or no one.

We will do a benefit thing later in the month. One of those odd deals where a band plays while people run around a track to somehow cure cancer. I'm all for curing cancer but not always in the loop as far as seeing the connection between walking or running and actually curing anything. I'll play whether I understand that part or not.

I Miss The Homemade Ice Cream Sandwiches

The ice cream wasn't home made, but the assembly of the treat was. K made lots of ice cream and vanilla wafer sandwiches. Varying flavors.

You have to try it to appreciate such a thing. It helps when there is a bowl there with more than enough to satisfy the ice cream jones.

That was back at Camp Iguana in Florida where I completed a month of rehabilitation of habits. I was awake by dawn or close to it, and ready to retire by sunset. No putting off until tomorrow what could be done today. I had to behave in social situations with strangers. That was tough because I was not feeling very impressive in the grand scheme of life. I felt like just introducing myself as big loser who does good work. Mostly I felt somewhat inadequate for not having spouse or kids and/or grandchildren. Everyone else had one or more of those things.

Maybe someone will start a service which lets you claim far away waifs as offspring or grandkids. You get pictures and cards--enough of a kit to make it look legit; replete with a bio and amusing anecdotes. Maybe for a small fee they have a kid or "grown child" call you at a preset time. Of course when the cell rings you act somewhat inconvenienced that you have to solve yet another minor family drama.

Why didn't I think of this before? The perfect thing for the aging ne'er do well who wishes he had ten kids and a wife with a pioneer cut to her jib. Then again, maybe it just wasn't in the cards. Good reason to encourage others not to traumatize small children, and to encourage youth, aka yoots, to ignore news and never buy drugs from unlicensed pharmacists. Also never let pride and anger cloud your view of the ultimate goal, whatever it be. Long story and half of it is written here or elsewhere.

So, today was a real struggle with that macabre feeling of doom that the above mentioned true wish sometimes brings. It is not the best way to spend mental energy. Not all past experience was a waste. Much wasn't, although the pain of some judgement lapses and general gullibility in certain respects is a bit hard to bear. It can be easily conjured and re-lived, to a degree. The result is a horror. It did leave me believing I probably will die alone, but maybe I'll be the "special friend" to a few good grandmas. Or something. That is better than nothing however I want a better outcome in that department.

Good thing 50 is the new 22 and 70 is the new 36. 36 was a very good year in some ways. So were several that followed. I'd go so far as to say they were ... never mind. That does lend credence to my theory that if you have means enough for the very basic necessities that friends and warm women are about all else one should require. Like everything, this can only be appreciated fully in retrospect---rarely at the moment.

Life now must be pretty good. I have some very good friends, and the necessities covered for the moment. That is an ongoing endeavor. Life is like that. The warm women department has yet to gel. I'm a little more cautious than ever before. Some experiences, I refuse to repeat. Most bad ones could be avoided if I learn a little from the past rather than repeat it.

MoeJoe Working

Future films will clarify that title and the spelling. Any self respecting blues wannabe knows it's "mojo" that ought to be working. Moe and Joe is another level altogether. I forgot whether I was dubbed Moe or Joe in this instance. Joe, I think.

So, here I am, back on Ballistic Mountain. We arrived at sunset into San D. Our experience on Southwest was without incident or complaint. I was impressed to hear some passengers at the gate praising SW and comparing it to carriers that have left them less than pleased. It is not that common that air travelers do anything besides complain. Somehow this airline has managed to create an almost cultish loyalty. After this trip, I am only saddened to see the areas not covered by Southwest.

So, I spent a month of what I would consider therapy. Good habits, an impressive amount of work, and opportunity to sweat out any toxins which may have been lurking in or on my person. Not sure what a toxin is, but I know it is good to sweat them out. Sweating comes naturally in South Florida. I'd almost forgotten that feeling; inescapable heat and being drenched from head to toe with relatively little effort. Of course, in this case, plenty of effort was included. It's just that the toxin purge was merely a by-product and not the goal. I suppose it is at times, though.

