Thanks for all the nice comments on my most recent pictures. I'll add photographer to the long and growing list of things at which I'm kind of talented but will never achieve anything. The list thus far includes: Radio Talk Show host, guitarist, DJ, writer, poker player, and now photographer.
Quick story. I was driving towards Atlanta last night on Highway 78 through Alabama when I came upon a VW shop. It was closed for the evening (it was about 6pm), but out front there were probably a hundred VW Bugs, old VW vans, and Karmann Gias. I walked around and took a ton of pictures, hoping someone was maybe still in the back and would come out and talk shop. No one was there, but I got some great shots (which will be appreciated that much more by the VW enthusiasts). At one point I was taking pictures by this fenced off area when I heard a noise. I turned around to see a goat standing on top of a car staring at me. What the fuck is a goat doing in a VW junkyard in the middle of Alabama? Great question. Maybe it was a guard goat. However, every time I put my hand over my head and waved at the thing, it took off running across the tops of the cars. So if in fact it was a guard goat, it was doing a lousy job.
I get back in the car about 45 minutes later, tell Trudel to say goodbye to all of her cousins, and turn the key. Nothing. I turn it again. Nothing. I try starting her in neutral. Nothing. On and on this goes, but it's clear Trudel feels like she is home, and she's not budging. Now, this is a known Trudel quirk, and one that's pretty common on most VW vans. Because the engine is in the back, in order to start the car you're sending electricity a long ways to the starter, and sometimes it's tempermental. My dad told me before I left that if this happens, tap the starter with a stick a few times, and that should do the trick. Unfortunately, we never went over exactly where the starter is. So now I'm on the phone with him, engine wide open, tapping away on everything inside the engine with my pitching wedge. I'm crawling under the car, greasing it up like I know what I'm doing. Keep in mind that I'm right near Talladega, home to many racing fans, so I actually feel pretty manly. Yep, that's me - just workin' on mah car in the middle of race country, fixin' her up, getting things done. The goat's looking on, impressed by my ability to smack an engine with a golf club, and even though it's still 87 degrees out and I'm sweating like a pig, I feel like a man. After an hour of poking and waiting and pleading, she finally started up. If you want to see some pics, they're posted on Kodak Gallery here
33 comments:
I'd take Billy the Goat over Swamp Girl any day.
J,
I am so jealous of what you are doing. The sights, sounds, smells, and tastes are things that I would enjoy; especially the heroine addict in Mexico (she sounded hot).
Additionally, your writing is excellent. I see a best seller in the future; "Broken VWs and a goat".
-Drew
Dang! How could I forget to warn you about this? Pick a NASCAR driver so when you are asked who you follow you can say "well, I like what Mark Martin is doing with the number 6 car" or "I've been following Jarret in the number 88 car, but I think I'll follow someone else next year when he goes Jap." Or even Jr. BUT FOR GOD'S SAKE DON'T SAY JEFF GORDON! Anyway, if you give them a blank look in that part of the country when asked they'll know you're a foreign swine and will gut you like a fiesta pig.
You've dodged a bullet.
People joke about being butted by a goat. Those people have never been butted by a goat.
And they'll do it at the drop of a hat. Looks like you were in the danger zone....they can strike within their body length x3.
They come up slowly, rear up a bit, then BOOOWIE! They burst forth, slamming your closest boney outcroping with their thick forehead where the horns meet the skull.
Some folks think they gore you with the horns. I almost wish they did.
And carney folks put them in petting zoos. I just don't get it. A goat could kill a small child.
Don't kid around with goats.
Get it? That's my little joke.
Stop laughing. It's not funny.
New Episode...0006 tonight!
-Biggs
If you get in a conversation with
a nascar guy before Sunday don't
I repeat, don't say your from California.
They will wonder why you didn't stay home and watch them race this week-end in sonoma. I'll be their
UncleJ
And you always be our Uncle J as well.
Well put, Uncle J.
-Biggs
Can I ask why you aren't traveling with an auto mechanic on board? Or why someone would travel across country in a gas guzzling RV destined for the graveyard?
This is what happens when the brain is on drugs.
I rarely comment here, but I feel I must defend Trudel's honor. First of all, she gets around 21mpg, which hardly puts her in the "gas guzzling" class.
Second of all, which would you think is a more adventurous and practical way to drive around the country for four months - in a small Prius, or a van with two sleeping areas, a closet, stove, fridge, multiple power sources for fans and laptop and chargers, and a buttload of storage space?
Third, Vanagons easily last 500,000 miles, and she's only gone 200,000. Are there going to be problems with a car that's gone 200,000 miles? Yes, but she's hardly graveyard bound.
Fourth, fuck you.
Fifth, whatever amount of drugs I may or may not have done this morning is irrelavent.
Sixth, if you're going to snipe, post your name, or don't read the blog at all.
Seventh, I don't mean to sound snippy, but it's fucking hot in Savannah. I'm kidding about everything except posting your name.
Paul Sosbee drove a Geo Metro to Alaska.
