Happiness is a Northbound Yankee
 

I've been hesitant to document anything of my trip, for I never would guess that it's turning into such a learning experience.

But this Is really more about precisely how not to a trek from Florida to Massachusetts. Starting in Sarasoto Florida or south of the South. I'm taking a 1977 300D up to Plymouth Rock. This car should travel on the back of a trailer. MAKES me think of the old joke: What do Harley Davidsons and dogs have in common? They both like riding in the back of pick up trucks. Which segues into talking about the Trailer Glide.

Well, my unnamed parts car plans to travel under its own steam. So far I am in Shelby NC, which is amazing since I left the south of the South on April 17th. Almost three weeks. A new speed record for me. When I drove truck, I'd regularly go from Denver to Los Angeles or Chicago or Little Rock overnight. I ran a lot of backroads to evade the scales and changed log books like my socks. But now I run the backroads to take it easy.

My tranny still slips once in a while, even with Trans-x along with a liberal application of Lucas. Eventhough my erratic slipping may be due to throttle shaft linkage troubles

Was just looking at my picture up in the corner of my post. What an avatar or profile pic? It's from Maspee Beach looking at Chapaquidac on Marthas Vineyard at The Ted Kennedy Driving School.

But yeah my car has a lot of blow by. One quart of oil consumed, disappeared the first 500 miles. Yup, one quart of 70% oil-25% Lucas with 5% soot. Topped off with Lucas and what's the cheapest 15-40 (last week Delvac, this week Delo).

HIGHWAY SPEEDS have been tough. Blow a lot of oil, get 20-22 MPG, and bear the stress of the interstate highway while stressing about the oil consumption along with the impossibly fast tire wear, particularly on both front tires on their outside edges.

And tgen I found the options button on the google maps app. I am floating along

Now, it's no more Big Roads. Blue Highways. Read a book called Blue Highways about a guy who traveled by only driving on these back roads. Also makes me think about another book about zen and motorcycles and back roads and a search for quality or the truth of quality or the quality of truth. And about getting the mind set to keep stuff working. Used have that, lost it and now the unnamed parts care is re-intoducing back to me.

That's why this trip is important and why it makes since on this purely abstract perspective, which renders the logic of the status quo stifling

Now it's all about slow roads and scenery and driving between rush hours abd going between Wal-Mart campgrounds.

Blowing way less oil and MPGs 28-32. No guarantee the odo is accurate.

When I got this car I did not even own a screwdriver or a pair of plyers.

Did not have tools and forgot how to look at a car.

Spent hours just looking at the car, looking at diagrams and photos along with videos. Spent mamy hours reading forums. Many hours. But it took many hours to help see the functions and procceses and try to filter out the malarkey, the Mickey-Mouse malarkey.

We are social beings and the forum is great. We have a platform to help each other by each other. Gaining knowledge and wisdom without the learning experience, withoht paying tge high cost of blooded knuckles all the time.

Years ago a friend taught me how to torque bolts without a torque wrench. We checked it with a torque wrench and we were right on, like telling the time from the angle of the sun.

Today, I use the torque wrench bought from Harbor Freight. 3 @ $9.99 each.

Before I could visualize the threads slightly distorting and feel those threads curling into a proper tight fit. I thought of it as the threads became married. Ah yeah, better to have loved abd lost to have never loved at all.

The car ran, but not well. The HVAC was stripped. The servo was gone along with tge auxiliary water pump and tge AC compressor. It was plumbed by Salvador Dali and filled with rusty wated a sinekind of oily stop-leak that at first worried was engine oil. It was cobfusing. A 77 did not match up to the pictures of other 300 Ds.

Yhe tranny slipped bad, but could not find tge vacuum, which was more difficult because so nany lines were missing or dangling. Finally, isolated the essentials and everything else was ripped from the car with extreme prejudice and a precarious sattisfaction.

Went too far and ripped out vacuum door locks, and tossed the eggshell holding tank. Power Windows were all stuck half upen or half shut. I could keep the tarp on it at night but I thought adjusting Windows would be nice. And I've got 'em. Four Windows controlled manually with bungee cords. Actually proud of how the Windows worked out after ripping the bent and broken regulators ended up in tge recycling bin. Did feel a little stupid or quilty for tossing the doors panels and eventually the back seat, the auxiliary fan and the condensor.

