Duncan's Blog

Today's mail pick up had a curious piece of correspondence. It was a handwritten note on a piece of paper the size of a post-in note. It was signed by "Bill" in quotes. I guess William wants to let me know that he is cool enough to have a nickname, but that I shouldn't make checks out to him with that nomenclature.
Bill is from Oregon. He came down to see his son in jail and maybe talk to the local police. I was holding on to a few of his son's personal possessions.
So who is his son? Someone I had met on the HipForum. Yeah, hard to believe that the one person I would end up hooking up with face-to-face, nose-to-nose and toe-to-toe is someone who came to California to flee from a warrant in Oregon.
I won't get into any horrific details about what why when where and who, but suffice it to say the guy was involved in activity that turned out to be far reaching (i.e. a federal offense). What made things difficult for me and put me in the middle is that I allowed him to use my address for mail. He was moving around alot before getting settled and my address would be "fixed". Lucky me!
He and his companion got picked up last April and that, I thought, was the end of it. Now "Bill" is claiming that there is stuff that I am holding onto.
I am so pleased that at 48 I have managed to stay out of jail and free of police harrassment. Now I get it in the cross-fire of others!

I'm a brown-bagger. I'm not ashamed of it. Some people--I've noticed--make sure that they revolve their meal time around mine just so that they can see what I pull out. For the most part, my meals are vegetable based; there's usually a grain (bulgur, rice, barley) and some fish for protein (tuna, salmon, or something fresh like talapia or snapper).
I have an Italian cook at home, so why bother eating out. I've thought about getting an official thermal lunch bag, but nothing seems to catch my eye.
A friend of mine in NYC obsesses over food. She also winds up eating crap from cheap Chinese restaurants that seem to pour on lots of gloppy gravy. When I DO eat out I like to have a meal that is memorable. I also choose places that serve food that I do not or cannot make at home; Ethiopian or Tibetan cuisine uses herbs and spices that are not part of my larder.
Now I'm going to look at lunch boxes before bed

I never realized how protective I am of my professors. My two instructors are both foreign-born. Night classes at a community college can get a bit rowdy. I remember one instance in which a student wrote a story about his friend whom he called Douche-Bag. The Italian teacher had no idea what it meant. Later in the semester she asked if anyone had returned to a gelateria that we had gone to. One of the students said that he had, but that the owner was acting like a total dick.
"Cosa vuol dire DICK?"
Not so easy to explain... or maybe it was too easy!
I also come to terms with the fact that I am surrounded by some people both professionally and scholastically who simply have a narrow based vocabulary register that seems to have an overabundance of profanity. When I hear it I think that the person has either been in jail or that he associates with a more common denominator. My Mother used to refer to such peope as, "The Element!" "That's what happens," she used to say, "when the Element moves in."
I fancy myself a clean man.

I'm a big fan of Goldie Hawn. I think she's a serious actress who is capable of doing fine comedic performance. One of my favorite films of hers is OVERBOARD, in which she plays an over-indulged, spoiled woman who--after falling overboard from her yacht--suffers from identity amnesia. She is rescued by Kurt Russell who punishes her by telling her that she is his wife and has her live with him and his four wild sons.
It is one of many films with a similar theme. Find an insincere spoiled rich bitch, put her in a situation in which she is humiliated and--through introspection and reflection--watch her transform into a selfless and altruistic penant.
So what's the big deal about Paris Hilton? In Los Angeles there is the notion of two (or more) sets of law; one for the rich and one for the poor. So much for living in a classless democratic society! Since we don't throw Catholics to the lions in this country, and the allure of making black-and-white women-with-shaved-heads-in-prison movies is no longer in vogue, we opt for taking high profile women (Zsa Zsa Gabor, Martha Stewart, Paris Hilton) and making them sensational headliners.
Normally I wouldn't care much one way or the other, but given the fact that Mel Gibson recently had a scuff with the law, I begin to wonder about just how sorry these people really are. Paris apparently didn't have her ankle bracelet on when she was home (Shame, Shame, Shame! We all know your name!). Is she thumbing her nose at the judicial system, or is she simply mindlessly following the advice of her publicist, agent and/or manager?
I don't have any great love for a lot of the people who run aspects of the legal system. Local police, judges, lawyers... suffice it to say many of them have an agenda. I think a lot of the judges in L.A. want to become the next Judge Judy.
As for Paris... let her do her time in a private cell. Maybe she'll come out with the realization that nobody cares what medications you take. Maybe she'll also wind up serving the community and becoming a more positive role model. Or maybe she'll retain a private chauffeur.

Hmmm... Not too many folks ask me about my cars. I have two of them. One is a 1973 red Volkswagen convertible Super Beetle. The other is a powder blue 1964 Buick LeSabre sedan. Like Patty and Cathy Lane they are "...different as night and day!"

There's really not a whole lot to write about them. The VW came from a former co-worker of mine. It was the first and only car I had ever purchased on lay-away. It stayed in the owner's garage until my $3000 payment was finished ($500/month). I've had it for 15 years. The blue Buick was bought in 2002 online. The people who had it owned it from day one. It had low mileage and was kept outdoors in Klamath Falls, Oregon. I flew up there and drove it home.

Both cars have done the drive between San Francisco and Los Angeles. I've never dared take either of them to Palm Springs as neither of them has air conditioning. I also seldom drop the top on the convertible, however I must say that that car has probably done more extensive hauling than ANY other vehicle I have ever owned. Being able to drop things in from the top of a car makes packing a lot easier. I've moved sewing machines in their casements, Christmas trees, boxes during house moves and lots of groceries.

Most folks feel more comfortable in the Buick and are amazed that there are no shoulder belts. Seat belts didn't become mandatory until 1965. I think there is only one state in the USA that doesn't require seat belts. http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=10378859

The Buick is a non-smoking car. The VW has a four on the floor. The German car fills up from the front passenger side. The American vehicle's gas tank is in the rear on the driver's side. The VW takes regular gas. The Buick takes the highest octane and also requires a lead additive.

Why did I buy the Buick? It was a family car of ours while I was growing up. It was around in my life from age 4 to age 12. Obviously I never got to drive it. I often wondered what the allure was about it. Now I've experienced it, but unfortunately it's just too big. I don't need to spend that much on gas, don't need that much space, don't like the hassles of parking it and worry about it getting scratched or dented. The VW is the true work horse. It ascends and coasts, it keeps up with traffic, it is cooled by air and it's cheap to fix. It's on its second engine and I never begrudge paying money to fix it because it serves me super well when it is running.

Thanks for asking about the cars. I generally don't think too much about them.