Virtual Oskar

2 longish videos:







(But, then, I should really just shut my bloody trap. Shouldn't I.)

Rags to Less Filthy Rags

The Time I Had To Hawk My Souvenir $5 Canadian Bill To Buy Enough Gas to Get to the Used Record Store to Sell my CDs to Buy More Gas to Get to Work the Next Day

Have I mentioned yet that I am now gainfully employed? No? Well, I am gainfully employed. There: I've mentioned it.

And have I mentioned how grateful I am to have a fucking job? Answer: really fucking grateful.

Not that being unemployed doesn't have its perks. Like, umm.... Well, o.k., "perks" isn't really the right word... Maybe... "quirks"...

Such as this little episode, which I was recently thinking about.......

So you know how it is when you're on your last dollar and wondering how you're going to make it 'til the next paycheck? Or, rather, how you're going to make it until the next loan or miraculous discovery of a bag of money? And you're digging through the pockets of all your old coats and pants and pulling up the cushions of not only the couch but every chair in the house in search of enough change to buy a loaf of bread and maybe a 2-liter of Coke and -- if you really dig -- a pack of cigarettes?

Well, on this particular occasion, we didn't find enough change to buy a Snickers, let alone a pack of Luckies. (I think we had already resorted to the desperate nickel and dime search earlier in the week.) And we desperately needed to put gas in the car in order to get to work the next day and etc., lest our situation become all the more desperate....

The logical question that comes to mind in this situation is: What do I have to sell?

Once in a while I'll realize I actually have a lot of unnecessary electronic equipment lying around -- extra hard drives full of digital video -- mainly recordings of CSPAN and History Channel that will never be watched, from back when I had a Tivo-type-thing for my computer. A few minutes on CraigsList and I'm in the money! (Not MUCH money, mind you, but enough to eat.)

No such luck this day. Aside from selling my computer -- the sole source of income for me at this point (I was scraping together a few bucks here and there doing freelance graphic and web design -- on those rare occasions when people would actually pay me...) -- or my car -- actually, no, we had already sold that... Or my kidneys.....

The next obvious thing to sell, of course: CDs and DVDs.

After all, you can't whine about being broke when you've got a stack of these taking up space on your shelves. (The shelves themselves, of course, would be the next thing to be sold...)

Fortunately, there was a little independent music shop near our apartment that bought and sold used albums -- not for much, of course, but when you're desperate and hungry, $2 for a CD you haven't listened to since Bush's pappy was in the White House seems pretty damn good. (By the way, that's not meant to be a comical hyperbole, but an accurate estimate.)

So we begin the search: finding those 5 or 6 CDs and/or DVDs which A.) do not suck, and B.) [this is the really tricky part] do not look like they've been used as cat toys, coasters, and/or hockey pucks.

Then the inevitable debate ensues: "Is it wrong to sell that which was given to me as a gift? And, more to the point, given to me as a gift by you?"

"Well..."

At some point we come to an agreement: "O.K.: I don't mind if we sell the Tom Waits CD you gave me for my birthday, if you don't mind if we sell the Dimitri Martin DVD I bought you for YOUR birthday.".....

Most of the CDs I still possess are somewhat rare and obscure -- which is why I haven't ripped them into iTunes and sold them already. So I'm hesitant, but... well, I'm desperate.

So I toss them all into a paper grocery sack and head to the local record shop -- a hippy-ridden store called "Know Name Records" in which the reek of patchouli is so pungent that you will literally choke from the god-awful smell upon exiting your vehicle in the parking lot. Once actually IN the store, well, god help you. (Let's just say you don't want to browse the racks without a gas mask...)

I pretend to browse for used CDs while waiting for the hippy behind the counter to examine my wares and determine their resale value.

He calls me over: the moment of truth: ........ "Sorry, I think we'll have to pass on these."

WTF????

These are my rarest and most valuable CDs! I'm selling these only out of sheer desperation! Don't you underSTAND?!

He does not.

Back in the car, on the way back home, to work out Plan B. (Hoping I have enough gas left in the car to get back home to work out Plan B, that is....)

"Those fucking hippies have no goddam taste in music," I say as I (thankfully) return home.

"They didn't buy ANY of them?"

"Fuck no."

All is not lost, however: there's another local music store, "The Electric Fetus," which sells all sorts of great and eclectic music, including lots of local bands, and also buys and sells used CDs. I KNOW they'll buy my John Zorn and Secret Chiefs 3 and Mike Patton and my Miles Davis box set... The only question is: Do we have enough gas to get there?........