It was mystifying how the car had some new parts and old.

Are you sleeping in your MB diesel @ Walmart Supercenters? You wrote that you departed the South of the South, Sarasota, FL. on April 17th. It is now April 5th. Have you been on the road just short of one year?

When I finally left I made a choice betwenn AAA and Anytime Fitness. I really wanted the luxury of a hot shower most days, but I thought back to a time when I made a choice between buying oil for the 79 Ford and buying beer. Well, the truck threw a rod and I never got my whistle wet enough. Haven't needed AAA yet and thank God for that, although baby wipes make a pretty good replacement for a shower, yet I want my hot showers more often.

See that was another lame move but I wanted to get going, though did leave a month too soon as far as weather went. My goal was to camp in national forests for free but springtime is muddy, and the rangers are hunting the meth cooks using the forest and I got a drug bust from 1969. Long time ago, but I developed an aversion to cell since that time. So plan B was Wal-Marts and truckstops. I'm getting too old to be impulsive and reckless, but working at being an outlier took effort once upon a timebyt now it kinda becomes a habit. I just trust in The Process that will bring me the lessons I need. Hell, I'm fat, dumb abd happy thanks to living in America. I just try to give everything away.

In fact, that's the reason I didn't have a car three years and wanted to simplify my life even more and how I lost my feel for a wrench. But it's all good

It all began when I got rid of my 1967 Pie Plate Dodge pickup in 2009. I wanted something newer and got a Rav and immediately became allergic to sebsors and black boxes. But I loved that Rav. Hence major cognitive dissonance. It bothered me so much that eventually gave the Rav to friend who needed a car and decided I was gonna walk up the east coast and started by taking the big dog to Key West and Iplanned to walk and camp and see the sights.

The trip was a fiasco on many levels but it offered multiple learning opurtunities. I realized our possesions truly do own us. We don't drive the car, rather it drives us. Ecen along this trip when it became obvious that there was too much weight in the car and some must be abandoned or it would cease any foward movement, I still fought with giving my favorite earthen bowl to the thrift store . But in that moment when it went from my car into tge goodwill the power of the bowl escaped on fleeted wing. I watched it fly off to the horizon and beyond. But I know the predictice persistentce of the elliptical journey. It's power will return with the sane Sirene singing the new improved song. Abd my peer demographic will shout it from the rooftops and the fiber-optic smoke signals. Oh how soon I will become label conscious as I guzzle my latte? How soon? There is no if left to us for I am recklessly eschewing one after the other. But the relentless draw of conspicuous consumption insures the illusion of acceptence by my fellows who feel nothing for me while they consune my opinion of them.

What was I thinking? Rolled out of Sarasota on 3-17-15. Didn't really seem like Saint Paddyy's, ya know? Back to the car.

When the parts car got replumbed the heater was bypassed. Sure makes cooling easier and getting rid of the condensor with the bent fins lets the radiator breathe easier. Funny, the radiator looks almost new, at least it was new before it sat abandoned from the old guy. What old guy?

Let's see. This might get murkey. I have some of the maintainence records

1. Original owner summered in Portland, Oregon and wintered in Palm Springs, California. It lived a sheltered and pampered life for the first 160, 000 miles

2. Then the next repair notations come from Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. It starts out there getting pampered, but then I don't know what happens. Services get stretched a little further apart.

3. The owner is in St Petersburg, Florida. Gets murkier. All I have on him is some rumor that he was an old guy, who was restoring the car. He became sick and died while the car was apart. Eventually, his sons/grandsons got it together enough to sell it without functioning climate control. Actually without any kind of climate control.

4. He's a guy who needed a cheap car. I talked to him on the phone. He told me he only changed the oil. He had it for 4 years. The first two it ran and the next two it sat because it wouldn't start. Left by the beach under a tree. #5 says he knows he spent more money on more repairs but never paid attention to what was done. When he talked to me he was manic and distracted, but he had just back out of the psych ward.

5. Was a friend of #4. When #4 moved to Panama City, Florida he sold it to #5 unseen and not running. #5 with the help of AAA gets to Sarasota where a friend got it running with new lift pump and filters. When I pulled the fuel tank filter it was obvious that was cleaned and the fuel was clean. He paid the guy $300 to get it running but neither of them dropped the oil. #5 bought for his daughter but she thought it was a weird car. So it just sat for a little mor time. Then he bought a new Honda and his daughter got his old Nissan. He put it in Craigslist for $1100. Then I bumped into him and mentioned that I was just now looking for a car.

