Gone Fishin'

Moving Day

2010-07-05T07:21:00.000-07:00

For future 'Gone Fishin' updates please click here

2010-06-30T13:03:00.000-07:00

mircoscopin'

2010-06-30T09:49:00.000-07:00

baby lobsters

fingerpaint

alpaca

gum

cracked iphone

The Fred Astaireopus

2010-06-30T08:03:00.000-07:00

FAM

wood

2010-06-07T11:16:00.001-07:00

fishing reel form exploration detail

cherry & walnut

reels

functioning reel

cherry, walnut, brass hardware

multi directional seat in "spring position"

steam bent ash

seat in "arc position"

new watercolor renderings

2010-06-07T11:08:00.000-07:00

bike brake style drag system

automatic reel system w/ mounted fish-finder attachment

Ergonomic handle design (the future, bro)

exploded view sculpture

2010-05-13T07:28:00.000-07:00

May 2010

vintage outboard watercolors

2010-04-24T09:47:00.001-07:00

get along little doggie (Lagos)

2010-04-19T12:36:00.000-07:00

Lagos goes hard. Apparently domesticating hyenas and baboons goes down in Nigeria's capital. All photos by Pieter Hugo

package design crit

2010-04-15T18:36:00.001-07:00

Package design for "One Armed John's"
striped bass lures.

101

2010-04-13T15:38:00.000-07:00

Dieter Rams Drops Knowledge

2010-04-09T07:49:00.000-07:00

click

croc dock in spring

2010-03-26T15:56:00.000-07:00

cocoNUTS

2010-03-25T16:53:00.000-07:00

movin on up - or down: cantilevered stairs

2010-03-18T21:43:00.000-07:00

all photos courtesy of http://stairporn.org via my mom.

nice buildings

2010-03-16T17:41:00.000-07:00

chair project

2010-03-16T17:35:00.000-07:00

assignment:

make a chair - with a theme - out of 1 x 2 strapping.

I give you: me in my deconstructivist lobster-pot chair. And it's good for your back.

I didn't build the other chairs. Though I wish I had built the one two over from me.

King Otis

2010-03-15T04:59:00.000-07:00

90th post with Catfish

2010-03-13T10:48:00.001-08:00

big ol' trout

2010-03-12T14:02:00.000-08:00

New Story

2010-03-11T16:38:00.000-08:00

New Story Click Here

2010-03-11T16:33:00.000-08:00

Notable Marlin

2010-03-11T16:19:00.000-08:00

Updates

2010-02-02T10:37:00.000-08:00

japanese tacklebox

hilbilly toaster

styrene, foam, pine, steel

mortise and tenon(s)

lap joint

double barrel handgun w/ package prototype Fall 2009

walnut disc Fall 2009

tin plated steel Fall 2009

2009-12-14T22:28:00.000-08:00

Video of Pond-fire can be seen at this link:

http://www.flipshare.com/ViewFbReshare.aspx?i=63f42d47-6e9e-4aea-a8ae-920118651109&s=7990970&p=facebook

Lobsterdog

2009-12-08T04:54:00.000-08:00

Big Tune #5

2009-11-12T22:46:00.000-08:00

O'Shaughnessy again

2009-11-12T22:44:00.001-08:00

O'Shaughnessy

2009-10-19T06:55:00.001-07:00

Pete was out of work by 3:00.
He called Bill on his way out of the city and was back home at 3:25.
It was a quick walk back to the shed where he grabbed the big 5 gallon bucket and his collapsable surf-cast setup. Careful not to set the hook in the upholstery, he loaded the gear into the car and pulled out of the driveway. It was only a ten minute ride to the Yacht Club where Bill was to meet him.
Pete called up his folks from the road and arranged to meet his old man for a drink at the Club bar before Bill arrived. The bar was busy in the early afternoon so he parked in the public lot, right above the big three foot corrugated drainage pipe. In the old days, he had always wanted to explore the drainage system but had been discouraged by the rats he saw sometimes at night. Pete adjusted his tie in the rearview mirror and walked over to the club. His old man was already waiting on the wooden deck, leaning on the rail that stood between the platform and the water. Both father and son went in to the bar together. All the tall mahogany seats were occupied by familiar characters. Burl, a brown toothed regular had his usual seat by the door. Here Burl was in the unique position to greet any newcomers with his awkward and vulgar brand of humor until they managed to steal away to another side of the bar.
Pete had known Burl since he was a boy and had grown to dislike him more as the years went by. The old man had an admirable patience with Burl but Pete just felt like knocking the goddamned baked-bean teeth out of his head every time he went to the bar.
Pete ordered a draught Sierra Nevada for himself and a cabernet for the old man. They managed to escape from Burl, excusing themselves due to the heat - and went back out to the deck. They set themselves and their drinks down at the sturdy umbrella table the club had just bought the year before. The Magic and Lakers had the finals tied up and they mostly talked about that and fishing.
Pete drank his beer fast. It was cold and good and he just finished it when he saw Bill's car pull in to the lot.
Pete walked back in to the bar and placed a five dollar bill on the bar, put his empty pint-glass on top and walked toward the door. Frank Farr, a white haired regular of few words clapped him on the shoulder as he walked by and they shook hands.
Once out the door, Pete said goodbye to his old man and walked toward the car. Bill was standing on the passenger side with his rod and tackle box in hand. Unlocking the car as he walked, Pete grinned and Bill opened the door and placed the gear on the back seat.
"we have to stop at one arm Johns for some squid"
"for sure, he might know where they're running anyhow. "
They got in the car and took off silently with the battery of the Toyota Prius doing most of the work.
Pete took off his coat as he drove and asked
"Hows the wife?"
"I don't know... crazy"
"same as usual?"
"I guess"
Pete was used to this situation and he remembered the winter before last. All of the emotion and dramatic violence seemed insane and he could hardly understand it. Still, he couldn't help but be intrigued by people like this. Complete disregard for consequence was not in his nature at all. He thought he was probably drawn to these people because they were in fact so different from himself and he felt like he could learn something from them once he understood.
Bill asked if they could stop at the convenience store on Main Street for cigarettes and they both went inside.

The proprietor of the corner store was from India and he had a beautiful young wife who worked with him sometimes during his 17-18 hour shifts. Pete liked the man and they would always talk in very low, serious tones about politics and the economy. This day, the owner had a line at the counter so Pete nodded as he walked to the back of the store and looked through the glass doors that displayed the beverage selection. He opened one of the doors, feeling the vacuum of the refrigerator and grabbed a ginger ale. by the time he reached the front counter, most of the customers had filed out, leaving only Bill and him. Bill was a dollar short on the cigarettes so Pete paid for everything and took the money Bill had.

They walked out of the store and into the humidity. Pete's ginger ale already had beads of condensation running down the sides - he cracked it and unlocked the car. Bill had a cigarette lit before he got in and he offered Pete the open pack. Pete drew one out and lit it with the stainless windproof given to him by a Korean exchange student. They pulled out of the lot and on to main street behind a rusted F-350 Dump. Pete smelled the diesel from the exhaust and remembered Bermuda. He thought of Elsa and the yellow Peugeot and the big busses that would pollute the tight coral-walled alleyways with their black fumes. He remembered how she felt pressed up against his back on the bike and how the white painted walls were stained black from the busses.
Pete blew smoke out his nose and looked around the old New England town. He was glad to be here now with an old friend, going fishing again.

