I have decided to leave WDC. I am not renewing my account and it will expire 8/31. I feel I have achieved all my goals as a writer in the 2 ½ years I have been here and it is time to set some new ones. I have learned a lot on WDC, and blogging has taught me the most.

         For instance, I didn’t know I was capable of writing a piece almost every day. The blog was also a great exercise in finding a voice. Developing a consistent style and tone for the blog was a great learning experience. It was a good self-awareness tool also.

         I never realized how often I was injured until I started writing about it. It seemed like every other entry I was trying to remove blood stains or conceal a limp. That raised my awareness and now I am more safety conscience. I still often injure myself, but now I see it coming and sometimes even avoid it. All in all, I am much more aware of hazards.

         I was well aware of the terrible effect being bipolar had on my life, but it wasn’t until I started writing about it that I realized how bad it was. Now that I have found relief, reading the entries from the past is painful. It’s hard to believe I lived like that. It was an aspect of my life that I hadn’t shared with the family and blogging gave me a way to do that.

         I was introduced to a publisher by a friend on WDC. I was able to get my longer pieces out and get them read by hoards of people (read: dozens). The rights to the pieces have reverted back to me so now I have a viable, edited product to shop around.

         I never got used to the whole thing about people coming and going in Blogville. It was painful having friends drift away. I am the type who tends to take things personally and I felt a bit abandoned. But, I can understand how people could get tired of the continual recounting of mishaps and the cavalier attitude towards self abuse. Plus, although I feel much better, my judgment hasn’t necessarily kept pace with my mood and I have probably alienated some by accident.

         Also, my drive to write has diminished since I started feeling better. The wildfire in my head has died down, but so has the brilliance. I don’t know if that part of me was essential to writing or if I am having an epic let down from a lifetime of over-thinking. I may start writing again someday, but right now my brain is in idle mode and I have no desire to turn it up.

         I will miss corresponding with all of you. Getting up at four or five to write an entry and then checking my email all day for comments became a routine and was comforting back in those days when I really needed one. I want to thank you for enduring the mood swings and clinically insane writing. Blogging was a great thing for me, but it’s time for Dave Gordon to retire. He was crazy and I no longer am (mostly).

         I will be building guitars, modifying amplifiers, and trying to avoid expensive electrical mishaps that cause very smelly smoke. I am going to try to set an endurance record for the longest hike on the steepest slope completed with no injuries. I will be enjoying mountain biking and trying to avoid that blood stain problem I mentioned. I may go find a volunteer gig which requires no thought and capitalizes on my Likes Everyone attitude. The music thing may heat up, I’m game for that. And, of course, my quest to attain and acquire Good Sense will continue. Other than that, I will be walking through Camp Adair enjoying the pristine silence in my head and feeling “normal”.

Thank you

Dave, AKA Mike Rhodes, Rhodes@ipns.com

 

         Our band played last night. I need to stop making jokes about the band. The place was jammed from the word go. The majority had come to see us. One young lady brought a poster to the stage and had us sign it. She must have taken it from somewhere, we didn’t have any there. We sold out of CDs. Two people bought the complete set of six. The crowd was dead silent as the story came to an end. They gasped when Mary kissed her wayward lover to discover it was his evil twin brother instead, the one who shot her Pa. Then we played Pipi Longstockings. I guess people must have recognized it, they cheered when we started it. I still don’t get it.

         I am making plans for my next guitar project. This one will be a relatively simple design reminiscent of a Les Paul Jr. It will be a semi-hollow body with two pickups instead of one. It might have a “violin” body, raised in the middle like an actual Les Paul. A semi-hollow body Les Paul would be suitably strange.

         We have a bit of a Good News/Bad News thing going on in the family. One of our number is probably going to see prison instead of the county jail. I’m on the Good News side. They shouldn’t have let him out in the first place. The Bad News group is rather thin. One, probably, and she could go at any moment. Statistics show that one of thirty one Americans is in prison or jail. We are skewing the statistics.