The experience will take a little time to sink in. This is the first time in my life I have been to that area without a family event or some connection of that sort. I was too busy, as it turned out, to try to dream up old friends to find or any of that. The experience was surreal.

How can any house in that area not have bugs clamoring to get in or to eat you alive? After all, the state bird is the mosquito. Yet, we had no such issues. We'd leave the sliding doors to the deck wide open. No bugs entered, only the occasional wayward lizard. This very impossible circumstance caused me to suspect that either I am in another dimension--possibly the after-life--or perhaps there was some sort of sorcery involved. I may have been in the thick of a band of wizards or witches.

OK. The bugs are one puzzle, but how do we explain the fact that most projects went rather smoothly? Things just fell into place. That never happens. Certainly not consistently.

All of it worked on me from every direction. My history, as it ties to that part of the country, caused me to reflect in maudlin remorse, as well as just your basic garden variety confusion. It may have been a necessary mental path at this juncture. Such things are risky indulgences though. Either you come out the other side with some sort of resolve regarding future outlook, or you get stuck in mope mode. I decided I want to avoid mope mode if at all possible. That has not been easy, but had nothing to do with actual present company or conditions.

The little pond and the golfers on the far side of it provided plenty of entertainment and interest. We became emotionally involved with the trials and tribulations of the marsh hens and their offspring, as well as the war between gardener and iguana. One thing I learned about marsh hens; the more you observe them, the less you understand about them. They are always up to something but what, I do not know. So, I cheered them on in total ignorance.

The iguanas were plotting against the gardener, that was pretty clear. I can only hope he doesn't blow up the course trying to gain the upper hand. Time will tell.

Once again I am dodging the question that never leaves me feeling comfortable; what am I going to do with the rest of my life? I'll worry about that another time. I know I have more teak plus a list of whatnot waiting, so that is good.
A less labor intensive means of earning money may be the smart goal for now. I took the odd reactions of muscles and joints to be a reminder that, while working with one's hands is a splendid thing, one's hands and else can get fatigued and beaten beyond a prudent level of discomfort. That is merely a reminder that it may be worth starting a big company, or becoming a pimp or gigolo. Maybe I'll run for one of those elected judge positions. Knowledge of the law a plus but not required. Disdain for the law could make it an interesting gig.

Iguanas the size of Kangaroos Battle Golf Course Goofball

It is true. The iguanas across the lake from the massive paver deck, which is near completion, are bigger than a refrigerator. Or a bread box.

The grounds keeper finally got up the nerve to leave his golf cart. He wildly waved his arms at the fearsome creature, my pal, Godzilla, the giant iguana, who dove into the lake. G'zilla remained submerged for some time before surfacing over near the green, below that nasty sand trap.

The grounds guy acted like he was driving off but he backed up behind the tree, peering down at the bank in case the crafty reptile decided to sneak back up. He didn't see him surface a hundred yards to the north east.

I'm enjoying the escalation of this contest between groundsman and Godzilla. I've noticed G'zilla has a host of homies almost as big as a refrigerator. They were on maneuvers yesterday. Something is brewing.

Projects have continued in spite of the downpours. Supposedly Broward County was of the opinion that it was in a drought. Odd thing about South Florida, there is water everywhere, yet you always hear that it is drying up and there is no water. I understand the science behind the argument, but from appearances the place is soggy with water. Humidity is king down here.

Oh well. Here in this little sanctuary all the best of Florida seems to have landed in the back yard. Cool birds, turtles, coconut palms, other tropical shennanigannery, allegedly alligators but none have been seen since our arrival, great sky with S.Florida cloud mixes, etc.

I live an unusual life.

Monument to Humanity, and News from the Front

It has been some days since I've been on line. Other than a few minutes of 60 minutes, I've caught no news. To be blunt, 60 minutes is not news. It is a continuing series on how to edit to say what you want, regardless of real truth. You never know when they are playing straight. Rarely, is my guess. What I saw was a class envy piece. The neo inquisition routine where they harass someone about how much they get paid or pay others in a company whose business should be none of my damned business. More fallout from the bailout--the Socialist Inquisition. I'd say they asked for it by taking the money but I understand some were basically forced to take the dough and the directives.