The parking area that provided access to the rocks was unmarked and was difficult to find if you had never been there. It was on the left side of the street and very unassuming between the rows of driveways that led to waterfront mansions. Families from New York City would spend their vacations there, leaving the homes dark and imposing for the rest of the year. The parking spaces were at the end of a short nicely paved road and as you drove down, you could see the Atlantic spread out far and wide with that deep blue color spotted by whitecaps. There was only one other car in the lot when they arrived. It was a black Geo and there was a really awful looking woman sleeping in the front seat with that hairstyle that looks wet all the time and clothes so tight for her figure that it looked as though her flesh was held together by the various seams and bands of her garments. They jointed up the rods - Pete had only brought his cheap ugly stick imitation and a some old rusted out tackle that he’d had luck with on these rocks last year. Bill had brought his more substantial surf casting rig along and his flea market tackle box that seemed bottomless and full of gear neither of them had ever seen before. They walked down the steep graveled path that wound between the big leaved beach grape trees - Pete swinging his five gallon bucket with all the gear and a six pack of heineken hidden under a layer of ice. Once clear of the trees they could see the jagged granite rocks spread out in front and on either side, the southwest seas crashing white along the whole coast, making the air thick with spray.

Pete could tell the wind had picked up once they were out on the rocks and the waves were high with very short periods between them. The clouds were low and thick and fast moving and they could see the streaks that were rain showers scattered across the Atlantic. He imagined the waves out at bonnet break being intimidating, probably overhead at least. The salty mist made everything damp and the smooth granite surfaces slick, especially in places where algae had been allowed to grow. You could always avoid the algae if you looked closely for the darker, discolored patches, but sometimes it was unavoidable and you had to make sure to keep all your weight directly over your feet to stop from slipping. Sometimes it happened anyway. Pete didn’t know if Bill had heard the story about the guy who died mysteriously off the rocks last season in these kind of conditions but he decided that now might not be the time to bring it up. There was a broad shelf, orange from the iron deposits that led down toward the water and toward the biggest, most imposing rock that stood somewhere around 30 feet in all dimentions. Where the shelf met the water, there was a small gap cut by the tides that one could jump over easily without gear. With gear, it was better to try and break it up by stepping on the black, pointed rock in the middle.

Bill went first and made it over with much show and concern. “I’m going to break my arm “ he said as he approached the gap. “shut up man, you must have done this before, you’re just putting your mouth all over it” replied Pete, impatiently. He was always a bit nervous about crossing, especially in those types of conditions but he’d rather not have Bill make it worse than it had to be. Bill went finally and Pete followed, shaking his head and trying not to look down. Once across, it was a steep climb up the big rock, made easier by the deep cuts that horizontally traversed the stone. At the top, the granite was lighter - bleached all beige by the sun. The rock cut down towards the water from the highest point, probably shaped by years of breaking waves. More often than not you would find somebody else fishing off of it but the conditions around the gap probably deterred the other fishermen - the only ones they could see now were off to the left, casting off the big smooth slab that sloped easily into the surf. They both had their rigs set up with two hooks about a yard apart and Pete fished the box of frozen squid out of the bucket. They separated two of the smallest ones from the thawing block of bait and Pete separated the body from the hood by pulling them apart. He strung the hood through the wire leader and over the glow in the dark float that one armed John had given him on his last trip to the bait shop. Pete knew he needed the float here to avoid all the kelp. He hoped the glowing squid looked as convincing as he hoped for those damned stripers.

Pete was still setting up when he saw Bill cast far and high in the direction of Block Island. The tide would take her in the opposite direction he thought as he secured the body of his squid by running the hook through both eyes. With the rig all prepared, Pete reached in to the bottom of the bucket and pulled out two Heineken beers. One of which he handed to Bill who accepted without looking away from the end of the rod. Pete put the other can in his pocket and, supporting himself with his free arm, hopped down on to a shelf facing the waters in lee of the big rock. The noise of the wind was cut to nothing upon landing in the protected alcove. He cast out, careful not to overshoot and risk getting caught in the granite that hid just under the surface about twenty yards out. The wind pulled the line toward the shore as it went out Pete reeled in to compensate. He had fished there enough to know the difference between dragging on the kelp and bites and he could tell immediately that he had a customer. He saw the end of the rod jump with that crazy unpredictable motion and jerked the rod to set the hook and then came the high pitched scream of the reel before he screwed the drag down. He felt the nerves in his fingers and his mind was sharp against the cold and he called up to Bill “hey I think I got something pal.” Bill looked down and knew it was bad when he saw the line striking out left toward the point of the rock and Pete stuck in the recess trying to keep the fish away from the point. This bastard is big Pete thought. Bigger than I thought. If I let her get around the point and in to the rocks and the surf who knows what the hell will happen. I’ve only got 15 pound test on this rod and she feels a helluva lot bigger than that.

He let up on the drag and heard again the scream of the reel as the fish took out the line offered. He handed the rod up to Bill who smiled and said “woah Pete you really got something here. Something big I mean look at the way the rod jerks.” “It’s not a flounder buddy” Pete grunted lifting himself by his arms up and over the shelf feeling all hollow and sick inside from thinking about losing the fish in the rocks. He knew that with the line he gave, the fish would have gone out around the point by now but now he just had to bring her in fast before she could find a place to hide and get the line all snagged. He took the rod back from Bill and started to reel in. She seemed bigger than before and fought hard once she felt the hook set deeper, making pete walk with her sideways along the slope of rock. Bill kept his hand on the back of Pete’s vest to keep him from sliding in. He was so close to the water now that they were both getting soaked from the spray and Bill could tell that one more big push could pull Pete down and in. Pete knew he had to dig in to her now or risk getting the bastard caught up in the mess below so he set his feet perpendicular to the water and dug in hard pulling up on the rod and taking in line fast. She fought like hell and he could tell he had her now as long as she didn’t get caught in any rocks so he screwed down the drag, giving her nothing and making sure she couldn’t dive. Taking in every inch of slack and pulling hard up and taking her in more and more and then all of the sudden there was nothing.

Orthographics

2009-10-10T11:34:00.000-07:00

2009-10-07T17:07:00.000-07:00

No Way

2009-10-06T12:52:00.000-07:00

El Especial

2009-09-29T19:36:00.001-07:00

Every morning in Cuzco when time and will allowed, we would make the walk through town and over to the City market at San Pedro. The walk was always nice with the dry mountain air, still cool from the night. The sun had just come up and would warm our backs. We would walk up the Avenida el Sol and turn left where it intersected with Plaza de Armas. The left would lead us through another small courtyard where the licensed shoeshiners were always busy with Peruvian businessmen. This same courtyard also held a pretentious, overpriced disco that had once served us great whiskey drinks with bitters but had disappointed us every time thereafter. Further down the road we would pass the Plaza de San Fransisco with a fountain in the middle and more shoeshiners in blue and yellow coats - these less busy and usually talking and smoking. We would pass under the big spanish archway, sometimes having to turn sideways to accommodate people walking away from the market. Once through the archway the vendors were lined up along both sides of the sidewalk selling everything from bathroom products to switchblades. Most of their customers seemed to be local this far from the center of town and you could tell by the absence of postcards and false alpaca sweaters. At the end of the street we could see the Cathedral of San Pedro standing tall and brown and very Spanish and usually surrounded by people waiting for something on the front steps. The market stood diagonally across the street from the church and was impressive with the corrugated steel roof about sixty feet high and covering what must be four city blocks. A network of vaults made of I-beams gave the roof it's structure and we were informed by a rather unfortunate waiter named John that it had stood there for over a hundred years.

