Again, the fires in Southern California. I don't understand why it's such a big friggin surprise. It's a shame, but it should never be a surprise, and of course it's "worse than ever" now, because all those places the fires used to sweep through unhindered are covered with housing. So the houses must be saved.
My grandparents had a place in a mobile home park in the 70s and 80s, in Agoura, and there was nothing around them but the freeway, Wizzun's and the Rock Store. When there were fires out there, which, actually, was about every other year, there was almost no property damage or life lost, because there was no property to damage! Now the place is unrecognizable. A veritable sea of beige stucco and terracotta rooftops.
It shouldn't be a surprise because this is a weather pattern that rolls in EVERY YEAR! At the same time! Sometimes it's windier than others, but it's clockwork. There's a big fire somewhere every year down there. Well, i suppose one day they'll have all the open, fire-prone spaces covered in beige and terracotta, and there will be nothing left for the fires to start in. And then California's wildfire problems will be solved.
Monday, October 22, 2007
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Monday, October 15, 2007
..and another thing
one of the other many reasons i hate the place i played on Friday...
I ordered a BLT with fries to eat before the gig. Ate the BLT, started on the fries. First thing i noticed is that the fries *looked* raw. And they felt raw. And, yes, they tasted raw. But I had to go play so i had to wait until the end of the first set to ask for some more. Done. Just as we're about to go back up for set 2, here come my fries. Damn... So, end of set 2, i went to eat them. They shouldn't have been too cold, right? Again, they looked raw. Felt raw. They were a little warm, but when i bit into one, surprise! The center was ice cold.
This place makes you pay for the food and drink you order, on top of giving you a pathetic wage for playing. There was no way in hell I was paying for the effin fries. Luckily, the bartender was a nice, understanding kind of dude and just charged me for the BLT.
And some time ago, the smart half and i went up there to have lunch. We paid with a card, and left a decent tip in cash on the table. when our statement came, and extra couple of dollars had been added to our bill. I hadn't been back there since that happened, and still won't go there unless it's for work or whatever. Fuck that place and the asshole Christian that runs it.
I ordered a BLT with fries to eat before the gig. Ate the BLT, started on the fries. First thing i noticed is that the fries *looked* raw. And they felt raw. And, yes, they tasted raw. But I had to go play so i had to wait until the end of the first set to ask for some more. Done. Just as we're about to go back up for set 2, here come my fries. Damn... So, end of set 2, i went to eat them. They shouldn't have been too cold, right? Again, they looked raw. Felt raw. They were a little warm, but when i bit into one, surprise! The center was ice cold.
This place makes you pay for the food and drink you order, on top of giving you a pathetic wage for playing. There was no way in hell I was paying for the effin fries. Luckily, the bartender was a nice, understanding kind of dude and just charged me for the BLT.
And some time ago, the smart half and i went up there to have lunch. We paid with a card, and left a decent tip in cash on the table. when our statement came, and extra couple of dollars had been added to our bill. I hadn't been back there since that happened, and still won't go there unless it's for work or whatever. Fuck that place and the asshole Christian that runs it.
Sunday, October 14, 2007
a night at the truck stop
Friday night I filled in for another bass player and played up at the truck stop. They have a lounge and a restaurant in there. And a little general store thing.
I actually really actively dislike this place. It was big hair and big hats, drunk regulars, generally too much yee-haw for me. I like some yee-haw, but there's such a thing as too much.
I actually really actively dislike this place. It was big hair and big hats, drunk regulars, generally too much yee-haw for me. I like some yee-haw, but there's such a thing as too much.
Saturday, October 13, 2007
colors
I really like fall here. The weather is wonderful, like spring. Not miserable hot of summer or bone-chilling cold of winter. I like how the trees are bright red, bright yellow, bright orange and have backdrops of evergreen. I like how the air feels.
I have enjoyed, this year, seeing the cycle of agriculture a little closer than i have in the past. With the driving to Tulelake and the Siskiyou route, i go through a lot of farmland. It's harvest time right now for potatoes, onions, and garlic. Last month was mint. The pole buildings are all full of hay and livestock have been moved into different pastures than where they spent the summer. There are strange looking vehicles cruising slowly down the right side of the road. Cows and horses are looking a weeee bit shaggier.