         My wife is returning from Seattle today. She told me to take it easy during every phone call. I did not take it easy and have not shown restraint or judgment in the last three days (go figure). I hiked for 3 hours the first day, rode for 2 ½ hours the next, and hiked 2 ½ hours yesterday. Then we played a long set last night. I have to devise a plan that obscures my actual physical condition or once again be accused of having an intemperate disposition. It probably won’t work, they never do.

 

         Our band, The Svens (www.cowboysurfpoetry.com), has set what I believe to be a new high water mark for Strange Songs Performed by Surf Bands. Thriller is odd. Call Me by Blondie is a bit unusual. Pipi Longstockings is way, way out there. I’m not sure why we put it the repertoire, but I think it has something to do with Sweden.

         Our saxophone player has family coming from Sweden for a visit. The sax player, who is in reality is an excellent trumpet player/composer, wrote a tune named Swedish Beach Party for their visit last year. This year we are performing The Swede. It is a tale of murder and deceit in which the beautiful Mary is embroiled (as usual). She doesn’t actually kill anyone in this episode. At the dramatic close of the tale, we play Pipi Longstockings as the finale.

         There is either a deep vein of meaning in Pipi Longstockings that says something to Swedes, or the sax player is trying to impress upon his relatives that he is quite odd. Something they must surely already know.

         Our performances are usually met by a confused audience who try to puzzle out what the heck we are all about. This is a funny side show for the people who already know. A surf version of Thriller doesn’t help. Whether they recognize the Pipi theme or not, it is going to be a very, very strange end to the melodrama. As part of the performance, we all try to appear as serious as one might expect a band playing dark and dramatic surf music to look. Sometimes it is a challenge.

         In this piece, Mary is seduced by the Swede and she abandons her fiancé The Cowboy. People get killed, mayhem ensues, there is treachery thrown in because it wouldn’t be a Svens performance without it, and in the end everybody is unhappy. Then we play Pipi Longstockings. I just hope it means something to the Swedes.

 

         I have worked in some unhappy and hostile offices, but they were rose gardens compared to where my wife works. The entire organization, which spans the state, is a train wreck. They make blunders that any first year manager would know to avoid.

         As a consequence of the openly hostile and disrespectful environment, all employees (except upper management) are being subjected to mutual respect training. All of this will be familiar to those who have worked in a large organization, but the funny part was the aftermath.

         The organization sent out a survey. One of the questions was “How many times have you demonstrated mutual respect in the last week?” I love that. The correct answer, of course, is any prime number over 40 and below 100. They are having another ½ day follow-up this afternoon to drive home the point that if they don’t pretend to respect each other, they will be subjected to endless, mind numbing training until they do. Gee, I miss that sort of stuff.

         During my 30+ years in the federal government, I was subjected to a horrifying barrage of trainings and tests. Myers-Briggs, Keirsey Temperament Sorter, sensitivity training, conflict resolution, on and on, and of course, mutual respect. We were all assured the tests would not affect our job, but we all knew that was bullshit. These were clearly pass/fail tests.

         I passed all but the Keirsey test. I broke and expressed my misgivings as to the accuracy of the test and the intelligence of its creator. I did so in an expressive and explicit manner. Then I had to attend the Hostile Workplace training. And retake the test. I passed.

         That was near the beginning of my extensive knowledge and experience in Don’t Do This. I still have some valuable advice for those who are in the line of fire.

1) No part of those courses is intended to be humorous. Don’t laugh.
2) Respond to all questions on tests with the answer they are looking for. Sarcastic answers such as “I do not respect my co-workers” will not be taken in the spirit in which they were given.
3) Critiques will be read. It doesn’t matter if you signed your name or not, they know who you are.
4) Omit any insightful comments regarding the accuracy of the test or the intelligence of its creator.

         These sessions will represent hundreds of wasted hours, but hundreds more await anyone who may have the restraint and judgment of a rabid cat. For God sake, keep your mouth shut or it will be Conflict Resolution training for you..

 

         I’m going to have to lay off for a bit. I’ve been a bit over the top lately and not in a good way. I blame lack of supervision as my wife was away for the weekend.

         I missed a trail head that I have been on a dozen times and ended up walking from the bottom to the top to the bottom and halfway back up the mountain. What should have been a mellow little 4 mile stroll turned into a 7 mile violation of the “don’t do anything stupid in the heat” edict. I went bike riding after that.

