Chamblee54

This trip started in the middle of March, when Uzi mentioned that he had the first week of April off, and didn’t have anything to do with it. PG suggested the hostel in brunswick, with a few side trips to the beach. A little research about the hostel followed, and it turns out the hostel had no ac and charged $25 per person/night. It was decided to look for a cheap hotel, and maybe spend one night at the hostel.
The rest of March flew by, and before anyone knew it, the departure day was tomorrow. PG got on the phone, and discovered that the hostel was full. The focus was now on finding a cheap hotel that didn’t kill. The internet yielded lots of hotel suggestions, but few phone numbers. It seems like the various services want to make the reservation for you, and get their cut. A bit of digging did yield the phone numbers, and the cell phone long distance plan came in mighty handy. A Red Roof by I95 was found to have the best rates, and a reservation was made.
On Tuesday, April 6, PG got up at 630 am. This was a bit unusual for him, but he was excited by the trip and made the transition. By 900, PG was on his way to Uzi’s place to get him. Radio whiner Mike Gallagher was talking about the warm welcome Tiger Woods was receiving at the Masters, and oh what does this say about America.
930 saw the slackmen rolling down highway 400, in search of the promised land. With two people in the vehicle, they were privileged to travel in the HOV lane, where the commoners are to your right. The traffic going through downtown was not bad, and soon the honda was rolling through the pollen clouds of Henry county. A funnel of yellow dust leered at the travelers from down the roadway, getting thicker and thicker in waves.
At 1131, the riders got to Perry GA, and bought gas. Uzi was ready for lunch, but a decision was made to push down the road a bit. At the New Perry Hotel, there was a sign saying to turn left, that PG did not notice. In a couple of minutes, they were on a two lane road in front of a tractor repair shop, and someone decided that this was not the road to the beach.
PG turned around, and went up the road for a minute, until he turned into a gas station to ask for directions. No female comedians witnessed this. He got down to the proper road, and made another wrong turn. When that road ran out, he made a right, went back through town, and redeemed himself by finding the turn sign in front of the New Perry Hotel. They got on hwy 341, and the first crisis of the trip was over.
The miles started to knock themselves down, through Hawkinsville, Eastman, and on into Mcrae. By this time the clamoring for lunch became overwhelming, A chinese buffet was rejected on appearance, and then the Southern Star Grill appeared on the left. PG turned around and went there. Uzi got a meat and three, that featured home breaded fried okra. PG got a hamburger the size of his fist.
On hwy 341, on the first part of the “Golden Isles Parkway”, prisons are a big industry. It seems like every town on that road had a correctional institute. In his days as an in house blueprinter, PG heard more than he ever wanted to know about these facilities.
The rest of the trip down was uneventful, with the Red Roof appearing at 3:45. After checking in, the slackmen decided to go visit the hostel. This meant getting back on the interstate, going one exit down, up the road about three miles, make a u turn, and then slow down dramatically after the 11 mile mark. PG tried reciting Shakespeare, but was not in the least dramatic. The sign for the hostel soon appeared.
After you went in the driveway, another sign said that if you did not have reservations, to call a phone number. Uzi called the number, and got a confusing recorded message. The pair proceeded down the half mile driveway, which is not a smooth ride. They got to a gate, and decided that they should turn around.
The road that the hostel is on leads to Jekyll Island after you pass the interstate. This seemed reasonable, until another sign said there was a five dollar charge. PG turned the vehicle around, and they headed north for Saint Simons.
542 pm-Right after the Jekyll road is the Sidney Lanier Bridge, a true marvel. This bridge towers over the marshes and waterways below, in a suspension bridge glory. Going north, a restaurant called Spanky’s was on the right, although the exact location was a bit fuzzy. This would come into play later.
Soon, the causeway for Saint Simons appeared, and there was no charge to drive to the island. A parking spot was found in the village, and the slackmen headed to the water. Alas, there was construction by the pier, and to get to the sand you needed to walk around a visitors center.