There's a piece of property I pass on the 97 south of town, where they have a bunch of sheep and goats. I always see one goat in particular being sneakier than the rest of his crowd. He has figured out ways to get to the good stuff that his peers haven't. Yesterday, he was mowing a path out the fence toward to highway. That strip is where the good, tall, green grass and green rabbitbrowse are thriving. Smart little goat.
I have enjoyed, this year, seeing the cycle of agriculture a little closer than i have in the past. With the driving to Tulelake and the Siskiyou route, i go through a lot of farmland. It's harvest time right now for potatoes, onions, and garlic. Last month was mint. The pole buildings are all full of hay and livestock have been moved into different pastures than where they spent the summer. There are strange looking vehicles cruising slowly down the right side of the road. Cows and horses are looking a weeee bit shaggier.
There's a piece of property I pass on the 97 south of town, where they have a bunch of sheep and goats. I always see one goat in particular being sneakier than the rest of his crowd. He has figured out ways to get to the good stuff that his peers haven't. Yesterday, he was mowing a path out the fence toward to highway. That strip is where the good, tall, green grass and green rabbitbrowse are thriving. Smart little goat.
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
dark at noon
Well, not totally dark. Dark enough that at noon I was thinking, "Gee, it's pretty late, have I been working that long?!". But no, we have high winds today, and they've brought us all the topsoil from surrounding farms and ranches. Winds are right on the heels of the mint and tater harvest.
Storms seem to take awhile to blow into KF. In Booze Bay, while the weather guy was saying "It'll be windy this afternoon", pieces of our fences were blowing down the road.
Storms seem to take awhile to blow into KF. In Booze Bay, while the weather guy was saying "It'll be windy this afternoon", pieces of our fences were blowing down the road.
Saturday, October 06, 2007
ha ha fooled ya
Man, the music got one over on me when I thought I was getting it. I posted earlier about how the rambler and I had thought we'd figured something out, theory-wise, when I played a song in A minor that he played an E minor pentatonic lead over, that also had a bass line in E minor.
Well, dip me in batter and call me corn pone, but this is the kind of thing about theory that leaves me stuttering.
There's a little trick in jamming, in playing music in general (except for classical, but I'm not sure), in that if you aren't sure what key you're playing in, the first note/chord or the last note/chord is the key. F'rinstance, if the first note/chord of a song is A minor, you could reasonably assume you will be playing in the key of A minor. Which is what we were doing, and assuming, because I'm still shaky on what notes are in what keys.
But this is where the theory monster jumped on us and ate our brains. The song we were playing was actually in G. But the first note/chord is A minor, and the last note/chord is D.
Well, of course, it's a Garcia/Hunter song, so it's all weird anyway. I should have known.
What song? "Loser". Although I don't have the Dead version, I have the Cracker version, and I love it, and have been teaching it to some people so we can play it. I love the recording of it. It's just the guys in Cracker sitting around, with the singer (whos name always escapes me) showing the rest of the band how it goes, and they all kind of jump in and DAMN it's just a fantastic example of a jam.
Well, dip me in batter and call me corn pone, but this is the kind of thing about theory that leaves me stuttering.
There's a little trick in jamming, in playing music in general (except for classical, but I'm not sure), in that if you aren't sure what key you're playing in, the first note/chord or the last note/chord is the key. F'rinstance, if the first note/chord of a song is A minor, you could reasonably assume you will be playing in the key of A minor. Which is what we were doing, and assuming, because I'm still shaky on what notes are in what keys.
But this is where the theory monster jumped on us and ate our brains. The song we were playing was actually in G. But the first note/chord is A minor, and the last note/chord is D.
Well, of course, it's a Garcia/Hunter song, so it's all weird anyway. I should have known.
What song? "Loser". Although I don't have the Dead version, I have the Cracker version, and I love it, and have been teaching it to some people so we can play it. I love the recording of it. It's just the guys in Cracker sitting around, with the singer (whos name always escapes me) showing the rest of the band how it goes, and they all kind of jump in and DAMN it's just a fantastic example of a jam.