"Cien años?!"

"Claro!"

The entrance closest to town and the one we usually used was where all the textiles and souvenirs geared toward tourists were sold. There were three wide aisles (the one in the middle being the largest) that ran the length of the market, allowing customers to access the seemingly endless perpendicularly running aisles. There were two or three rows of fabric sellers and tailors where women and children would sit behind their sewing machines and then came the juice stands. Dozens of white booths were lined up in rows, each one assigned to a woman in a green apron who would wave the newspaper at you as you walked by to get your attention. If you agreed she would give you the newspaper to read while she prepared one of the blended fruit drinks. These fruit stands were usually our reason for coming and by our second or third trip we became regulars of the big old friendly woman with squinted eyes and deep lines around her face from weather and smiling. After the first couple visits she knew we wanted the "especial" and would get to work juicing the carrots and blending the banana, papaya and pineapple fruits. Then she would add a bottle of Cusqueña dark beer along with a couple raw eggs and some bean powder. The Carrot juice would be added to the mix and then she would pour a tall glass for each of us. There was usually enough especial for three glasses each and we would pay her twelves soles including two for the tip as we got up feeling full and healthy.

The Birds (Pt. 3)

2009-09-18T09:41:00.000-07:00

Out on the big deck overlooking the cove Pete could see that all the clouds had disappeared and the sky was a light blue over the tops of the pine trees across the cove. He leaned up against the rail that kept members from falling off the bulkhead and watched the seagulls circling and diving for the shiners in the saw-grass. There was one, smaller than the others and with the spotty coloration of adolescence that stood dumbly on the beach watching the action. Pete finished his coffee and tossed the styrofoam cup in one of the wooden garbage bins before he walked back down to the boat.

Back on board he checked that all the electronics were in order; the nav lights, the VHF, and the deck and cabin lights all were tested and worked. He took the break off the wind generator and the blades made a steady whirring noise in the wind that comes after a low. Both the manual and automatic settings on the bilge pump were functioning. Early that morning he had topped off the batteries with distilled water and made sure they were strapped down tight with the rusted steel strapping. Confident that things were in order he removed the thick, yellow 50v power cord from the outlet on the dock and coiled it before placing it on top of the life jackets in the sail locker. Pete went down below and checked the meter that displayed the battery info and saw the dial was hovering around thirteen volts and the wind generator was bringing in a small charge. He figured it was enough to power navigation lights during the long nights. In case the wind died for too long he had his portable Honda generator stashed in the bottom of the port side sail locker but he dreaded having to use it for the amount of noise and stink that it made. There were two kerosene lamps with convex glass shells that threw a good light for reading in the dark.

At 10:20am Pete cast off the stern line, climbed aboard, shoving with one leg and drifted away from the dock. His main sail was reefed about half way and the small boat moved nicely as it filled with the steady wind from the south west. The bow was pointed straight for the green can off the point of the state park and once he cleared it he tacked, changing his heading for the mouth of the bay. In the clear, Pete hauled the main up all the way then let the jib roll out, and it filled up easily. He then wrapped both sheets around their respective winches and cleated them off. The tell-tails were flying rigid and parallel and he adjusted his stance with his right knee bent to compensate for the heeling. Whitecaps still dotted the horizon from the storm but the bow cut them nicely with that satisfying sound of rushing water over the gel-coat. It was beautiful sailing weather and he sort of wished he could enjoy it with his parents or a girl. He checked his bearing and hopped down below where he grabbed two cold Heinekens from the ice box and the fin for the Wind vayne. Climbing back out through the companionway Pete saw the restaurants and marinas in Greenwich bay looking small and white between the stern rails. He put the beers in the two cup-holders he had mounted to the steering column and stored the fin for the vayne between his feet. It was good sailing weather and he enjoyed the control of the wheel.

Halfway through the second beer the sun really began to get warm and Pete took off his flannel coat and just wore the old yellowed undershirt. His shoulders were still brown from the summer and the cold November air felt good after Working hard all morning. Prudence Island was looming long and low off the port side and he thought he saw a deer for a second before it walked in to the tall grass and bushes that backed the beach. The old man’s binoculars were kept in a wooden box next to the companionway and Pete slid around the wheel and pulled them out. Scanning the beach he saw some of the tall wheat colored grass move and after a second a big white tailed doe came out between two trees followed by a medium sized fawn that must have been born in the spring. They moved carefully like they knew they were being watched. Looking through the binoculars Pete could see that the doe had a barely perceptible limp and that she dragged her front right foot in the downward movement of every step. As he was contemplating what might have happened to the deer something started them and both doe and fawn bounded high and fast along the beach before cutting left and back in to the cover of the brush. Pete dropped the binoculars from his eyes and made sure he was still on course. His watch said that it was nearly 1:00pm - he drank the rest of the can and thought about how a Heineken was quite good company out there.

The Birds (Pt. 2)

2009-09-14T19:44:00.000-07:00

The inside of the boat was all teak and Pete had oiled it in on the first cool day of September so it still shone dark and rich. Down below, everything smelled that fresh aroma of oil and wood and stale water from the bilge. The distinct smell was amplified with her all closed up because of the rain. He opened up the hatches for ventilation and proceeded to stow all of the provisions, starting with the canned goods that went in the locker beneath the chart table seat and then he pulled six Heinekens out of the case and buried them in the ice box next to the plastic container of beef stew. They were deep in the ice to make sure they were cold for the trip down the bay. The rest of the Heinekens were stored along with the rice and cured meats under the aft bunk. With everything safely stored away he went back on deck to remove the old sun bleached and tattered dock lines. He moved quickly, feeling the fall sun on his back getting higher in the sky and warm. The loops on the ends of the lines were stiff from salt and age and he struggled to loosen them from the cleats. Once they were off, he tossed them overboard and in to the wheelbarrow that was still waiting on the dock. He removed them one at a time so as to keep the boat from drifting away from the dock and replaced them with the new lines. It was satisfying to feel the easy, smooth way the new lines moved and bent under his hands and he tied them twice around the cleats before heading back up the dock with the old lines in the wheelbarrow.

Back up in the parking lot, Pete removed the lines from the wheelbarrow and walked across the street to the rigging shop that Charlie and Maggie Russell owned. The building was long and low and painted grey and it was on the edge of the boatyard against the road. He had wanted to say goodbye to them but the door was locked and the big silver work van was gone so he left the lines on the doorstep and walked back toward the boat. Maggie and Charlie had sold him the new lines and would understand that he’d left. He went back across the street and walked in to the Yacht club through the kitchen door that opened on to the street. The particularly pretentious members of the club insisted on calling the kitchen “the galley” and it was full of bright, new stainless appliances. He looked at the big industrial dishwasher as he passed and remembered sweating away the summer nights there in high school, his hands pink and soggy from the hot water and feeling light from the covert rum drinks. Turning right after “the galley” he ended up in the bar and he poured himself a cup of bad coffee from the pot that sat in the corner below the board members mail boxes. He put a letter in the treasurers box regarding his bar credit for the next month that he wished transfered to his parents account and walked out the double doors of the bar, coffee in hand.