600 pm-The island was crowded with families, of all shapes, sizes, and colors. This does not include all economic categories, as most of the people appeared to be wealthy, or at least comfortable. After a few minutes walking on the sand, it was time for the next part of the day.
Uzi brought a veteran camera with him, and it appeared to be senile. Refusing to focus, unresponsive to any adjusting, the camera appeared to be obsolete. This was a great vexation for Uzi.
Leaving the island, the gentlemen started to look for the restaurant they had seen earlier. It was on the left, across a divided highway, and a trip was made across the Lanier bridge, looking for a place to turn around. It took a mile of driving down the road, before a public works yard appeared to turn around in. After going back across the bridge, a left turn appeared, with a road going back to town. The restaurant was further down the road, and missed on this trip.
745 pm- The sun was about to go down. PG stopped at a dock, and took pictures. Next, they went across hwy 341 into downtown, which was settling in for the evening. PG turned onto Egmont street, looking for the Mckinnon Bed & Breakfast. He did not find it, but did see lots of beautiful old homes and live oaks. He decided to get an address for the b&b, and use that as a base for exploring a corner of the historic district.
On the road into Brunswick one sees a few signs for “Captain Joe’s”, which was on hwy 341 on the other side of I95 from the Red Roof. The waitress assures you, “you will not leave here hungry”.
PG got fried flounder, and loaded up on the soup and salad bar. He wound up taking most of his fish with him, which became sandwiches for the next day. Uzi got a mess of locally caught shrimp. The only unpleasant part of dinner was when they left, and the waitress said “have a blessed day”.

On Wednesday, April 7,PG got up early, went to the office for coffee, and made a fish sandwich from last night’s dinner. He had gotten the street address of the Mckinnon B&B, and planned to use that as ground zero for exploring the historic district.
935 am PG and Uzi are standing in front of the Mckinnon House. It was on a street with several squares ( in Brunswick, squares are well groomed vacant lots with live oaks, palms, and magnolias), and some big houses. The houses were divided between the restored and maintained, and those who have seen better days.
1018 Stop at Mcdonalds on hwy 17. There is a marsh on the other side of the road, and the causeway to Saint Simons.
1108 The Massengale park is where PG remembers it. It is nothing fancy, just a parking lot, and a ramshackle bathhouse. The slackmen change into beach ware, and walk over the boardwalk to the sand. It turns out to be too cold for swimming, but just right for a long walk on the beach.
On the return to the parking lot, an SUV has exercised it’s entitlement to park six inches away from the drivers door on the honda. PG enters through the passenger side, and contorts himself into the drivers seat.
Uzi is ready for lunch, but a choice is made to explore a bit before going back to the red roof refrigerator. The Sea Island road is found, and shared with lots of other vehicles. There is usually an SUV behind you, that thinks you are not driving fast enough. At the entrance to Sea Island is a guard house, and a lady speaking into a walky talky. She does not admit the slackmen to the island.
The Sea Island road leads to Frederica road, which leads to this place where three roads come together in a turnaround loop. The intended destination was Fort Frederica, but a fateful turn was made onto Lawrence road. The slackmen drove for uncharted miles, through an obscene abundance of live oaks and other flora. Several stops were made to take pictures of the glory. Finally, the road ended at a gated community, across from a fenced in yard with tabby ruins. It was time to turn around.
Arriving at the three way turnaround, lunch was calling louder, but Fort Frederica was only a mile away. The actual grounds had a three dollar admission, but a movie was playing at the center for free. It turns out that the fort was a British outpost, to guard South Carolina against the Spanish in Florida. There was a little war, with a bit of killing and a lot of confusion. The Spanish wound up going back to Florida.
After leaving the park, lunch was making announcements over a speaker hidden in the live oaks. While the intention to get back to the hotel and eat was sincere, there were some more side trips that were important. The Christ Church has a lovely cemetery, which was ablaze in azalea glory.
Across the street was a forest trail, that served as a memorial to the Wesley brothers. We can thank the Methodists for this, and wonder what the Baptists have ever done to compare. At the end of the raging azaleas was an eighteen foot tall cement cross. PG thinks this would not be a good place to execute a savior, unless you have some cement nails handy.
