Wednesday, March 12, 2014

Readings from a book I got at a garage sale: Week 3

 Can you believe it? Another week has flown by since our last together reading together. Before we begin our third together reading together today, I have two great announcements to make.

The first is that the reader to guess the title of the book I got at a garage sale which we've been reading together thanks to the FreeOCR translation available will be treated to a free meal under $10 at our next "View From the Hood of Your Car" meetup. Pretty cool, huh? So let's put those guessing caps on and start guessing, gang.

The second thing I want to preface our third together reading together with today will be a long, rambling account of something to make this seem more like a genuine Biblical parable, to hook those of you out there psychologically incapable of resisting people like me who resort to things like this.

So before we resume our journey through our third together reading together of a book I got at a garage sale, I want to tell you a story about my old man. This is a story my longtime shut-in and mentally incapacitated readers will have heard before (because what are they going to do, not read me even as I tell it over, and over, and over?), but some of you will be hearing it for the first time. Once you do, you will voluntarily sort yourselves into two groups, those who now know better, and those who have now become more grist for my mill. Reading about Orv and the mystery has made me think of it in a new dimension.

The picture I'm looking at which you can't see is of my father's father, back in the old country, whichever one that was. As some of you long time readers will remember, my family comes from a long and honorable line of shepherds and traveling grifters born way back before today. Most of them died a long time ago, as people do. Today I was thinking of my dad, who died just like the rest of them. Today as I'm stuffing myself with hot wings and cold beer, I'm making up a conversation with him to fill up these paragraphs.

"Da'," I ask him - I call him Da because that sounds more sophisticated and old-countryish, although his name is Earl, or was Earl before he died. "Da'," I ask him, "tell me the story of the ghosts and the pumpkin on Da-Da-Da's grave again." My father's father was called Da-Da because he was my Da's Da, you see, and his father before him was called Da-Da-Da and so on.

My father's father, Da-Da, (pron. “dah-dah”), lived in a town called Shelbyville, which used to be called Morganville before they changed it. One day as Da-Da was herding his sheep down the road to the Shelbyville ferry and casing the houses along the way, the heel of his boot suddenly broke. "Tarnation!" Da-Da exclaimed, because in those days when people herded sheep on the road to the Shelbyville ferry they seldom cursed.

My father's father, Da-Da, was crushed. Those boots had looked fairly new when he had nicked them from a porch just up the road, and it was his duty to look out for those boots' best interests as long as they were his now, but he chose to believe an evil spirit must have jinxed them, and over the clear evidence.

Da-Da confronted the renegade boot heel with the clear evidence, because with an onion tied to his belt, which was the way you thwarted the power of evil spirits to cloud your mind back in those days, it was now obvious the heel hadn't just broken.

“That’s it,” the spirit responsible for the broken heel said in a voice that sounded like thousands of bumblebees, because in those days spirits on the road to Shelbyville sounded like bumblebees. "Tell you what I'll do to make it up to you, though. Go up the hill right here to Da-Da-Da's grave and I'll give you a free pumpkin."

And so he did, and, lo and behold, there on Da-Da-Da's grave was a free pumpkin.

As Da-Da looked in wonder at the free pumpkin, because in those days a free pumpkin was nothing to sneeze at, Father Terminix, who had been strolling through the cemetery straightening the plastic flowers left by loved ones and collecting the stray hockey pucks, looked at him and said, “Do you forgive him?”

"Who?" Da-Da asked him.

"Why, whoever talked you into climbing that seventy-degree hill up from the Shelbyville ferry road."

"Oh, you mean the evil spirit that broke my boot heel. H-E-double-hockey-sticks no!" Da-Da exclaimed, because in those days people played a lot of hockey in the hilly graveyards overlooking the road to the Shelbyville ferry. "I still need a new boot heel."