It seems extremely unlikely. When that little "out of gas" light on the dash starts flashing, you have to ask yourself: "Do you feel lucky, punk? Well? DO ya?" There could be a gallon in there, or there could be just fumes -- it's difficult to say........

Plan C.....

I remember that I have a couple secret boxes downstairs filled with random stuff -- old rolls of undeveloped film, notes and post cards from years ago, keep sakes and suchlike.... I rummage........

Yes! There it is: the Canadian $5 bill I've had since I was about 6 or something, from some trip my family took when I was little! I've had this since I can remember. Used to think it was worth something -- because it was unique and interesting to me -- then later thought it was worth something still -- because it was from this trip and had "sentimental value" -- and now I KNOW it's worth something: $5 fucking goddam [Canadian] dollars, to be exact! YES! That's at least a gallon of gas!!

Shit is lookin good. All I have to do is buy some gas with this, then head to the "Electric Fetus" and sell my wares, then use that money to buy some more gas, and we're SET (for a day or two, anyway...).

With great optimism I head out the door.

For some reason I suspect that paying with Canadian currency might cause trouble. So I decide to go to the nearest gas station I know of where you can pump the gas first, THEN pay. I put in less than $5, and head inside.

They do not accept Canadian currency. FUCK.

Now what? I've already taken their gas.

"This is all I have," I explain. "You can keep the change -- I just ran out of gas, and this is all I've got."

"Sorry, we just can't take it."

The guy next to him seems as confused and annoyed as I am: "Seriously? We don't?"

"Nope, says right here." (Pointing at a little note taped to the counter.)

"But it's worth more than American."

(Guy shrugs.)

(Other guy shrugs.)

FUCK.

O.K., I've got the gas in my car. I can now make it to the Electric Fetus.......

"I guess I can try to go find a bank and exchange it..."

"Yeah, you'll have to, I guess."

"If there's still a bank open..."

"Yeah..."

"Or, I could... If I can just go talk to my wife, I think she's got some cash -- I just -- this is all I have on me..."

(pause)

"Well, yeah, but, like..."

"I mean I'd leave this, obviously."

........

Finally he agrees that if I leave the Canadian $5 bill, I can leave and come back later with some REAL money, and then we'll set things right.

Thing is, there IS a bank open -- a Wells Fargo, and they're less than a block away. I run over there, confident now that things are gonna work out...

Turns out, they do not exchange Canadian currency.

That's right, you read that correctly: the FUCKING BANK will not exchange Canadian currency for American currency.

Why? Don't bloody fucking ask me. They just don't.

(It is possible that they will exchange large amounts, just not a single $5 bill. But they did not tell me this -- perhaps just so that I would not look/feel like an asshole. A stupid broke asshole trying to exchange a keepsake from his childhood for a lousy 5 bucks to buy a lousy gallon of goddam gas with in order to get to the fucking used record store in order to sell his stupid old esoteric CDs in order to get some money with which to buy some MORE goddam overpriced gas with in order to get to work the next day..... That's possible, too........)

At any rate, at that point all I could do was head for the "Electric Fetus" as fast as I could, sell my shit and get back to the gas station before they closed to set things right and not have my license plate listed with the "fuzz." (As I call them.)

As luck would have it, the good folks at the "Electric Fetus" paid me top dollar for my obscure bizarro music, and I walked out of there with over $30. Bought some gas, bought some smokes, even bought myself one of those awesome Mom's egg salad sandwiches from the cooler to kill the hunger pangs.

Life was good.



(But, then, I should really just shut my bloody trap. Shouldn't I.)

That Actually Sorta Smells Good -- In A Weird Sorta Way.....

Whenever you hear (or think) these words, beware...

I was just heating up the Quesadilla maker (which my co-worker Kate generously gave us -- no doubt because she got tired of trying to clean the goddam thing), and after waiting for it to heat up I thought... "Hmmm... That actually sorta smells good -- in a weird sorta way... Sort of like those flat breads that you get at the State Fair........."

But when I went to insert the tortillas, I opened the thing up to find a crusted horrid mess of burnt cheese and former tortilla and egg (I think?) and beans and god-knows-what-else.

Not so much appetizing.

Nevertheless, I cleaned it, and shall now place tortillas upon its surface and eat the result. Whatever that may be........



(But, then, I should really just shut my bloody trap. Shouldn't I.)

How to amuse someone into quitting smoking...

