How to Get the Day Off Work

This is the end result of my drive to work this morning (I was the passenger, by the way). Needless to say, I'm taking the rest of the day off. My back is very sore. I would write more, but what's there really to say...I had a shitty morning.

GONZO

Tomorrow marks the second year that earth has seemed quite empty. Two years ago tomorrow, America lost one of the few things that made it great.
Two years ago tomorrow, gonzo journalist, author, and artist, Hunter S. Thompson (for his own well thought out reasons), took his own life at his home in Woody Creek Colorado.

He was the closest thing I had to a hero. He ran for sheriff, he rode with the Hells Angels, he was the sworn enemy of Richard Nixon.
Hunter S. Thompson had a style of writing that made sane thoughts twisted, and the unbelievable very real. As a journalist, he could smell out scandal, and if none could be found, he simply made it up.

He was a hippy who loved guns.

His writings have carried me through some very dark times.
He was the master of making up really catchy titles.
Generation of Swine....Fear and Loathing (this one he recycled often, as do I)...Better Than Sex...The Great Shark Hunt...Songs of the Doomed, to name but a few.
If I could write as well as him, I would say more, but the biggest similarity between HST and myself is the hairline.
I think I will spend tonight watching Johnny Depp portray him in "Fear and Loathing". Tomorrow, it will be Bill Murray in "Where the Buffalo Roam". You may have seen the first, but you should look for the other...not as slick, but gritty to the core.
Anyway, I hoist my glass of Nicaraguan rum to a man who made an actual difference in the world.






















"We were somewhere around Barstow on the edge of the desert when the drugs began to take hold. I remember saying something like "I feel a bit lightheaded; maybe you should drive...." And suddenly there was a terrible roar all around us and the sky was full of what looked like huge bats, all swooping and screeching and diving around the car, which was going about a hundred miles an hour with the top down to Las Vegas. And a voice was screaming: "Holy Jesus! What are these goddamn animals?" Then it was quiet again. My attorney had taken his shirt off and was pouring beer on his chest, to facilitate the tanning process. "What the hell are you yelling about?" he muttered, staring up at the sun with his eyes closed and covered with wraparound Spanish sunglasses. "Never mind," I said. "It's your turn to drive." I hit the brakes and aimed the Great Red Shark toward the shoulder of the highway. No point mentioning those bats, I thought. The poor bastard will see them soon enough." -from Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas




"I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence, or insanity to anyone, but they've always worked for me. "
Hunter S. Thompson






















"America... just a nation of two hundred million used car salesmen with all the money we need to buy guns and no qualms about killing anybody else in the world who tries to make us uncomfortable."
Hunter S. Thompson






















"The Edge... there is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over."
Hunter S. Thompson




post script: That last photo there was taken circa 1970's by HST himself. If the image causes offense (the nudity or the mask), I will remove it.

Pregnancy, Birth, and Child Rearing in the Digital Age

As you may know, that last of my childless friends are having a baby. This is alarming for a number of reasons, but watching first time parents cope with the experience (from a safely guarded distance, of course) can be amusing and insightful.
One such insight occurred to me today. I dropped my friend Mike (he's the "dad to be" in this particular scenario) off at home today, after work, and was greeted outside on the sidewalk by his partner Kara (the "mom to be")in her stocking feet (funny really, as the last time I saw her she was wearing gum boots but no socks). She was waving a piece of paper with a black and white photo image on it. This was, of course, the first ultra sound photo of the "baby to be".
I looked at the photo, counted the number of visible heads (Mikes brother just had twins...uh... his partner actually), and tried to determine what was what.
"He's about the size of a small mouse" said Kara.
"It" I replied, and received a dismissive smile (sarcasm isn't always appreciated by pregnant hormone laden women), but I feel my point was valid...the sex of the small mouse creature was clearly indeterminate at this stage (at later stages, they black out the naughty bits if you don't want to know...kind of like Hustler magazines from the 1980's).
Anyway, as I was leaving, she asked me if I had a scanner so she could scan the ultra sound and send it to her mom/friends etc..
I don't have a scanner, but this little exchange made me think...Hmmm... it's quite normal to send people pictures of your unborn children these days...in fact... in certain circles it's probably expected.
Mike's brothers twins (actually they are Kama's twins)

