My Robot Is Pregnant theme song!

photo posted from my iPhone

Clean socks, both men’s and women’s, already removed from the wrapper and ready to wear. $2.50 a pair.

What a day at the market. Moved units like this half assed Star Wars analogy: remember the sand people had that big vehicle full of droids they bought and sold?

Esbin is one of Sophia’s couch surfers, he got dressed up in the old mans clothes right down to some dead stock Sear’s The Winner sneaks and Nikki Stixx was there for the hang as well.

We ate lunch truck papoosas and drank thermos coffee. What a day.

photo posted from my iPhone

He came from Mexico as a boy, poor as Chingrish grammar, and now owns two homes in The City, one in Oakland, and two more in Reno where his waxed mustache fits right in, one side bent up like he slept on that side of his face.

This pic’s for you Oggy…

Cal’s getting an airhorn for his truck. “A train horn,” he corrected himself. “I’m so tired of bicyclists and stupid people.” Which means I have to hurry up and get one too. I spent a few hours last month on Youtube watching hillbilly’s install them in their trucks. Fascinating. I found the Coga online, it allows you to record your own sounds. I’m thinking the theme to Sanford and Son.

This morning we had breakfast with Barbara Champion, at Ian’s suggestion. Barbara is getting old, can’t walk without a walker, can’t hear even with hearing aids. “If it wasn’t for the cats I’d go over the bridge.” Out here in San Francisco we all know which one she means . “I don’t want to die but I don’t want to live like this either.” She was cranky all through breakfast. Didn’t want to eat lunch, but didn’t want to order eggs because she had organic eggs at home. It was fun to be around someone crankier than me.

photo posted from my iPhone
As we age, we regress back to childhood. Here the elderly farmer, having woken up earlier than the rest, rushes outside to play with his new tricycle. In a short while he will go out for donuts and he’s finally old enough to get as many as he wants.

Mr. Sunshine recently bought this bizarre tractor from now defunct Bay Meadows horse track where it was used to keep the sand of the ring graded. Rusty totally understood why I brought him the front half of the Chrysler.

photo posted from my iPhone

The starter’s going. It makes that awful metal grinding noise three or four times before it finally catches right and turns over. That’s embarrassing. We cleaned the graffiti off the sides for the most part. It’s kinda lookin’ like smeared barf on your door though. Just paint. It smells farty in the cab, where you’ll be riding on top of old coffee stains and crumbs from almond rings. The floor is layered with straps and rope and part of an old well pump I’ve been meaning to get back to Lucas and there’s some old Thrasher magazines I took from the dump. There’s plenty of room it’s just uncomfortable. You’ll have to hold some of your stuff in your lap so we can make it all fit.

Looks like I’ll have to strap my dolly to the roof, and the cart too. So you get in and I’ll hook onto the door handles. Then I’ll climb in my window. The chair can hang off the side on the freeway, just let me know if I’m getting close to parked cars in town. The couch can hang up to six feet off the back as long as I flag it. Do you have a red shirt in one of these bags? I’m too cheap to get new shocks so she kicks like a mule on the ride over while it’s empty, but I like having all this weight in there. Smooths the ride. Only your speaker works so I play the radio pretty loud for me to hear it over the diesel engine.

I’m happy to help, just can’t say exactly when I’ll be over. I gotta get this piano out of here first. Let’s not try an’ pin down an exact time. I’ll give a call when I’m headin’ over.

That old license plate frame does say “I’d rather be driving drunk”. I did that so the police will assume I’m not. I bought four new used tires from the Turk down on 3rd, so as long as these brakes stay working, I don’t see how anything could be safer. I just ask you not to make a Beverly Hillbilly or Sanford and Son allusion. This ain’t a tv show. It’s a blog.

Rus runs a retirement home for old vehicles. I finally got that fighter off the back of Hard Worker. I call the old Chrysler a fighter because she was rescued in line at the slaughter house, aka the scrap metal yard, and then got in one final car accident the other night while loaded on the truck. I drove her down to Woodside and Rus put her out to pasture. Sean was there to help. He took the picture.