Thursday, October 04, 2007
plan for next spring
I have heard a lot of whining from people about what kind of venues KBS plays at and about the music and about the age thing and, of course, none of the whiners have any kind of suggestions for changing anything, and it's not like we haven't tried this stuff and gotten zilch for turnout- Look! the whiners aren't here! Imagine that!
So starting next spring we will regularly give them an opportunity to shut the fuck up, all summer long. Oh, sure, this could be put more mildly, but this is my thingie and my personal opinions and i'm not representing anyone but my own irritated self here.
Anyway, the idea is on Sundays, either every Sunday, every other Sunday, Second Sunday, or whatever, we just hold a guitar picnic at one of the local parks. It'll be in the paper, and we'll send out the stuff in the newsletter. We ask only that folks bring an acoustic instrument (bass, guitar, harmonica, horn, hand drum, fiddle, dobro, mandolin, whatever) and a picnic lunch and enjoy some hours in the sunshine, strumming, picking, wailing, shredding, or whatever they do. Take some time to learn a new riff or teach someone a favorite. Jam with friends, jam with strangers, all informal, and no stage to squabble over. Open to all ages, all levels, all styles, and basically anyone who plays something that doesn't have to be plugged in, and even people who DON'T play, that want to just come down and check it out. We can't do electric stuff because we have to bow and scrape to the city to plug in. My idea, my big picture, is hopefully to start bringing musicians of all types together, not just the ones who do the blues thing. But also, like I said, to mellow the complaints. We can't make everyone happy. We can try to give everyone something to look forward to, though. More on this, hopefully, as we pull it together.
I have tried in my head over and over to think of ways to make our jams more inclusive to anyone. The issue is that we play at a bar, and the young'ns can't always get in unless we wrangle with the owners and the young'ns do certain things (one of which is that we ask they carry a copy of the ORS statute about underage performers on them while they are in jamming). Wednesdays are my long drive days, and I have nothing to do while driving except think of things. I've learned songs in my head on Wednesdays... better than thinking up ways to get into trouble, probably... Not just the bar issue, we have people who complain about anything else you can think of, from who they get to play with to how the sound is run.. you name it, someone bitches.
So starting next spring we will regularly give them an opportunity to shut the fuck up, all summer long. Oh, sure, this could be put more mildly, but this is my thingie and my personal opinions and i'm not representing anyone but my own irritated self here.
Anyway, the idea is on Sundays, either every Sunday, every other Sunday, Second Sunday, or whatever, we just hold a guitar picnic at one of the local parks. It'll be in the paper, and we'll send out the stuff in the newsletter. We ask only that folks bring an acoustic instrument (bass, guitar, harmonica, horn, hand drum, fiddle, dobro, mandolin, whatever) and a picnic lunch and enjoy some hours in the sunshine, strumming, picking, wailing, shredding, or whatever they do. Take some time to learn a new riff or teach someone a favorite. Jam with friends, jam with strangers, all informal, and no stage to squabble over. Open to all ages, all levels, all styles, and basically anyone who plays something that doesn't have to be plugged in, and even people who DON'T play, that want to just come down and check it out. We can't do electric stuff because we have to bow and scrape to the city to plug in. My idea, my big picture, is hopefully to start bringing musicians of all types together, not just the ones who do the blues thing. But also, like I said, to mellow the complaints. We can't make everyone happy. We can try to give everyone something to look forward to, though. More on this, hopefully, as we pull it together.
I have tried in my head over and over to think of ways to make our jams more inclusive to anyone. The issue is that we play at a bar, and the young'ns can't always get in unless we wrangle with the owners and the young'ns do certain things (one of which is that we ask they carry a copy of the ORS statute about underage performers on them while they are in jamming). Wednesdays are my long drive days, and I have nothing to do while driving except think of things. I've learned songs in my head on Wednesdays... better than thinking up ways to get into trouble, probably... Not just the bar issue, we have people who complain about anything else you can think of, from who they get to play with to how the sound is run.. you name it, someone bitches.
arrived
was just outside getting the paper. It's snowing! Weee! The thermometer we have outside that sends the temp to the clock is saying its 38. I have to move the sensor, apparently.
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
can't remember
I had something else I wanted to share with the world. I can't remember it, though. I've been chewing on the news about Steve since yesterday afternoon.
