Stuff

“Already, some in Congress are trying to undo these automatic spending cuts. My message to them is simple: No. I will veto any effort to get rid of those automatic spending cuts to domestic and defense spending. There will be no easy off ramps on this one.”---Baroke Oblahblah, 2011

'Nuf said on this sequester nonsense?

Apologists, have at it.

Baroke lied yet again.

As always, I listened to Sue Henry on WILK this morning. But on this morning, I heard a litany of laughable bullspit regarding the Citizens' Voice article about the recent spate of shootings in Wilkes-Barre.

While it's true that these shootings have been almost exclusively black-on-black drug-related crimes, the truth of the matter is that the indigenuous population's blood lust for illegal drugs invites the gangs and the dealers to the area.

Growing tried of the gunplay, white folks? Then stop consuming illegal substances!

BANG! DONE!

No market? No sellers.

Damn, I'm smart.

The brown folks grow it, the black folks sell it and the white folks buy it.

Have you ever heard of rent rebates for those in subsidized housing and those on Section 8?

No, well time for a Google search.

True story. A lady pays a total of $480 in 2012 for her three-bedroom Section 8 townhouse and then recieves a $600 rent rebate come tax time.

And me? Well, I'll just work some more overtime so as to pay for all of the obvious "fairness" largesse.

This is rich.

The investor group from NYC that owns the Sherman Hills shooting gallery is seeking to expand the complex. Yep, new construction. More buildings. True story. Where do I go to volunteer my time and services to the zoning board?

Oh, and nothing new from Alsea, Oregon.

Later

Sunday morning musings

My game, my life, my routine has been blown all to hell of late.

As far back as I can remember, I always wanted to meet my father. But after the years turned into decades and the decades amounted to a half century, I would have been content to just know what had become of him. And now that I finally know what has become of him, I’m still coping, I’m still trying to believe it.

I spoke to a lady who works for a logging outfit out there in Alsea, Oregon. It sounds like the old man has been a real pain in the neck for her and her coworkers. He cuts trails across and builds bunkers all over the clear-cut zones, still, she has yet to lay eyes on him. He’s a ghost.

And she’s a really nice person, as are all of the people I’ve spoken with from Benton County, Oregon.

But enough with all of that.

Dad's Alsea playground

I see that Baroke Oblahblah thinks we should do away with pennies because it costs millions and millions to produce them.

Yet, by the time his disastrous run is over, the United States will be twenty, possibly, most likely twenty-two trillion dollars in debt. “Debt overhang,” anyone?

Clueless.

Oh, and he thinks we should raise the minimum wage, because, to hear him tell it, that proposed raise would help the “working poor.”

More importantly, it would lead to automatic raises for unionized labor, the backbone of the political party currently bankrupting our country.

Priceless.

Get it? Priceless?

Does anyone remember when something as simple as the towing of vehicles did not lead to tumult, chaos and controversy in the City of Wilkes-Barre?

I am so, so, so sick of it.

I watched every video of the meteorite that landed with a mighty thud in Russia. Fascinating. If you’re a Democrat, not so fascinating, just proof of solar warming or some such newfangled gibberish.

Anyway, if I lived there in the frozen morass, if I had witnessed that spectacle, I would have been absolutely convinced that the U.S. had finally attacked the iced-over motherland.

One of these days.

I’m still chewing on this one: My favorite birthday gift of all time.

Which, predictably, led to…my all-time favorite Christmas present?

Jeez oh Pete!

And then there was the “prettiest girl” thing.

Me? I’ll go with Natalie Wood.

Later

Behind the scenes at the "Big Game"

What they don't tell you about when you attend a Super Bowl...

Better hope that you don't end up seated next to the lone terrorist in attendance.

Later

Road Trip?

I pulled this from the comments...

Dude, after all the anguish and all the things you have been through trying to find him, I think you owe it to yourself to seek him out and tell him how you feel. Just don't be disappointed when you do. Your a big boy. I think you can handle it.

I agree. But, I will never again travel in a vehicle with wings attached. Won’t happen. If I was offered free airline tickets to the Playboy mansion with all of it’s many, uh, assets promising to frolic in the shower with me, I would decline.

It’s 43 hours by car to Alsea. 650 by bicycle. A Greyhound trip would be considerably longer. Being the only specialized technician that I am in my district, I will never get more than one week of vacation at a time. So, if I made the trip to Oregon, the turnaround time would be almost immediate.

Another thing: What would I do when I arrived?

I could book a room at the Alsea Valley Bed & Breakfast or the Leeping Lamb farm, visit John Boy’s Mercantile, have lunch at Deb’s Café ( done my homework as always), take a slew of pictures and then what? I’ve talked to three locals and they all say that my dad is a ghost. So, I sit on the side of the road and hope that that day is the day his sidekick decides to come down from the hills on her bicycle?

The manager of John Boy’s passed along Lisa’s email address, and it’s said she drops by the public library once a week to check her mail. I figured that would be the logical starting point, so two weeks ago I sent the following to her email address…

Greetings,

My name is Mark Cour, and I reside in Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania.

