Toughin' it Out

 

Monday, 8/8

I've revised my opinion on this stone. Last week I mentioned that it was good firm material. No. It's hard as hell. It took me all day to get from here:

 

to here:

 

I was going to take another pic of the stone all surrounded by dust and scrap, but I was too dusty to pick up the camera. 

 

Tue. 8/9

These are all dead end cuts. The saw cuts 

easily enough when I can draw the blade all the way across the stone. As it is with these cuts, I have to start (or stop) in the middle of the material. It's slow going. Cut some, chisel some. I put in over five hours on it today, and there's still a long way to go.

 

Wed, 8/10

It's odd. I sit here at the desktop every day, and go through the bookmarks, checking news, and current events. I think about tinkling my two drops of opinion into the sea of pixels, but at most I leave off with a wise-ass comment on facebarf, or American Digest. I consider addressing serious topics here on the blog, whether it's current events, or the deep questions that become so real in the late stages of the game, but I don't. There is nothing I can write, or say that will change any of what is happening. Venting my anger feels like blowing smoke in a windstorm. Nobody really cares, and very few people come by here, right?

Blogs are a creature of the 1990's. The cool kidz don't even have computers. It's all on the phone.

Dumping your heart out into the aether, or telling your life story to the cloud may be therapeutic. Lord knows I've done it. Now I'm reticent.

Tossing out opinions invites conversations I don't care to have. Even worse, in this age and time there really is a Big Brother, and he really does watch.

It just feels creepy, anymore. Like leaving your private journal at a bus stop, or a park bench.

The big questions remain unanswered.  The world has gone insane; the nation has gone to hell. The culture utterly sucks. This free floating sense of dismay has become a permanent fog on my inner landscape.

Mary turned seventy four today. Next Wednesday I turn seventy.  

 

 Friday 8/12

Here is where I left off, and what I'll begin with this week. It's crappy hot, and the work is going slowly.

 

Monday 8/15 

 

The Bike club met Saturday for our monthly ride. Our friend Buddy Lee, from Sins and Sprockets came out with his son to cruise with us, but they were the only guests. We don't draw much attendance anymore. There are still rides going on throughout the Southland, but most of the events are revolving around custom bike shows, and bar hopping. We've got the stretch bikes, but our machines are riders, not showgirls. We've seen enough custom bike shows. We love to get high and cruise, but we're not drinkers, and hanging out in a bar is not our idea of fun. We've been riding as a group for over a decade, now, and we've become a small eccentric family. We keep our niche in the cruising culture, but we'd hang together and ride even if the whole thing faded away.

So that's it for the week. I have two more days before I'm officially seventy years old. I must relinquish any claim to being close to middle age. Post-middle age is a nice way of putting it, but calling a turd a rose doesn't make it smell nice.