Oggy sent me a letter of reference to submit at my hearing in front of the Police. June 6th the public can speak for or against the city issuing me a junk gatherer’s permit. In classic junk man fashion, I am sending him a few pairs of used slacks as a thank you. Tell me if I should really present them with this endorsement.

“To whom it may concern:

I want to express my support for Jon Rolston’s application to become a licensed junk gatherer in San Francisco. He is a valuable and noble addition to the city’s pool of independent business owners and he represents everything that is great and beautiful about our country. I have known Jon Rolston for 20 years and I have worked with him and seen him in many different modes of relaxation and industry and he has always exhibited a character that is dynamic and original. Never a mindless follower of convention or an obedient drone, Jon walks to the beat of a different drummer and is a leader and revolutionary in his chose trade of junk merchandising. Here are the top reasons to approve Mr. Rolston’s application:

1. Jon Rolston is respectful. He may park illegally from time to time but he always says he’s sorry to the motorists who honk at him and he also occasionally overpays at parking meters so that balances it out.
2. Jon Rolston never saw a piece of trash that didn’t have some use. When he goes to the dump he says he “feels like he’s at an animal shelter” and sees the pieces of rusting and rotting trash that are destined for a pit in the ground as cute, precious, fuzzy bunnies on the brink of extermination. How many people can say that?
3. You know when you get those annoying envelopes on your windshield saying you need to send money to a “parking enforcement” office? Well, instead of throwing them away like a normal person, Jon actually sends the money. This alone is evidence of his amazingly humanistic worldview.
4. Jon doesn’t leave trash behind him. He’s not like those disgusting hobos who multiply like vermin and dig through recycling bins to get cans and bottles to fund their heroin addiction. No, Jon cleans garages and fixes fans and washes behind the ears of mankind. He is the pied piper of junk.
5. Jon is an equal opportunity employer. Sometimes he can’t do the work alone. He might be almost seven feet tall with a size 13 shoe but he’s only one man and when he needs an extra pair of hands to move a furnace or break some concrete or throw bags of excrement into his truck, Jon will hire anyone regardless of sexual orientation or nationality or physical deformities. He wants to help and he does not discriminate. When you approve Mr. Rolston’s application everyone wins!

Please approve his application and rest assured that Jon Rolston will conduct himself by the letter of the law and fulfill his obligation to the license board and his community.

Sincerely,

Oggy Bleacher”

photo posted from my iPhone

photo posted from my iPhone
This Mercedes skitched along the hard worker and got all up in Kal’s truck’s butt. It was 11 pm and he heard the crash.

“I thought someone was stealing that thing” he said pointing at the Chrysler balanced in the back.

The driver was trying to drive away but kept hitting Kals truck. He ran out and took the guys keys from the ignition.

photo posted from my iPhone

photo posted from my iPhone

It takes a lotta years of not caring for your curtains to rot off the rod. The bags of canned goods are piled on the floor.

These cans of black beans expired in 2009. Is it illegal to donate old food to a food pantry? Is Oggy interested in receiving a crate of out dated legumes? There’s a lot of work involved just throwing stuff away.

Also, selling things is even harder. I still have that old Chrysler front end sitting on the back of my truck. Gonna be hard to load garbage on top of a car in the back of the truck.

Tomorrow look for a barrage of photos of awesome 1970s clothes and sneakers. There’s a bunch in the old mans house, but it was too dark to get a shot.

Anyone wanna come down and tell the cops they oughta let me gather junk? Actually, Monday I clean out the old man’s place. I’ve been in rich people’s fancy homes all week on the photo shoot, and all’s I can think about is sifting through the garbage at that dirty dark rundown firetrap. That’s something that is worth reflecting on.

photo posted from my iPhone
I think this is the type of vandalism that is joyful, and interesting. It isn’t selfserving like writing your name on things. It’s there to make you laugh. It’s working with you, not against.