This was absolutely the last stop before lunch. No exceptions were to be made. The Red Roof was soon in the horizon, and the last leftovers from Tuesdays dinner were consumed. Uzi made peanut butter and banana sandwiches, while PG cooked some ramen noodles. A TV show about ghosts was playing. It became apparent that several things were on the to do list, but the afternoon was slipping away, and not all would be done. When in doubt, go to the beach.
445 pm The honda pulls into the coast guard parking lot. Sun goo is applied, the gear is assembled, and the slackmen walk across the boardwalk to the sand.
The air is warmer by now, and PG is determined to swim. At first the water is cold, but the feet adjust, then the lower legs, and when the thighs get wet the toes are having a darn good time. The next step is to jump into a wave, and get totally soaked. By now his body has adjusted to the lukewarm water, and PG thinks this is the high point of his year so far. Meanwhile, Uzi sits in the sun, and looks at the world.
Dinner this night was at Spanky’s, the restaurant on Hwy17 they had tried to find tuesday night. It was not the high point of the year. The slackmen were seated immediately, at an unfortunate next to the entrance, with families waiting to eat looking on. At the next table were six teenagers, in town for some kind of conference. There was a bus in the parking lot, that apparently had been full of these hungry children. The service at the facility crawled to a stop.
It took over a half hour for dinner to arrive after it was ordered. The meal was tasty, but not worth the aggravation. When the check finally arrived at 709 pm, the server was 5145 YANKEE.
The drive back to the hotel went through downtown, and some sketchy neighborhoods north of the business district. A few of the houses were maintained, a few were not, and the live oaks and magnolias were everywhere.
Back at the Red Roof, PG goes to sleep quickly. After a while, he wakes up, to hear the TV slowly getting louder and louder. Uzi is asleep, on top of the bed, with the remote control in his hands. PG gets up, and turns the sound on the TV all the way down. A minute later, the sound is back on again. Before long, Uzi wakes up long enough to see what is going on, turns the TV off, and goes to sleep.

Thursday April 8 started early, with a few clouds in the sky. PG went to the office, drank coffee, and ate a bowl of Raisin Bran. It had been at least 30 years since PG ate cereal, with milk, for breakfast. The choice was made to go to the hostel.
The hostel is a fine place.
At 1108 am, an early lunch was had at whataburger. This was a first time for PG at WB. The honda pointed in the direction of Jekyll Island, with Uzi volunteering to pay the five dollars. Before heading onto the causeway, PG turned onto a little road underneath the Sidney Lanier bridge. At the end of this road was a place where casino boats would dock.
There is no gas for sale on Jekyll Island, and PG carelessly did not buy any before driving there. This cut back on the amount of island exploration. Jekyll has a different feel than Saint Simons, with the beach road cutting through the dunes.
A parking spot was found, and, after the inevitable preparations, the walk down to the water was made. The crowd at Jekyll was still mostly families, although the Jekyll crowd was more overweight and less affluent than Saint Simons. Still, a beach is a beach, and it is tough to not have a good time.
At 149 pm, two gallons of gas were bought at a somewhat inflated price. The car went up hwy 17 to Darien, for one last bout of sight seeing. The old city jail is an art gallery/visitors center, and the lady working there was delighted to have some company. ” Have you been in jail lately?” she said, before going upstairs for a tour of the old lockup, now a history museum. There is a copy of the 1736 Darien petition…the Scots who founded the town made an effort to keep slavery out of the Georgia colony.
The “jail lady” told PG where the town square was, but he misunderstood what she said, and headed back over the Altamaha river. Uzi had gotten a big map of Georgia, which remained on his lap for the rest of daylight. He found a road that would economically go back to 341, and take us back home.