It is amply clear why I need to remain news free. Five minutes of 60 minutes sends me on a two hour rant. "Well, you know, John, we must have laws and it is all not so simple and you just don't understand.." Oh screw you.

Sorry, inner voices, like the sea, do strange things to a man.

The whole deck demo and rehab is on video!! Mrs K, K., I call her. "Hey, Mrs K, or K, as I call you..." That's how I talk to her. Anyway, she has video of (title withheld to protect the innocent)K. Or, as I call him, Leaf Erikson, for his fondness for raking and bagging leaves. Except, I only do that behind his back. I call him his name, which starts with M and is not Mister.

So, Title-withheld-to-protect-the-innocent K. and I destroyed a wall which makes the Great Wall of China look like styrofoam. The we fill in the gigantic crater with non-believers and other rubble, then we rented a tamper which is a miniature earthquake machine, but I had been watering the site to make it grow, and the tamper was pretty much a noisy bit of superfluous time consumption.

That means our efforts to create a quick home-made landfill were successful.

If some of what I say does not paint a clear picture or ring a bell, just chalk it up to art, like you do Bob Dylan's singing. In truth, I am an artiste. Why just today I was telling, title-withheld-to protect-the- innocent K that, though I try with all I've got, my work ends up being art as if to taunt me. Yes, it is true; even when I try very hard to produce mediocrity, or worse, the result is still an exquisite creation one can only class as art.

I know I should not confess such a thing, or the fact that this may involve me putting in a bit more time than the inferior tradesmen in your rolodex. But, among my faults is the tendency to confess such things as this. And to do great work far too often. Unions would hate me. I don't like hourly restrictions. The job may only be worth what 100 hours would cost, but I might be motivated to put in 120 or so just to be sure it is up to reasonable standards. No reason a guy who can do as well in 100 hours should be paid any less or any more. (Unlikely as it is that such a person would appear, or even exist)

OK. I exaggerate.

It is just that I am so amazed at how much we've accomplished here. It pays to be working with someone raised in Colorado ranch and farm environs back in the day. Such people developed a kind of work habit that doesn't quit. This is like rehab for me. Good food, great view, every day is a work out, I have to behave halfway civilly, and any minute I expect the paparazzi to descend on us for producing a deck which is the new 8th or 7th wonder of the world. Do they still have wonders of the world?

They'll be here; the press, Katie, maybe Baba or Whoopi, al of them.

Film soon. Mrs K, or K as I call her, has some good footage. She has a talent for making the coolest videos. It's always an ego booster to be featured in one of these cinematic masterpieces--another artiste---even though I think celuloid has my name written on it. It's where I belong.

Let me tell you one thing about M, aka title-withheld-to-protect-the-innocent K. He is as fond of sledge hammers as he is of garden rakes--actually a shag carpet rake, but best to leave that one be.

I'm all caught up in the drama on the golf course. It seems one of the gardeners, or grounds keepers may be at war with the iguanas. He is also afraid of them, I think. He won't leave his cart. He'll pull up ten or fifteen feet away and have a stare down. Today he got mad (because he lost the stare down I think) and ran his cart at the iguana, who ran away down the bank disappearing in the pond. Iguanas can swim, and they can stay underwater for some time.

Iguana came up down the pond a ways. The gardener didn't see him but he drove by a few times later in the day. He's this course's Bill Murray character. Instead of ground hogs or gophers, this gardener is after iguanas. I'll send updates from the front when I can.

Other films will appear soon.

Ryobi reciprocating saw. Variable speed, cheapest model at Home Depot, if I'm not mistaken. Good buy. I give it the go. Great for cutting big holes in walls.
Hint: the blade can get smoking hot cutting a stud and you will see smoke. It is smartest to just leave it that instead of pinching the blade between your fingers to see just how hot.

Never The Good Stuff

Much that I could write I don't, because I have to protect the innocent. The innocent would be me in this case. If I were to write about things in such a way that others were heavily highlighted, they'd be mad and I'd be sad, and that is not protection in my book.