As I write this getting into our third together reading together, with my belly swollen with colder beer and better wings than you had today, with a book I got at a garage sale open on the arm of my chair in my cozy corner, I’m thinking of four sorry suckers I’ve known in life, all now mysteriously gone from this place, who tried to wrong me or my loved ones. Are they lost somewhere on the road home, ruined by my actions and unforgiveness? You know, I'm not going to even pretend I care. Who am I kidding? What am I going to do about it? Nothing. But here's a better question: What would I want those I’ve hurt in my life, even without meaning to or knowing I had done it, to do for me after I’m gone? Why, I'd want them to offer me the soft side of the double standard I've always demanded in my dealings with others, pissing on others at my pleasure and whining petulantly if anything blows back on me. Why would I want anything different now?

This is not just a scene from some movie. This pseudo-parable is something I just made up on the spot right now, to gull the credulous among you. You know who you are, and thanks for your slavish adoration. Without it to pay the bills, I might have to get a real job. Boot heels don't grow on graves, you know.

And now our third reading together begins.

“Yes, he could," Tim said. “I don't like to think about it but he could have.” The Baileys’ place, Club Malibar, was downtown on Reyes Boulevard. Tim pulled in and parked close to the 8f mg? $QWW6&°- trance. The rest of the area was empty except for a big black convertible and two older cars parked in the rear. The front stood wide open to the W shim g. It was a door covered on the inside with quilted green rst pa e. The green rug was entrance. The club was empty. It was dark. The only light came from the open front door and a pair of naked W0m pps s4$ behind the bar at the rear. If there were windows they were covered. Robbed of its indirect lighting, the Mag Ow aim looked tired and cheap. The colors were fl I'lOtel‘I‘l:l:1I]lf. There was a stale smell as they walked the door and between the tables with their stacked chairs. Away from the entrance the rug was thick. They made no sound. They heard 0¢K Ox 08 O/Oh? from behind the service door on one side of the bar. Tim knew his way to the o?-ice. He had been here once before with Joe to pay a nine-thousand-dollar note. He was remembering that time; how Joe, after they had left, cursed the Bailey cursed himself and swore off gambling. They stopped in front the clatter of dishes. They heard someone moving inside Tim rapped on the door. Ann, rapped brie?y and opened the door. He stepped inside. And saw it! Bloody Orv.

Bloody Orv. But why? That's the mystery. Could Orv be a butcher? Perhaps even a Cockney butcher, so that we now find the author subtly toying with us with double-entendres.

An anonymous reader writes, "Oh, gosh, Keith! My emu herd had gotten into the datura again and were alternating between projectile vomiting and trying to peck each other to death all night, so thank goodness when I was finally able to come inside just before dawn, roll a fat one, and rest my soul with our wonderful together reading together!"

That's illegal, Reader. Still, I hope the emu's are better.

But now things get tense:

W the possib ' future act a Yyingness ' 317;, B6“ ys) there opene 11113, Qf his 01/v1; freedom galbst the background Of N051‘ is at once fascina ting and dreafifulalfn gness is a presence OW“ Bemg ‘W26, gugldgg that goes on beneath th }lipation With l‘11illé’S- “1'1"“eU_’ before Hes andgnises: novy trelnltllllé’ and tbotl-Vq. but always it is as inseparab teathing because ansiellv IS 0"’ W)’. In anxiety We both are and §e and this ls our dread. 0'1’ negative 1'Iit@IP@’1@t"*’te our erely a psy0~501°€i°al ea NO, 1-S 1,6 ?nite merely_ this earth 13 11-’""ted' He .18 etrates the V615’ Core of 1218 eri'v@dP F1“ ("11 Bej" his lozifhirz 0291179 h.'t[ZIl'1g5', that 1'"”"“” E here We he VG gone Vhers of t he a systeIn- e

Another anonymous reader writes, "Keith, I don’t know you. We’ve never met. Half the time I don't undersatand you. Can I have your baby?"

No, Reader. As sweet as that sentiment might be, it's just wrong in so many ways.