Another man done gone
I was terribly sad to hear that Scuba Steve was killed in Iraq.
I didn't know about it until yesterday, when I was talking to Djeef, and he asked if I remembered the kid that used to come and watch us practice. I knew him before we were in the band, he was friends with The Hoov's kids, and he was sometimes over there hanging out. The Kook told him, and he just told me.
So, let me tell you a little about him. I didn't know him all that well, first of all. But every time I saw him, he greeted me by name and shook my hand. You could sit right down and hold a conversation with him. That's what really stood out about him, to me. He was a smart, smart kid. He was easy to talk to, and I believe he had a gentle soul. I would sometimes stop into the dive shop at the mall to see if he was working, just to say hi. He had that kind of effect, at least on me. He was someone I looked forward to seeing. It was great when he showed up to watch us practice. He loved the music. He loved being a part of it, even if it was just standing at the door to the practice room and hollering and hooting for us, or cackling at our mistakes. He was too young to get into the bars to see us, but if we were playing an outdoor gig or somewhere he was allowed to go in, he was right up there in front.
So long, Lance Corporal Steven A. Stacy. 'Cooba Teeb. I've missed you.
I didn't know about it until yesterday, when I was talking to Djeef, and he asked if I remembered the kid that used to come and watch us practice. I knew him before we were in the band, he was friends with The Hoov's kids, and he was sometimes over there hanging out. The Kook told him, and he just told me.
So, let me tell you a little about him. I didn't know him all that well, first of all. But every time I saw him, he greeted me by name and shook my hand. You could sit right down and hold a conversation with him. That's what really stood out about him, to me. He was a smart, smart kid. He was easy to talk to, and I believe he had a gentle soul. I would sometimes stop into the dive shop at the mall to see if he was working, just to say hi. He had that kind of effect, at least on me. He was someone I looked forward to seeing. It was great when he showed up to watch us practice. He loved the music. He loved being a part of it, even if it was just standing at the door to the practice room and hollering and hooting for us, or cackling at our mistakes. He was too young to get into the bars to see us, but if we were playing an outdoor gig or somewhere he was allowed to go in, he was right up there in front.
So long, Lance Corporal Steven A. Stacy. 'Cooba Teeb. I've missed you.
Monday, October 01, 2007
great big "Wha?"
I still don't understand why guitar hero and guitar hero 2 are popular. I mean, I really don't understand. I've never "gotten" karaoke, either.
Saturday, September 29, 2007
work for years to come
My little bro was on the Kellogg Fire in Idaho. He did such a good job, a group of hotshots guaranteed him a job for next year's season.
It's a growing industry. How sad.
It's a growing industry. How sad.
Friday, September 28, 2007
Weather is here!
Hmm actually, the weather arrived last Wednesday, when we had snow at various places about 6000 feet. Bly mountain got some, but just enough to look out the window, say "Hey, it snowed" and then it went away.
Today, the snow level appears to be right at around 5500 feet or so. The tops of the hills around town got a dusting.
I needed wiper blades. I knew this a week ago, and kept thinking, "Pick up blades for the car and the Fo." Stopped in somewhere finally, today, to grab some, and stood in line behind a handful of other people who, like me, put it off. Heh. My blades on the Camry are about falling off- they're a year old. The ones on the Fo are intact, but simply don't do the job anymore. You can make a set of blades last two years on the coast- you're always using them, and if you wipe them off every time you squeegee your windows, they'll last. Out here, the just rot all summer and even keeping them clean doesn't do any good.
blah blah blah
Today, the snow level appears to be right at around 5500 feet or so. The tops of the hills around town got a dusting.
I needed wiper blades. I knew this a week ago, and kept thinking, "Pick up blades for the car and the Fo." Stopped in somewhere finally, today, to grab some, and stood in line behind a handful of other people who, like me, put it off. Heh. My blades on the Camry are about falling off- they're a year old. The ones on the Fo are intact, but simply don't do the job anymore. You can make a set of blades last two years on the coast- you're always using them, and if you wipe them off every time you squeegee your windows, they'll last. Out here, the just rot all summer and even keeping them clean doesn't do any good.
blah blah blah
Thursday, September 27, 2007
maybe disgusting
With the newest acquisition of the Yomamaha acoustic geet, it brings the grand total of stringed instruments in our house to...