This got me thinking about how much the experience of pregnancy has changed in the last couple of decades (since I was a small mouse that is).
First off, it very common to say that couples are pregnant. In fact, I had to correct myself on this point earlier. When I'm talking about said pregnancy, I say that "Mike and Kara are pregnant". Now, looking at Mike, its clear that he is a man, and therefore cannot conceive...but still...the terminology is out there...and pervasive.
The second thing that came to mind was that people are not shy about talking about, or even photographing, or even showing you the photographs/videos of what previously was considered "a very private thing not to be discussed". This is, in a way, a positive thing, as it has allowed the births and public breastfeeding to be re-accepted in society. But it can be taken to far...I mean how many times do you watch the miracle of birth on DVD?? How much does prime time TV have to suck before you switch off a rerun to watch trhat?? Really, the only video/photos I want to see of this whole process are the ones they were taking when they were making the little bugger!
It then occurred to me that kids (after they are born) have a lot of freakin' pictures taken of them. I had a few pictures taken of me when I was small, perhaps 20, but I know of infants that have had their images recored 1000's of times, and in various media formats. Were talking candid snaps, formal portraits, home videos...) And these images get sent all over, to people who really don't care that much, who still put them up on their fridge (seriously, my fridge looks like a still life of a pre-school. I recall one of Kira's friend who ducked out of coming to our wedding. They sent a note after...not one mention of our nuptials, just an envelope with portraits of their kids...one with fake butterfly wings no less. It is really no wonder that so many young people line up for Canadian Idol and other reality TV shows...their prepped for the camera...they've been shaking it in front of the camera since they were born!





















Look...it's me holding a baby...don't I look comfortable (I was probably drunk).

post script: the image at the top of the screen is not Mike and Kara's mouse creature, I simply Googled "ultrasound" and chose this from the 34000000 hits I got. The name of the paitient has been deleted to protect the guilty.

Called to the Front Lines

Well, it had to happen sooner or later. That awful phone call...the voice of doom. So after a mere three months of vacation, I must go to work tomorrow.
This happens every year, it just kind of blindsides me...the phone rings, and volia, no more sleeping in until 9:00. No more carefree afternoons twiddling me thumbs.
Seriously, I have been in a bit of a rut of late. It's a workplace hazard of the seasonally unemployed.
For instance, I spent one afternoon systematically testing my toasters to see which ones worked. I used very cheap white bread, and ended up with a fair pile of crouton making material.
There was a means to that particular madness, after all these years of having 80 some odd toasters, there was suddenly a demand for toasters amongst my friends. I actually had to select 2 perfectly functioning toasters, and part with them. One went to Kira's new place in Victoria (an apparently elegant old home in the James Bay area) and the other went to my friends Mike and Kara, whom recently re-did their kitchen (and bathroom, and living room, and dinning room...actually the whole house). They decided that their crappy 80's toaster (though perfectly functional) was in need of upgrading. I gave them a 1958 Sunbeam T35 fully automatic toaster (no levers to push). A real beauty that tioasts as well as the day it was made. I use a slightly newer (and custom painted model) of this toaster in my own kitchen, so I'm confident that it will give them years of toasty goodness (unless the baby thats on the way decides to stick something not toastable in it...or smear it with peanut buttery lip prints...kids are capable of anything).
Kira and her room mate received a rather early example of the GE T31C, a toaster that was produced from the 1950's through the 70's. While not the most rare of machines, it is a god one with clean lines.
Other endeavors included a damage evaluation of the freeriding mountain bike trail that I built with Mike a few years back. This trail involved several hundred hours of labour and the arrest of my dog (long story there), so I was anxious to see how it faired over the winter storm season. There was much destruction, and quite a few hours more of repair work is required. Of course, now that I'm going back to work, I won't have any time to do this. The assessment of my trail spawned a new axiom about trees falling in the woods when no one is around: "When a tree falls in the forest, and no one is around, it falls on something that took hours to build, and will be a major pain in the ass to clean up!"
Ironically, and with that in mind, I start work tomorrow with the specific purpose of assessing danger trees in cutblocks that will be planted next week. I am, as it happens, a fully qualified Danger Tree Assessor.