6. I bought it for $800. My friend doubled his money. I drove it home with the tranny slipping bad after it got warmed up and temp starting to spike. Seemed good until I realized the gauge was in Celsius. That's when I started working on the cooling system, replacing waterpump, thermostat, along with belts, hoses and radiator cap.

Eventually, I changed the sooty oil a couple of times and adjusted the valves and did a diesel purge.

Quite a story. Why are you traveling north and why are you driving the parts car?

Robert Pirsig

http://www.amazon.com/Zen-Art-Motorcycle-Maintenance-Inquiry/dp/0060589469/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1428244063&sr=8-1&keywords=zen+and+the+art

4-5-15

Was talking about first impressions of coming from Boston and waking up in Utah. TOO many differences to swallow at first. Was able to see people that were part of a community that shared each other's joys and sorrows. And found a refreshing honesty that showed through even when getting bull****ted or scammed.

Hard to explain. It was a different type of toughness. It wasn't just physical because both places had tough people. But in Boston a guy struggled to do the right thing to maintain the illusion of approval. If you didn't get caught then you did nothing bad. Out west people were more true to their own integrity and might feel shame over cheating someone. They might help them out some other way or go help a stranger. Two neighbors feuding and won't talk to each other will still help the other corral their escaped cows. BUT in Boston guilt and remorse are limited to what others think. Character is relative.

I still trouble with articulation, but I see this type of integrity in the south, not Sarasota which is more of a Yankee colony coupled to California-style entitlement. When I lived out west I hated to see license plates from New York and New Jersey. But Massachusetts scared me the most, and now I go back there. But that's a story we will get to anon.
Here in North Carolina, one of my favorites, I'm pained to think what my kind are doing. I try to not linger and infect the place with anger and hate. Even when I'm happy the anger smolders.

Our family was not close. Many Irish are not. But we learned to hate almost everybody including ourselves. First learned that in the Army when I found I had neutrality towards Mexicans and American Indians . Although if I paid attention more at home then would of realized that our hate for Canucks included Indians. But having escaped total xenophobia now a chink crept into my Boston armour making me a Yankee with no roots. No loyalty to the status quo. No guilt prodded obligation to accept the terror of what is different.

Thus, enjoying an educational friendship with Gene Washakie, the only guy I ever met who could drink like me. Gene was from Wind River Wyoming. I never lived in Wyoming, yet Gene's openness invited me to the western way.

Funny, it became obvious that xenophobia, like its sibling homophobia, is rooted in hate begat by fear and self doubt. These social survival mechanisms have the power to kill and first they kill the soul of those who blindly wield them. Maybe it's a bully mentality. Bad karma. Imagine never getting the happiness that seems entitled, happiness at the expense of others. Sometimes society lies.

I believe there is more racial and class hatred in the north than in the south. And when I say north, I want to include southern Florida, south of the South, and California, west of the West.

Have lost two posts, which bothers me, because I lose my continuity. Yes it is very cathartic, but I only get to write about a fraction of what is thought. I write to an audience and now I am afraid my lies will get bungled . Lame data connection in the mountains and I screwed up twice. Typing with one finger on the phone is challenging when I try to edit on Docs and delete.

just keep writing, please, I'm digging the story:)

Real discobulated since losing tgose posts. I wonder what I was talking about.

Mighta been tires. Let's think of a tire anecdote as I trouble over the front tires. The toe out is getting severe. Gonna see if I can get the tires flipped on the wheel. Maybe jack up the air to 44. No problem, Hunter Thompson reccomend 75 pounds when in doubt. And he's a doctor.

Already riding rougher with 38 in them. Rode over the Shenandoah's Skydrive, mostly thick fog and rain. Worried about hydroplaning.

Saw a toddler screaming in Wal-Mart the other- day. She was loud. Daddy had her infant baby brother in his cart. She screamed harder when Daddy tried to hold her hand. He even unsuccessfully tried to buy her with candy, but she stuck to her guns. A brat with integrity and tenacity.

When Mommy took the baby, she stopped screaming. Didn't get lovey dovey with Daddy, but she got what baby brother had. when I don't know what I want, I look around and see somebody with it.

