They said my feet were too flat.

I don't think a lot of people GOT Mork & Mindy. How many people knew about Boulder at the time? My next sitcom is going to be in Arcata, where my soulmate awaits me in a drunken stupor outside the Red Onion pub and livery.

My fate is construction. Downtown Seattle, I moved into the Nettleton, total disaster. For the entire year I lived there there was construction upstairs and downstairs so loud I could not find my space before going into the show. Reciprocal drills, banging of pipes, all sorts of shit to eventually culminating in me being moved to the OTHER tower in the complex to stay for a month. Which was the worst, cause it was right down the way from Vito's nightclub, which was great for when I was high on Absinthe and the fools exited the place. Of course, it was a yo-yo night club, so at 2am there were usually sisters screaming at each other from four feet away about "where they tampons be at?"

To create balance in this scene, there is the move last year to Alki Beach next to a conspicuously empty lot. Within hours of my move, a new building was being put up! You gotta dig the trip, here, man. I am at home all the fucking day, where I work, sleep, or slay. It is hard to make quick with the slashy-slash when all I can hear is mariachi music and pile drivers. After my six month lease was up, I fucked off back to Des Moines.

Here in the desert town of Phoenix, Arizone, I am at the lovely (and admitted ex-worst-tweaker-park in the city) North Phoenix RV Park. I have the 'best spot in the park' right next to the office, laundry (also internet kiosk), bathrooms, showers, pool, etc. As luck would have it... THIS week, they decided to start remodeling the building! Which means at 7:00a here comes the mariachi music and the nail guns and rotary saws and Fuckall™.

I love A & E. At night, I turn on the old laptop, plug in my cable TV tuner in and have real life crime shit on while I am playing with photos, writing, and digital manipulation. In the matter of twenty minutes, I get to see probably 5-10 corpses in various forms of decay. Brilliant evening imagery.

There are big balloons floating around the desert here. I will make photon-collection reproductions! You will make sticky!

I want to change my name to Sincock. It seems like the Federal thing to do.

Why do shows like Dog the Bounty Hunter get renewed? It is a travesty. It is not informative, it is not enlightening, it doesn't help anyone. You get this hambeast of a woman screaming at people who get pulled accidentally into orbit around her boobs. You get this mullets-r-us Hulk Hogan-a-bee that is still high from way back when yelling shit about brah and Jesus and his crew of people who are unable to carry real weapons because they are poseurs who probably steal cable.

My next unscripted game show is going to be on some deserted isle off Tahiti where everyone has to have sex with the fauna and guess as to which venereal disease they have contracted.

I finally got my ass to the Spring Training yesterday and it was NOT the M's, but the Padres and the Angels. It was actually a really good game. The haloes stomped in the ninth. The bad assed thing about the Spring Training is the fact that the stadium holds 11K, but only about 4K show up. So, you get to just hang about wherever you want and talk to the players and kick little kids in the kneecaps and drink 6 dollar margaritas in the hot sun of the desert. Here are some pics!

My favorite avenue in all of Bisabol!



The Peoria outfield.



Some action on the field! What is happening? I have no clue cause I have... Margarita! (and not the dippy Russki down at the Enterprise Rent-a-Car who can't figure out that you CAN put a bicycle into a cargo van!)



More child abuse by the Padres' Burke. I saw him throw a kid over the railing earlier.



How baseball was meant to be seen.



The BOMB ASS Mexican food in Peoria. This place was completely empty except for Jessica, the server, and myself, Jim. Everyone was down the street hanging out at the Mick joint getting stupid non-compostable green plastic bead strands and shitty Budweiser with food coloring in it. Me? To quote the great Bukowski, "I'm drrrrrinkking!"



Today the M's are 'away' playing the Royals. The stadium in which that contest is to be held is only 5 miles from the Peoria Sports Complex. Interestingly, there are TEN stadia here within a few miles of each other. How Columbo!

Behind the RV park I am in is a nice little mountain I will be hiking up later. I should post pics. Also there may be some hot air balloons in the sky I will try to bring to light.

