My Robot Is Pregnant theme song!

tough guy poetry and manly stories of loneliness
all contents copyright Jon Rolston 2004, 2005, 2006

October 31, 2008

pissed off

photo posted from my iPhone
Sorry if this is a compare and contrast exercise but I’m really not used to ashtrays everywhere. And this total lack of hipsters is unnerving. I’m at a coffee shop AND NOT ONE PERSON HAS A MACBOOK!! IT’S A SEA OF DELLS AND TOSHIBAS!!! (if I could make these caps even more capped I would stress the toshiba)

I got thrown out of Iggys, the bar above, for talking about drugs to a fag! (who told the owner, who asked me to leave). If you can’t sit in front of a bar getting drunk while a gay man dressed in a roman toga asks you about your shoes while other drunks are inside playing video poker and talk about drugs, what kind of weird line has been drawn in the New Orleans Parish sand? It’s like East Germany where you can’t even trust your family. A forty year old alcoholic telling on me because I wanted to get high? This is a serious stain on the city.

Sure, it’s a beautiful city. I love that cats are lounging under trees and scooting under fences everywhere. The amount of wrought iron fences and finials is probably responsible for the slow sinking of the city. The crooked old front doors and long planks warped from age give the homes an approachable old friend appeal. But I prefer getting kicked out of bars for actions not words. Like riding a motorcycle inside. Biting the bartender. Throwing up on the pool table. Okay. Ask me to leave. I get it. But this is injustice.

mardi gras beads

photo posted from my iPhone

official grafitti

photo posted from my iPhone

This part of town didn’t flood but it was evacuated, according to the old man sitting on a white plastic lawn chair. “I stayed gone two years,” he said. Folks came through to rescue animals and this is the legacy. Some folks haven’t come back still so the grafitti remains.

scooter cops

photo posted from my iPhone

New Orleans offers two major attractions for me: old buildings and the way certain black people talk. I know that sounds culturalist, and it is. I regretted not having more time in Austin to listen to those white people. First thing this morning after a Jehovas Witness woke me with a knock on the door, I went out and stood on the porch to get my Louisianna bearings in daylight. The neighbor six feet away was talking to a woman in the house from his corner of shade by me. He stopped and said “hello” to me.

Hating someone because of their skin color and loving someone because of the color in their voice are two superficial ways to go through the world. And i’m only skimming through NOLA, but let’s focus on the positive.

October 30, 2008

pit stop

photo posted from my iPhone
Coleslaw, pickles, beans, couple slices of white bread and four hunks of skin on chicken for ten bucks. Texas BBQ. The guy at the register saw me taking pictures and said, “come look at the pit out back. Take you a picture of that.”

Looking over the fence for a whole in the ground, I asked,”what pit?”

“that thing right there,” he said. It was a BBQ pit made out of some old oil drilling equipment. Looked twenty feet long. Good folks in Texas. Sorry I was just passing through.

photo posted from my iPhone

lone stars everywhere

photo posted from my iPhone

the corbel on the bridge pilings festooned with cement stars, one per post embossed over a circle. Texas. A roadside church like the Alamo, paint peeling off houses and pickups. From the air Austin looked flat as a bad lay, but on the ground there were some dips and hillocks but nothing like the summits that makes San Francisco.

I’m in the passenger seat of a red subaru wagon, highway ten unrolling out in front of me and Vince, a total Internet stranger who’s driving to New Orleans for Halloween.

October 29, 2008

we refuse the right to service anyone

photo posted from my iPhone

I voted early since I’m heading to New Orleans tomorrow for a week. Thought I’d show you what a gay marriage looked like, performed at City Hall.

October 28, 2008

trick or treat smell my feet I got my costume from a dumpster

photo posted from my iPhone
The Amazing Mr. Dow called me up to haul some garbage. He included the homemade lifesavors roll with arm holes on the side and a spot for your head. Too bad I’ll be in New Orleans. Leaving thursday.

October 26, 2008

another dirtbag challenge

photo posted from my iPhone

This city seems like one party after another. Cafes filled with young people all afternoon, like no one works. Marijuana’s legal. Coke is affordable. Tijuana’s not too far. I need to get out of here. Go hug a tree or something. Instead I find myself in Hunter’s Point on a dead end road overlooking marshland of the bay with a street party happening. It’s only 4:30 in the afternoon and the PBR kegs are empty. Someone is parked over by the chain link fence with a motorcycle that operates a grain alcohol still with heat from the exhaust, and in turn the bike runs off the alcohol from the still. There’s a jug on the side car seat, which is part of the still, and the bottle gets passed around. “Leave a little for the ride home,” the owner says.

Someone else is doing brake stands on a scooter, another guy from the crowd kicks everything over. The band, AC/D-She (all female cover band) kicks into TNT and the scooter gets set back on its wheels and someone pours water on the rear tire to decrease friction. Burning rubber ruins photographs and lungs.