So they have a regular auction off of 595 somewhere in Broward County That is an interesting event. Some people are obviously regulars who resell stuff somewhere. Some things go for a fraction of their worth and some goes a little bit high. Most of the things that seemed to go for too much weren't things I'd want anyway. I didn't want anything because I have not so much money, and where would I put it? I'm not shipping some giant china cabinet back to Ballistic Mountain where I have no room.

I don't care if Paul Bunyan felled the trees that Babe the blue ox took to the mill so that Michelangelo could sculpt it into a perfect piece. No room at the inn, senor.

No room at the inn is a recurring theme in my life. Probably not always obvious to others what is meant by that, which is just as well, however I'm damned sick of the feeling. Even so, it is a cumulative thing, the no room at the inn syndrome. One has to work at cultivating this defect. It is easy work, tough consequences and part of the law of the universe in action. Therein lies the dilemma. I'm good at it but it yields no benefit. Quite the opposite. Do I shred myself because I can, or just be a lousy saved soul? Great loser or less than mediocre founder?

Life can sure be confusing sometimes. Is a coin toss the right approach or do we break out the Ben Franklin balance sheet?

There may have been some things to say, but as I mentioned at the start, I must protect innocence. It's Mothers' day. I was in one place with a gazillion mothers today. They were all in some way related, either by blood--shared or let--- or by law in some sense. Someone must have done something right because the younger ones were all impressive and gracious. No one shot anyone or carried on in ways that would result in injury or worse. Must be a boring family, you are probably thinking.

Or maybe you are thinking, "I guess they aren't from Memphis". You'd be correct. It could be they save the more festive gunplay for Thanksgiving or Christmas like they do back in my previous home town. Surprising, considering this is South Florida, where not reacting to a traffic light changing color quickly enough used to be cause for other drivers shooting you and stealing your rims. One thing is just the same as ten or fifteen years ago--the heat.

It is not a dry heat, however it is a mildly breezy heat. Not necessarily easy kite flying breezy but enough to move smoke, were there any to move. Which there isn't. Big drag.

I'm impressed with the work we've done to this point. Right now it is not so easy to see where it is going, but soon enough there may be tangible result, other than the immediate mess of DEMO.

Godzilla, thew gigantic lizard, allegedly an iguana, has shown himself again, off in the distance. There are water birds and more turtles per acre than I've ever seen in any body of water. My view is of a large pondish thing with tropical whatnots and golf lands beyond. I could sit for hours and watch the wildlife, and the golfers over there. But no, the work must be done and others will do it if I don't and they'll do it without asking my advice. I can't stand to be slacking out of the loop. I don't mind if the others relax while I work. I want them to. But they never take the way of the slacker. So, to keep them from pitying me for being a slacker I have to fake it the best I can.

Thespianism at its finest.

2nd Winds and We are DEMO

You have to remember DEVO for that to even slightly ring.

So, this wall was concrete block with red brick on top with slate or flagstone stuck to the sides. And it was as filled with concrete, solid and stuck on itself as---take your pick of people that fits. This thing rivaled the great pyramid for potential durability.

I am sure the jack hammer weighed 379 pounds, if not more. For some reason I soon became winded and could not seem to catch up with myself. I am used to that, and used to breaking through the barrier then all is OK. It was 450 F in the shade.

Anyway this phase of the job is pretty much done. It was the hardest part, I hope. I can hardly hold my arms up, or I couldn't at the end of the demo fest. Now all is well. We're ahead of schedule, whatever schedule was.

I need extreme physical stress to keep my mind off of everything. Sometimes the solo life seems like it has a bright light shined on it that you can't escape. A big Laverne L which covers 90% of my head and body. LOSER.

That is no good way to think, but I fight that big time. I need a road trip or some good drugs. Either will do fine.

People are the best, and the place has a great view, and pretty surroundings. I should not feel so --so. This is a real challenge. Getting past myself in order to let life be OK. I'd rather be solo than settle but I am finding it increasingly lousy to be that way around others.

Hermit is one thing. Socializing in a clearly deficient condition is another.