This isn't the first time my 12-year-old step-daughter Abbey has decided to quietly deposit my cigarettes in the trash receptacle. (I managed to dig them out -- at least the ones not covered with bits of coffee grounds and Cream of Wheat...) It is, however, the first time she has thrown them on the lawn and proceeded to smash them to bits with a badminton racket.

Later, I go to get a cigarette from the pack on the night stand, and imagine my surprise when in the box I find not sticks of tobacco, but rather this:



That's right: some delicious Cap'n Crunch cereal.

Any annoyance that I might normally have felt was instantly obliterated by helpless laughter.

I mean, did I light the bits of cereal on fire and try to inhale the fumes? Sure. But I had a bemused smile on my face as I did it -- and, well, that's a start...

The trick I've found to quitting is to just identify those times when you smoke the most. So all I really have to do is stop smoking while driving, for example. Or in the morning with my coffee. Or after eating. Or on breaks at work. Or when drinking. Or after a long day at work, or when streesed out, depressed, angry, or anxious. Or, when every cell in my brain and body is telling me I just really need a fucking cigarette...

Should be easy enough...

Especially after I found this perfect smoking replacement at the local gas station (didn't know they still made this stuff!) :




Yes!

Or, I could just switch to one of these brands :







(But, then, I should really just shut my bloody trap. Shouldn't I.)

Cars & Cats: A List

So I bought a new -- which is to say, very old but different -- car today, and I'm super excited about it.

Why? Well, because it runs.

Which is pretty much all the guy said when I went to look at it: "All I can tell you is, it runs. I don't know how, but it just runs."

It's a 1991 Mazda MX6, with over 250,000 miles on it. It looks about as old as it is -- paint peeling and fading, several dents -- but runs like a fucking top. Your basic beater.

I was dead set on buying a moped -- and had my eye on one of these on CraigsList:





( My brother Shane had an awesome Vespa :






but some cracker stole it while he was out of town... )

Anyway, I guess pragmatism ( and Kari's vehement dissent ) got the better of me...

Anyway, got to thinking about all the cars we've owned, between my wife and myself, in the past decade or so. It's fairly ridiculous:

1. '73 VW bug (which I rolled and destroyed). Made me very sad. It was one of those souped-up Baja Beetles, with an absurdly loud exposed engine in the back and huge tires and roll bars and etc. Probably would be dead had I been driving a normal Beetle...


2. '86 (?) Dodge Colt -- worst car I've ever had. Bought it with around 60,000 miles on it, for a few grand; it was nothing but trouble and lasted barely a couple years. POS. After paying once to retrieve it after it was towed, the second time it got towed (because after doing a 180-spin on an icy hill and ending up parked in a snow bank facing the wrong direction, I couldn't get it out nor could I get it started in any case), I just said fuck it and let the city keep it. Good riddance. The jumper cables and text books in the back seat were probably worth more than the car, at that point.


3. A '79 Datsun station wagon -- this car RULED. 4-speed stick shift, rusty as hell, seats shredded and covered with duct tape, smelled like oil, and when driving at highway speeds for great lengths of time you had to turn the heater on full-blast to keep the car from over-heating. But I loved it. (Also I remember it had only a sliver of wiper blade on the driver's side -- so it made this hideous maddening screech whenever the wipers were going.) Made at least 3 trips, as I recall, from Minot, N.D., to Minneapolis and back one summer to look for apartments, and never broke down. Eventually the clutch finally went out. (And, yes: we did push-start and drive the little bugger many times before finaly parking it and then giving it away for free. [I was actually really pissed off that no one wanted it -- and almost, out of sheer spite -- put a new clutch in it so I could just keep driving it... It was a GREAT FUCKING CAR, just needed a clutch...])


4. A '76 Volvo wagon that I bought at the Salvation Army (yes, I'm not kidding) in Minot. Love Volvos, but this car gave new definition to the term "lemon." What I remember most about it was that I kept having issues with the fuel system -- replaced the fuel pump twice (the second time left the car stranded on the side of the road about an hour from town, after stalling on a trip to some cabin for a theater party). Mechanic figured out that there was some sort of lining in the gas tank which was peeling off and clogging the fuel pump -- so they had to take the tank off, clean it all out, etc. Even after this the pungent gasoline smell permeating the car did not go away -- this got worse the fuller the tank was. Oh, yeah: and the gas gauge didn't work. This meant: you had to constantly guess at how much gas you had left (the smell was somewhat helpful in judging), and then fill the tank JUST A LITTLE BIT -- never over half a tank, or you'd risk passing out from the fumes while driving and veer into oncoming traffic -- but enough to keep you going for a while before the next refill.... Yeah, that was fun...