*drumroll*
seven.
two steel string acoustics, one spanish classical acoustic, one electric six-string, one archtop acoustic, one solid-body bass, one hollow-body bass.
And, you know, if I sold them all, I still couldn't buy a $2000 Taylor or anything like that. *laff* Not even if I threw in the 15-inch ported bass cab, 100-watt head AND 15-watt practice amp.
I have all this shit, and still I'm driving around in an '87 Camry who threatens me with something new to go wrong every stinking day. What's wrong, here?!
Oh the rambler and i made a musical discovery last night, and spent an hour trying to figure out what made it work. I played a song in A minor. Then I showed him the bass line for it, which is in E. We both went, "Wait a sec...", because I had never made the connection about the two parts. (my guitar brain and bass brain aren't connected. If you ever jammed with me, you'd see this). So I played the piece again, just the rhythm part, and he played an E minor pentatonic scale over it for a lead. It sounded great.
It has to do with the circle of fifths, and why certain things we've played with two guitars-one capo'd, one not-sounded right. So we spent a while trying to drag this information from the depths of my mind, where it resides, and creeps out once in a while and whacks me in the head, resulting in a moment of " Holy crap I get it!!!". This feeling disappears after about an hour, and I'm lost on the theory shit all over. anyway, I couldn't quite make the connection make sense for him, because it isn't real solid for me. We'll work on it.
*drumroll*
seven.
two steel string acoustics, one spanish classical acoustic, one electric six-string, one archtop acoustic, one solid-body bass, one hollow-body bass.
And, you know, if I sold them all, I still couldn't buy a $2000 Taylor or anything like that. *laff* Not even if I threw in the 15-inch ported bass cab, 100-watt head AND 15-watt practice amp.
I have all this shit, and still I'm driving around in an '87 Camry who threatens me with something new to go wrong every stinking day. What's wrong, here?!
Oh the rambler and i made a musical discovery last night, and spent an hour trying to figure out what made it work. I played a song in A minor. Then I showed him the bass line for it, which is in E. We both went, "Wait a sec...", because I had never made the connection about the two parts. (my guitar brain and bass brain aren't connected. If you ever jammed with me, you'd see this). So I played the piece again, just the rhythm part, and he played an E minor pentatonic scale over it for a lead. It sounded great.
It has to do with the circle of fifths, and why certain things we've played with two guitars-one capo'd, one not-sounded right. So we spent a while trying to drag this information from the depths of my mind, where it resides, and creeps out once in a while and whacks me in the head, resulting in a moment of " Holy crap I get it!!!". This feeling disappears after about an hour, and I'm lost on the theory shit all over. anyway, I couldn't quite make the connection make sense for him, because it isn't real solid for me. We'll work on it.
in the spirit of all the "overheard" things
2 from here.
At a mini-mart i'm stocking, the clerk and a customer are discussing the merits of the "can cappers".
"Once you get them on, they don't come off easy"
"Yeah, it's hard to get off the can sometimes".
*
At a meeting of musicians, discussing the fact that a temporary outdoor stage was taken down-
"well, we all have experience playing on grass".
mundane if read one way, i thought they were a roar in person if you took the double meanings from them.
At a mini-mart i'm stocking, the clerk and a customer are discussing the merits of the "can cappers".
"Once you get them on, they don't come off easy"
"Yeah, it's hard to get off the can sometimes".
*
At a meeting of musicians, discussing the fact that a temporary outdoor stage was taken down-
"well, we all have experience playing on grass".
mundane if read one way, i thought they were a roar in person if you took the double meanings from them.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
how weird things are
SO, i took the trip down with my aunt, whom, as i said, i think, I hadn't seen in at least 20 years. Possibly longer. Now we live within an hour from each other.
We got to talk for 12 hours straight, then another 12 coming back. That's right, we busted through the trip in one shot both ways. Stopped for gas, potty breaks, and that was it.
I got to meet my little second cousin when I went to her house. A little red-headed kid. I love little red-headed kids. She's smart as hell, too. Five, heading into kindergarten this year. My cousin looks fantastic. My uncle is a volunteer Policeman at Rogue River- the man is pushing 70 and is unstoppable.