         The band played a gig at a church picnic Saturday. It went very well. The band leader was able to weed out almost all of the cussing and lewd inferences from the story. It was a dry event so there wasn’t much opportunity to show our true colors, which are typically blurred and distorted. One excitable young women cried out, “You guys are hot!” after our barn-burning version of Penetration. I expect she was referring to the music. I turned my amp all the way up to 6! .

         The image above illustrates another of my valuable “don’t do this” examples. This little feat of bad judgment resulted in a near miss from a serious personal injury perspective, but resulted in an arm injury that I was not able to hide. My wife observed that she is afraid to leave me alone. If she knew the full extent, she wouldn’t go to work.

         So, I am turning over a long neglected leaf and devoting myself to sloth and relaxation for the entire morning. Then I am going to try plan B for getting the saw up onto the stand. It couldn’t go any worse than plan A. We will set a new record for consecutive 90-degree days, 10. That breaks the previous record of 9 set yesterday. That calls for a celebration.

 

         I heard two words used together in a way that I had never considered. In fact, I thought these two words could not be put into a meaningful sentence. The words were “vibrating mascara”.

         When someone hears a phrase that doesn’t fit into their picture of the world, their mind casts about for possible meanings. This phrase tumbled me off the rails into no-man’s land of disconnected thoughts. I fell through space as I tried to connect the two words. My mind was still trying to form an image when the commercial showed the device in action. The mascara applicator vibrates. Why, I don’t know.

         How could I have missed such a simple and obvious meaning? The chasm between my old world and this new one, a world in which mascara vibrates and I don’t understand why, continues to widen. It has grown to include memories of my wife’s grandmother who couldn’t imagine why anyone would want a computer.

         I pictured a future in which my grandchildren patiently explain time and again why the faucet talks or how to open a new fangled milk carton. Hold on while I get into my old Geezer persona. A persona, by the way, which is becoming dominant. Okay, “What the hell is vibrating mascara used for? Wait… I don’t want to know.”

 

         Yesterday broke the all-time high temperature for Oregon, 109 in Woodburn where my wife works. A new record high for the day has been set for 3 straight days. Before that, it was only in the high nineties.

         That called for a bike ride. I have been in 110-degree heat dressed from head to toe in heavy Nomex fire clothing standing way too close to a raging brush fire, and I swear to God it wasn’t as hot as that bike ride. Thor and I went through Death Valley in early summer, and it was a comparable walk in the park. We came close to dieing in the bottom of the Grand Canyon where the lizards would not yield their shade. Riding on the black pavement of Camp Adair was hotter. I now know with certainty the definition of “hot”, which is what I was after to begin with.

         Having survived that brief but tortuous bit of idiocy, I headed home looking forward to the coolness of the house. When I entered the door, something wasn’t right. I thought perhaps the hot air had followed me into the house as I entered. A few steps in, I realized that the house was definitely not cool. I began searching for the cause and discovered I had left the windows open in the downstairs bedroom. An hour later I found I had left a window open in the living room.

         I thought of my poor wife coming home after another day of semi-controlled chaos to find it is over 80 in the house. I would have to confess because trying hiding anything is futile. She had told me when it began to get hot, “Don’t do anything stupid in the heat.” The bike ride was obviously not Good Sense. But, luckily, leaving the windows open would deflect that observation because it was possibly stupider.

         I was hanging up cloths on the back porch. Our back porch would make an Afghani poppy farmer yearn for the milder temperatures of home. I felt a breath of wind from the West. I turned and was hit in the face by a gust of wind coming from the coast. It was a hot wind, but the scent was unmistakable. Saved! The ocean air had broken the back of the devil east wind! An hour later it was blowing 15 miles per hour and was 10 degrees cooler.

         I will eventually let both lapses slip out in conversation and will be reminded that my wife doesn’t know where our life insurance policies are kept. But, I didn’t die and the house was 78 when my wife got home. By 9:00 it was a pleasant 75. It will only get to 98 today. That is plenty warm enough, but it won’t compare to the Grand Canyon where Thor and I debated what we would do if one of us actually made it to the river. Good thing, the blackberries are getting ripe at Camp Adair and I can’t miss that.