335 pm. The gas tank is filled in Jesup. The trip mileage is estimated to be 29 mph. The road points north and west, and a cd by Peter Paul and Mary is played. The clouds at the end of the road get darker and darker, until the storm runs into the slackmen full force. The drivers windshield wiper, which had been wearing out, got much worse very quickly, with a string of black rubber flapping in the breeze. A decision was made to replace it.
454 pm. The slackmen stop at the Walmart in Hazelhurst GA. A replacement guide shows that the drivers blade is 26″, while the riders blade is 18″. The rain has dropped off while the parking lot becomes a repair garage. After much fussing and cussing, the old blade is pulled off. After even more brain damage, the new blade is installed, and the road is again under the honda.
The rain comes and goes the rest of the time on hwy 341. Hawkinsville is passed at 704 pm, and dinner is taken at the hong kong buffet in Perry. Traffic is reasonable the rest of the way home, and Uzi is delivered to his home at 1030 pm.

PG got up Tuesday April 6, at 630 am. This is highly unusual for him these days, but he had a good reason. Him and Uzi were going to the beach.
Eating breakfast and looking at the internet, PG noticed strange things happening. It seemed like a window, with a MS like emblem at the top, was warning of a security breach. PG figured it was a fraud, but did not have time to do a virus scan. He closed the window when it opened every five minutes, and decided to fix the problem when he got home. Of course, it was on his mind the entire time.
It was late thursday night, April 8, before PG was home. He plugged the phone line back into the modem, turned the devil’s machine on, and went to the car to get another armful of stuff. When he was back, the security breach warning was blaring. So much for the problem fixing itself.
A few minutes later, a window from the “virus protection service”, MF, came up. It said that it had captured a “trojan horse”, which sounded a lot like the original agent of harm. The security breach warnings stopped, and PG felt better. He was going to run a virus scan when he went to bed.
When it was time to run the virus scan, the MF window would not open. The email window would not open. The browser window would not open. PG suspected the problem was not solved. He got a phone number for MF, but their office was closed.
Friday, April 9, arrived, and PG turned the computer back on. He had thought through the night that maybe system restore could be used, to return the computer back to a pre disaster state. He quickly learned that system restore, like the other programs, would not open.
Technically, there was a way to open stuff. You clicked on the appropriate icon, and a window popped up, asking you what program you wanted to use to open this device. This worked ok for email and the internet browser. For MF, it was a mysterious file, one of two hundred thousand files with funny names. PG found an icon for MF, hit right click-properties, and found the name and location of the enabling file.
Once MF was opened, a virus scan was started. While breakfast was cooking, 30 “infected files” were found, and either quarantined or repaired. The programs started to open again.
PG called the MF office, and talked to a man ( after yelling “agent” at a few menus).PG explained that he had security service with ATT, and that MF had bought the account. The MF man offered to help, for a fee. PG was outraged, at paying MF to fix a problem they allowed to happen. A link to a “technician chat” service was received, and may be tried someday.
In the meantime, PG is keeping things backed up. Welcome back.

The following is a repost. It is written in first person. The pictures are from the Decatur Book Festival later that year. PG no longer complains about a work/sleep lifestyle.
So the website has a tape by Husker Du. I decide to download it. It is rehearsal tapes from when they were preparing to go in the studio.
I saw them sometime in the eighties. I thought it was at the metroplex, but it might have been the 688. I say this because there is a list of shows they played, and the metroplex is not on there.
I saw a show at the Metroplex the next night, but I cannot remember who. The metroplex was a dark spooky building on Marietta street near the omni. The balcony was very dark, with everything painted black, and I tripped over a bench.
Funny how HD means “do you remember”, and my memory is letting me down here.
688 was a different story. I saw a bunch of shows there, both as 688 and Rose’s Cantina. HD may have been the last show I saw before they closed. I was well into the work/sleep lifestyle that preoccupied my life after a certain point, and just didn’t make it out much anymore. A friend won tickets to the show or I wouldn’t have made it.
I didn’t get into the show very much. HD was a trio, with the later outed Bob Mould as the guitar g-d. For all of his musical skills, Mould is not much for onstage charisma. I had the feeling that if I had been more familiar with their music, I would have enjoyed it more. Some bands you can see without hearing their records and get into it right away, where others need a bit of familiarity.