Couple of days ago in a Georgia rest stop. A lady comes up to me and points to her husband's new Mercedes and how he always wanted that car and finally found one he liked, but he bought real cheap, so he might sell cuz now he's found another one he might like better. She asked me how old my car was.

I'm not sure of her goal but she assumed that I'd be jealous of hubby's ?(CLC? 2006?). It all seemed like some surreal scene from an infomercial on a parallel universe.

In Hagerstown, Maryland, and not sure why I have no heater. Keep thinking about the Oakies driving to California escaping the dust bowl. I think I'm a sissy every time I ***** when I gotta stretch the bungee cord when putting a window up.

Ever notice that in the fog you can see further in the rear view mirror than in the winshield? Was running along I-80 across Nevada in frozen fog. Can't see, greazy road, and the radiator fins plug and ya overheat. I had some time-sensitive hatching eggs for Foster Farms near Fresno. Hooked up with another large car driver out of Montana who had a load of meat for the Gay Bay.

We run hard. We took turns taking point. We'd lock our left steer tire on the edge of the pavement driving by braille cuz we was blind. Set cruise on 75 and boogied. We got off at the 252 for coffee. Forgot the name of the truckstop. Hard to find a place to park. The highway was empty for anybody with any sense was fast asleep at some stop or another hiding from this fog.

But we knocked the ice of everything and hit the highway. We set our cruise on 95 this time. The highway was ours. We passed a few souls timidly tip toeing along the right lane.

The fog lifted all of sudden at Mustang, home to the infamous Mustang Ranch, before the IRS, who figured they were so good screwing citizens that they were qualified to run a whore house wiyh a bureacratic hand. The road was empty and the sky was full of stars.

With no competion from other truck we'd get unloaded fast, get our backhauls loaded and be back home while these other bozos were still fumbling around getting unloaded.

We blew through Reno noticing the empty truck stops and up the hill to the scales at the California port of entry. They were having a slow night. Not one truck ahead of us when we went across the scale. The cop noticed my inspection sticker wasn't current and sent me around for an inspection.

It was barely eight o'clock, and about 3 hours from my destination and my sleep time. The other driver did not wait for me for we were splitting up at the bottom of the hill when I turned south.

Got put out of service for some cracks on a bracket for the dual tractor axles. I had to call one of the mobile mechanics that hangs around and just happened to have the part that's only used on Kenworths. And he had it for five times the cost plus $400 installation. My boss paid it cuz those hatching eggs had to be there that morning. but he had me bring the old part back with me, but it only had a small crack. Enough to get a fix-it ticket but not an out-of-service. He along with other pissed off folks raised such a fuss the scale was investigated and shut down. It was a slow night and they needed a Kenworth.

Finally, about 2 am I clear the scale. I was mad. Beyond mad. My schedule was messed with. Don't they know who their messing with? Usually I get there before midnight and I'm first truck in line, so I can open my rear doors and back into the door and they'll wake me up about six when I'm empty. And one of the other drivers is woke up so he can back in.

But no! My plans were hijacked by some thieving zopilotes. All the way up Donner Pass my self-righteous anger played out as I failed to notice that it snowed a lot up there. And oblivious to me the road had been closed due to a pile up that spread across both sides of the highway. I was so busy cursing generations of Californian Oakie's yet born that I almost missed seeing that Montana meat hauler's truck twisted into a Chinese knot on the side of the hill with its cab lanced by a big pine tree. Nobody walked outta that wreck. Jaws of Life had peeled the roof of the cab back like a sardine can.

At that moment I knew that I am right on schedule doing absolutely what needs to be done at that moment. In an instant I fully understood that when I was to stuck at that scale it might be for the best. Instantaneously it became clear that I can never make a wrong decision for every moment of life is a blessing or a lesson and we dont pick when or what.

I never felt bad for the Montana meat hauler, or his big black Petercreeper twisted in the ditch and I won't feel bad when the doctor is gonna tell me I need an oxygen bottle to breathe cuz I also know there's no free lunch. And we make our karma.
'

Everytime I see a yard with a flock of old diesel Benzes, I want to cuddle. Weird cuz I'm not really antisocial. just recluse as I've been making progress as a recovering sociopath.

Think I lost the post when I talked about my ex-wife, the only ex. But haven't discussed the Sirene's call bringing me back to the Bay State where my first love sings her song.