Fi-shung

2009-09-13T00:42:00.000-07:00

Here's the link to a big ol' trout fishin story

Jordan Inducted

2009-09-11T12:46:00.000-07:00

Jordan in the NBA hall of fame today

Big Tune #4

2009-09-08T19:50:00.000-07:00

De La Soul Redman Oooh
Uploaded by mik2l. - Music videos, artist interviews, concerts and more.

Nuff Said.

Big Tune #3

2009-08-29T05:54:00.000-07:00

Leaving Peru today so it seems appropriate. 401

Big Tune #2

2009-08-27T11:57:00.000-07:00

Straight outta' Ancash

The Birds (Pt. 1)

2009-08-27T11:55:00.000-07:00

It was early November and the air was crisp and smelled like Fall. He was loading provisions from the bed of his Chevrolet S-10 in to a wheelbarrow. He loaded the cans of food and two cases of Heineken beer in to the bottom of the wheelbarrow and on top he put the eggs and meat and the rest of the vegetables. He also had two new fifty foot braided nylon lines that he’d picked up to replace his tattered dock lines.

Peter Day was sailing singled-handedly to Bermuda and did not intend on pulling up to the customs dock in St. George looking like a schmuck. He had worked hard on the boat since he bought it in May. The boat was a Catalina 26’ and when he picked it up from the previous owner in Wickford it was sound but the paint on the topside and hull was all shot to hell. It was his first boat and he wanted to do a good job so he took her down to the glass with the soda blaster and started from the bottom up. He applied the two part barrier coat first and then laid on the viscous dark blue Ultra-lux anti-fouling paint up to the waterline. He taped off a two inch thick waterline and it took two coats to properly cover it red with the same grade anti fouling paint. The topside was white up to the rub rail and he waxed and buffed it with the pneumatic buffer so that it shone almost pearlescent in the sun. He laid strips of chrome along the outside of each rub rail after he had stripped and varnished the teakwood underneath. Above the rub rail was about four inches of topside that he painted a deep marine blue with his old badger hair brush. Finally there was a teakwood toe-rail that ran the perimeter of the deck that was brought down to bare wood, treated and then protected with five coats of varnish.

The boat had come with new sails, winches and lifelines and the only real equipment Pete had to buy was a self steering vayne so he could sleep and still trust the boat to stay on course. He found one at the marine consignment store next to the ice cream shop in North Kingstown. It was one of those stainless steel jobs with removable mounting brackets so he cut the tubing to fit the angle of the stern with a hacksaw and then replaced the mounts accordingly. The owner of the consignment shop couldn’t find the top fin for the vayne that sensed wind direction so he had to make one out of balsa-wood that he reinforced with thin strips of oak.

Pete spent the two weeks leading up to his departure punching in way-points on his handheld GPS and listening to the NOAA forecasts on the old VHF radio in the cockpit. He had wanted to leave by the end of October but a steady procession of low pressure areas moving up the gulf stream had delayed his trip by nearly a month. With the second week in November came a window between two systems that would give him adequate time to clear the stream and head toward Bermuda. The first low to pass by was nearly 300 miles across and while he rushed around picking up some last minute provisions he had to wear his yellow foul weather jacket. After a final visit to the grocery store for some tuna and beer and canned beans Pete drove over to Emory’s garage where he had stored his outboard engine. He mounted the fifteen horsepower Johnson engine to the stern of the boat and attached a length of PVC to the throttle with a hose clamp, allowing him to steer without leaning out over the stern. He pumped the fuel bulb until it was firm, let out the choke and it started up on the second pull as the clouds began to break. It was about 9:30 am.

With the engine running and the clouds quickly evaporating Pete walked up the dock and over to his truck with the wheelbarrow. He loaded up the beer and the groceries and the two new lines that he was very happy with and locked up the truck. He put the keys in his pocket and started back down the dock, careful not to snag the wheels of the wheelbarrow on any of the electricity meters that lined both sides. When he got back to the boat he realized he was sweating with the humidity so he took off the rain jacket and tossed it over the wheel in the cockpit.

In Compliance to the Vulgar (pt. 3)

2009-08-27T11:53:00.000-07:00

He walked across the plaza diagonally, passing the groups of viejos in soft hats and wool suits who sat talking on the benches. The great fountain in the center was lit against the dark sky and the jets of water from the top glowed yellow. There were a few stray pigeons left shuffling around the plaza but most of the flock had gone up to roost in the various alcoves of he cathedral. He could even see one resting on each shoulder of the carved Virgin over the doorway. The stars were beginning to show, sharp and clear in the thin mountain atmosphere. The dark grey stone on the ground was worn smooth and the shrubs and flower-beds were maintained well. It was a beautiful plaza and he liked walking it, especially at night. He crossed the street on the other side of the square and started down a small pedestrian road feeling good and light and gripping the familiar weight of the leather bag in his right hand. He arrived at the ABC cafe and John the crazy host opened the door for him with his crazy looking smile and bulging eyes and said “buenas, Señor Day.” “Thank you John, have you seen el jefe?” Crazy John said that he had not but that “el jefe” would surely be here soon if Mr. Day would like to take a seat at the back table near the wall. That sounded excellent and he would certainly appreciate a Johnny Walker Black and a bottle of water with gas while he waited. But of course. And Crazy John was on his way to the bar with that long country stride and big loose crazy head. He watched the crazy host and then walked to the back, placing his bag on the floor next to the table. After removing his navy blazer, he hung it on the back of the chair and slid the bag under the table with his foot. He looked around the nearly empty restaurant and then seated himself. Crazy John returned quickly with the drink and watched with approval as Mr. Day took a long drink from the glass. Once John had left him, The man who’s last name was Day poured some of the gaseous water in to the whiskey and took another drink.

RIP Ted

2009-08-27T11:43:00.000-07:00

In the words of my pal Cody Allen it's up to us now " to carry on the torch of personal buffoonery and massive social change."

Trouble in Lobster Country

2009-08-22T22:30:00.000-07:00

In Compliance to the Vulgar (pt. 2)

2009-08-20T19:36:00.000-07:00

By the time the sun had gone behind the shoulder of the bare sun baked mountains he had left out the front gate. The girl kissed him as he left and handed him the old leather bag from the salvation army back home. Making sure the gate locked behind him he hailed a taxi as it drove by. At the same moment, another taxi at the end of the block honked and he waved it away as he walked towards the closer taxi. It was funny he thought to himself. How it’s easier to catch a cab in this little neighborhood in the mountains of Peru than it is in New York City. And a hell of a lot cheaper too. He’d done the math before and figured that the ten minute ride in to town would probably run about eight dollars back in New York while here it barely cost one. The taxi was standard for the area, a compact Daewoo with nine inch rims and the uneven texture on the body from spots of bond-o. He told the driver to go the Plaza de Armas and settled in to the back seat with his bag on his lap. He looked out the window and up over the Andes where the clouds were a pink orange. The traffic grew heavier as they They drove around the roundabout that connected the Residencial Huancaro to Avenida el Sol and took a left up Avenida el Sol. A group of kids covered in traffic soot waved at the cars from the roundabout island, sending sprays of water in to the air from their squeegees. Both sides of the road were lined with shops and restaurants and the state workers with blue uniforms and matching dust masks were sweeping the dust out from the curb. Old women from the country with black dresses and big hats sat on the sidewalk weaving belts with their leathery hands. At the top of the street they turned right and the road opened up in to the plaza with the big fountain going in the middle. He asked to be let off in front of the cathedral and the driver made a wide left around a group of French looking tourist women. He honked at them as he passed and smiled a big toothless grin. The taxi pulled up in front of the cathedral. He paid the driver four Soles including the tip and stepped out on to the smooth sidewalk in front of the church. The Spanish knew how to build a church he thought. Another equally impressive Cathedral stood on the adjacent side of the square and over the terra-cotta roofs of the houses you could see two more just outside the square.