My aunt looks just like her mother. Sort of sounds like her too, although I hear my dad and my uncle's mannerisms in hers, and see pieces of grandma in how she acts. She laughs and says, about my misadventures, "you may not be one by blood, but you're one of us that's for sure". Her daughter is the only cousin I have on that side that did not make a life-alteringly horrific decision at any point in her life. Good for her. Like I said, she's the "good heather".
Anyway, i suppose I should mosey off to work. I have to be there in 10 minutes.
We got to talk for 12 hours straight, then another 12 coming back. That's right, we busted through the trip in one shot both ways. Stopped for gas, potty breaks, and that was it.
I got to meet my little second cousin when I went to her house. A little red-headed kid. I love little red-headed kids. She's smart as hell, too. Five, heading into kindergarten this year. My cousin looks fantastic. My uncle is a volunteer Policeman at Rogue River- the man is pushing 70 and is unstoppable.
My aunt looks just like her mother. Sort of sounds like her too, although I hear my dad and my uncle's mannerisms in hers, and see pieces of grandma in how she acts. She laughs and says, about my misadventures, "you may not be one by blood, but you're one of us that's for sure". Her daughter is the only cousin I have on that side that did not make a life-alteringly horrific decision at any point in her life. Good for her. Like I said, she's the "good heather".
Anyway, i suppose I should mosey off to work. I have to be there in 10 minutes.
the manifest
I'm just going to start a new flickr account, since they've been so unhelpful (read unresponsive) in merging the old one for me. But for now, a list of the items i was given.
a "pub clock", the name is what style, not where it was. The clock says "RAF" under the XII, it belonged to the Royal Air Force and probably went in a mess hall or something similar. It's in perfect condition, as anything belonging to my dad is, except the things my brother was allowed to touch. It must weigh 40 pounds.
A pipe cabinet. About 2 feet high, very delicate legs. The top warped at some point and is no longer attached, but still fits. It's oak.
14 x 14 framed print of the insignia of the Glomar Explorer. Also included with this treasure is a belt buckle that came with the print, that has the Explorer on it, and my dad's name under it (google Project Jennifer for more info on this project).
A framed and signed drawing by Paul Conrad, an editorial cartoonist from the LA Times. From 1971. It was signed again and given to my dad, "To (my dad's name)" in 1976. An original ink drawing, not a print.
A humongous oak-framed mirror. Not sure what style it is.
2 oddball pieces in cast aluminum and glass. My dad made them. One has a light inside, and the other is a place to put your pocket finds.
A spun copper bowl, made by my dad in college.
My dad's carpentry gig bag, from college.
Some of my grandfather's tools, and his toolbox. All are made in USA. Included are lineman's pliers, original channel locks, tin snippers, 80 million types of feeler gages, spark plug gappers, etc.
Our old camping equipment. Coleman single burner and two-burner stove, lantern, fuel to run them. The old aluminum pole tent, and an older backpacking tent. Scored his axe, the one we always took with us, with it's leather head cover.
Many old pictures, which my aunt has, and she is going to scan and print them.
A trashcan that looks like a Campbell's Tomato soup can.
Another clock, that we couldn't fit, that he is going to ship up.
A giant oak roll top desk, which my aunt will keep for us until we get a place it will fit... because we couldn't even get it in the door, probably. This alone weighs probably 500 pounds, in three pieces. To get it out of his house, we hauled it down three flights of stairs (and between the three of us, we had maybe three properly functioning knees, so that was fun)
My schooldesk. It's mine because I had it all growing up, and when I moved out, my mom gave it back to him for the kids to use. Surprisingly, it's not trashed. When I say "schooldesk", you think of the ones the kids on Little House on the Prairie used. Inkwell hole, cast iron feet that bolted to the floor, seat in the front for the next kid.
The "Come right now or get your butt spanked bell". Brought out from Kansas by my grandparents, a real cowbell. Bronze. They rang it when it was time for my dad, aunt and uncle to come in for dinner.
