Journals: 2002(5)
by Ric Carter
Journals: 2002(5)by Ric Carter |
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Journal: Early Winter Notes |
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Election Day BluesTuesday 5 November 2002, Election Day, Marin Co.A very gloomy, cold, foggy, dire day, I'm caught in the slow dire traffic southbound on Hwy 101, Ignacio, San Rafael. Blah... I have dire forebodings about listening to the election news today, said news could be as mucky and murky and dire as this unpleasant Marin morning. A bumpersticker with an outline of a .45 automatic in the middle, one side says FIGHT CRIME, the other side says SHOOT BACK. Some right-winger from San Francisco. Ha. Bumpersticker: FREEDOM MEANS CHOICE. A liberal from Colorado. Bumpersticker: THE DEATH PENALTY IS A HATE CRIME. A radical from Novato. Meanwhile it's taken 50 minutes to get from Firemans Fund to Trader Joes, that what? 10 miles, something like that.Tuesday afternoon, Novato.We have hit upon, or we are parked now in the place we camped last night, which is the place we've hit upon to be our low-cost camping spot if we have to spend weeks here in Novato with Maureen working. This spot being on the road at the corner of the playing field at the west edge of the Firemans Fund campus, parked along the edge of the road here on this, I think it's a public thoroughfare. Anyway, Security didn't bother us last night. Maureen says Security is much reduced, so maybe they won't be bothered to bother us. Ever. And if they do come around, well hey! This is employee parking, and she's an employee.So, I'm looking out the window towards the campus, the playing field, there's a line of I guess willow trees, tall, bright yellow leaves, like candle flames in the daylight sky. Really lovely weather. We will be taking off early today to get Maureen to a medical appointment in Santa Rosa, and then head back HOME. I may be back in this direction in a week, next Monday, to go to IKEA to pick up the doors and corner unit, I called them last night and they say the doors should be in next Sunday. And then depending on the Fund's reaction to the letter from they lawyer, which they should receive tomorrow or the day after, we will find out if we are due back in two weeks for more of this Phase III of the new work regime. Yes, in that case I will definitely have the time to do a lot of non-online stuff, as I mentioned earlier. Poplar trees not willow, Maureen says. Industrial sounds in Santa Rosa: [bulldozer sounds recorded] |
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Post-Election BluesWednesday 6 November, Volcano.Yeah, the elections were about as bad as I expected. But we won't go into that right now. We got back from this journey last night, exhausted. STILL exhausted. I just called me Mum to give her the overview of the wedding and current situation. Beautiful day up here in the mountains, what I see of it. Supposed to be storming tonight or tomorrow, don't know if I'll get anything outside done, I'm just too damn tired. And distraught. Well, intellectually distraught anyway. Wearied by current circumstances, I guess would be a better description.7 November, Volcano, morningYeah it's a week and a day 'til my birthday. 7:30 am now. Forecast for today was "major winter storm". There was rain and wind during the night. Power got knocked out around 5:00, bounced a bit -- no, that was about 3:00 in the morning when I woke up, bounced on briefly around 5:00, came back on around 6:30, stayed up for maybe a half-hour, then shut down again. If we need power today I guess I'll have to plug into the invertor in the RV and run the computers on that. The slope outside my bedroom window does not seem to be eroding, in fact a lot of duff and stuff, leaves and detritus, got knocked off trees by the wind, it's starting to get its own coat of forest floor.The cat is not pleased. [meow!] But she's been hanging out with me much of the night. The red of the soil, the green of the forest, very saturated colors out here. And then the dull silver-grey of the trailer sitting out there. And power just came back on. Who knows, maybe it'll stay for awhile this time. 7 November, Volcano, nightRain is pouring down. Everything's washing away. Or not. Depending on how much detritus has fallen down. It's not a good day for checking the woodpile for shelving lumber. It's not a good day for hauling things out to the storage shed. The ground's probably kinda mucky, all