Big Tune #1

2009-08-19T22:49:00.000-07:00

Big 2005 tune from the ras Pressure down in Rock City

"The cracks are starting to show"

2009-08-15T20:11:00.001-07:00

“My voters are ordinary people, and I speak to them in one language, the language of ordinary people, even though, of course, I am not an ordinary person.”

In Compliance to the Vulgar (pt. 1)

2009-08-15T20:04:00.000-07:00

"They bury their dead with their heads directly downwards, because they hold an opinion that in eleven thousand moons they are all to rise again, in which period the earth (which they conceive to be flat) will turn upside down, and by this means they shall, at their resurrection, be found ready standing on their feet. The learned among them confess the absurdity of this doctrine, but the practice still continues, in compliance to the vulgar."
- Jonathan Swift, Gulliver's Travels

He slept well once the girl had opened the windows and the crisp air from the mountains made it over to the bed. The sheets on the bed were a pale yellow color and he considered them for a moment before he fell asleep. When he woke up the light in the room had changed and the yellow color of the sheets seemed brighter and less appealing. The shower had a window that was made out four glass cubes and he liked using it this time of day because the light showed through the steam and it all seemed very dramatic. He shaved quickly and missed a spot on his neck that he wouldn’t notice until much later. There were always dark spots under his eyes that he had inherited from his old man and he hardly ever noticed them anymore but the light in the bathroom seemed to accentuate them and he thought that he would do good to get more sleep. He came out of the bathroom and back in to the bedroom where the bed with the yellow sheets sat in the middle with two dark oak bedside tables on either side. The big window was still open and it looked out over the city and beyond to the big mountains. The air came through the window cold from the big peaks with snow on them way in the distance. He pulled on a black pair of pants and took from a hangar in the big closet a thick blue collared shirt that was clean but stained around the collar from sweat and age. He took an old blazer with brass buttons off of another hanger and pulled it over the blue shirt. Sitting on the bed to put his wool socks on he thought this was a hell of a business to be in. Better than the kids selling paintings and shoe shines out there maybe but weren’t they the ones that always ended up getting hurt? That’s no way to think. Pull it together and focus. You won’t get anywhere tonight with this kind of garbage floating around your head. The air up here was good for staying sharp but you’re really making it awful hard. He slipped the old Floorsheims on his feet and walked back in to the bathroom to comb his hair.

Striper shot from June

2009-08-15T19:52:00.000-07:00

33" off Hazard Rock

Jail Time for Rap Lyrics?

2009-08-13T12:40:00.000-07:00

Two years?!

The Disco Mash

2009-08-12T21:17:00.001-07:00

Boat Ben - Classic Disco Selections

IRON DJ / DWNLD MP3 / VOTE

2009-08-12T20:03:00.000-07:00

The Big Homie

2009-08-12T17:58:00.000-07:00

Kapgun Disco Mash:

Kapgun - Di Sco Mash Vol1

IRON DJ / DWNLD MP3 / VOTE

New Mash: Hype Tracks 1996-1999

2009-08-11T22:23:00.000-07:00

Boat Ben - Hype Tracks '96 '99

IRON DJ / DWNLD MP3 / VOTE

Steak and Potatoes at the Fairmont

2009-08-10T22:25:00.000-07:00

Pete had tickets for a 7:00am flight that left Logan Airport in Boston and was set to arrive at Charles DeGaulle by 7:00pm Parisian time. He had arranged to have dinner with old Tom the night before he left since he happened to be in town with his production company and was staying at the Fairmont hotel. The old Fairmont (as opposed to the new Fairmont that was just built in battery park) was right next to the Trinity church on Copley Plaza and it only took Pete about five minutes to walk from the Back Bay train station to the hotel with his heavy leather bag. He had grown up in Boston and as he walked he thought it was strange being back with everything smaller and cleaner and being able to cover ground so much faster. A hot dog vendor outside the station had made Pete remember his hunger but if he was up on things he knew Stefan Jarausch was still the head chef at the Fairmont and he wanted to take absolute advantage. He had never actually been inside the hotel before but once he arrived he was impressed by all the dark oak and the gold used in the decoration. The woman working behind the desk had a hell of a bad attitude as he placed his bag down and asked for her to call Tom down and he was wondering about it all until he looked down at his own wool suit that was maybe a touch too simple for the decor.

Tom came down the stairs after a few minutes and they shook hands and clapped each other on the back. It was noted by both the lady at the counter and Pete that Tom’s suit matched the decor quite well indeed. “How are you man? It’s been a while” said Tom, taking Pete’s bag and handing it to one of the grim looking bellhops who took it upstairs without a word. Pete wondered about the tipping situation but was too hungry to worry “I’ve worked up a helluva appetite pal lets go see what they’ve got in the chow hall.”

“Good ol’ Pete.”

“Good ol’ Tom. What are you drinking?” Pete asked as they sat down in a pair of the heavily padded and ornamented chairs on either side of the square table.

“Black label on the rocks, you?”

“I’ll have the same but I’ll need some club soda on the side old man - I’ll have the agita with this empty stomach”

The waitress took their drink orders and they arrived fast with a separate glass of ice for each whiskey and one of those old fashioned pressurized glass bottles with the tube for the soda. Another round was ordered with the food and Pete very much enjoyed utilizing the soda tube. They both agreed that the whole set up was quite civilized indeed so they drank to “Adolf Loos and The Fairmont.”

Pete ate more than he could remember eating in a while, following the cheese and paté appetizer with an enormous steak and mashed potatoes and glazed green beans. They talked as most longtime friends tend to, referring back to the old days and how those experiences had informed their more recent decisions. When he was finished with his plate Pete sat back in the chair and sprayed some more soda in to the fourth whiskey of the night.

“You know Tom, I’m feeling pretty good right about now.”

“Well I’d hope so Pete, we’ve practically finished the bottle of the black stuff”

" Now that's certainly a contributing factor, but let me tell you, I feel pretty good right about now and I felt pretty lousy about coming in to town on such a nice day as today.”

“Well thanks buddy.”

“Of course, nothing personal old pal it’s a strange thing really.” Pete looked up at the big twelve point bucks head on the wall and wondered about it before continuing. “You know I grew up here in town and I wasn’t happy about moving out there to the country in the slightest but now, it seems like the only place I can imagine spending my time. It’s nothing serious but just some vaguely considered idea that I have about people from the city - not just Bostonians but I'm under the impression that most city folk seem to have their moral compasses poorly calibrated.”

There was a long silence at the table as they each considered this profound statement and Pete knew this was his last drink of the night.

North Korea is Totally Insane

2009-08-10T20:36:00.000-07:00

From today's KNS report: http://www.kcna.co.jp/item/2009/200908/news10/20090810-15ee.html

"Japan will never be able to escape the curse and isolation from the international community if it continues playing sleight of hand, seized with the wicked and brazen-faced disposition inherent to an island country and an anachronistic wild ambition for domination and expansion.