As an aside here, tomorrow marks one year to the day since I started this BLOG. I've made 53 posts on this Blog, that an average of one per week....through thick and thin. SO...YAY ME (who'd of thought I would have the tenacity to stick with it?).

post script: reviewing my blog entries, I also notice that this is the only post on Toasters of the Gods (since the first) that is in any way related to toasters, toasting, or toast...perhaps the name is a bit misleading...but I'm sticking with it because it's catchy.

Male Enhancement Breakthrough: See IT from SPACE

Sometimes I feel like I'm always traveling. I just got back from my vacation in Central America to find that I've been magically transported to the "Misty Moors of Scotland". Seriously, the sun has not shone down on my house since I've been back. I'm growing moss on my skin. It's damp and It's cold. This is the typical view down my street in the afternoon (after the worst has burned off). The picture isn't out of focus...it's just a wee bit foggy.
Fortunately, I'm able to escape the fog by jumping in my truck, and driving a mere 11 KM up to the top of the Hump, where there is a pleasant, small lake, bathed in sunshine from morning till dark. Sure, I have to dodge a few logging trucks along the way, but it's totally worth it. Despite the fact that it's actually much colder up at this elevation, it's somehow warming to sit on a rock by the frozen lake, and let the rays of the sun warm my molding flesh(that tan I got in Nicaragua has just about disappeared). The dog also enjoys the sun, although she has to break the thin crust of ice to go swimming.
Anyway, enough bitching about the weather. You could hear this complaint from a stranger at the mall. So lets focus on some of the more monumental achievements of mankind: the Great Wall of China, the Pyramids of Ghiza, Machu Picchu,the Nazca Lines, and the Southampton Penis. What....Never heard of the Southampton Penis?? Well, it does fall into the category of human created art that can be viewed from space. (See full article here)
The Southampton Penis was created as a practical joke by some school chums out to seek immortality. While I don't care for their medium (weed killer is never cool), and while their subject is a tiny bit infantile (although there have been many phallus cults studied intensely by both anthropologists and the art world), I can't help but respecting their vision.
When I was an active tree planter, I always fantasized about spelling out messages with trees. These messages, could for obvious reasons, only be deciphered from above. I never actively pursued this dream, due mainly to apathy and greed, but I do regret not leaving a legacy behind for the millions of Google Earth users.
I know of a stand of trees just north of Campbell River that was planted with poplars amongst a sea of Douglas-fir seedlings, that spells out the corporate logo of the now defunct M&B logging empire. I wonder if it has survived the recent selling and reselling of the business, or if it got logged when Weyerhauser took over?
It is my firm conviction that people should post more messages that can be viewed from space. George W. Bush has the technology to monitor you're neighbourhood, so why not send him a little token of your "appreciation" for all he's done for the world. This could be a community building project, where in all of your neighbours on your side of the street paint a single 20 foot letter on their roofs, cleverly spelling out the message of your choice. There is no need to be crude, but remember the subtlety and complexity of your message is limited by the length of your street and the willingness of your neighbours to comply with your project (planning tip: abstainers can be used as spaces, so work those into the message).
You could always plant some hedges that spell out dirty words...just for fun.
Or take it to the macro level...plant some carrots in your garden so they shout out your voice of protest.
Language is not just for speaking, and things other than books can be read. Living graffiti...the new language of the revolution.