I have three children---Peace, Marque and Ebon, as well as five amazing grandchildren---Gage, Taylor, Zachary, Jeremy and Avery. I have been married to my better half, Theresa (sainthood?), for close to 34 years.

While growing up under the watchful eye of my mother, I always figured I’d meet my estranged father one day, just out of sheer curiosity on his part. Obviously, that never happened.

At this point, I would cherish a conversation or a postal service exchange with him just out of sheer curiosity on my part.

I realize that he owes me nothing. And I’m not even sure what I would say to him if the opportunity to speak with him even presented itself. But after five decades of wondering, I still feel the need to try.

Being blindly loyal to a fault when it comes to all things family & friends, I am here if the two of you lack for anything at all.

Mark Cour
Home: 570-824-XXXX
Cell: 570-762-XXXX
Email: zorcong@earthlink.net

So far, no response.

Since that didn’t garner a reply, I’ll next send some snail mail to her P.O. box which I recently dredged up from the bowels of the Internet.

And I think I’ll include of few pictures, as in, look, these are your grandkids you never bothered to know. Maybe I’ll send a 50 dollar bill so they can get some real grub. I dunno. What do you say to a father you’ve never really known?

Then again, maybe I should just respect his obvious wishes and leave him alone, apparently, right where he always wanted to be…alone in the hills.

The thing is, I never really understood why he would risk everything to abscond with me, loose that battle, and then never, ever bother with me again.

Needless to say, I’m still collating with myself.

Later

From Oregon to the email inbox

The latest on the Gene Cour dragnet...

Hey Mark,

I had to write you after I found out about your story. It has been so fascinating to learn that the guy living out in the woods that we have been refering to as our "Hobbit," actually has a son who has been looking for him!

I am a forest engineer and work for a timber company in Oregon. The area where I work includes the Alsea area. And on top of that, Alsea is about 30 miles from where I live. About 4 or 5 years ago, we noticed that someone was building a trail thru one of our recent clearcuts. Turns out, there were two people living in our clearcut. I was told it was a man and woman, both in their 80's. The sheriff did find their hole in the hillside and told them they needed to leave. We were sure where they went, but it appeared they did leave that specific area they were in.

At one point one of my coworkers and I hiked the clearcut they were living to try to find their hole in the hillside. The sheriff had told us that their dwelling actually had two rooms and plastic over the front of it. We didn't have any luck finding them. They did a really good job concealing their hole. But because of how they had been living, we continued to joke about them as "Hobbitts."

A few weeks ago I ran into the Benton County Sheriff woods deputy. I told him that we were cutting in an area close to where the hobbitts had been living and the cutters were finding signs that they had habitated that area also. Deputy Iverson went on to tell me about arresting both Gene, then Lisa. He then went on to tell me about your story. After we looked up your blog and read your story, we were shocked to find out that our "hobbitt" had family that had been looking for him that long!

From what I have gathered from the locals, there are some people up Honeygrove Road (the area where Gene and Lisa have been living) that have maybe been helping them out. I was also told that Gene was schizophrenic. I have never seen Gene, but I have seen Lisa twice on her bike headed into Alsea.

I hope you don't mind that I dropped you this email. Just wanted to let you know how interesting it was to learn about Gene and you! If there is any information or anything else you need from Oregon, feel free to drop me a line!

JXXX XXXX

*Name redacted by Markie.

I'm supposed to recieve a phone call from this person tomorrow. And, I'm excited and fascinated all over again.

Later

Ain't much point

Answer me this: How can the Fedrule Govmint follow through on the threatened “automatic budget cuts” when there is no actual budget in place? And how can you work from within the framework of a budget that does not exist?

I told you King Oblahblah was clueless.

To my email friend, I offer this: Why don’t I engage anymore? Activism at the grass roots level no longer matters when the Feds arbitrarily mandate every aspect of our lives to us by executive fiat driven by self-immolation and some imagined and perverted form of divine guidance.

What? The U.S. won’t collapse if I repeatedly rail against a local towing company?

Hey, once Jordan falls, Israel--our longtime ally--will be completely surrounded by hostiles. Note to Jordan: You’re next.

So, how’s that Oblahblah-driven “Arab Spring” thing looking now?

I keep reading that political pundit’s the world over say the next presidential election is Hillary’s for the taking.

Um, didn’t they tell us last time around, when we needed a follow-up to Dubya? ‘Member, back when the Democrats screwed over their longtime party stalwart simply because she was a woman?

This is a typical negotiation between King Oblahblah and the Evil Repuglicans…

King: I want 3.

ER: I’ll give you 2.

King: Nope.

ER: I’ll give you 2.5.

King: Incorrect!

ER: Okay, I’ll give you 2.75, provided you give me a watered-down X, a little bit of Y & maybe Z.

King: I DEMAND 5!!! And I’m taking my case to the American Access Card carriers!

How’s the search for dear old dad going now that it’s actually paying dividends after the 50-year lull?

Yesterday, I posted the following on Facebook…

Earlier today I received a call from a business owner in Alsea, Oregon.