In the next few days or next week, I am going to try to get out to Roswell to see where I was born. My birth certificate says Torrance, CA, but I think that is some kind of crypto-anagram for Roswell, NM. I remember a bit of the birthing process and there were these rocks and mountains all around and a Big Wheel and a Nerf football and a Spirograph. Also gotta stop at the Carlsbad Caverns which is where I was raised by the outcast EBE's from the M51 system. It if funny that most of us tend to think of alien races in terms of the Zeta Reticulans, the Pleidians, or maybe the Mizar Binary groups, but these are all in the Milky Way. Think about all the Exosystem Entities. The EEs make up a FAR larger population of overall EBEs and EQEs and those are just the carbon-based organic biological ones. I am not even counting the Androidal Multipedal races from the Magellanic Cloud Collective. To them, Roswell is like... Bakersfield... which is like Roswell to those from Bakersfield. We don't have a proper contingent of representation there in Bakersfield, but there is a small underground transfer station not far south near Lamont.

Gotta run, droogies! Gotta date with Junior Griffey. Funny thing, I have his rookie card at home. I should have brought it down here to get autographed on the last year of his career! You see? The alpha AND the omega!

The Lord is in Phoenix.

Finally having arrived in Phoenix, I have procured a camping spot only EIGHT miles from Junior Griffey. How lucky am I?

Well, I am camped out at the North Phoenix RV thingy-ma-bob and was given the nicest spot in the camp, so I am told. I am under a big Euc, with my very own picnic table. See the picture below to see how lucky I am. Is it the Irish... or the karma of the good Buddhist? We will never know, but I am loving it here.



How do I love the desert? To the north are majestic red mountains covered with a variety of cacti. To the south is the now-sprawling city of Phoenix. What is Phoenix up to? Well, I can say this: when I was here last in 2001, it was a small city surrounded by glorious desert and abandoned roads that led to nowhere. It was along these roads that Steve West and I took our killer telescopes and found a plot of land and watched the skies all night. At 1:00am it was 70º and I sat in a tee-shirt watching the stars glow overhead.

Yesterday as I pulled into town, at that same road, there were unseen miles of tract home developments. The vacant scrub we scurried through in our 4x4 was now shopping malls and SUVs. This is 30 miles out of town mind you. This was no-man's land 8 years ago. Now, it is Wal*Mart and chain restaurants. It brought a feeling of shame and hopelessness over me. No longer are the skies to be bright and clear, the Phoenix Nebula a glow on the Eastern horizon. Now the light of man encroaches into the places where people once knew what the Milky Way was and some generations ago marveled at its perfection.

The dark skies of the American Southwest will soon be a dream of astronomer's past, like myself. The delicate shrub and majestic cactus standing for so many generations have been plowed over in the quest for a good profit margin. The roadrunner and quail will find new feeding grounds or extinction. And so it goes.

I travel on the road in a very lame outfit of hiking boots, cargo shorts, and an earth-toned sun hat. Today as I rode my bike along Deer Valley Rd, some very nice young men drove alongside me and the passenger chortled out, "Stay true to the safari, Nigga!" I raised my thumb to give acceptance, but was still slightly puzzled by his insinuation. Am I on safari? Well, I posit that perhaps I am.

I made a left on 27th and headed down toward the 101, where not too far away I would find the Junior Griffey. I ended up in a mess of road construction which was NOT good for one on a bicycle. So, I came back to camp. Along the way, I recognized an intersection as the one that Steve West and I had an unfortunate accident in 2001 on an astronomy trip. We were in the wrong lane, bound to turn to the left, when we wanted to go straight. Steve West put the Jeep into reverse so as to move into the abutting lane to go forward. As the ill luck would have it, there was a very SMALL car behind us and we destroyed it. It would not move again.

We got out and apologized for the accident and helped the woman push her car into the corner AM/PM whereby the police were called and brought to the scene. While we were waiting, I think we went in to ask the young (17 year old) woman at the counter for some help with something. During the interrogation from THE MAN about the accident, THE MAN brought up the fact that the young girl in the AM/PM mentioned smelling alcohol on Steve West's breath. I looked at THE MAN and said, "You mean the 17-year-old?" (Cause I asked how old she was earlier). He nodded and then sort of forgot the issue. What would a 17-year-old be knowing about the smell of the booze? Steve West got a ticket for unsafe backing and we went on our way. The bonus is that Steve West and myself were pretty fucking loaded and prolly should not have been driving. We finished a Mariners' spring training game and went and got drunk with the team... then went out and got... drunk. Then tried to find our motel. Then crash. Thank you, 17-year-old girl!

