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A Note to Homeowners... Symptom: Loss of power to 27" television. No response at on/off switch. Cause: Juggernaut Demi-Siamese From The Inferno. The Apartment Cat Syndrome--fear it. The rescue folks have the right idea for most people, strongly recommending keeping felinus two-tonicus in the house. They're worrying about bad germs, and/or abuse, perpetuation of the species, and all. Best give them a taste of the outdoors to occupy their senses, though, or you'll have a speckeled tornado dislodging all belongings under ten pounds. Things like, oh... power cords to the TV! Yep, in one of those lightning-streak runs through the livingroom, The Evil One managed to pull the plug, ever so slightly, from the wall socket... result, no juice, no picture. Fie! Be banished, foul daemon! I've got some crowd control, however. On a testosterone-whithering trip with Miss Jane to the Tropical Bazaar Of Potpouri Horror (from some Pier, I believe), last Saturday (when my guts said "go to Richmond"), I found an ultimate weapon. Simple really. Price tag, one dollar. The object: a plastic stick wound on one end with a six-foot roll of yellow and purple paper. One flick of the wrist, and out lunges a spiral paper equivalent of a light saber... which freezes out-of-control animals in their tracks at its sudden appearance. Fire in the hole! Or on the hole, if need be. Don't mess with my footie matches, splotchy-assed cat. Oh, yeah... Happy Birthday, John Lydon. ...................................................................... Hostel Environment Day Nine... yet another leisurely day in Eugene. A "Rest Day," we were calling it. After the excessive excitement the evening before, it was thought a better idea to exit the sheltering arms of the el Don to the state park outside of town. A return to mosquito infestation and poor restroom facilities considered a lot safer option, taking into account previous circumstances. My afternoon was spent in the presence of Dudley, who grudgingly helped me learn how to respoke bicycle wheels... which I desperately needed, having broken six in four days. Who knew that spokes were laced either with three-crosses over other spokes (most commercial bikes), or four times (for better spring under load)? Road Wisdom 101. This all took place in a little square in the center of town, not far from the local bike shop. Hot, buggy, a hinderance... since I'd much rather have been seeing what better opportunities and scenery Eugene had to offer. I was coerced into seeing the light, though, as in three days we'd be pulling one of the more serious climbs in the trip's ininerary... and crippled bikes would not be an option. My meager savings were also pressed into service with a suggestion that a smaller "granny gear" (the small one on the inside of the cranks/pedals) would make life a lot easier. The guide mentioned twenty-six miles of switchbacks up the side of the Cascades. I Was Convinced. The park was just outside of town, next to the McKenzie River, which we'd be following upstream for days. Strange stuff got deposited on the banks at the campground, though. Not long after the sun went down, we'd made a valiant effort at trying to make potato salad on picnic tables, with gas camping stoves... mixed reviews, and most of it sat, unloved. At least by us. On either side of the site, old school buses provided temporary condos for some migrant pickers and their families. Luke was making disparaging comments about the scent of enchiladas... what disturbed me was the television set, and Steve M1ller Band on constant rotation... the same tape, forever. And ever. And ever. Shooting the shit around the fire we'd built, we recapped the violation of the el Don by Chrysler grille, and fantasized about the upcoming lava fields, when we noticed this miniature hispanic lady that appeared from the mists, standing at the fringe of the group. Chanting this mantra... "I sure would like to have some o'that padada salad." "Sure," we said."Help yourself." In the blinking of an eye, the entire bowl disappeared into the night. And fueled the drums of the onslaught of "The Joker," late into the witching hours. To this day, I hope he never got shots for that "pompatous" problem. |
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