I need a cabin in the woods. Down here in Hunters Point garbage is dumped on street corners and cars sit on blocks for years. I want to dig a hole in the ground. Not for any reason. I don’t have anything to bury. I just want to be in earth. I’m standing on a skim coat of concrete that covers 49 square miles called San Francisco. Someone gets pushed onto the hood of a Mustang slowly going through the crowd. The Mustang stops and lights up the rear tires while a fistfight works itself out on the hood.

Wouldn’t it be nice to have my own tomato plants? Stand in the yard at night and smell the trees? I miss seeing bats swoop and circle after bugs. A big cheer goes up from the crowd when someone finally manages to pop a rear tire by gunning the engine while clamped down on the brake, burning through the half inch of tire until it explodes.

This city wants you dead. It becomes a monster that feeds on dreams and the hustle involved of dreaming bigger and better dreams burns you up, and I’m burning right now as I try to dream a big one, that no one will forget. It’s not like out in the apple trees where you might have a wish a two. There’s big trucks on the road and cops all over the place. It might be that I’m drunk from the night before, but I’m still on my feet today, so I send my dream up into the air where it comes back down a few blocks away and hits the gutter and drains into the sewer where the city, The City, feeds. The monster called The City where good people go and work shoulder to shoulder and get something done and have a good time while the old gods and goddess’ of fertility rights and young brides and tight knit families grow weaker and claw at the consciences of those that left them behind.

Tomorrow I’ll get up and walk down to the cafe and have a three dollar cup of coffee while Rusty Sunshine is already on the tractor and thinking about the weather, the rain that’s supposed to come, because the weather directly affects him while here in the city we keep working, or not working, regardless.

(Thanks to Paul Brown for throwing an awesome afternoon of entertainment known as The Dirtbag Challenge)

October 25, 2008

I’d rather have a whiskey buzz

photo posted from my iPhone

It was a first for me. Moving an occupied beehive, that is. Matty suggested I duct tape closed the entrance and that worked good. I killed five or six on accident and got stung on my wrist and foot. Andrea, my neighbor, is adopting the hive. She came by with her homemade veil – a rice farming hat with tutu fabric taped to it. Unorthodox, but so was the duct tape maneuver.
We got the bees in the truck and drove to her place. She’ll remove the tape first thing in the morning and the bees will be in a whole new world.

palm readers

photo posted from my iPhone

I was driving home in my truck and some guy whistled at me. Happens all the time in this city. But this guy not only whistled, he ran out in front of my truck and came up to my window.

“You haul junk?” he asked me.

“Yes.” I said.

“Come back to the Psychic, I got work for you.”

So I started in on an hauling odyssey, and if I wasn’t moving bees into my neighbors backyard in five minutes, I’d tell you about it. So hang tight and I’ll get back to you.

October 23, 2008

I don’t know why or how the settings got changed on the blog, but I think I corrected whatever it was that made you have to register to comment. Please let me know if there are any other problems, too. That being said, I need to go to bed.

October 22, 2008

whiskey is always there for you, but he’s a very demanding friend. Wants all your attention. Doesn’t like it when you don’t drop in or call at least once a day. And hitchhiking? I’m not afraid of strangers picking me up. I’m afraid of the boredom that comes from standing on the side of the road for hours. My pal whiskey in my pocket, perhaps, trying to cheer me up. What an awful feeling, waiting in the sun for a handout. For someone to stop and offer you help. It’s a thrill, when they do. And you’re in a strange car, with a strange person, and the world seems really good, and life seems like a wonderful adventure, but it won’t be long before they let you out again and you are all alone in the world. Really alone. Stranded. And you crash, emotionally. The world becomes a stupid ugly place. And your pal whiskey is gone. And you don’t know why you are so far from home.

live free or don’t. i don’t care.

photo posted from my iPhone

Okay, it looks like uve free or pie, but i got this 15 years ago from a guy named Tattoo George.

McCain daughter promises
NH tattoo if dad wins

October 17, 2008

NASHUA, N.H.—If Sen. John McCain wins the presidency and carries New Hampshire, his daughter promises she’ll carry a permanent reminder of the state.

While campaigning for her dad in Nashua on Thursday, Meghan McCain said if the senator becomes president, and wins in New Hampshire, she’ll tattoo the state motto — “Live Free or Die” — somewhere on her body.

She said she’d probably put the tattoo on her wrist (italics mine), as her way of commemorating her father’s run for the presidency. McCain’s win in the New Hampshire Primary in January revived his faltering campaign.

Information from: New Hampshire Union Leader,

Mr. Landry was kind enough to forward me this bit of news. I’m contacting Meghan at her blog to let her know she is biting my tat. And that I’m voting for Nader. And if her father wins I’m cutting my hand off at the wrist.

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