The first and second times I saw Talking Heads were like night and day. The first time I won tickets, and didn’t know much about them. They were OK, but did not really impress. The second time I had played their second album enough to know all the songs, and thought the show was great. That was the night after I saw my neighbor do blackface drag at Club Sheba.
That first time, there were a bunch of security guys standing in front of the stage. They might have been needed in New York, but sleepy Atlanta was not the place. At some point in the evening, I was standing up, and raised my left arm and lifted a ceiling tile about half an inch out of its frame, and quickly put it back in. A rent a goon came by to tell me not to mess with the ceiling.
My friend and I were riding home on the bus, when a couple of black guys started talking trash to/about us. At the next stop, this rather large black man…who we knew…got on the bus and greeted us warmly.
It is a good story how I got the tickets to the first show. WREK FM was giving away tickets. I called the station, said I was a loyal listener, could I please be put on the guest list?
So, the download is over, and DSL is a gift. It is 1016 already, and I need to function in less than eight hours. That work/sleep lifestyle is a bitch.
Spell check suggestions for this feature:
metroplex- metropolis, metropolitan, retroflex, metronome, electroplate
cantina- catina, canting
mould- could, would, gould, mold, moued, mound,moult

There is a bit of common sense on the climate today, from an unlikely source (thanks). It seems like James Lovelock, a much revered elder statesman of climate science, gave a pair of interviewsin the UK. Merry Olde England is the home of the University of East Anglia, whose Climate Research Unit was embarrassed recently by some hacked emails.
The Guardian printed a transcript of it’s interview with Mr. Lovelock. There are some good quotes.
“Fudging the data in any way whatsoever is quite literally a sin against the holy ghost of science. I’m not religious, but I put it that way because I feel so strongly. It’s the one thing you do not ever do. You’ve got to have standards.”
(Regarding the data fudging scandal ) “I was utterly disgusted. My second thought was that it was inevitable. It was bound to happen. Science, not so very long ago, pre-1960s, was largely vocational. Back when I was young, I didn’t want to do anything else other than be a scientist. They’re not like that nowadays. They don’t give a damn. They go to these massive, mass-produced universities and churn them out. They say: “Science is a good career. You can get a job for life doing government work.” That’s no way to do science.”
“The good skeptics have done a good service, but some of the mad ones I think have not done anyone any favours. Some of them, of course, are corrupted and employed by oil companies and things like that. Some even work for governments. For example, I wouldn’t put it past the Russians to be behind some of the disinformation to help further their energy interests. ” ( PG muses that many of the climate change skeptics are old anti communists, Now, they are playing on the same side as the Russians they once were so fond of hating.)
“I think the skeptic bloggers should worry. It’s almost certain that you can’t put a trillion tonnes of CO2 into the atmosphere without something nasty happening. This is going to resolve itself and global heating is going to come back on stream and it’s these bloggers who are going to be made to look weird when it does.”
(On how humans will ever manage to tackle climate change:)” We need a more authoritative world. We’ve become a sort of cheeky, egalitarian world where everyone can have their say. It’s all very well, but there are certain circumstances – a war is a typical example – where you can’t do that. You’ve got to have a few people with authority who you trust who are running it. And they should be very accountable too, of course.
But it can’t happen in a modern democracy. This is one of the problems. What’s the alternative to democracy? There isn’t one. But even the best democracies agree that when a major war approaches, democracy must be put on hold for the time being. I have a feeling that climate change may be an issue as severe as a war. It may be necessary to put democracy on hold for a while.”
And so on and so forth. According to this esteemed scientist, global warming is real, but mankind may be too collectively stupid to deal with it. Or it might not become manifest for another thousand years. The more we learn about the climate, the more we realize that we don’t know.

As is often the case, the comments to the transcript made more sense than the primary text.