This is the good life, I have to say. Every RV around me in this park has the blessing of Jesus Christ upon it. I feel the heathen! The Texans are particularly proud of their Lord and Savior, and their license plates say so. Even though I do not take JC as MY Lord and Savior, I feel I am protected from random flash floods and tornadoes by association. The sun is out, the wind is warm and gentle, how blessed more can I be?

Upon returning from my ride to nowhere, I ended up at the Times Square Italian Restaurant, which has a full bar and REALLY good food. I met AJ, the daytime bartender and talked about his collection of sports memorabilia. Thanks, AJ. It rocked steady. What a delicious salad and Trumer Pils! And the CC/7-up. After my buzz was upon me, I biked to Althea and locked my ship up tight. The only 'net connection in the park is in the laundry room which closes at 9pm, so I must get this entry done and posted by then with accompanying images. Super bouns: the ari-eh-ZONE does not deal with that daylight savings bullshit, so I am in the same timezone I left in the Pac NW.

So, I lit out from Seattletown some time last week and cruised to the wonderful little mountain town of Ashland, Oregon. (remember, we pronounce it ore-eh-GOHN) That was a blast, as usual. I hung out at Alex's restaurant for the evening. The very same place I have been going since at least 1991 on any road trip down the 5. The place was the same as always, but the principals were older. In the big chairs next to the roaring fire were the college kids talking about theatre and Shakespeare and the upcoming festival. To mutilate Matt's line from "Dazed and Confused", I keep getting older, but those college kids stay the same age. It is really a great place, I recommend it. And as I am walking through downtown, there are deer munching on lawns of houses. I remember when deer used to exist in West Seattle when I moved there in 1990. They have since lost their habitat, so goodbye deer.

My next stop was in Coalinga, CA. Well, maybe NOT Coalinga proper, but the little stop off the 5 that has a road TO Coalinga. It was a very interesting little park. I swear I saw all sorts of weird apparitions running around that night, even one going under my RV. As I tried to sleep all I could hear was the croaking of frogs from the water treatment plant next door along with some odd machinery sound that made me think of Dr. Moreau.

While outside Coalinga, I decide to take the girl into the city to get food. Man, what a mistake. I think I spent 25 bucks in gas just getting into and out of town, much less getting lost IN town and LEAVING town. I hadda get this Messican food to go, cause there was nothing open except some really YAHOO bar with guys beating themselves with pool sticks. Not each other, mind you, but themselves. Go figger. Small town I-5. The next morning I was on my way to SoCal.

I was concerned about Althea getting up the Grapevine, but let me tell you this: out of Ashland to the south, you hit the Siskiyou Pass, which is the highest elevation on I-5, at 4300 feet. It was a fucking blizzard up there. In March, I say! The 5 was down to ONE lane, going very slow and no visibility. It reminded me of when I moved to Seattle in 1990 and there were three of us in my old beaten VW bus with all we owned, off to the Pac NW to start new lives. We could not see 30 feet in front of us, we had bad tires, a battery that had frozen open and no longer worked, no snow chains, and a lot of weed. I think that saved us. In my induced state of mind, I let go of the wheel and let the deep ruts from the 18-wheelers guide us down the mountain, avoiding the drop-to-fucking-doom cliff at the edge of the freeway. This was little different though, in that I had a 6-ton vehicle bearing down the OTHER side of the pass in slick conditions. Hey man! It is just another freaking day baby!

So, you take I-5 south from Ashland and it is pass after pass after pass... UP and DOWN and UP and DOWN until probably past Shasta. But once you get over the border to Cali, you get to stop at the inspection station. Oh!!!! The officer asks if I have any vegetation on board and says he must come inside. So, I welcome him aboard with those exact words and tell him, "Hey, forget that tiny booth in the snow, let's go to Mexico and get mai-tai's on the beach of Cabo! He laughs and says he can't leave his post. Wink-wink.