2 pieces of cast iron cookware. A "cauldron", just a pot. Also a long cauldron, about two feet long and 18 inches deep. These belonged to my great-grandparents, the Jennings (grandma's side)
a four-legged stool my dad picked up somewhere. He couldn't understand why i wanted it. It was mine to sit on when we were working in the garage together. I absorbed a lot of mechanical information, metallurgical information, and things you just generally tell your son about when you're in the garage together, while sitting on that stool.
A long tapestry thing with dragons embroidered on it, that some Minister of Something in China gave my dad on one of his trips over there that had to do with his business.
His old down sleeping bag. Also, his down coat. This coat is a monster. I can't wait until it's cold enough to wear it, although we'll probably have it set aside for guests from more temperate climes to use in the wintertime.
Dad's skis and poles. Head Standards. They're aluminum downhillers. Probably from the late 60s. I forget what the bindings are. I will risk more knee injuries learning to use them, i'm sure.
My brother's acoustic guitar. A Yamaha. It was probably played twice. Looking at the book in the case, I'm not surprised he didn't continue learning. There was an electric geet, but dad said bro came over and got it one day and it never came back. Probably got sold for bail money, drugs, or to pay off a ticket. I snicker. I would have probably done the same, but the acoustic is a better guitar than the electric was.
A digital clock that's neato- has a big face, big numbers, shows the time, date, day, inside temp, outside temp, relative humidity and a general direction of which way the weather is headed. It currently isn't showing the outside temp, even though the sensor is outside. I'll have to fiddle with it some.
Some painting stuff. Including a nice dropcloth (finally!), scrapers, decent brushes. Good stuff to have.
Some other miscellaneous things. I went and took pictures of all this stuff and will put them on the new flickr acccount when i set it up.
a "pub clock", the name is what style, not where it was. The clock says "RAF" under the XII, it belonged to the Royal Air Force and probably went in a mess hall or something similar. It's in perfect condition, as anything belonging to my dad is, except the things my brother was allowed to touch. It must weigh 40 pounds.
A pipe cabinet. About 2 feet high, very delicate legs. The top warped at some point and is no longer attached, but still fits. It's oak.
14 x 14 framed print of the insignia of the Glomar Explorer. Also included with this treasure is a belt buckle that came with the print, that has the Explorer on it, and my dad's name under it (google Project Jennifer for more info on this project).
A framed and signed drawing by Paul Conrad, an editorial cartoonist from the LA Times. From 1971. It was signed again and given to my dad, "To (my dad's name)" in 1976. An original ink drawing, not a print.
A humongous oak-framed mirror. Not sure what style it is.
2 oddball pieces in cast aluminum and glass. My dad made them. One has a light inside, and the other is a place to put your pocket finds.
A spun copper bowl, made by my dad in college.
My dad's carpentry gig bag, from college.
Some of my grandfather's tools, and his toolbox. All are made in USA. Included are lineman's pliers, original channel locks, tin snippers, 80 million types of feeler gages, spark plug gappers, etc.
Our old camping equipment. Coleman single burner and two-burner stove, lantern, fuel to run them. The old aluminum pole tent, and an older backpacking tent. Scored his axe, the one we always took with us, with it's leather head cover.
Many old pictures, which my aunt has, and she is going to scan and print them.
A trashcan that looks like a Campbell's Tomato soup can.
Another clock, that we couldn't fit, that he is going to ship up.
A giant oak roll top desk, which my aunt will keep for us until we get a place it will fit... because we couldn't even get it in the door, probably. This alone weighs probably 500 pounds, in three pieces. To get it out of his house, we hauled it down three flights of stairs (and between the three of us, we had maybe three properly functioning knees, so that was fun)
My schooldesk. It's mine because I had it all growing up, and when I moved out, my mom gave it back to him for the kids to use. Surprisingly, it's not trashed. When I say "schooldesk", you think of the ones the kids on Little House on the Prairie used. Inkwell hole, cast iron feet that bolted to the floor, seat in the front for the next kid.
The "Come right now or get your butt spanked bell". Brought out from Kansas by my grandparents, a real cowbell. Bronze. They rang it when it was time for my dad, aunt and uncle to come in for dinner.