Not gonna talk to much about that cuz much of it is future histoty. But it does have a past. It all began in the Fall of 1968. 9th or 10th grade. It wasnt love at first site, although there was obvious lust in my eyes. But it almost sounds corny and kina Oprah-like, yet it's the honest-to-God truth. Penny intuitively knew not to succumb to my relentless persuasion and give up the booty. She understood, yet couldn't vocalize that we have known each other for many lifetimes. When I finally gave up on my quest for attaining unrequited lust, I moved on with my new self destructive persona. I didn't care whether I lived or died and I cared even less if you did. I tried to find peace through violence and filled my needs at your expens. I always had leanings this way, but now my guilt was replaced by self-pity. Hence, morals of a Roman emperor.

To be continued.

Okay, here is one of he lost posts:




4-6-15-b.

Just got fuel at Linville Fall: 29 MPG. Traveled over some big hills and used a half a quart of oil in 200 miles. Not bad and still running pretty good. Not sure if my brother still wants this engine for his old rag top Blazer. He found a turbo 300 he might buy. It's all rusted but he can use the running gear. Me, love the ride and handling of the w123.

The other day put 38 pounds of air in the front tires and 34 in the rear then rotated them. The fronts wore bad on the outside. But now they seem good. The bad tires are on the back now. Taking most of the load weight, but taking it on the center of the tread. No canvas showing yet on the edge. But hills are rough on drive tires. Now I kinda want to see if I can make it. Why? To prove something?

Or merely why not? Maybe it's just a guy thing, an un-feminized guy thing. Speaking of that, why are there so many action/mystery novels written with a heroine acting more like a guy, except more acceptably sensitive?

I was driving truck in the eighties when gals were coming into the industry as the Rust belt deepened. Many were trying to do the job like a guy. But why not, for we were the only role models. But by the mid-nineties the women driver emerged with her own identity. She was competent. In fact, she was so competent that a lady driver was often a better point driver when trudging down some greasy mountain road with poor visibility. Women have the enviable ability to censor their imagination when necessary. Us guys, or at least guys like me, can't always recognize an impending crisis, or for its potential. Oh we are pretty good in the slide but sometimes oblivious before. You see women pay attention. They are not afraid to accept their fears. But a guy is more afraid of not appearing calmly competent, even to ourselves. Us guys actually try to live the facade we present to the outside world. Do guys really whistle at women because they expect amorous responses or because they holding up the image of what they think guys SHOULD do to be a real man? Anybody familiar with Real Men Don't Eat Quiche?

So the modern women driver is also not afraid to ask one of us hairy Neanderthals to move something heavy. And we don't criticize or mock them for it. Because when it comes to drivers and their work habits we don't try to cross-gender our evaluations.

Tranny should be pretty cool. It's been ninety minutes at rest. Fluid did look good. Perfectly up to the line with good color and still smells new. Wonder if I should drain some and add another bottle of snake oil. Gonna stop in Chamberburg, PA at friend's place. He has a trucking company with a shop that he made available to me for the trip. Think he's about three or four hundred out. Funny, really beginning to like this car. Hmmmm . . . Need an AWD version. Wonder if a 240 would fit in a Rav. But it's not just the engine..

In Boone. Nice city. Nice Wal-Mart. Right in the middle of The Miracle Mile with a lot stores, lot of cars and , of course, the ubiquitous noise of commerce. Don't see any anti-camping signs, but a lot of New York plates. Last night at Marion I slept great. It was very quiet and peaceful. Glad I slept good last night, cuz I don't often sleep very well when the moon is bright.

While I was driving, I was thinking again. I'm always thinking, just not always well. I bet a lot of the guys here are like that. If we took a poll we might find a disproportionate number of INTJs or adjacent Briggs-Meyer types. I was thinking of George Carlin and his skit about stuff.

Because of so much weight in the car and worrying about massive blowby and dangerous tire wear went by a thrift store and got rid of some stuff. The motivation was definitely there. No free lunch. Stuff vs. driving to Bean Town. Always a trade off. Always an opportunity cost. But lose the stuff get lighter in the car and the soul. Felt so good, did again, then again once more.