 

         Western Oregon is damp. It is cold and damp 4 months, and cool and damp for another 5. It is warm and dry for 2 months and cool and dry for another. People didn’t put air conditioning in houses until just recently. Staying cool isn’t a problem for 10 months a year.

         My wife and I live in a house built in 1920. We heat with wood and cool with fans. When it gets hot, we suck it up and complain. The dogs get grumpy, but that is no change from the Demented Dog’s usual mood anyway. We cook outside until we are sick of barbeque squash. Then we barbeque potatoes or yams. Then we kick back and relax in our 85-degree house.

         It was 101 Sunday. Monday it was 103, Tuesday 105, and today we are expected to break the all time record with a high of 107. We are also going to break the record for consecutive 100-degree days because it will be hot tomorrow also. It is going to take some world class bitching to get through it.

         I’m lucky because I can complain to you, whereas my wife works at a place where everyone else is in the same boat. But, I do have my shop, which is now a very nice place. It doesn’t stink anymore because when I cleaned out the other side of the basement, I discovered that the idiot who installed the toilet didn’t cap one of the vents. I thought it stank because it is a shallow pond for 9 months a year. Who knew?

         I am hurrying to finish this bitch session so I can water the yard. I hope to get out to Camp Adair before it hits 80 and leave before it hits 90. A record high, a record morning high, a record string of hot days, day after day. It is starting to sound like a broken record.

 

         I got up at 12:30 last night and it was 77 degrees in the house. We had fallen just shy of my prediction for an inside temperature of 80 degrees at 8:00, it was 79.4. This morning we set a record for the highest morning low, 71. In a piece of perhaps not completely unrelated weather news, we will set a new record high of 105 today. Tonight I will be in a cramped bottom floor room with 200-watts of amplification heat as the band rehearses for an outside gig this Saturday. It is going to work, by next week I will be praying for rain.

         I have ½ of an excellent weed removal program. Our soil turns to cement when it is dry. I have been water the weeds to soften the soil so I can pull them out. That half of the plan worked great. Going back to pull them is the weak part of the plan. Consequently, we have some very impressive weeds.

         The pumpkin art project is progressing nicely. I have trained a vine up and across a bench and there is a nice pumpkin there. I have a runner almost up on the fence where I will grow one on a 4X4 fence post, and the runner I am herding towards the apple tree is coming along. That one may be hard to secure.

         It is 7:30 and the temperature outside is 77. I need to finish the hot weather protocol, closing the windows and drapes, placing all available beer in the fridge, and turning off everything electric. Except the fridge, of course. The beer is in there. I need to get out and water the garden and my prize weeds. I almost hate to pick them now, they are doing so well.

 

         It is 5:00 AM and the grandkids are here. The younger one decided they would all sleep in the living room. She is the only one there this morning. I don’t want to wake her up so I can’t make coffee. I’m considering going to the basement and breaking out the camping gear. It would be a good chance to see how many bats are living down there.

         I went to an event called the Great Oregon Steam Out with two friends from the surf band. It is held at a museum the size of fairgrounds and is all about steam machinery. There were a dozens steam tractors, a wood mill, a flour mill, a machine shop, and several hundred old men in overalls. There was a drawing for a model 22 Caterpillar tractor. I don't know what that is, but I'm pretty sure I can't have one so I didn't enter.

         That was all great, but the best thing was the portable saws that cut rounds from logs. These were things the size of a hand plow that had a motor which drove a large hand saw. I have a large antique hand saw. I think I will make a pedal powered version to go with my wood splitter.

         We may break the record for 90 degree days this week. The old record is eight. One hundred degree temperatures are predicted for Tuesday through Thursday. That is weather that makes my root cellar shop look pretty attractive. It never gets over 75 down there. I am planning on painting everything in my new and improved shop white so maybe I will get started on that.

         I am going to go make coffee in the basement. I am going to have to dress warmly because it will be darned cold down there. Maybe it will calm the bats down.