that clay mud. I hear the weather almost howling outside. All the forecasts say, storm after storm after storm, for the next 3 days. The rain is like loud cellos oozing thunderous all around. The cat is asleep with me here. I won't speculate on that. The computer is sending libraries of images of recent events up to my website. I may have to prune those a bit.I had fun making music on the analog synths but it's hard keeping the rhythms constant, in shape, let alone the frequencies. Going all over the place. I *do* think I can setup the Roland to play rhythm lines for various songs I want to play on guitar etc. Now I just have to work up the interface to the mixer. The cat is not worried about the rain, or bug-eyed monsters, or missing books, or slow file transfers, or even the bumping bed. Should I be a cat? Umm... That old classical jukebox station out of Sacramento is tedious but it's the best there is to listen to at hours like this. Later in the night the rain, the wind, the storm starts roaring, screaming; the music picks up too but it's this sweet romantic shit, nothing that correlates with the fury of reality. It's just so saccharine, I can't take it! Off it goes! I move, and the cat on my ass slips off, scratchin my butt as she goes. OW! Probably drew blood! Ah! She's walking around down there, looking for a new gluteus perch. Each movement against me contains a shred of claws. And now she settles down, but now I have to pee... 9 November 2002, Volcano, night[recording of Kitra Carter and Gavin Barnard singing, Sept 2000, Jerry's wake]Ah, that was from when, one or two autumns ago? Two, yes. Now it's six days 'til my 53rd birthday. Tempus focking fuget indeed. Rain has been pounding, I have been loafing the last few days. Well, we had a weekend of decoration, then I go fetch more shelving materials, and fabricate some. And the wheel of life rolls on and on. 12 November 2002, VolcanoDoing things domestically. Listening to the radio, without driving. Items to look up:NPR piece on the RESIDENTS NPR piece on DIXIE Radio Journalism books: SOUND REPORTING, Rosembaum RADIO- AN ILLUSTRATED GUIDE, Ira Glass LOCAL RADIO JOURNALISM, Chantler |
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Back In The GrindMonday 18 November 2002, Novato.Parked in our campsite next to the Fireman's Fund campus. This may be the last week we're down here -- the word we got from the lawyer today is that Fireman's Fund lawyers are 'investigating' -- word from other workers is that the Fund never litigates, they always settle. So, possibly we'll be done with this bizarre game rather quickly.Hopefully last night was the last time we will be in McMannis Park overnight, it certainly is noisy over there early in the morning. Tonight, because Maureen is scheduled tomorrow morning to, for an appointment at Kaiser in Santa Rosa, we'll be staying up in Sonoma County. There's supposed to be a very spectacular meteor storm tonight, early tomorrow morning. So I think we will go up to Armstrong Redwoods, Austin Creek just above there, and go out to the camping area there at Bullfrog Campground and we'll set the alarm for one o'clock AM so we can watch the meteors. Then Maureen goes to Kaiser in the morning, then we come back to the office, she'll have her arms in braces, hopefully giving management the idea that she may be filing a disability claim soon. Meanwhile, it's almost two, almost three in the afternoon. A Security guy [Marshall] just came up and we had a little chat. He didn't tell me to go away, didn't seem overly concerned about me being here. He chattered on and on about his military career and the trouble he had getting out of it. So now, Security definitely knows that we're here and they can expect to see us here, at least for this week. It's a beautiful day with little to do except read. Tuesday 19 November, Novato.Same old same old. Late afternoon. I took Maureeen up for medical, bloodtests and our flu shots, up to Kaiser in Santa Rosa this morning. We had a plain lunch. I sat around and read this afternoon. No more word yet from the lawyer. We'll keep this up for a couple more days. Oh yeah, Marshall the Security guy showed up again just before 3PM, shatted more about his Army career -- Special Forces, no, light weapons training, and Schwartzkopf's driver. Well I'll probably see him again tomorrow.Wednesday a.m., 20 November, Novato.Same old same old. I'm parked over in the Longs parkinglot. I took a picture of the PT