5. When I first met Kari she drove an old Nissan -- which was a great car, except that the passenger door would not stay shut, so she had to tie it shut with string wrapped around the door frame and tied to the seat belt or some goddam thing.


6. Perhaps because she had a child, and this car did not seem the optimal choice of transportation in this situation, she bought a sweet old Jeep Grand Wagoneer -- the brown kind with the wooden panels on the side. V8, 4-wheel drive, the whole 9 yards. A lot of fun to drive in the winter in N.D./Minnesota. Eventually had to sell it because it got approximately 8 gallons per mile. (This reminds me of our nightmarish move to the cities. Perhaps that will be my next post........)


7. After selling the Datsun and the Volvo, I bought the best car I have ever owned: a '93 Subaru Legacy wagon. Had over 150,000 miles on it when I bought it, I paid $1,500 for it, and ran it with NO problems until it had over 250,000 miles. Finally, the brakes gave out (had I been better at maintenance, this probably would have been avoided, but alas) -- the cost of replacing calipers, rotors, etc. on all four wheels was at least $800. So I decided to sell it for $400. But that thing ran like a brand new fucking car. I almost wish I'd just fixed the brakes and kept driving it....


8. Bought an old ('89?) Hyundai something-or-other. Hatchback, 4-speed stick. Nifty little car. A bit loud. Can't remember what happened with that, but I do remember learning that Hyndai's weren't exactly as good back when they were first built as they are today...


9. An '86 Toyota Tercel. Reliable little car, though it had trouble with things like acceleration (e.g. merging onto the freeway...) and traveling over 65 mph... Ran it till it pretty much died.


10. An '86 Audi -- 4-cylinder 5-speed manual, miles unknown (odomoter didn't work, but I think it read around 200,000). Bought it for $500, just needed a new exhaust system, ran it without any trouble. Ended up selling it, for some reason, to our friend Paul... Who proceeded to abandon it in a goddam field, for some reason. (Paul, WTF??) Good car, well worth it.


11. An '89 (??) Volkswagen Jetta. Solid car. Great boxy little thing with some character. Bought it for $450 and finally sold it when we were so behind on our mortgage payments that we were considering selling our internal organs...


12. **UPDATED: forgot about ye ol' Mazda MPV mini-van (and yes, Kari, it's a mini van. Just because the back door opened like a regular door instead of sliding open doesn't make it a station wagon : ) ) Gotta insert that here -- cause I do remember that was right before we bought our first non-ancient vehicle. (MPV was great, by the way, but used a bit o' gas, and the breaks, I think, or the front axel was dying so we sold it.)


13. A 2000 (?) Kia Rio. (Great cars. Unfortunately they don't have much resale value, for some reason, though...)


14. A 90-something Mazda Protege -- actually, THIS is the worst fucking POS car I've ever had. Drove it for less than one day before it started on fire -- on our way out of town, miles from home. Took it in to Firestone to have them look at what was wrong with it, and they basically said, "Yeah, someone went to great lengths to hide a whole lot of shit that's seriously wrong with this car. I wouldn't even try to fix it -- it's going to cost you about $3,500 just to do all the diagnostics on this thing..." And so, to the crooked fucker who sold me that car: I hope you get mugged, beaten senseless and then urinated upon. And then beaten some more.


15. Finally we broke down (so to speak) and bought a newish, fully-functional and reliable car: a 2003 Hyandai Elantra. Pretty much the perfect car (o.k, except it's not a hybrid). No problems yet.


16. And now: the ancient Mazda. We shall see........

Believe it or not, this list now actually seems rather short to me. It just seems like we've had SO many bloody cars....

This is what I'd really like to drive again:



But, well, I don't feel like driving to Montana.

"So, what's with the 'Cats' part of the title of this post?" you may be asking (assuming you're still reading this, which is very, very unlikely indeed)...

Well, that's another area where it feels like, Holy Mother of Fuck, how many of these have we HAD??!!!

Here's a list:

1. Moved to Minneapolis with three: Keeshawn, Tinkerbell, and ... shit, I can't even remember the third one right now...


2. Little Brother. I remember coming home one day, and there was Kari, sitting on the couch with a tiny little baby orange and white kitten cuddled next to her. What could I do? (He is, though, pretty much the perfect cat.)