It is unbecoming and not manly to whine or indulge in self pity. OK. I'm over it. Hell with everyone and the thoughts they rode in on.

I'm mean that in the most benevolent, loving sense, of course.

S. FL.

Perhaps it is just me but I find the Fort Lauderdale area to be a lot more tense and petty than SoCal. Maybe they act like that in L.A.

Others don't seem to feel like I do about the place. I've long considered FLL the jerkiest part of Florida outside Miami Beach. I like Miami proper and Dade county a little better than the Lauderdale scene. Hard to say why. This visit has not been too bad for rudeness. Except when driving; if you put your signal on to change lanes, the car a block back will gun it to try to prevent you from moving over. They hate for others to get their way in traffic even if it doesn't affect them at all. That won't stop me in the Olds low rider wagon.

Obviously the theory in the late 80's was; if we build it real close to the road, it will get good gas milage and people won't mind that they have to lay down and squirm through the door to get in. No matter to me, I can handle it. I know these vehicles. It didn't even fool me that they keep the latch for the rear hatch in the glove box. A little yellow button resides there. It opens the back if you push it just right.

I am pretty sure a new Godzilla is growing here. It was the wildest, largest lizard I ever saw. They claim it must be an iguana. It casts a shadow which darkens a city block at high noon. It eats flowers by the bushel. Golfers at the course by the pond and canal it inhabits have gone missing. No trace.

It's Godzilla all over again, I tell you.

Most things cost less here, but produce generally costs more. Probably due to shortages resulting from Godzilla's inconsiderate raids on the produce of the area. So, I don't hear those pretenders in DC acknowledging anything about This crisis. Cowards.

There are more creatures here than in the average zoo.

Myth Busting: GM edition part 001

Who says American car companies never built fuel efficient practical cars? Oh, maybe it was Him.

Now, I will concede that GM built a ton of cars which later developed headliner issues. How many Camaros and other fine cars had that funky ceiling sheet flopping on your head? Plenty. It was a travesty. Other than that there were some fine rides.

For example, through a series of circumstances which can only be explained astrologically and possibly through careful scrutiny and research into my DNA, I am in the Ft Lauderdale area with an 89 Cutlass cruiser wagon as our means of transport. I was the designated driver as we cruised our way to Publix tonight. We knew the general direction, so we made it. If you are on a popuated road around here, keep going and sooner or later Publix will appear. The theory worked.

Better than finding food was the thrill of cruising in this very cool low rider. Station wagons were not as tall as SUVs. I forgot about that. This has a little 6 cyl engine mounted sideways, with front wheel drive. It accelerates well and handles just fine. I'm liking this stroke of luck. But as I ponder, I can't help but picture Al and all those guys in their giant Suburbans and mega vehicles, which is what GM assumed everyone wanted, now decrying the choices made by an auto maker who made what they wanted.

Arnold was Mr Warcar. Hummer would not have become nearly as popular without our doltish governor cruising around Caleeforneeyah in his war machine. He's a fickle representative. Let that be a lesson to other companies who want his favor.

Anyway, this Olds is the cat's pajamas. Other than a little dry rot here and there, and the ever present GM headliner issue, it is cherry. A dream machine. Chrysler can build the straight six Cherokees and GM can bring back the '89 Olds Cutlass Cruiser wagon. Detroit will prosper. Not too sure how taxes and unions skew the market in this case. Maybe Fiat can make those cars and by pass the troublesome issues.

Since we have czars for every facet of life, and I think he already has appointed some charlatan car czar, suppose someone needs to be fired so I can be the new car czar, or automobile product consultant czar. Possibly we could include all forms of motorized transport so I can insist we bring back the Vincent Black Shadow, and revive the Tucker.

Actually I think it is a travesty that anyone on pubic money has a title that includes czar or a job that involves czariness. Just shows how even I can be bought. Give me the czar of car and else job and there I go. I even want a single or two seat fighter for my company car. I'll learn to fly it myself, save money on pilots.

And, of course, I want the Olds Cutlass cruiser and the Cherokee for cruising in the highways and trails. .