Gasoline Hobo - Bindlestick Samurai

Yet Another Fictional Conversation

Gasoline Hobo — Sat, 12 Jun 2010 22:17:14 +0000

I hate dolphins.

What? Why do you hate dolphins? Everyone loves dolphins. I'll bet even Kim Jong Il loves them. Maybe he has posters of them up in his missile silos.

Dolphins are dicks, dude. A dolphin mugged my uncle once.

You are lying. You are totally lying right now.

I'm not! He was walking through Central Park, minding his own business, and this dolphin hit him in the head. And demanded a herring.

It was probably a hobo in a dolphin suit. Actual dolphins wouldn't mug anyone. They're too busy flipping around in the air and saving Timmy from the well.

What? That was Lassie. Lassie was Timmy's dog.

Well, how would Lassie save Timmy from a well? Sounds like a job for a dolphin to me.

Whatever, dude. Point is, it wasn't a hobo in a dolphin suit. That doesn't even make sense. Why would a hobo do that? What's the hobo's motivation in that situation?

I don't know. Chicken? A ball of plaid yarn? 23.7 World of Warcraft figurines made out of electrum? Who knows why a hobo does ANYTHING?

Well, hobos, presumably.

Apparently you've never met any hobos. I met one once who carried a little drawer around with him so he could slam his finger in it whenever anyone said the word "charcoal".

How the hell do you know that it was the word "charcoal" that made him do that?

I sort of followed him around for a week and kept yelling it at him. He became a very interesting combination of annoyed about the finger pain and flattered by the attention. Also, I'd just broken up with my girlfriend, so I figured that some casual hobo abuse was preferable to being arrested for stalking.

Ok, I can see why you might think that the dolphin was a hobo.

Maybe we should just agree that it was a hobo dolphin.

And its motivation was...

[TOGETHER] CHICKEN OF THE SEA!

Change is Good, Right? Right?

Gasoline Hobo — Fri, 14 May 2010 08:38:10 +0000

In this case, it totally is.
So here's the deal. Since last we met, I've:

Obtained a second job as an IT Dude/Photographer
- At a shop that makes drums
- Yes, drums.
- Not just any drums - WEST AFRICAN drums
- And you know what? I actually kinda like it.
- I've discovered that my issue with drums is not with the drums themselves - it's with the idiots who don't know how to play them. Which is mostly everybody.
Picked up a lot of new wedding photography work, which is pretty sweet. Most of it came from the Bridal Expo in January, which is a whole post in itself. For now, let's just say that people get CRAZY about weddings.
Saw my first banana slug since moving to Santa Cruz. I named him Norman. Slimy Norman.
Filed corporate taxes for the first time. All I have to say about this is as follows:
- Thanks, Turbo Tax
- Try not to do your taxes in the same month that you:
Moved. This was an ordeal and a half, and I didn't really enjoy it all that much. But I'm out of the place that turned out to be The Place Where College Students Decide to Live Immediately After Living in a Dorm/Immediately After Moving Out of Mom's House. This feels AMAZING. No longer do I need to listen to the sound of Britney Spears pumping from an open door 10 feet from my front door at 2am. No longer do I need to attempt to navigate the bags of gross, split-open trash bags that have been flung from balconies in an attempt to hit the dumpster. No longer will I have to yank the door open and yell at a pair of dumbasses who think it's an AWESOME IDEA to throw beer bottles against my wall.

The worst thing I've encountered in the new place is something the census worker told me when she stopped by this evening. Apparently she'd visited a neighbor earlier in the day, and was legally obligated to ask him if he was male or female. To which he replied that he'd happily show her.
Sigh. And EWWWW.

A Month (Approximately) in Photos

Gasoline Hobo — Thu, 31 Dec 2009 03:56:26 +0000

Click the photo below to see the slideshow - there are 10 photos in all!

These were all taken sometime in December using a Canon 7D and a variety of lenses.

Fantastic Ad for Books, Courtesy of New Zealand

Gasoline Hobo — Wed, 25 Nov 2009 22:36:30 +0000

I love my Kindle, but I won't be doing that to the screen anytime soon.

Steamer Lane, Santa Cruz

Gasoline Hobo — Sun, 22 Nov 2009 06:02:34 +0000

How about a few shots of the famous Steamer Lane to get this blog started off right again?

Scandinavian Elvis Homage + Space Choreography

Gasoline Hobo — Fri, 11 Sep 2009 19:37:00 +0000

This is further proof that I need backup dancers with me at all times.

