My Robot Is Pregnant theme song!

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

November 13, 2009

bricoleur’s junk truck


A person who engages in bricolage is a bricoleur.

I put a divider up to store some bins of junk while the truck is on the move. Two panels I’d hid behind the bushes alongside the house and an old door leaning against the shed for years. Makes it look like I have a basement door inside the truck that leads to a magical storeroom in the transmission.

Glenn the educated carpenter tells me my work aesthetic is not so much construction, but bricolage.

“You take bits and pieces of what ever’s on hand to build something.”

Then, work boats on my dashboard, cigarette in his hand, he tells me about Claude Levi-Strauss’s seminal work of the early sixties, “The Savage Mind”. Claude was an ethnologist and an anthropologist and used bricolage* “to describe any spontaneous action, further extending this to include the characteristic patterns of mythological thought.” – wikipedia

It happens to be a book Google has scanned, so I read the first page, my small attempt to keep up with Glenn’s educational level. I pulled out this fun sentence and moved on to Craigslist’s free section:

“The proposition, “The bad man killed the poor child,” is rendered in Chinook: “The man’s badness killed the child’s poverty.”"

I’d like to speak English like a bricoleur as well, taking thought patterns of the Chinook Indians of Northwestern U.S. and applying them to my next conversation with Glenn. This is how we learn from each other simply through friendship. Go make a new friend today.

*”The term is borrowed from the French word bricolage, from the verb bricoleur – the core meaning in French being, “fiddle, tinker” and, by extension, “make creative and resourceful use of whatever materials are to hand (regardless of their original purpose)”; in contemporary French the word is the equivalent of the English do it yourself, and seen on large shed retail outlets all over France.” From wikipedia as well

November 12, 2009

you call that kid’s stuff?

day5

Sean-O brings it together on day 5. This is gonna be a major player in the playhouse circuit.

November 11, 2009

the round up


starting to look creepy

I’m turning the blue-cloud box truck into a rolling junk shop. Putting down old siding for a floor, quarter inch douglas fir from the old days. They were painted on one side, so I flipflopped them for a more beautiful effect. Hung a bunch of wooden boxes on one wall, the other wall will be blank so I can hang pictures on it.


just getting started

day 4, getting bored, make it cool sean

photo-17

Sean’s plugging away at the unglamorous part of construction – framework.

November 9, 2009

the old man still clung to mountain

1980 two I guess. Maybe eighty three. We were still riding our bikes to Jr. High and Jeremy Fletcher had a waterbed with white sheets – they had an orange circle for the sun, a mono-chromatic sun, completely round, and palm tree silhouettes in brown. Loren Pokorny wore underwear with antique cars on them. My parents let me put holes in the wall with push pins to hang my posters. They didn’t care how many poster I hung up. I bought one at the poster shop in the mall. It had a Porsche, a bottle of wine and a woman in a bikini. I didn’t know anything about Porsches, wine, or women. I don’t care about Porsches and wine now. The image of the woman still has my interest. My parents let me cover my door with red and white WHEB stickers. The whole thing. Probably 120 stickers. It was the rock station. A whole stack from where ever promoters left them. I can’t remember now. The mall? Gas stations? Dad wouldn’t let me cover the Ford Granada station wagon sitting in the driveway. Said it would hurt the trade-in value.

Those are the good old days as far as I remember them.

now you can text your grandmother too

dougsnote

Doug brought over this note. He texted Jenny at her work, and another woman answered the phone. It’s a landline. It can’t accept text, right? Apparently a robotic voice turns the text into speech. This is the message the woman handed to Jenny. All that research and development so we can pass on this kind of nonsense. His hair looked great. Didn’t need fixing at all.

My question is, how is btw read by the robot voice? As “by the way” or just b t w? How many acronyms does it know?

day 3

day3

I see a 4 X 4…that make me a turkey gobbler?

November 7, 2009

build it and they will play house

seano

Day two of Sean-O’s playhouse. He’s doing it by himself.

bay bridge is a gray bridge but this crane is a rainbow

found on the street and then summarized

tears

I was in drugs and alcohol. I couldn’t walk and my husband had to carry me. I am sorry for the bad things I did. I had in my heart a song I never knew before. Stationed in France and my elderly Mother. Please don’t be concerned about my liquid diet.

workin

photo posted from my iPhone

I got hired to transport these giant canvases. A woman used photographs as inspiration and sewed portraits out of fabric and painted them with fabric dye. It was a nice job.

November 5, 2009

the leader in electronic furniture

tvmike

I miss the days of special ordering microwave carts from O’Sullivan Industries Inc.

Have you ever called your computer a dickfuck? I just did. I’m as mad at my scanner as I am at the DPT (Department of Traffic Enforcement). ((meter maids)) Put the scanner and the computer together and I’m really really angry. Hearing what makes someone angry is as boring as seeing pictures of their vacation. You people don’t care about my problems. You’re upset you can’t make comments. I don’t know why you can’t either. But I have put up some safeguards so I don’t have four hundred comments a day about erectile dysfunction show up here. I wasn’t born knowing any of this and I expect to die really confused. Smart people don’t get angry. Anger is the biggest block to learning. I just punched my scanner bed so hard it no longer functions. I won’t learn, tonight, what I did wrong the first time. There will be no more scanning lessons. If you’re having trouble figuring something out, stop and ask yourself: Am I angry?

If you are, you’re gonna have to calm down before you can get any further. I’m gonna lay down with ice on my fist.

November 4, 2009

playhouse foundation

Sean’s building a two story playhouse with a slide and a climbing wall. This was the first days effort. Send me a scan of your drawing Sean and I’ll put it up here.

hit and miss

photo posted from my iPhone

These two little rusty machines look like toy tractors, but they are gas engine power generators from an older time. Rus bought three to fix up. The concept is, fire the single piston and the heavy steel wheel rotates four or five times until the piston fires again. A single gallon of gas lasts a long time with the delayed firing, and a belt hooked up to the wheel provides power to another instrument.

November 3, 2009

office park porn


A close second to woods porn, this specimen was found near the shuttle stop of a large pharmaceutical company in South San Francisco. Stuck out like a throbbing boner on the manicured lawn between the sidewalk and the hedge row. I was cutting across on my way to the train station, heading down to Rusty Sunshine’s to get some country air and escape this rat race city. I wasn’t there twenty minutes when a mangy coyote tried to kill one of Rusty’s good laying hens.

“Keep an eye on ‘im while I get the rifle,” Rusty says. Coyotes come silently. It was the squawking chicken that flew up from under the old Massey tractor that alerted us. This guy wasn’t too scared of me either. I was about fifteen feet away, looking at the bare patches of skin on his flank. “Maybe he has rabies?” I asked myself. I let him get a little further away. I was forcing him back up the hill along the fence line towards Rus.

Rus took a shot from the hill top, I didn’t even hear the report. “I got his foot, because he was limping. Should’ve used longs, these bullets don’t travel well. Would’ve got ‘im in the chest with the other ones.” I caught up with Rusty at the back fence of the riding ring. He had the rifle down at his side and I heard a woman screaming.

It wasn’t the scream of a woman with a .22 short in her. “She has a poodle, she scared him away. Di’nt dare take another shot.”

So much for taking it easy in the country. I few hours later I was at Sean’s in the suburbs. That ain’t no picnic either. I was unprepared for the enormous energy of a four year old who wanted to show me every toy she owned while climbing up my leg. We’re not safe anywhere.

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