The goat's name is actually Lester. He came over last summer for a weekend and we just hung out. Lester's pretty cool. Although he has this weird obsession with ordering everything "animal style" wherever we eat.
First, I think you disrespected the Vanagon by naming it "Trudel" which is German for "wobble".
Second, that driving a Geo to Alaska sounds more adventurous.
(And just what does a "buttload" of space refer to? Sodomy?
Third, Vanagon do last 500,000 miles... but it takes 4 or 5 engine overhauls to do it.
Fourth, thank you!
Fifth, drug use is irrelevant. Resistance is futile.
Sixth, still not gonna post my name Sparky.
Seventh, Savanah is one of the hottest, most humid places on the planet. Everyone knows that... now so do you.
Have a nice day.
"sparky" you're such a kill joy--you suck the joy out of some basic pleasures in life. Must have been severly criticized by your parents as a child . Chill out bro.
goddamned kids anyway!
Dear Anonymous who answer for me, and you know who you are, I owe you a major drink for doing my work for me...thinking brilliantly...and eloquently telling Jason to Fuck Off.
If Jason wants his anonymous readership to continue on, then he should treat us with more respect. After all, we are his entertainment. He would be nothing but a clueless diary writer without us.
Plus, some of us cannot reveal ourselves without being caught by the FBI.
Bite me you chode. This is just getting too weird. Like the FBI cares about a wiennie-waxer such as yourself. Leave Jason the fuck alone.
Strong letter to follow...
Uncle J...
Let's jump in here.
I'll go for the little one.
You take down the one in the pants.
-Biggs
Biggs my fine fellow. Do not lower yourself. I stand behind you, but don't expect a reach around.
Mr. Mahler...
Roger read me your email.
That wasn't funny. That was vulgar.
And as much I enjoy the way you turn a phrase...I still think you owe an appology to the women and children who may have been listening.
But let it be noted...you did use your name. Hazzah to you, for that.
I hear Gilroy is lovely this time of year.
Jason...We need one of those famous self portraits every once in a while.
I'm tracking your facial hair on a chart. And I'm missing several weeks.
And make sure there's something bitchin' in the background. You've done Oprah...so go for Cher, or possibly Celine. Maybe a steer.
-Biggs
I think wienie waxer is spelled with one n.
And I'm not posting my name because then this whole blog would string me up for daring to challenge their man Jason.
Ergo, I will snipe anonymously unless everyone just lightens the fuck up.
Jason, I think people who blog here really admire what you're doing. They are only razzing you because they wish they could be you and are living through your road warrior journey...sans demeure.
Stay cool. And if you meet the Buddha on the road, kill him.
Ooooh, Jason....Swamp Girls back. Sound like she's probably a buddhist vegetarian nutcase who chants alot...but I hear those chicks are a good ride.
Jewish.
And see #4 on Jason's message.
Something just occured to me, Jason.
At some point, at a fork in your spiritual road...you should present to all of us following your journey a Choose-Your-Own-Adventure style multiple choice question.
"Here I am in Lake Charles, LA (Don't go there, BTW).
Where should I go next?
a)Biloxi, MI
b)Scranton, PA
c)Jackson Hole, WY
d)Home
Something like that. Take votes. 2/3 majority rules. Women and minorities excluded.
-Biggs
Biggs,
that would be Biloxi MS... MI is Michigan. I learned that on an episode of Seinfeld. Everything I learned about the world, I learned on Seinfeld. That is why I live in Gilroy. We worship the stinking rose here and make no qualms about human sacrafice. It is an honor to die in a place where the living envy the dead.
Alas I digress. I forgot what I was going to say. Anybody wanna go for a little drinkie?
Mr. Biggs,
As an African-American, Mexican, Chinese WOMAN, I protest. As miniorities our vote should count double. Since you are on this blog the majority of the time, you're vote should be cut in half. All East Coast natives who own RVs voting should get priority treatment. Republicans are banned.
Hmmm... Lesbian-African-American-Voudou-priestess-pinkos should be the only ones voting.
Nuke the Whales!
"Minorities are not cost effective." Prof. Jack Wagstaff, UCSC
2 late
2 get it
2 gether
*sigh*
Lennie
I'm not so sure it's in Jason's best interest to give him ideas of where to travel.
After all, it's the journey not the destination that matters most.
It's like when you work for years to arrive in a place in radio. Then when you finally get there...suddenly everything starts to get boring...or the job isn't as exciting. That’s because it was always the journey...the getting there...that mattered most.
It really doesn’t matter whether the destination is a rock in the middle of the highway...you have to live in each of the moments of the journey on the way to that rock, for it to have meaning.
At least, that’s what I think.
Yoda
Talk funny you do!
Swamp Girl is Jewish? Be still my beating heart...
And not to delve into old business, but one thing I must clear up since it insults Trudel and it insults my Oma - Trudel does not mean "Wobble" in German. "Trudeln" could mean something close to wobble, so that's probably what the poster was thinking of.
I like the "Choose Your Own Adventure" idea. I'll use it sometime when I get back from the wedding.
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