The army and people of the DPRK will surely force Japan to pay for all the thrice-cursed crimes related to the sexual slavery committed by the Japanese imperialists in the past."

Steamers & Kelp Pt. 9

2009-08-10T19:35:00.001-07:00

He let up on the drag and heard again the scream of the reel as the fish took out the line offered. He handed the rod up to Bill who smiled and said “woah Pete you really got something here. Something big I mean look at the way the rod jerks.” “It’s not a flounder buddy” Pete grunted lifting himself by his arms up and over the shelf feeling all hollow and sick inside from thinking about losing the fish in the rocks. He knew that with the line he gave, the fish would have gone out around the point by now but now he just had to bring her in fast before she could find a place to hide and get the line all snagged. He took the rod back from Bill and started to reel in. She seemed bigger than before and fought hard once she felt the hook set deeper, making pete walk with her sideways along the slope of rock. Bill kept his hand on the back of Pete’s vest to keep him from sliding in. He was so close to the water now that they were both getting soaked from the spray and Bill could tell that one more big push could pull Pete down and in. Pete knew he had to dig in to her now or risk getting the bastard caught up in the mess below so he set his feet perpendicular to the water and dug in hard pulling up on the rod and taking in line fast. She fought like hell and he could tell he had her now as long as she didn’t get caught in any rocks so he screwed down the drag, giving her nothing and making sure she couldn’t dive. Taking in every inch of slack and pulling hard up and taking her in more and more and then all of the sudden there was nothing.

Motown + Kingston = Mokingstown (new mash)

2009-08-10T09:22:00.000-07:00

Boat Ben - Mokingstown

IRON DJ / DWNLD MP3 / VOTE

Steamers & Kelp Pt. 8

2009-08-09T19:02:00.000-07:00

Pete was still setting up when he saw Bill cast far and high in the direction of Block Island. The tide would take her in the opposite direction he thought as he secured the body of his squid by running the hook through both eyes. With the rig all prepared, Pete reached in to the bottom of the bucket and pulled out two Heineken beers. One of which he handed to Bill who accepted without looking away from the end of the rod. Pete put the other can in his pocket and, supporting himself with his free arm, hopped down on to a shelf facing the waters in lee of the big rock. The noise of the wind was cut to nothing upon landing in the protected alcove. He cast out, careful not to overshoot and risk getting caught in the granite that hid just under the surface about twenty yards out. The wind pulled the line toward the shore as it went out Pete reeled in to compensate. He had fished there enough to know the difference between dragging on the kelp and bites and he could tell immediately that he had a customer. He saw the end of the rod jump with that crazy unpredictable motion and jerked the rod to set the hook and then came the high pitched scream of the reel before he screwed the drag down. He felt the nerves in his fingers and his mind was sharp against the cold and he called up to Bill “hey I think I got something pal.” Bill looked down and knew it was bad when he saw the line striking out left toward the point of the rock and Pete stuck in the recess trying to keep the fish away from the point. This bastard is big Pete thought. Bigger than I thought. If I let her get around the point and in to the rocks and the surf who knows what the hell will happen. I’ve only got 15 pound test on this rod and she feels a helluva lot bigger than that.

The RIP Mikey Dread Mash (old)

2009-08-09T11:27:00.000-07:00

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mikey_Dread

Boatben - Rip Mikey Dread Mash (Old)

IRON DJ / DWNLD MP3 / VOTE

Steamers & Kelp Pt. 7

2009-08-08T17:21:00.000-07:00

Bill went first and made it over with much show and concern. “I’m going to break my arm “ he said as he approached the gap. “shut up man, you must have done this before, you’re just putting your mouth all over it” replied Pete, impatiently. He was always a bit nervous about crossing, especially in those types of conditions but he’d rather not have Bill make it worse than it had to be. Bill went finally and Pete followed, shaking his head and trying not to look down. Once across, it was a steep climb up the big rock, made easier by the deep cuts that horizontally traversed the stone. At the top, the granite was lighter - bleached all beige by the sun. The rock cut down towards the water from the highest point, probably shaped by years of breaking waves. More often than not you would find somebody else fishing off of it but the conditions around the gap probably deterred the other fishermen - the only ones they could see now were off to the left, casting off the big smooth slab that sloped easily into the surf. They both had their rigs set up with two hooks about a yard apart and Pete fished the box of frozen squid out of the bucket. They separated two of the smallest ones from the thawing block of bait and Pete separated the body from the hood by pulling them apart. He strung the hood through the wire leader and over the glow in the dark float that one armed John had given him on his last trip to the bait shop. Pete knew he needed the float here to avoid all the kelp. He hoped the glowing squid looked as convincing as he hoped for those damned stripers.

Steamers & Kelp Pt. 6

2009-08-06T14:48:00.001-07:00

Pete could tell the wind had picked up once they were out on the rocks and the waves were high with very short periods between them. The clouds were low and thick and fast moving and they could see the streaks that were rain showers scattered across the Atlantic. He imagined the waves out at bonnet break being intimidating, probably overhead at least. The salty mist made everything damp and the smooth granite surfaces slick, especially in places where algae had been allowed to grow. You could always avoid the algae if you looked closely for the darker, discolored patches, but sometimes it was unavoidable and you had to make sure to keep all your weight directly over your feet to stop from slipping. Sometimes it happened anyway. Pete didn’t know if Bill had heard the story about the guy who died mysteriously off the rocks last season in these kind of conditions but he decided that now might not be the time to bring it up. There was a broad shelf, orange from the iron deposits that led down toward the water and toward the biggest, most imposing rock that stood somewhere around 30 feet in all dimentions. Where the shelf met the water, there was a small gap cut by the tides that one could jump over easily without gear. With gear, it was better to try and break it up by stepping on the black, pointed rock in the middle.

Lunch on the Plaza

2009-08-04T16:37:00.001-07:00

Wikivodou

2009-08-04T16:23:00.001-07:00

If you lay a broom across the doorway at night, a witch can't come in and hurt you.
Having a woman visit you the first thing on Monday mornings is bad luck for the rest of the week.
Don't borrow or lend salt because that is bad luck.
If you sweep trash out of the house after dark you will sweep away your luck.
Don't shake a tablecloth outside after dark or someone in your family will die.
To stop a Voodoo spell being placed upon you, acquire some bristles from a pig cooked at a Voodoo ritual, tie the bristles into a bundle and carry them on you at all times.
If a woman sprinkles some salt from her house to yours, it will give you bad luck until you clean the salt away and put pepper over your door sill.
If a woman wants her husband to stay away from other women, she can do so by putting a little of her blood in his coffee, and he will never quit her.
If a woman's husband dies and you don't want her to marry again, cut all of her husband's shoes all in little pieces, just as soon as he is dead, and she will never marry again.
You can give someone a headache by taking and turning their picture upside down.
You can harm a person in whatever way you want to by getting a lock of his hair and burning some and throwing the rest away.
You can make a farmer's well go dry by putting some soda in the well for one week, each day; then drawing a bucket of water out and throwing it in the river to make the well go dry.

Sunday Morning in Huancaro

2009-08-03T15:38:00.000-07:00

Dogs barking all the time

The pollo a la brasa smell from the polleria

All the garage doors are wood

You have to put your shirt over your mouth when the busses pass for the dust

Beautiful women with worn leather hats

Two eggs and two breads from the bodega

The transaction was done through the re-bar gate

I walked back and nodded to the chuckle-head policeman who always called me "amigo"

It rained so the return trip wasn't so bad with the dust.