On the Abbreviation of Communication

Gasoline Hobo — Wed, 27 May 2009 19:43:00 +0000

I've been thinking a lot about time lately. Or rather, speed. The speed at which time goes by. The speed that I assign to certain tasks and deny to others. Why do I spend so much time doing certain things and almost no time doing others? Why does it seem like I keep cutting the amount of time I allot to writing and listening to music to almost nothing? Why am I whittling that time away to almost nothing?

I've decided that it's all Twitter's fault.

I have a Twitter account, but I rarely use it, and when I do, it's mostly to inflict terrible jokes on the people unlucky enough to be following me.

Jeremy Clarkson, writer and gearhead host of the BBC's Top Gear program, wrote about music several years ago in his column. He was wondering why people no longer have the patience for songs that last over 3 or 4 minutes. Let me quote:

"Yes, a supermarket is convenient and a Big Mac hits the spot when you're in a hurry but why does music have to be this way? Why is three minutes acceptable and twenty minutes pretentious? Would "Stairway to Heaven" be improved if they cut out the bustle in its hedgerows? I think not.

Maybe it's an attention-span thing. Music is now the backdrop to our lives rather than an event in itself. We put on a CD while we're doing something else. I can't remember the last time I put on an album and listened to it in a chair with my eyes closed."

I can't remember the last time I did that, either. All I seem to have time for now is making mixes from singles I download from music blogs.

Same thing with writing - it's increasingly rare that I'll "have the time" to sit down and just spend an hour plugging away at something I need to get off my chest. It's a sort of instant gratification disease. I used to complain that I couldn't blog very often because it took time away from writing my book. The simple act of blogging about whatever it was that was on my mind satisfied the itch for me to write, which left my book in the lurch. Now I can scratch that itch by writing less than 140 characters in a Twitter update, or updating my Facebook status.

What the hell? Am I that easily distracted, or that easily satisfied? I tell myself that it's because I'm so busy with other things, like photography. And while that's true to a certain extent, in that I DO spend a lot of time doing photo-related things, it's just not an acceptable excuse. Why can't I carve out 30 minutes here and there to actually spend some time on things that aren't photography?

At the risk of sounding like an old codger shaking his fist at whippersnappers, I think the reason for this is the increasing abbreviation of our lives. Instead of picking up the phone to talk to someone, we send a text. Instead of blogging about what we're doing, we send pithy Twitter updates into the ether. And we listen to 4 minute songs because we just don't have time for The Dark Side of the Moon anymore.

In Which Our Hero Musters The Nerve To Blog Again

Gasoline Hobo — Sat, 04 Apr 2009 20:52:00 +0000

Greetings, Hardcore Hobo fans! I theorize that you are hardcore because you've been kind enough to keep me in your feed readers/bookmarks through all this long dry spell of No Hobo News. For which I thank you, from the bottom of my hobo-ey little heart.

Now, to business! I thought I'd regale you with a few mini-product reviews. That's a good way to re-break the ice, isn't it? I tell you about things I've purchased and you pretend to be interested? Ok, let me step in WAAAAAY close to you before I start, and...why yes! That IS shrimp on my breath. Well, technically it's BRINE shrimp. Well, technically, it's Sea Monkeys strained through the baleen-like bristles of my mustache. A hobo gets his meals where he can.

Anyway! First up is the Aeropress Coffee maker! BEHOLD!

That thing has CHANGED MY LIFE. Seriously. I used to look like this:

And now I look like this:

AMAZING. It's like a giant coffee syringe that allows you to make really tasty espresso in about 3 minutes (2:10 seconds of which is consumed by watching the microwave get your water to a balmy 175 degrees). You put this little paper filter deal (re-usable for about 2 weeks!) in the bottom of the syringe. You place the syringe over a sturdy coffee cup (it has a little ledge for this purpose). You load the syringe with two scoops of espresso-ground coffee. You slowly pour the hot water into the top of the cylinder. You stir for about 10 seconds. Then you put the plunger bit into the top of the cylinder and press. A few seconds later, the pressure of the air in the cylinder has forced the water through the grounds and the filter and into your cup. Due to the filter, there are no grounds or grit like you'd get with a french press. There's no bitterness like you'd get with a drip. It's freaking DELICIOUS.

I usually add a few tablespoons of hot chocolate powder and a bit of milk, and I've got a better cafe mocha than anything I could get at a coffee shop, for a fraction of the price. Oh, and the price of the Aeropress is almost the best part (the best part is obviously the taste of the coffee): only $25 from Amazon. With free shipping!