That made Pete grin broadly. “Claims he specialist.” He picked up another lllgsu %:_W?Um frorr brought this in, a little rundown.” He read, “ is for Allen. Lives at 47 Eaton Drive. Excel] Four-?gure bank account. No known mean: most of every day at Biceps Beach exercising That’s all we have so far. Not much, but we’ll “Biceps Beach?” Tim said. “Then he’s one ful boys

and at er ime is was almost hospitalized for not being able to make had grown up since then, developed ?g’, 6 £0 syév 6W choice-maker, but the same thing happened again and eps# t50 thought, now (((8 in this part of the world, Vs# in Thailand, and how many times will r be here again? What should Es iwsmsm 2 do? Well, maybe go to China, was the ?rst thing that came to mind. And varts3 pictured 6b f** jit hitchhiking through China. Then thought, ,,,, maybe get stuck on some tour of the cities and it would be hot and it would be ,b a ehno vyeare— maybe Nepal. Orv would get up there in the mountains—— then Tim thought, too landlocked, down to Bali, maybe. So Pete had a kind of China-Nepal-Bali triangle going in 4q nb mind, and would keep taking to the woman who was in charge of transportation on the ?lm, and ih¢&@@v would say, ”Barbara, ble's vur5 going to be going to China." ”Well, $ed/ 99 s" she'd say, ”I think you've got to go

Now, before we all do go, to China or anywhere else, I thought it would behoove us all to enjoy just how musical our selections for today sound in Armenian, a language I picked at random which I don't speak, read, or understand, but which someone out there might, and which if nothing else tees this whole effort up as being smoking hot and academicky enough to slam dunk my book proposal on certain multi-level marketing opportunities in newly emerging nations:

«Այո, նա կարող է », - Tim - ասել է «Ես չեմ սիրում մտածել դրա մասին , բայց նա կարող է ունենալ ». The Baileys ' տեղը, ակումբ Malibar էր Փոքր Կենտրոն Reyes Boulevard . Tim քաշեց եւ կայանել մոտ է 8F մգ . $ QWW6 & ° - Trance. Մնացած տարածքում դատարկ էր , բացի մի մեծ սեւ Փոխարկելի եւ երկու ավելի ավտոմեքենա parked է թիկունքում. The Front կանգնած լայն բաց է W Shim g. Դա մի դուռ որոնց վրա տարածվում է ներսում quilted կանաչ RST pa ե. Կանաչ գորգ էր մուտքի. Ակումբը դատարկ էր. Մութ էր . Միակ լույսը եկել է բաց առջեւի դուռը եւ մի զույգ մերկ W0m pps S4 $ ետեւում բար է թիկունքում. Եթե եղել են , պատուհանները նրանք ծածկված. կողոպտել դրա անուղղակի լուսավորման, Mag OW նպատակը նայեց հոգնած ու էժան. գույներով էին, FL I'lOtel'I'l : L: 1i ] LF . Կար մի հնացած հոտը, քանի որ նրանք քայլում դուռը միջեւ սեղանների իրենց stacked աթոռներ. հեռավորության վրա - ից մուտքի որ կարպետ էր հաստ. Նրանք ոչ մի ձայն. նրանք լսել 0 ¢ K Ox 08 O / Oh . ետեւից ծառայությունների դռան մի կողմում բար. Tim գիտեր իր ճանապարհը դեպի o : - սառույցի. Նա եղել է այստեղ , երբ առաջ է Joe է վճարել ինը հազար դոլար նոտա. Նա հիշել, որ անգամ , թե ինչպես Joe, երբ նրանք թողել , հայհոյել է Bailey հայհոյել է իրեն, եւ երդվեց Off Դրամախաղ. Նրանք կանգ առջեւ որ աղմուկ է ուտեստների. Նրանք լսել ինչ - որ մեկը գնում է ներսում, Tim rapped դուռը . Ann, rapped Brie . Y, եւ բացել դուռը. Նա եկանք ներսում. Եվ տեսա այն! Արյունոտ Orv