Steamers & Kelp Pt. 5

2009-08-03T15:36:00.000-07:00

The parking area that provided access to the rocks was unmarked and was difficult to find if you had never been there. It was on the left side of the street and very unassuming between the rows of driveways that led to waterfront mansions. Families from New York City would spend their vacations there, leaving the homes dark and imposing for the rest of the year. The parking spaces were at the end of a short nicely paved road and as you drove down, you could see the Atlantic spread out far and wide with that deep blue color spotted by whitecaps. There was only one other car in the lot when they arrived. It was a black Geo and there was a really awful looking woman sleeping in the front seat with that hairstyle that looks wet all the time and clothes so tight for her figure that it looked as though her flesh was held together by the various seams and bands of her garments. They jointed up the rods - Pete had only brought his cheap ugly stick imitation and a some old rusted out tackle that he’d had luck with on these rocks last year. Bill had brought his more substantial surf casting rig along and his flea market tackle box that seemed bottomless and full of gear neither of them had ever seen before. They walked down the steep graveled path that wound between the big leaved beach grape trees - Pete swinging his five gallon bucket with all the gear and a six pack of heineken hidden under a layer of ice. Once clear of the trees they could see the jagged granite rocks spread out in front and on either side, the southwest seas crashing white along the whole coast, making the air thick with spray.

En Route

2009-07-28T09:35:00.000-07:00

¡Viva Peru!

packaging

2009-07-24T12:15:00.000-07:00

DIY Tortillas: A Lesson

masonite, paint

collaborators: Susana Monero, Anthena Howlett, Alexandra Howlett

Book

2009-07-21T13:25:00.000-07:00

February 2009

DIY wind generator manual

Found objects (cardboard, adhesive, vellum)

Self Portrait

2009-07-21T13:02:00.000-07:00

May 2009

paper, glue

Time Project

2009-07-21T12:46:00.000-07:00

November 2008

Sticks, bird, plywood, paint, nails, plexi-glass

News

2009-07-20T15:20:00.000-07:00

Blocked out man

Steamers and kelp (pt. 4)

2009-07-02T09:23:00.000-07:00

They walked out of the store and into the humidity. Pete's ginger ale already had beads of condensation running down the sides - he cracked it and unlocked the car. Bill had a cigarette lit before he got in and he offered Pete the open pack. Pete drew one out and lit it with the stainless windproof given to him by a Korean exchange student. They pulled out of the lot and on to main street behind a rusted F-350 Dump. Pete smelled the diesel from the exhaust and remembered Bermuda. He thought of Elsa and the yellow Peugeot and the big busses that would pollute the tight coral-walled alleyways with their black fumes. He remembered how she felt pressed up against his back on the bike and how the white painted walls were stained black from the busses.

Pete blew smoke out his nose and looked around the old New England town. He was glad to be here now with an old friend, going fishing again.

Steamers and kelp (pt. 3)

2009-06-30T13:14:00.000-07:00

The proprietor of the corner store was from India and he had a beautiful young wife who worked with him sometimes during his 17-18 hour shifts. Pete liked the man and they would always talk in very low, serious tones about politics and the economy. This day, the owner had a line at the counter so Pete nodded as he walked to the back of the store and looked through the glass doors that displayed the beverage selection. He opened one of the doors, feeling the vacuum of the refrigerator and grabbed a ginger ale. by the time he reached the front counter, most of the customers had filed out, leaving only Bill and him. Bill was a dollar short on the cigarettes so Pete paid for everything and took the money Bill had.

Steamers and kelp (pt. 2)

2009-06-22T09:45:00.000-07:00

Pete walked back in to the bar and placed a five dollar bill on the bar, put his empty pint-glass on top and walked toward the door. Frank Farr, a white haired regular of few words clapped him on the shoulder as he walked by and they shook hands.

Once out the door, Pete said goodbye to his old man and walked toward the car. Bill was standing on the passenger side with his rod and tackle box in hand. Unlocking the car as he walked, Pete grinned and Bill opened the door and placed the gear on the back seat.

"we have to stop at one arm Johns for some squid"

"for sure, he might know where they're running anyhow. "

They got in the car and took off silently with the battery of the Toyota Prius doing most of the work.

Pete took off his coat as he drove and asked

"Hows the wife?"

"I don't know... crazy"

"same as usual?"

"I guess"

Pete was used to this situation and he remembered the winter before last. All of the emotion and dramatic violence seemed insane and he could hardly understand it. Still, he couldn't help but be intrigued by people like this. Complete disregard for consequence was not in his nature at all. He thought he was probably drawn to these people because they were in fact so different from himself and he felt like he could learn something from them once he understood.

Bill asked if they could stop at the convenience store on Main Street for cigarettes and they both went inside.

Wisdom

2009-06-16T10:54:00.000-07:00

O'Shaughnassey knows.

Steamers and kelp (pt. 1)

2009-06-15T11:34:00.000-07:00

Pete was out of work by 3:00.

He called Bill on his way out of the city and was back home at 3:25.

It was a quick walk back to the shed where he grabbed the big 5 gallon bucket and his collapsable surf-cast setup. Careful not to set the hook in the upholstery, he loaded the gear into the car and pulled out of the driveway. It was only a ten minute ride to the Yacht Club where Bill was to meet him.

Pete called up his folks from the road and arranged to meet his old man for a drink at the Club bar before Bill arrived. The bar was busy in the early afternoon so he parked in the public lot, right above the big three foot corrugated drainage pipe. In the old days, he had always wanted to explore the drainage system but had been discouraged by the rats he saw sometimes at night. Pete adjusted his tie in the rearview mirror and walked over to the club. His old man was already waiting on the wooden deck, leaning on the rail that stood between the platform and the water. Both father and son went in to the bar together. All the tall mahogany seats were occupied by familiar characters. Burl, a brown toothed regular had his usual seat by the door. Here Burl was in the unique position to greet any newcomers with his awkward and vulgar brand of humor until they managed to steal away to another side of the bar.

Pete had known Burl since he was a boy and had grown to dislike him more as the years went by. The old man had an admirable patience with Burl but Pete just felt like knocking the goddamned baked-bean teeth out of his head every time he went to the bar.

Pete ordered a draught Sierra Nevada for himself and a cabernet for the old man. They managed to escape from Burl, excusing themselves due to the heat - and went back out to the deck. They set themselves and their drinks down at the sturdy umbrella table the club had just bought the year before. The Magic and Lakers had the finals tied up and they mostly talked about that and fishing.

Pete drank his beer fast. It was cold and good and he just finished it when he saw Bill's car pull in to the lot.

No fish (my baby's away across the atlantic)

2009-06-09T09:00:00.000-07:00

He swung his legs over the side of a mattress with no sheets on it. The sky was starting to turn grey. He reached for the phone on the wooden box that served as a bedside table and dialed a number. he dressed while he talked "okay, 25 minutes." He made a pot of coffee and poured it into his thermos while scanning the headlines on the day's paper. He glanced at his watch and headed out the back door of the house. He stopped at the shed on his way to pick up both the big, high test rod and his smaller pogie snagger. They were both collapsed and stuck out the top of the orange 5 gallon Bucket. He Held the bucket by the handle and walked down the overgrown path that separated two plots of land. By the time he got down to the water, Fred was already waiting at the dock with the engine idling. "Pete, Look at the clouds to the north." They were black and deep and moving in their direction. Pete sipped his coffee and looked for a minute. "I just saw lightning in there, you'd better head back." Fred nodded "Meet at Norman's for breakfast?" "Sure."