3. Lickey (So named because, well, she liked to lick people. She would simply lick your hand, and never stop.)


4. Smokey. Ah, Smokey. Kari and Abbey went to the pound to look at the cats, and saw this poor sad looking guy, fat and old and completely shaved (clearly he'd had mats all over his fur, which could not be combed out), shy and timid but loving... We had to have him. But, the other cats ended up trapping and terrorizing him........


5. Grey Pie. (Yes, you read that right: "Grey Pie." Because, as Abbey quite logically explained, "Because he's grey! And I like pie!"


6. Crooshanks... O.K., there's sort of a story here... My friend Mary came to visit from Montana, and along the way (somewhere around St. Cloud) at a gas station saw this poor cat hanging around -- super friendly and sad-looking, tail and ears frozen off, hungry... She asked the people at the gas station if they knew whose cat it was, they said, "Nah, just a stray, probly." And of course she couldn't just leave him there, so, she took him with her. And left him with us. Which is fine -- he really was quite possibly the nicest cat I have ever met. However: in addition to his putrid smell, he was not fixed... He proceeded to impregnate all of our (3) female cats. We found out later just how quickly he had "gotten down to business" : all three cats gave birth in one weekend. That's right: we had three litters of kittens in one weekend. What was amazing about it was that rather than being territorial or protective of their young, all three mothers conglomerated into one basket and joined together as one big group family -- sharing the nursing, etc. We had no idea, after that, whose kittens were whose. (All these cats were basically black and white, so...) So, in short, our cats turned into fucking goddam pinko commies.
   
   
7. One kitten was named (by Abagail) : Blackberry. He was pure black (obviously), scrawny and sickly, and we tried to bottle-feed him and keep him healthy, but he died, and we buried him in the backyard. (I remember that well, because Abbey wanted us to "say something," like for a funeral, but I had nothing to say... But I knew she felt really sad, so I tried, but it was difficult for me...)


8. Was "Zebra" one of those kittens? I think so...


9. And then there was "Chewbacca," who we kept also -- and who freakishly makes a wookie noise -- I kid you not -- when he speaks. But we had never heard this when he was named. Some predestination, apparently...


10. We had another batch of kittens -- just before FINALLY getting Chewbacca fixed -- and they were absolutely the cutest, cuddleyest, sweetest kitten I've ever seen. One of them -- horrific story -- got his tail chopped off in the paper shredder. He was playing with the shredded paper in the basket, and somehow managed to step on the "shred" button and turn the thing on, just as his tail happened to be near the slot... That is one of the more horrific experiences I can recall -- the sheer sound of his screams, and his desperate flailing about, and my own yelling in horror, and trying to hold him still while trying to turn the thing off, and then reverse it so that his little tail would come back out, and him feeling as though I was the one hurting him, and scratching the living shit out of my hand, blood all over it.... Yeah, that was no fun. And then afterward, seeing the end stub of his tail cut off and stuck there underneath, in the blades of the shredder.... *shudders* But you will be happy to know that he went on to live a perfectly normal and happy life, and was as cute as every -- in fact the cutest kitten of the bunch -- long-haired and fluffy, just like his dad.


11. Anyway... So we managed to give away the kittens to friends of ours, and -- oh, yes: WANDA! Forgot about her. There was a nice lady cat named Wanda, who sort of became antisocial and we ended up giving her away.

Our cats at present:

1. Little Brother (not so much little any longer)


2. Chewbacca (yes, he has stayed with us -- and he and I, as Abbey says, "share a love"...)


3. Zebra (Abbey's favorite -- lets Abbey pretty much do whatever she wants, and hold her in all sorts of contorted positions without complaining or trying to flee...)


4. Mabel -- the one kitten we kept from the last batch, after -- Oh! Shit, I forgot a kitten. "Popa Di Milo III" -- the perfect little all-grey kitten, who we loved and had planned on keeping -- and had desperately bottle-fed, to no avail... died also. But: Mabel is the one kitten we did end up keeping from that batch -- not all grey, but grey and white (the others were all black), and (at the time) the sweetest of them all. Calm and sedate and loved human contact. Now... well, she's kind of insane, and appears to despise me at times... Ah well.


5. Binjigate (or, "Binnie," as we call her) Abbey named her after the last name of our good friends Dillon and Emily Binjigate (sp.), and she is a bit aloof, will only be held for approximately 22 seconds, but is quite nice. Cat #5...

(But, then, I should really just shut my bloody trap. Shouldn't I.)