Here are some pics of Cali in the sun.











Finally, I got through the Grapvine (see video below) and into the Los Angeles area. I hung out with the folks and family for a few days, celebrating a few birthdays along the way, though I did not get to celebrate Julie's birthday cause I passed out I think. Sorry, Jules. For my sister's b-day, we had the Inn of the Seventh Ray brunch buffet... BUT it is smaller than it used to be. A lot of the good cheeses are gone and the desserts. I ended up with the foods below. Drool at your own risk, farghins!

Me trying to get through the fucking grapevine!



Hanging with the Edgars.





This is a pic of the fam at the infamous Top of the World, off of Stunt Rd. I can't tell you in good faith how many trips were taken here by me and my friends. Trips, I say!



Food from Inn of the Seventh Ray. This place USED to be THE hippie hangout, all veggie goodness, with herbs grown locally around the restaurant. Nowadays, Britney Spears shows up without panties to make us all ill.







And a flower for your time.



After L.A. I zipped to Oceanside and drank too much. But that city never stops drinking, I think. I read reviews of bars there and talked to peeps there and it was like, "Yeah... drinking and the surfing, man!" Here are some pics.

Crazy beach houses in Oceanside.



Some evil denizens.



The lifeguard stations on the beach there.



O'side kicked me out (twice actually) and I headed to the San Diego place where there was my ex-agent Ted to have lunch with and discuss AIDS, New York, Publishing, Fish Tacos, and what is next for the Chargers. Just kidding. Pics and vids below.

Me and Ted after eating FISH! Ha ha, Ted. That was a hetero joke, sorry ;) I love Ted and he knows it.



One of those odd birds looking for love in all the wrong places.



This guy was too cool for words. Honestly. He was a son of a bitch!



Finally I hadda bail and get to PHX for the spring training of the Mariners. Now, I am eight miles away and prepared to get it on! The heat is the best. I miss NOT the snow of the Seattle! or the rain of the Pac NW! FEH ON IT!

But let me tell you oh my brothers (and twin sisters), that if you think the 5 coming out of Ashland to Redding is a mess, holy FUCK OF ALL UNCLEFUCKERS... I-8 from San Diego to Yuma is like the Roller Coaster of Big Brother. As one maneuvers the passes from 2000ft to 4000ft back to 3000ft up to 4000ft, down to 2000ft, up to 3000ft, down to 1000ft, up to 4000ft, one gets the sense that it will never stop. You will be going up and down for at least until you get to Louisiana. But somewhere around Yuma it stops, NOT however before you get stopped by the Dept. of Homeland Security at least twice and grilled about your intentions in your OWN FUCKING COUNTRY! Well, Mr. Man, I am from Washington, a state within our union, on my way to another state within our union. Are there any drugs, bombs, or homies in my RV? Your fucking dog should know that... he is sniffing up my asshole. Do I have illegal terrorisms in my RV? No... oh, by all means, come in and look around. Yes, that is my weapon I am legally allowed to have... yes it is loaded as this is my residence. Yes, that is a camera bag, with a camera inside it. There are no illegal terrorisms in the fridge, but please have a look, cause you NEVER KNOW how small they can be. Such a shakedown I have never encountered. The good thing is... they never found the dope I DID have. I told the nice freckled woman I was not into those terrorisms, but she hadda smell my bung for good measure.

I have never seen more Border Patrol in my life. They were hidden up in the mountains in Jeeps, Humvees, all sorts of shit. Not so well hidden from the highway, but if you were coming across the border, your ass is grass. Some of them were waking around in the hills with very large rifles. I made a video of it (but I missed the Holmes with the rifle) you can see.

Here are some fun videos I made that you can gag on.

The Border Patrol Video!



My musings on the Messican border fence thingy.



A windfarm in Cali. WooOoOooOoO!



Me entering the air-eh-ZONE!