Pete helped Fred cast off the bow line and watched as he headed out of the mouth of the river and around the point. The rain started in earnest as Pete walked back up the path and by the time he got to the shed, enough water had accumulated in the bucket so he had to dump it out before storing it. The plants need the rain, he thought to himself.

Hotshots

2009-06-08T18:49:00.000-07:00

Greg Wilson

Burger

Matunuck

The Truth(11/08)

Another Sunday

2009-06-08T08:18:00.000-07:00

Homefries, eggs and turkey sausage.

An english muffin.

I put the preserves in my coat pocket.

Two cups of coffee from a cute waitress.

A water tower and a fire truck.

A donut shop at a five way intersection.

Open windows and new pavement.

Sunday

2009-05-17T13:30:00.000-07:00

I woke up to church bells on a dirty couch on the third floor of some vinyl sided triple decker on Hope street. The back stairs I walked down are new and constructed of pressure treated wood that still has a fresh green look to it. I ate 6 hard boiled eggs for breakfast with a side of some Jimmy Dean sausage and undercooked bacon. I put it in one of those eco-friendly, biodegradable cardboard jobs from the cafeteria and ate most of it on the way home from the city.

I smell geraniums now and can hear a Korean high school student playing the piano remarkably well.

The coconut water came from a box but it tastes fresh.

Recall

2009-03-30T11:52:00.001-07:00

Borromini's dope/

I think I like the baroque.

CALCULUS

Nice

2009-02-23T11:52:00.000-08:00

Not that it's okay but...
I'm relishing the fact that Bush was frequently depicted as a monkey in cartoons and nobody cared.

No Gripes with God.

2009-02-16T11:07:00.000-08:00

My friend from Russia relayed this great anecdote to me that her father told her back in the 1920s

Way back, In Roman times (when people were carrying crosses around I guess). There were three men who travelled together - each had a cross to bear on the journey. Each cross was different in size, shape, weight, balance, etc . As they moved along on their journey, each man complained about his cross. After a bit of deliberation, they all decided to exchange crosses in hopes that their trip would be made easier. After the exchange, each man realized that they were much happier with their original load.

"I have nothing to gripe to god about."

The Cure

2009-02-08T19:34:00.000-08:00

eleven o clock

a belly full of swordfish

a big swig of jack

New Digi

2009-02-06T03:33:00.000-08:00

getting up early

is better for ones soul

but one still must sleep.

Leaky sole blues(yodel # 11)

2009-02-05T19:56:00.000-08:00

oh lord what a night

my socks got wet through my boots

gotta keep moving

no $

2009-02-04T20:10:00.000-08:00

this is not the baroque

Criticism

2009-02-03T08:09:00.000-08:00

Tim Geithner forgot

To pay his taxes on time

Tom Daschle did too

Finally some guys

In Washington who I can

Relate to. Uh oh.

Financial Meltdown

2009-02-02T12:45:00.000-08:00

If I were a bank
I'd only give money out
To folks with good scores.

2008-11-17T10:11:00.000-08:00

61.

Consolation for Commuters

Michel de Montaigne

Wouldn't mind if he missed a train.

He'd simply say, oh hell,

The next one will do just as well.

2008-11-03T19:49:00.000-08:00

Big day.

http://cnn.com/election/2008/calculator/

Cambodia

2008-06-13T17:41:00.000-07:00

It's always breezy and cool out on our balcony.
Five or six stories up, we can see about half of Phnom Penh proper, including the river - which is an offshoot of the Mekong itself.
A tempremental beast, the Mekong river floods, and drains, moves south, and then north, all according to territorial flooding patterns.
In the early spring, the provinces outside Phnom Penh recieve a bounty - in the form of large, and expansive flooding. This excess volume from the Mekong pours into the endless network of Rice paddys, leaving them, and half the jungle submerged for weeks - sometimes months at a time.
With the water, come fish, crabs and other edible fresh water species. Local fishermen take full advantage - filling their boats with crab, eel, and catfish that can grow 3 meters long. Once the water recedes, these fresh water creatures often get trapped by the raised partitions that separate the rice crops.
A long time after the water disappears, families will be pulling food out of the swamp. Much of it is ground up and fermented - creating a traditional Khmer fish paste that is used in almost all of the local cuisine.
Fortunately, up on our balcony, drinking coffee and enjoying the breeze, we don't have to smell this final product.

Village Life

2008-06-10T04:34:00.001-07:00

My $500 Allen Edmonds' were caked in mud as we made our way up the rocky embankment behind our hut.
She smiled at me, I smiled back.
The sounds of a small necklace harmonica had floated across the village.
The sky was clear and the air was still cool and clean.
As we made our way down the dirt road that cut the settlement in two we followed the sound of the harmonica.
We came upon the small musician a bit down the road, but he was far too interested in his new instrument to notice us.
We all kept walking. She smiled at me again.

Sawadeekup

2008-06-06T22:58:00.000-07:00

I'm in Thailand.
Chiang Mai, actually. And to be completely honest , I'm feeling a touch queezy due to a bold, or irresponsible atempt at consuming a local version of a tunafish sandwich.
My dad tells this story, that cracks me up, about a colleague of his on an archaeological dig down in Mexico. This apparently well educated guy was determined to "go local" by eating and drinking without taking your typical precautions with foreign dining. As the story goes, he never did get used to the foreign bacteria in the food and drink but was hospitalized almost constantly during their extensive stay south of the boarder.
Anyhow, we arrived in Chiang Mai today after a three-train adventure that started in Bangkok and ended some 24 hours later here in the mountains of northern Thailand. We flew past endless expanses of rice paddys, dense jungles and muddy brown rivers. This morning I was lucky enough to watch the sun rise a weak orange over a jagged mountain backdrop.
Apparently we're headed into the jungle tomorrow to wear out our legs and ride some pakiderms. Cambodia is next
.

Locals only

2008-03-28T08:54:00.000-07:00

In late December I was in Southern Florida, taking a brief respite from the New England chill. One afternoon I was crossing the street with a remarkably beautiful young woman when an old Ford Explorer sped around us. Out of the SUV leaned the biggest broguy I've ever seen. This tasteless connoisseur of all things "heady" proceeded to yell at me: "locals only bro!" After making an instinctual, obscene gesture at their disappearing car I was struck with disbelief and a bout of gut wrenching laughter. For the rest of the holiday I was impossible to deal with, as I would not stop exclaiming "Locals only bro!" even in situations where it was not remotely applicable. If somebody would knock when I was in the bathroom I would respond with a resounding "Locals only Bro!"
Three months later It's spring here in Providence and the green is on the way.
Locals only Bro.

It's in the shop

2008-03-24T22:25:00.000-07:00

My car mechanic is a 75+ year old who fished the outer banks when the catch was abundant and the crew still wore oil slickers(rubber raincoats hadn't been invented yet.) Emory is the mechanics name and he had an interesting proposition for me today. While we struggled to loosen my ailing starter Emory strongly recommended that I scrap the idea of higher education and get my embalming license. "Opening a funeral home might seem morbid at first" he said, "but once you get a few bodies out of the way, it's just another job - with slick cars and simple work - there's only so many ways you can cross the arms."