“I am surprised that in all of this article the actual problem we have is not mentioned or addressed. That the earth contains a finite resource, oil , gas , coal , minerals food which we treat as being infinite. Even if global warming did not result at all in any way from this.. we would still be heading for a complete disaster as we consume every last resource.. consumerism and capitalism will be the roots and engine of our downfall.. “
“The Stone Age did not end because we ran out of stone. We might grow more food,recycle our minerals and metals and develop alternative sources of energy. As we get richer,population drops and there will be plenty for all. Don’t worry, be happy. You are only here once, and remember : What has the future ever done for you?”
“Good point. The American Dust Bowl wasn’t caused by too much democracy, was it?! It was caused by rapacious financial interests in the form of farmers trying to get too much out of the environment for profit. That was 80 years ago & we have learnt nothing since.
Capitalism has destroyed agriculture because farmers are put under such financial pressures that they sacrifice good farming practice for profit. So it is capitalism that needs “put on hold” not democracy, Dr Strangelove….I mean Lovelock.”
” Lovelock is an arrogant old bastard who will never own up to a fundamental mistake he made many years ago. CO2 is a trace gas in the atmosphere and a poor absorber of IR compared to water vapor which is not only seven times better at getting energy from sunlight, but has 200 times as many molecules to do it! It’s effect is 1400 times that of CO2, but it is ubiquitous, cannot be be controlled or taxed so the elected class ignores it. It is just that simple.
Carbon is 84% of all petroleum fuels and natural gas. The controlling and taxing of carbon will give more political and economic power than anything that has happened in 800 years, the signing of the Magna Carta.
If CO2 were increased to 10,000 ppm it would just become significant in the atmosphere system. That would be a 2600% increase from the present 380 ppm. Give us a break.”

It is easter. Once, it was a day to celebrate springtime, the renewal of life after the chilly winter. Then, some people who take their myths literally came into control. The story of the day is of an avatar ( G-d become man), who died, and then rose from the grave.
Not only do they believe the story, but they also believe that this belief allows them to live forever. PG does not agree, and would appreciate the Jesus Worshipers a lot more if they kept their ideas to themselves. Sad to say, the believers like to talk about their beliefs. Many seem to think that the louder they talk, the more true the belief.
In the 2100 years since his life and reputed rebirth, Jesus has become quite the cult of personality. Many feel that the current Jesus has almost nothing to do with the historic Jesus. PG agrees with this view, that Jesus is a modern day golden calf, a idol created by man. The best way to learn about Jesus is through the words and deeds of his believers.
Pictures for this feature are from the Library of Congress.

It was dead saturday 1973, the day between good friday and easter. PG and his friend Gibson have traveled from Athens GA to Charlotte NC to see a rock concert. The plan was eight bands in a crowded football stadium.
PG had never been to an outdoor concert, and had some ideas about how it would be. They were in the house early, and set up a blanket about thirty feet in front of the stage. For the first part of the day, the crowd stayed off their turf.
The first electric act was Brownsville Station. The first thing they did was encourage the audience to crowd in front of the stage, resulting in a mob scene for the rest of the day. BS played loud heavy metal, with a guitar/vocals guy painted like a clown. They were a three piece band that day, as their bass player had gotten a job selling furniture in Kansas. “Smokin in the Boys Room” was a hit for this ensemble later that year.
The concept of multiple stages had not hit North Carolina, and there was a long wait between acts. The next band was Mason Profit, who rocked. “you are talking about boogie, you don’t know shit about boogie.
By this time, the crowd was getting off on their downers, the sun was shining, and PG was out of water. It only got better as the day went on. The scheduled next act was Captain Beyond, but they canceled. The replacement was another Capricorn act, Marshall Tucker. They were good, but not really memorable.
The afternoon went on and on. Goose Creek Symphony came and went, followed by Wet Willie. WW had a routine where this pretty girl was walking down ___ street, which in Charlotte was Independence Boulevard. Eventually, the sun went down, and ZZ Top came on stage.
ZZ Top was the high point of the day. The beards were only about four inches long. They introduced one song, saying ” this is something you might know about, song called beer drinkers and hell raisers”. They were the only band to do an encore, with “Francine”.