I was driving past the Imperial Dunes and there were these huge banks of floodlights that were shining across the desert. WHY, I thought? Then I saw, a stones throw away, the BORDER... a huge black fence that took off into the dunes to the east like some kind of badly set cornrow. It was not grated so that you could climb it, but enough that we could see someone on the other side and blast them with our superior firepower! AMERICA!... fuck yeeeaahhh!

Wait... I forgot the all important... SkittlesMobile!



People think I am weird cause I name my RV and talk about it like it is a person. Well, let's see here. I have friends who have kids, James, James, Beth, Angela... I have friends who have animals, Michelle, Beth, ChriSharon... and I have neither... so, give me a break. I have an RV. She is my protector, my traveling companion, my muse even. You don't like it? What do YOU have? A stuffed teddy?

Let us not forget the secret combination lock trick. Be forewarned, this takes about... 2.5 years to pull off.



Here are some pics of me hanging around PHX.





And the salad I called, Never Getting Laid Salad... with an extra helping of onions. Holy shit, my friends!

To answer the question...

of why I named my coach Althea, you need only watch the video embedded below and experience the stoniness that is my reality.



To move gently away from such a relaxed scene as the one above... to one of pure disgust.

Is it not a tragedy that Rush Limbaugh has not expired as an organic entity yet? I had the misfortune of listening to his today and realized what a diseased, hateful being he is. From the Buddhist perspective, I am ashamed to be related to him. He is vile and gross and has nothing but evil to spew. He doesn't talk about anything really, he just sits in his bowl of Jell-o and pontificates to the myriad sheep who love to hate.

I was listening to him talk about how the LIBERALS are not doing ANYTHING about the economy, they just want to watch you suffer... and on and on. The ONLY thing he did not say, verbatim at least, is that the LIBERALS want you to DIE. That is the only thing that didn't come out of his mouth, but everything he said intimated that idea. I would posit that he does not represent talk radio, but rather a kind of propaganda machine, very Himmler-esque in its quality. If there were only ONE Democrat left in the country, he would stick his phallus-replacing cigar in his chubby mouth and tell everyone how evil that one Democrat is and how he is destroying the country.

Mr. Oxycontin yourself, disgusting in your filthy Anti-American ideals, why does Heath Ledger die, but your barely-living carcass still strolls around, gobbling down steaks and looking lewdly at young boys in shorts?

When are you going to be relegated to a ham-beast-mobile to move your lard around the neighborhood? I would love to see you in a scooter so I can run you over and stomp on your skull with my boots and ram a tire iron up your lubed-up craphole.

This would be in the interest of the greatness of America. You speak for no-one but yourself and your ego that demands attention.

Wow, you are really gross.

When I take my pistol to the shooting range, I love to use your face as my target, fyi.

If you aren't going to hell, don't worry about it!

For those like myself who give attention to such folly as the new CERN particle collider, do we not have to wonder? Are there remnants of generations removed from the reality of our sciences that presently mill about with opalescent orbs for eyes, blind to the glare of factual and diligent observation? Verily, I say, there are... and in hordes!

We have all heard their primitive rumblings, their Luddite calls for revolution against Satan, their spurious claims of Armageddon brought to Earth by man himself as if to supplant the role of the Almighty in the end of days. Even some of our own, those whose minds are adept at the interpretation of nature and her forces, hold forth that we will summon the power of creation into our midst and conversely unleash destruction of all that we know. We will create black holes a few angstroms across that will devour civilizations, evacuate the wombs of those with child, rend mountains like so much papier mache and take from God the power that HE HIMSELF may only wield!

Abstractly, I have this to offer those who wish the evolution of our knowledge base to cease. If in fact a micro black hole were to be created, it would be extremely unstable and last perhaps a few microseconds, though I have seen some estimates depending on the Plank Energy of the particle beam interaction that mention a few seconds. Of course you have to wonder if the mBH starts absorbing the particles in the stream, can it grow larger and eventually eat the solar system.