Վտ, possib, ապագան ակտը, որը Yyingness ' 317;, B6 " YS) առկա opene 11113, Qf իր 01/v1. Ազատություն galbst ֆոնին N051, այն միանգամից fascina Ting եւ dreafifulalfn gness մի ներկայություն OW »Bemg «W26, gugldgg, որ շարունակվում է վարը րդ } lipation կապնվել L'11illé'S-"1'1" "eU_ 'առաջ Hes andgnises: Novy trelnltllllé եւ tbotl - VQ. բայց միշտ դա, ինչպես inseparab teathing քանի ansiellv է 0 " W) '. Անհանգստության Մենք երկուսս էլ, եւ § E եւ այս ls մեր ահ. 0'1 ' բացասական 1'Iit @ IP @ '1 @ t »* 'Te մեր erely մի psy0 ~ 501 ° € i ° al EA NO, 1-S 1.6. Դեմք merely_ այս երկիրը 13 11 - ից «" Ted Նա .18 etrates է V615 'առանցքը 1218 eri'v @ DP F1 »(« 11 bej " նրա lozifhirz 0291179 ժ 't [ZIl'1g5, որ 1' "" "" " E այստեղ Մենք էլ VG Gone Vhers t- նա ա systeIn - ե

Որ պատրաստվում Pete grin ընդհանուր առմամբ . " Պնդում է նա: մասնագետ : «Նա վերցրեց մեկ այլ lllgsu % : _W . Um frorr բերել այս , մի քիչ էլ հյուծված »: Նա կարդում ," համար Allen. Ապրում է 47 Eaton Drive. Excel ] Քառանիշ . Մեր բանկային հաշիվը: Ոչ հայտնի նշանակում մեծ մասը ամեն օր , ժամը երկգլուխ մկան Beach իրականացնելիս Սա ամենն է, մենք ունենք մինչ օրս. Ոչ շատ , բայց մենք « Երկգլուխ մկան Beach » Tim թ. «Հետո նա մի տարիմ տղաները

եւ er ռեժիմը , որը գրեթե հոսպիտալացվել է չկարողանալով անել մեծացել էր: Դրանից հետո , որը մշակվել ? գ , 6 £ 0 syév 6W ընտրության ստեղծողի, բայց նույն բանը տեղի ունեցավ , նորից եւ EPS # t50 մտածեցի, հիմա ( (( 8 այս մասում աշխարհը, Vs # Թաիլանդում , եւ քանի անգամ պիտի r այստեղ կրկին. Ինչ պետք Es iwsmsm 2 անել? Դե, գուցե գնալ մինչեւ Չինաստան էր . RST բանը, որ եկավ մտքում. իսկ varts3 պատկերված 6b F ** JIT hitchhiking միջոցով Չինաստան. ապա մտածեցի ,,,, ,,,, , գուցե ստանում խրված է ինչ - որ փուլում է քաղաքներում, եւ դա կլինի տաք եւ դա կլինի , BA ehno vyeare - Գուցե Նեպալ . Orv կստանա մինչեւ այնտեղ լեռներում . ապա Tim մտածեցի, որ դեպի ծով ելք չունեցող , ներքեւ Բալի , գուցե. Այնպես որ, Pete մի տեսակ China - Նեպալ - Բալի եռանկյունու պատրաստվում է 4Q nb միտքը , ու պահել հաշվի է կին, ով էր պատասխանատու փոխադրման վրա : lm , եւ IH ¢ & @ @ v կասեի, "Barbara , BLE ի vur5 լինելու պատրաստվում է Չինաստան . " «Դե, $ ացված / 99 վ »: Նա ուզում է ասել, «Ես կարծում եմ, որ դու պետք է գնալ

And so our lesson for today ends, with a parable about a broken boot heel on the road to the Shelbyville ferry, a bloody Orv, or a "Bloody Orv!", or a "Bloody bloody Orv!", a mysterious encounter on Biceps Beach, a China-Nepal-Bali triangle, and what looks to be an upcoming trip to China

And Armenian, ftw.

A lot to digest, I know, but preordering my soon to be proposed book on certain multi-level marketing opportunities in newly emerging nations is one sure way to take the load off your conscience.

Until our next together reading together, and good luck in our guessing the title of the book I got at a garage sale contest.


  1. Laughing so hard I am crying. I mean that in a good way.

  2. I'm amazed how you published Armenian letters.

  3. This comment has been removed by the author.

  4. GENIUS! This blog is on the bleeding edge of tech, man. And on the bleeding edge of everything else, too. SCIENCE!! I'm telling you.