The next act was Mahavishnu Orchestra, which PG was convinced was the greatest band that ever lived. The stadium crowd was not conducive to their style, but they delivered a good show. John McLaughlin played a twin necked guitar, which PG found a bit disconcerting. The electric violin player was a stand out.
By the time MO finished, PG wanted to get away from the front of the stage. He took to wandering around the back of the stadium while the Allman Brothers played. The back of the house was full, although there was room to walk around. Before long, it was time to hit the road back to Georgia.
Pictures for this feature are from The Library of Congress. The people in the pictures were at the show, in spirit.

PG got a chain letter email a few minutes ago. In the spirit of tmi, the answers to this will be a post for today. Answers were not made under oath. Pictures are from the library of congress. They are from the Roger Fenton pictures of the Crimean War in 1855.

Welcome to the FIRST 2010 edition of getting to know your friends and family.
Change all the answers so they apply to you, and then send this to your friends including the person who sent it to you. The idea is that you will learn a lot of little things about your friends that you might not have known! Just press the ‘forward’ button then you can erase my answers and add yours.
1. High heels, boots, or sneakers? Sneakers//2. What time did you get up this morning? don’t remember//3. Diamonds or pearls! electronics// 4. What was the last film you saw at the cinema? That thing Sean Penn directed about the Emory graduate who got weird. //5. What is your favorite TV shows? NFL //6. What do you usually have for breakfast? steamed potatoes//7. What is your middle name? Campbell//8. What ood do you dislike? eggs, olives//9. What is your favorite CD at the moment? Workingmans Dead//10. What characteristic(s) do you despise? Selfishness //11. Favorite Clothing? cheap //12. Anywhere in the world on vacation, where would you go? Italy//13. Are you an organized person? sometimes//14. Where would you retire? here//15. What was your most memorable birthday? six//16. What are you going to do when you finish this? eat//17. Furthest place you are sending this? the internet//18. Person you expect to send it back first? don’t expect it back//19. When is your birthday? May 6//20. Are you a morning person or a night person? Afternoon//21. What is your shoe size? 12// 22. Do you own any animals? no//23. Any news you’d like to share? disgusted with Good Friday//24. What did you want to be when you were little? Astronaut //25. What is your favorite flower? reefer//26. What is a day on the calendar you are looking forward to? April 3//27. Do you wish upon stars? Leave Marilyn Monroe alone.// 28. If you were a crayon, what color would you be? melted on a lightbulb//29. How is the weather right now? Sunny and warm..//30. Last person you spoke to on the phone? “Bradley”//31. Favorite soft drink? Tea.// 32. Favorite restaurant? Depends on my mood //33. Hair color? gray, and it is all there //34. What was your favorite toy as a child? baseball bat//35. Summer or winter. spring//36. Chocolate or vanilla? bubble gum //37. Coffee or tea? Tea//38. Do you want your friends to email you back? better than any enemies//39. When was the last time you cried? don’t remember//40. What is under your bed? hardwood and a crawl space//41. What did you do last night? copied pictures from the library of congress//42. What are you afraid of? Jesus//43. Salty or sweet? Sour//44. Favorite day of the week? Monday//45. How many people will you send this to? whoever bothers to read//46. Do you like finding out all this stuff about your friends? it depends

The octagon is a magic shape. If you ever go to a Chinese restaurant, you are likely to see windows in octagon shapes. It has something to do with the feng shui. This does not carry over to Octagon soap, despite the snazzy retro wrapper.
When you take an interlocking border tile, and run it through the changes of an octagon, you have another shape entirely. This is what PG has been making pictures of the last few months.
For those new to the horrors of PG, he likes to make sticker pictures. These are faux stained glass images…that is, you shine the light through them, rather than on them. The base is a 3 mil mylar film, which was intended for the originals of building plans. The colors are sticker paper (red, yellow, and green) and masking tape (blue). There is a one eighth inch overlap between all the sections, which serves the same function as solder in stained glass. If you look at the design drawings, they have two lines for everything.