Now all I got is clothes and less of them and tools, all the tools I bought since Thanksgiving. Spent as much on them as the car. Bought a little Road Atlas in the Boone Walmart for $7.95 plus tax. The struggle wasn't about the $7.95. Well maybe a little. But no more than 10 or 15%. It certainly wasn't about Boone. 0% for Boone. I did think about the additional weight because of the tires and those busted big bushings on that control arm. Clearly 25-50%. I meant to get one in Shelby and again at Marion. And then wondered if it was a subconscious desire to shave another 14 ounces of weight of the tires. But no, not the deciding factor. That's why pleasant driving is so good for my thinker. Normally it's busted and out of control. Could try to keep it distracted, but just like walking off a kink, I like to keep thinking til the mind clears enough that the clamoring thoughts finally settle down and behave.

So I was thinking about George Carlin and chuckling at myself. So coming to Boone I reasoned with myself that a map is essential. My argument was further bolstered by losing GPS yesterday. Although I enjoyed getting lost temporarily and it worked out for the best. I got to Wal-Mart ,found the baby wipes and then remembered the decision of mere moments ago and looked for a map book. When I got to the aisle, could not see an Atlas for the magazines.

Magazines. Magazines. Everywhere magazines. My thinker froze. I had to break the ice, but how? Thought back to when I was married. Actually and officially divorced, but we were back together again. She stayed in California and I came back from Utah. I got my stuff out of storage and filled my truck, rented a big U-Haul trailer Down I-15 like a happy bull on a tunnel-vision mission.

She found us a new place, a condo in Tustin. I got there and unloaded my stuff and got what she wanted out of her storage unit. Brought her stuff over from her old place. Had to bring some of my stuff over to the storage unit. She wanted me to bring my magazines and books there too. I made a command decision and brought all but one case of books, but NO magazines. Later I told her my logic, which was that I needed to sort some stuff, and she never said anything more. I never gave it another thought for I'm the man, and her Mormon upbringing kicked In and she wisely decided to respect my authority.

Later we went to Best Buy and bought a refrigerator and then went by my work and snagged a hand truck. Next morning she packed my lunch and sent me to work reminding me to take the hand truck back to work with me. When she asked about the big refrigerator box, I said I'd handle that when I got home.

We eventually split apart again. But not over the refrigerator box, yet that box became a big lesson in my life.

Boone is a pretty town, but that Wal-Mart is right downtown. My app of all Wal-Marts and whether it's okay to camp overnight said it was okay. I looked for a sign and didn't see one for not camping. I kept looking. Took a walk around the lot and saw one small sign with a city ordinance prohibiting parking of some sort of another. Asked the cart collector about it. He said RVs don't get hassled, but when I pointed out my pride and joy he was surprised if I'd makeinnt to midnite. Obviously we have our values failing to communicate. Quickly beat feet to Galax, Virginia. Made it just as it got dark. Saw two semis in the parking lot and knew it was alright. Gotta check the muffler and see if there's a new hole or the patch blew.

Got to think about that refrigerator box some more as the late day shadows danced with the rolling hills. It amazes how much I am influenced by outside stimuli. Maybe it stems from an instinctual need to be socially accepted, to gain approval or status. I didn't know then and I'm still in the dark about it now. But when I came home that night my ex-wife, my only ex-wife was busy putting stuff away and rearranging the house as a good wife would. Thankfully she left the stereo alone. She knew better, too many wires and she could never get the speakers arranged anywhere near right. She couldn't even set up her turntable. She also knew better than to use mine. But exactly equidistant between my swivel rocker and the stereo bench was the refrigerator box. After all day on a 90 pound jackhammer, and the blasted box is reminding me that I shoulda dealt with it this morning. $@@t. Went to grab the box and it didn't budge. Looked to see what it was stuck on, and there's Teri laughing at her lord and master. She always said I was good for a laugh.

Finally, looked inside. It was full up to a foot from the top with my magazines. I was shocked. Then disgusted. I realized that reading another article about the advantages or disadvantages of zoom lenses or if autofocus would ever catch on with advanced hobbyist. Or why the 270 is the perfect all around hunting rifle. Or why a Buick v-6 works better in a Jeep than a small block Chevy. Or how to build your own welder. Or how to build a $50 underground house. Or why a direct drive turntable is preferable with a moving coil cartridge. Or . . . And there was a whole lot of answers to many questions that didn't need asking. Also there were Harper's and Atlantic Monthly, National Geographic, Popular Science and Mechanics, Omni, psychology today and God knows what. This was before computers became mainstream and the internet could fill us with more senseless factoids and opinions based on the advertisers needs. But popular media had little competition and I revered the printed word. Pirsig called the university the Church of Reason and the library the inner sanctum, the repository of our knowledge, the sacrosanct center of Western Civilization. I worked for Pearl Buck and she said the best of man was in books. Well, she left the books alone. Dearer to me than saint's bones. But still, the shock. I kept going in circles. Confused and angry. But I was only mad at her for a few micro seconds every now and then for that first night.