Cruiser with the licence plate O-B-S-S-S-O-N obsession. I walked thru the little park along Novato creek, Lee Gerner Park, around the library. Next to it there's a couple of small not-impressive offices, an insurance agent and an optometrist, and parked in the little parkinglot there is a Ferrari TestaRossa. THAT'S how we tell we're in Marin County!I just passed a Baptist church in south Novato, the signboard says, "Under Same Management Over 2000 Years" -- yeah, right. Wednesday afternoon, wandering the streets of downtown Novato like a restless apparition... Thursday a.m., 21 November, Sebastopol.A cool foggy morning, Maureen at the dentist's. We camped out on Ross Road the other side of Graton last night, not bad, we could do that again. Just a day-and-a-half left down here in this cycle of the bizarre game... |
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Assassination DayFriday 22 November 2002, JFK Day, Novato.Same old same old. No word on work. No word from lawyer. So we're heading out early today, going back up to the mountains, on vacation next week, but we gotta, there's workers coming out to the house next Monday so we can't really go anywhere for the whole time, so we'll think of something. It's been gloomy and cloudy all day today, chilly this morning but not too bad. I picked up piles of dirt-cheap travel books at the county library over the last few days. Of course they're closed on Fridays so I can't get any more today. But we'll undoubtedly be back the week after next. Then I'll be able to look for more travel book discards then.Nothing remarkable about this week, except for me just about going out of my skull with boredom, waiting around there. Or, here. Here, at the moment, being inside the CostCo big box in south Novato. The temple of consumers' worship. Supposedly owned by the People's Libetration Army of China, who seem to have a good handle on how to exploit capitalist pawns. Ah CostCo, where capitalism is reduced to being a membership club. Or is that, being ELEVATED to being such a club? Yeah, call it, Members-Only Consumerism. With unlimited taste samples for all members. At CostCo, there is indeed a Free Lunch. So now I'm back out at the edge of the campus waiting for Maureen's early exit, er escape. It's been a bothersome week. It's also bothersome that I haven't been able to write many songs, I had to go and play that tape last week -- Linda Ronstadt, HEART LIKE A WHEEL. Now I have all those great songs running thru my head, can't shake'em out, rather than ideas for my own songs. I guess I'll just have to stop listening to good music! Hmm hmm. Um, I guess that's all for today. Look up a 1925 documentary film by MC Cooper and EB Schoedsack, a film called GRASS, about the Bakhtiari people, nomads of the Zagros mountains across Iraq-Iran-Turkey. The reference is on page 218 of CARAVAN: The Story Of The Middle East (1961) by whats-iz-name Coon, Carleton S Coon. |
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A WASP'S TALEMonday, 25 November 2002, Volcano.Once upon a time, long ago and far away, there was a Wasp. And the Wasp was very angry. The wasp was very angry because the computer network had crashed, and she couldn't finish her online game. And life was impoverished without such interactions. So, the wasp decided that since she couldn't trounce her virtual opponents spread all around the world like sprinkled gumdrops, she would sting a Caterpillar. Now, Wasps sting Caterpillars. They do this because it is good for Wasps, not because it is good for Caterpillars, except as a sort of natural-selection mechanism which improves their breed. But, who cares about Caterpillars, except other Caterpillars? And Caterpillars aren't exactly the caring sort. Ask one and you'll see that I'm right. You WILL! So! Our Wasp whom we shall call Wanda (because that's the sort of Wasp she was) set out to find a Caterpillar to sting. She flew over the valleys and the hills and the rivers. She flew over the suburbs and the airports and the industrial zones, which was a waste, because there weren't many caterpillars in industrial zones, except the diesel sort. Back to the hills and rivers, and finally, there she saw: a Caterpillar. This Caterpillar was sitting on a Tomato plant leaf. There are many Caterpillars who sit on such leafs: Tomato plants, and Tobacco plants, and Petunias, and Potatoes, and Eggplant leaves. I have known many such Caterpillars. Yes, I have known many such caterpillars, and