Either way, I must say to those who live in the proverbial Caves of Garrten, if you die instantaneously from the mBH sucking you into a stream of elementary particles and your soul/consciousness continues to 'exist' (it not being a function of material interactions), where will it go? As a Buddhist, it is a hard one to say for the fact that the ability to reincarnate with the intent to progress along the evolutionary path to eventual enlightenment has been permanently hampered by the destruction of all Earthbound entities that might have served as parents to a future incarnation. (this does not of course take into account OTHER realms which may serve as instant hotbeds of incarnative potential, as the Buddha said this is not the only world.) But if the supposition can be made that this IS the only world and it gets swallowed into non-material existence, I guess from my perspective, I have achieved nirvana and am now a cumulative entity, deed done.

If I am a Christian and have either heaven or hell to look forward to, then I better have my shit in order. So now we see where the real concern comes in. Behold my weak extrapolation! The nay-sayers and hypercritical folk are worried about going to hell. That begs the question, what are they hiding from us? What secrets in their closets? Whose blood on their hands? What sins in their hearts? Were they Christ-like, they would hold their head high with the knowledge that they will surely be with their God when the Earth is swallowed. But they are hand wringing and sweaty of the brow because their judgment will certainly be unfavorable. Is THIS not the time to make amends? Now, more than ever before? If you aren't going to hell, don't worry about it.

For the Nihilists and common agnostics, there is nothing to say to you. You don't believe in shit anyway.

There is a funny aside to all this. I was once discussing the smashing of atoms with someone and mentioned how you use a fairly substantial isotope as your target nuclide. And they asked me, "Isn't that an alcohol?" (talking about isotope) Ha ha ha ha! Sorry if that person is reading this, but that was pretty funny. I didn't realize what a noob you were at the time. So much for having intellectual conversation at the Owl and Thistle.

Much to my dismay, I find myself watching more political television than ever. Upon querying my most secret places, I find that I do it for those of us who have no fucking clue as to what is going on in the world. So on the off chance that someone asks "Who is the Mayor of Kabul", "Have they found Saddam Hussein yet?" I have a cohesive response.

The talking heads of MSNBC, et al, are bad enough to have to watch (except my ex-girlfriend Rachel Maddow), but the pundits they interview are unable to use the English language. They start nearly every sentence with the following triumvirate: listen, look, let's be honest. And a sprinkling of "I mean..." I just watched a five minute interview when Shlepply McSchleppers started six sentences with "listen". He spoke as if the host was NOT listening, speaking non-stop, or perhaps playing Nintendo DS Super Mario Bros. 3. None of those three were evident in the moving video I was watching.

Oh fucking HOORAH to Gary Locke, ex-governor of my fair adopted state of Warshington for being picked as Obama's Secretary of Commerce. I have a strange and varied relationship with Gov. Locke, it may be said. From almost spilling my beer all over him during the inaugural baseball game at Safeco Field in '98 to a bizarre chance encounter with him while working at Microsoft to bumping into him around Seattle here and there. I have told my friends that we are somehow karmically linked and are destined to merge one day into a fused being more powerful than anyone can imagine. Of course, I am a full foot taller than him, so I may shrink a bit. Anyway, good luck brother!

So so so... let me see. Oh yes, Jim, back to the traveling, which IS the point after all. You need to remember the following things:

Wireless dongle.
Battery charger.
Re-chargeable batteries.
Neti pot.
Leave checks for bills with roommate.

Re-adjust mirrors.
Fix XM radio antenna.
Get iPod wire.
Make cable for the CG-11.

More random pics I fergot to post.

Yurts in Oregon.


I have no idea where this was, but as I was getting gas a Mynock attached to the side of my RV.


Some RVs I coveted along the way.




My CG-11 setup. That is the Losmandy G11 mount and the Celestron 11" SCT.


This is the G11 with the Orion 4" semi-APO refractor.


Hahah! The Rogue brewery has the local public RV dump in their parking lot. I hadda snap it!


The Sylvia Beach Hotel in Newport, OR. What a great day to be alive!


Some historic house in Newport. But look... KITTIES in the window!


El Tapatio Mexican food in Astoria, OR. Not very good, though. Sorry, ET!


This guy was perched overlooking the big-time seal party going on below.


The seal party mentioned above.






Then this guy showed up and everyone got quiet. I think he used to date one of the girls on the rock.


That is all.

Gimme that Oscar, Heath!