In addition to being the most caffeinated hobo on the block, I am also the hobo who knows what time it is, to a far greater accuracy than "scabie past refried bean stain". I found a Stuhrling Winchester Elite skeleton watch in the dumpster the other day. And by dumpster, I mean that I chewed it off the arm of a stockbroker (who resides three dumpsters over) and legged it like the devil was breathing down my neck and setting my back hair on fire. Here it is:

I've always loved skeleton watches because I've always loved seeing how things work. This watch is transparent on both the front and the back, and is an automatic to boot. So when I'm strolling around, the kinetic energy of my arm movement is being captured by a spinning little blade dealie on the back of the watch, which subsequently winds it AUTOMATICALLY. No batteries! Environmentally friendly! And stolen from the withered husk of a stockbroker! THERE IS NO DOWNSIDE TO THIS WATCH.

Resistance is Futile

Gasoline Hobo — Wed, 21 Jan 2009 01:06:00 +0000

Wow, two in one day! This is just a fill-in the blanks thing, though, so it probably doesn't count:

1. Put your iTunes/Ruckus/Napster/etc on shuffle.
2. For each question, press the next button to get your answer.
3. YOU MUST WRITE THAT SONG NAME DOWN NO MATTER HOW SILLY IT SOUNDS!

IF SOMEONE SAYS â€œIS THIS OKAYâ€ YOU SAY?
Blow You Away

WHAT WOULD BEST DESCRIBE YOUR PERSONALITY?
American Idiot

WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GUY/GIRL?
Always be my Girl

HOW DO YOU FEEL TODAY?
Racing Rock

WHAT IS YOUR LIFEâ€™S PURPOSE?
Miracle

WHAT IS YOUR MOTTO?
I Should Be So Lucky

WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU?
All is Full of Love

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR PARENTS?
People in the City

WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT VERY OFTEN?
Whatever

WHAT IS 2+2?
Guns of Brixton

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BEST FRIEND?
Stay Out of Trouble

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
Worried Blues

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY?
The Frayed Ends of Sanity

WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP?
Far Out

WHAT DO YOU THINK WHEN YOU SEE THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
Neon Nights

WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU?
The Spiderbite Song

WHAT WILL YOU DANCE TO AT YOUR WEDDING?
Dead Leaves and the Dirty Ground

WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL?
Colonial Anthem

WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST?
Like it or Not

WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST SECRET?
Summertime

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FRIENDS?
We're In This Together

WHATâ€™S THE WORST THING THAT COULD HAPPEN?
Clarke Gable

HOW WILL YOU DIE?
Lodi Dodi

WHAT IS THE ONE THING YOU REGRET?
Riders on the Storm

WHAT MAKES YOU LAUGH?
Subterranean Homesick Blues

WHAT MAKES YOU CRY?
Quiet Surf

WHAT SCARES YOU THE MOST?
Heart of the Monster

DOES ANYONE LIKE YOU?
Further Deeper

IF YOU COULD GO BACK IN TIME, WHAT WOULD YOU CHANGE?
Red Flags and Long Nights

WHAT HURTS RIGHT NOW?
All We Are

WHAT WILL YOU POST THIS AS?
Resistance is Futile

In Which Our Hero Waxes...Something. Not Nostalgic. And Not His Chest. Maybe Just...On and Off.

Gasoline Hobo — Wed, 21 Jan 2009 00:37:00 +0000

Egads! It's been a while, hobo fans! My apologies. Life has been happening at a pace somewhat short of breakneck, and I've been spending all of my mental energy on other things. But I find myself with a few moments to spare and an itching to tell stories, so here I am.

And OH the stories I could tell. Some of them are too recent and sensitive to discuss, like the Great Gummi Penis War of 2009, which had surprisingly traumatic repercussions, the nature of which I am not at liberty to share at the moment.

I CAN tell you about the impromptu Obama Day parade that crept up on me this afternoon. Seriously, it was a full-blown parade. There were drummers. There were hippies. There were signs espousing various opinions, mostly on the theme of Hope, but also covering marijuana legalization, the general and specific awfulness of Bush, TWO marriage proposals, and even the plight of squirrels. Yes, squirrels.

There were also stilt-walkers in bikinis (it was about 80 today in lovely downtown Santa Cruz), and I have to say that I was impressed by their ability to gyrate effectively while balancing four feet off the ground. I guess it's a short (ha) route from stripper heels to stilts, eh?

I spent a nice few minutes bonding with my fellow Starbucks junkies as we watched the home-made hippie parade and batted amusing and ironic commentary back and forth. It was just what I needed after a rough week.

And now I'm going to eat some tasty burritos and hang out with my partner in crime. Until next time, amigos!