It is a good hobby. It features cheap materials, and provides hours of soul satisfying time cooped up in a studio ( which looks a lot like the third bedroom, or PG’s room as a kid). The studio is a safe space. PG likes to think that G-d comes by to help out, although others might differ.
The border tiles were inspired by a trip to Pasaquan. This was the refuge of another misfit who made pictures. He painted his house, and some cement structures on the grounds, with Sherwin Williams paint, in colorful patterns. Pasaquan is located near Buena Vista, GA ( pronounced BOOna VIS ta). In his images are circular s shapes that connect with each other.
Sometime last year, PG decided to draw the border tiles into an octagon. This caused a bit of brain damage, but PG did not give up. The first one was round, and then PG decided to try the same thing with straight lines and ninety degree angles. This caused more brain damage, and PG only has so many marbles left.
There are six pictures on display in this post. One does not have the border tiles. One has the round border tiles, and one has guts that look like a mandala. Some of these may have been posted before, but PG is too slack to go back to see.
The pictures are in the order of production. The titles are : 319 Wiggles, 320 Miss Pig, 321 Corners, 322 Green Square, 323 American Beauty, and 324 Workingmans Dead.
The last two were designed and assembled at roughly the same time. PG had a cd of “Workingmans Dead” that he listened to every day in the studio during these two projects. While naming things for the Grateful Dead is a bit of a cliche, PG is not picky about how he names these images.

There is a little video floating around on Facebook now. It shows a man, in a chair, with his adoring wife and daughter looking on. The man acts like his is driving (barefoot). Soon, an accident is imminent. His daughter (wearing pink wings) comes over, leans over his lap, and stretches her arms across his waist, seat belt fashion. The wife does the same thing, except she is the shoulder harness. Silver confetti flies all around, the man leans forward, and is stopped by his “seatbelt”.
PG is a long time user of seat belts, even before the nanny state told him it was the law. In 1974, he was rear ended, and would have slammed into the dashboard if not for his seat belt. It is a very good idea to use a seat belt, which is why chain pulling videos like this are not a good idea.
It is a law of human nature, the more often you are told to do something, the more likely it is that some people will not do it, just because. You still face the consequences of this misbehavior, but you go ahead and do it anyway. Or you wear the seatbelt (or the condom, or you just say no), but feel manipulated and spoken down to. At some point, you should let people old enough to drive act like adults.
Then there is the family values angle. PG, for better or worse, is single. There is no adoring, pink wing wearing daughter to make a seat belt for him. Is PG not a child of G-d, worthy of the love that all human beings are due? This attitude…that a single man is inferior… is on display constantly. It takes a lot of ignoring to get through the day sometimes, without manipulative videos, telling you what you already know.
The video is promoted on Facebook with this slogan: How many people will watch before this is BANNED forever!?. There were three comments below the slogan, when this post was written.
Wow. That brought tears to my eyes. I will re-post with a short story…
But why would it be “banned” Bill? What’d I miss?
Got your attention, didn’t it… (from the poster of the video).
Pictures from the ” Special Collections and Archives,Georgia State University Library”

PG found a series of podcasts at New Yorker online. People, usually published authors, choose a short story from the magazines archive, and read it. Last night it was “My Russian Education”, written by Vladimir Nabokov, and read by Orhan Pamuk.
The story is part of Nabokov’s autobiography, “Speak Memory”. Before that publication, it was printed as a short story, and presented as a work of fiction. The podcast host asked Mr. Pamuk why Nabokov would blur the line between fiction and biography like that. The answer was that authors are not as concerned about this difference as editors, and presumably readers. It changes the way a piece reads, whether it is marketed as true memory or made up story.
Hearing a story read, rather than silently scanning it with your eyes, also changes the way a story feels. MRE is more about the father of Nabokov, and his dangerous political activities in St. Petersburg before the Russian Revolution. To have this story read by a Turk, with ESL pronunciation, adds the sense of a European story from a bygone era.