It is well known that I should be winning tonight, but that ham Heath Ledger stole my shit. They totally overlooked my part as the guy in the bank that was scared and got down. It was the best 'scared' of the year, but I get no respect.

On the other hand, I have to give an award to "Jared the ex-Huge" and Subway for finally coming to their senses and listening to all of the emails that have been sent to them discussing the antiquated values they were working from when deciding to dump my main athlete Michael Phelps. I will eat there again now that they have said "Like most Americans, and like Michael Phelps himself, we were disappointed in his behavior. Also like most Americans, we accept his apology. Moving forward, he remains in our plans." Go Michael! I do not know many folks in my life who have NOT picked up the bong and said goodbye to the nights annoyances and gone on a delightful journey to Cheech and Chong-land for a bit. Why I myself as a young man was known to hit the glass princess once in a while.

After my maiden voyage with Althea (my RV), I arrived back in Seattle a few days ago having tooled about the wild reaches of Oregon for some time. The goals of the trip were accomplished for the most part, those being the following:

• Determine average miles per gallon.


• Adjust to new steering and braking systems.


• Measure time needed for full set up and break down of external hookups.


• See how she handles on foggy twisty mountain roads that lead into stamp-sized town.


• Retrieve Oregon's highest quality potables for my friends, all four of them.


• Determine if I really enjoy sleeping in a fiberglass box with only the freezing sleet outside to keep me company.


• See how my electronics hold up being bounced around for ten days straight.


• Make note of how many hours in a row I can listen to recordings of the Grateful Dead band before a spontaneous flashback occurs. (answer:14)

If I had a "Mission Accomplished" banner to hang outside my home when I returned, I would have done it... and MEANT it! Though, not all was peach cobbler and honey dust brushed lightly across Heather Kozar's bosom. Indeed I had my trials and tribulations.

Of course there was the issue with the 120V panel, which is still unresolved as a whole. Then I had to deal with the county sheriff of Noname, Oregon (still pronounced ore-eh-gohn'), who was hiding at the bottom of the twisty foggy hill right past the speed limit sign which was invisible in the fog. $264 for going 50 in a 30. It is a ticket I really do NOT need at the moment. There was no getting away from Mr. The Man, though. He could have nailed me for a bunch of other shit, but he 'gave me a break.' AND the weather sucked for the most part. Getting back to Seattle has not been much of a change, nor will it be until the middle of July. Such is life up here. But there are solutions, Jim, there are solutions.

Another odd thing that happened was the loss of a vent cover from Althea's roof. It was there in the picture of her wanting the whiskeys in Hood River, but when I was topside cleaning off her awning, the damned thing is gone. AND it is not the kind of thing you can just go buy another one of down at Piggly fucking Wiggly! What this means is the wonderful Seattle rain has been pouring into the evac fan for the LPG range. And there is some Romex hanging around as well and some high voltage tie-offs that I do NOT need getting wet. Oh! Here is a picture of her with her top down.



It was sunny here in Seattle, yes. That is NOT an altered image. But.. twenty minutes later, it was pouring rain again. One may be thinking, "really, Jim? A blue gradient?" And if one is thinking that, it shows what a master of the ESP am I! During the year of 1990, Tioga (pronounced tye-OH-gah) produced RVs in a few color schemes.





Notice the merlot, rose red and pale taupe?

Or how about the light and opera mauve...



So, I think I got the good one, HOOOONKY!

Unknown fact that I might tell someone if I were going to die : I used to run a BBS back in the early 80s called The Microchip - 6510, which ran on a Commodore 64, one 170K floppy and a 110/300BPS modem on a single phone line. I had over 100 users, but most of them used Apple ][s. We didn't care cause no one was BBSing at the time, and we were just glad to have a use for our modems. Then we ate a lot of pizza at the pizza parties and one of the nerds brought a homemade explosive and blew the hell out of a trash can lid. It was an impressive device for someone aged 11. That was Beryl. You know who you are, Beryl! I had a crush on Deana Steiner, too, as I recall. She was the 'hot nerd' girl who knew how to write programs that sat in the floppy controller RAM. Pretty cool.