She took a chance for my temper is complete. But I turned my anger inward towards me. A sucker born everyday, indeed. But then mad at them. Them, you know--them. That was just as I was learning that when people do things for money, they have to entice customers. We are customers, us members of the consumer culture. The entire service industry is based on a conspiracy to take my money. Filling my needs, real and fancied.

Except now it's possible to see it's a finely tuned conspiracy without conspirators. This last derivative/real estate bubble fracturing proved that. But my problem is bigger, yet I made myself by that $7.95 Rand McNally road atlas with nary a factoid and only a couple three pages of opinion dressed up as facts.

But my disgust with my stupidity still awes me. And not just for then, but I still get suckered from time to time. It happens. With a constant barrage of popular media with the constant goal of enticing and selling that we never fully deflect, we will buy stuff we don't need or really want. Because it's bought with the promise of happiness, the promise that we gotta buy these cheap luxuries. After 911, Fearless Leader implored us to actively defy the insidious terror of terrorism and go shopping. And we did. We bought flags. Stores changed their names and used car dealers gave them away. Then we attacked the wrong country. Yup Saddam screwed up when he was seen in New York flying all them planes.

Hey I'm not fighting Wal-Mart, my campground hosts with 24 hour bathrooms available to me, just for me.

But I reprogrammed my self from buying magazines. Sometimes wished Teri threw the books in the big box. Trying to remember how I emptied that box. Probably doesn't matter, but I remember the many times trying to quit drinking, and seeing the booze still with a value and wanting to save It to give away to somebody. So did I toss the books or go to a thrift store, or maybe just some select ones. Did any get sold? I tend to believe they all got tossed.

I bought magazines so they could entice me to buy more stuff. Before we went to California, we got involved in Amway. Maybe 1979. We had bought a house, a fixer upper at 11% interest. Don't laugh. Interest went to 18% and then it all came tumbling down fast. One day work was backed up months, I've got a mortgage and a new 79 Ford pickup, F 250 with a gas sucking 351. Next day, all the work went away. Even Jimmy Carter was looking for work, but he couldn't get any work in this country. That 1980 fiasco was just a taste. We went bankrupt and emigrated to California, the west of The West.


During the Amway experience we learned some of the motivational techniques used to entice to buy and sell more soap. Two Amway stories.

When in Salt Lake, after the Amway thing we found a laundry soap that worked like Amway and it was also the cheapest soap around. when we went to California, we could not find it. I called the company. The original owner, half retired, and just goofing and bored was there that day. The receptionist wisely transferred me to him. I bet she got a few minutes relief.

He told me that he made the Amway soap. His company had dozens of private labels in their stable. He gave me the names of a couple of supermarket brands and the names of the ones like his original soap, the Amway soap. It told me how much markup is in the multi-level products, and that with most major brands I was paying more for advertising expenses and corporate bonuses than what the soap is rally worth. Kinda like buying a bolt at Mercedes dealerships.
he big story is that one of visual aids to solidify my dreams into tangible results was to shop for cars and take home visual aids. I had a posters of w123s displayed prominently and strategically around the house.

I got home the other day. The car runs. Brakes are shot. But it is okay, though it needs a lot of maintenance to keep it going.

The experience was worth it all. I'm giving the car to my brother. I might owe him some money from 10 years ago, so this will make us even. I'll keep my Florida plates and insurance for a couple of months, unless he decides to part it out.

Maybe I don't know what I'm talking about, but I would rather drive on back roads with Florid plates while below the Mason Dixon than with one from Taxachusetts.

I'm a kinda proud owner of a Kia Sorrento that I might trade for a Ford Focus. Or I might just look for a 240TD. Hmmm . . . to be continued here or somewhere.

. . . . hmmmmmmmm

Over and out