2 pieces of cast iron cookware. A "cauldron", just a pot. Also a long cauldron, about two feet long and 18 inches deep. These belonged to my great-grandparents, the Jennings (grandma's side)
a four-legged stool my dad picked up somewhere. He couldn't understand why i wanted it. It was mine to sit on when we were working in the garage together. I absorbed a lot of mechanical information, metallurgical information, and things you just generally tell your son about when you're in the garage together, while sitting on that stool.
A long tapestry thing with dragons embroidered on it, that some Minister of Something in China gave my dad on one of his trips over there that had to do with his business.
His old down sleeping bag. Also, his down coat. This coat is a monster. I can't wait until it's cold enough to wear it, although we'll probably have it set aside for guests from more temperate climes to use in the wintertime.
Dad's skis and poles. Head Standards. They're aluminum downhillers. Probably from the late 60s. I forget what the bindings are. I will risk more knee injuries learning to use them, i'm sure.
My brother's acoustic guitar. A Yamaha. It was probably played twice. Looking at the book in the case, I'm not surprised he didn't continue learning. There was an electric geet, but dad said bro came over and got it one day and it never came back. Probably got sold for bail money, drugs, or to pay off a ticket. I snicker. I would have probably done the same, but the acoustic is a better guitar than the electric was.
A digital clock that's neato- has a big face, big numbers, shows the time, date, day, inside temp, outside temp, relative humidity and a general direction of which way the weather is headed. It currently isn't showing the outside temp, even though the sensor is outside. I'll have to fiddle with it some.
Some painting stuff. Including a nice dropcloth (finally!), scrapers, decent brushes. Good stuff to have.
Some other miscellaneous things. I went and took pictures of all this stuff and will put them on the new flickr acccount when i set it up.
the visitor
i found her owners the day after she wandered into our yard. I called around to the local vets to see if someone had reported her missing. OUR vet said, "She sounds familiar" but she hadnt been reported. I took her down there. They recognized her from when she was a puppy. Someone had found her wandering along one of the main drags here, with a messed up eye, so they brought her to the vet and got her all fixed up, had a chip put in, and looked for a new home for her to go to. She got one, with a family, a big yard, etc. But she had gotten out the gate while playing with the kids a couple of weeks ago and then appeared in our yard.
So, yeah she went home and she was ecstatic to see the vet. weirdo dog.
In other news, I just returned from a whirlwind trip to LA and back, on Monday. Loaded down with family treasures. More on that later.
So, yeah she went home and she was ecstatic to see the vet. weirdo dog.
In other news, I just returned from a whirlwind trip to LA and back, on Monday. Loaded down with family treasures. More on that later.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
4-legged visitor
Because we live at the intersection of the freeway and a busy street, when a dog or cat wanders into our yard, i'll close the gate and look for the owner. Yesterday, I locked myself out of the house and this beautiful little pit bull wandered over. Super friendly. Starved half to death. So I put her in the yard, closed the gate, and walked up to the K Hole to buy a bag of hound chow. Came back, fed her. She has a collar and no tag. She's brindle with white toes, white chest, white mask. And one eye. Housebroken, rides in a car without much problem. I took her out for a walk around the 'hood to see if anyone recognized her. No luck. So, today while working, I will drop her at a groomer for a bath (she smells like stinkydog) and in between stores, call the humane society and as many vets as I can to see if one of their patients is missing. She has little snaggleteeth, too. I don't want to take her to the pound, so I've got the word out that I've got a sweet little pitty that needs a really good home. She is a spoiled dog, has attachment issues it seems. She's an inside dog. She looks purebred, but small. She has a collar, but no tags.
The cats aren't real sure what to think. Tam has come out to visit with her dog before and they did ok, just hung out in the bedroom while the dog was around. Except queen Spot, who kept her place on the couch and ignored Tuffy.
So, if anyone in Klamath stumbles across this, who knows who might belong to this sweet, one-eyed girldog, leave a comment. I've been calling her Jack.
The cats aren't real sure what to think. Tam has come out to visit with her dog before and they did ok, just hung out in the bedroom while the dog was around. Except queen Spot, who kept her place on the couch and ignored Tuffy.
So, if anyone in Klamath stumbles across this, who knows who might belong to this sweet, one-eyed girldog, leave a comment. I've been calling her Jack.
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