I have generally fed them to Ants. But I digress. So! Wanda the Wasp buzzed down out of the clouds towards the Caterpillar, who we shall call Carl because that's the sort of Caterpillar that *HE* was. And as she neared she sang sweetly in a voice like pecan syrup, "Oh Caterpillar! Prepare to meet thy doom!" Carl Caterpillar did not respond verbally, because Caterpillars are not exactly the brainiest of beasts, and they don't have much in the way of vocal cords anyway, being mainly concerned with devouring plant matter, while humming to each other telepathically. So! Wanda dropped from the sky, and hovered over Carl, and extended her ovipositor, and STRUCK him! And stung him! And stuffed an egg into him. And then she flew away, for she was that kind of Wasp. Strike and run. Look for fresh opportunities. Carl hardly knew that anything had happened. He was busy devouring his hybrid Tomato leaf, as stoned as a drunken Snake, but fuzzier, if about the same temperature. Now, Tomatoes belong to an interesting plant family, the Solanaceae, which includes Deadly Nightshade and Belladonna and Wolfbane and Hensbane and Tobacco and all sorts of plants full of ALKALOIDS, powerful chemicals that tend to disrupt nervous systems. Wanda the Wasp had not eaten any of Carl the Caterpillar, so she did not absorb any of these alkaloids. Carl had eaten nothing BUT these alkaloids all his life, and was absolutely STUFFED with them. The new Wasp egg that was within him was immune to them, and thus grew at its own pace. "Chomp chomp chomp, grow grow grow," went the egg. Carl Caterpillar, however, felt this as a growing ecstasy, something within him that was expanding in ways he could not understand, but could only GLORY in. As such he was much like a worshipper at the shrine of an unknown god, GLORYING in the divine radiance that came thereof. Carl the Caterpillar's joy was expanding as his substance was diminishing. All this ecstasy of course, was just an alkaloid-induced fantasy. Eventually the egg hatched and grew and transformed, and the larva within devoured Carl, and ate his little brain, and metamorphosed into another Wasp, that went out in search of Caterpillars. And this is how the cycle of life rolls on. You can sting, or you can be stung. You can devour, or you can be devoured. You can be the Wasp, or you can be the Caterpillar. What happens far away and long ago, happens here and now too. When you feel the sting, all you can do is sing. La la la. La. Urg. |
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Circa ThanksgivingTuesday night, 26th November 2002, Volcano.There once was a man who climbed a hill. On top of the hill he saw, beyond, more hills. "Bugger all!" he said, sat down, pulled out his pipe, stuffed it with hashish, lit it, and smoked.Wednesday 27 November, 2002, Volcano.The night before Thanksgiving. Maureen just broke out best plate, the big square one from Vietri sul Mare, hoping she can glue it back together, the pieces that are left. Well, now we HAVE to go back to the Amalfi coast, get another one. If everything goes true-to-form we'll start breaking our good Indian pottery next.28 November, Thanksgiving night, Volcano.I haven't called Mum this week. Bad, bad boy. We had Thanksgiving dinner at Beth & Brad's this evening. Ate a lot, didn't talk much, WIZARD OF OZ and YOUNG FRANKENSTEIN blasting from the tube before & after. Spent last night and today upgrading the Harry Oliver site. Spent the last couple days writing about mystical horseshit and schlepping stuff around the house a little. This is a vacation week. Next week it's the parking lot again. Maureen will probably give notice next week, or she'll receive severance and give notice. One way or another, the bizarre game should be over soon. But maybe not yet, maybe not until the end of the year, or beyond. Bother.Weather's been clear, not too cold -- that implies drought, but also gives good days for working outside. Doing things. Enjoying the sky. I have thought for years about writing dialogues -- I have imagined polemical dialogues with myself and straw figures, and I haven't written any. I should. 29 November, 2002, Volcano.The Friday after Thanksgiving - went antique-shopping and sight-seeing to Jackson, Sutter Creek, Amador City, Drytown (a waste), Plymouth (ditto) and Placerville. Very crowded there, parade coming in the evening, wagon rides, we just browsed and gawked. Fun. | |
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