She hesitated returning my call for over a week because she had no idea who and what I was going on about. But after she talked to the manager of the mercantile store, she then realized what I was calling about. Turns out, the locals do not know Gene by his given name, but by an alternate name of his choosing. She also said the local children call him ‘The Green Man,” one who can transform into a tree to avoid detection.

She doesn’t rent to him and his sidekick, she kind of sponsors them. Or allows them since they were living on the wooded areas of her farm when she and her husband purchased it 30 years ago. She also said he is intensely shy, crazily private and avoids contact with most others. Some might call that paranoid personality disorder, but that’s for another day.

Anyway, I also came to learn that his sidekick Lisa just may have a bigger Internet footprint than I do, and that’s quite an accomplishment while pursuing a nomadic lifestyle and living in a forest.

The following is a reader’s comment she left at an Internet Zine…

AB #11 January 2011
$2 c/o Lisa Ahne
POB 181
Alsea, OR 97324
If you have ever read Dwelling Portably then you will recognize the format and style of AB immediately. I think it’s done by some of the same people, but I’m not sure because there wasn’t a name associated with the letter that came with it. Anyway, if you have never read this type of zine before it’s kind of hard to figure out what’s going on at first. There are no introductions or explanations , just pure information, ideas, and how-to’s focused on living a semi-nomadic and government free life on 21st Century Earth. The information contained within this zine is pretty amazing. What fascinates me most about zines like this is the complete disconnect from any emotional meandering or analysis in the writing, it is intended to provide the reader with information on this type of lifestyle and that’s it. As a curious post-romantic (kidding) I always want to know more about the people writing it, like what their day to day routines look like and what the pros and cons of living nomadically in modern America are. But I suppose that’s the point, the less we know about the people writing it, the easier it is for those people to keep living that type of life: If I really wanted to know what it’s like, then I should get out there and try it for myself. This issue is heavily focused on how to build boats that you can live on. It also has some zine reviews, how to survive without much money, how to avoid being hassled by authorities, some healthy eating tips, and random nomad advice from the people who are actually doing it.

Note that I scored the P.O. box number.

Hey, man. If you’re looking to start a separatist movement with your AK-47 and your flamethrowers, seems like a good place to start: dwelling portably.blogspot.com

And, no. Even I couldn’t make this story up. I’m told I’m good. Just not this good.

Markie

(end yesterday)

Anywho, no I ain’t been posting much of late. With four more years of economic stagflation to work my way through, there didn’t seem to be much point. Seriously, ain’t much point.

Signed: Markie (the guy who pays for the growing list of overly, overly generous freebies).

Later

LaLa

Fresh off her having killed two loose, rabid pitbulls, I figured I'd muck about with Wifey's 5-POUND KILLER YORKIE!!!

The 82nd Airborne has formed a perimeter around the base of the mountain, they have trebulets and giant fireballs at the ready and are now calling to the enormous monster...Here LaLa! Here Lala! Here Lala!



Jeez oh Pete.

Later

Fifty years later

Cuzzin Annie,

My father’s current haunt. Er, whereabouts.

Before we get into this, let’s take a trip back into the past.

When I was a sprat of ten or so and spurned my step-dad’s efforts to legally adopt me, he became very, very angry and told me that if what I wanted was my real father, I should look him up in Dearborn, Michigan. I was stunned to hear that being that my mom repeatedly claimed she had no idea of what had become of my father after the kidnapping incident in Florida. Time passed.

After my mom passed away, I scrolled through this little green address book she always had in her purse, seemingly forever. And listed in there was an interesting name and phone number: Martha Maser, XXX-XXXX...Dearborn, Michigan. And if you remember, Martha was his new love interest and my custodian during the majority of the kidnapping period. My interest piqued, I called the number fully expecting it to have been disconnected some decades ago.

Instead, it rang. And a man answered. After I asked to speak to Martha only to be told she had just stepped out, the man asked who was calling. And when I said my name, he said “no sh*t” after a lengthy pause. It was Gerald, Martha’s son who had actually lived with me when we were on the lam.

He told me that Gene and Martha had divorced in 1982, and that he, Gene, was headed off to Seattle, presumably to seek a position with Boeing. What I have learned during the past couple of days is that Gene probably never made it all the way to Seattle.

When I found the booking photo from Oregon, I emailed the Benton County sheriff’s department, the very folks who had taken Gene into custody and charged him with criminal trespass. I provided them all the pertinent facts and requested a response. Over a week passed with no response and I figured it was worth a shot, even if it didn’t deliver the desired result. But this past Thursday, the arresting officer from Benton County, Everson XXXXXXX, gave me a buzz.

Benton County has approximately 60,000 residents, with two cities armed with police departments. The remainder of the backwoods county is policed by the sheriff’s department. Everson is the one and only Forest Patrol Deputy, with tracking as well as search and rescue a couple of his primary responsibilities while patrolling well off the beaten path.

He encountered Gene on a railroad property of some sort, and after Gene refused to identify himself, he was taken into custody and transported to the county jail in Corvallis where he refused to speak, but ate like a pig. When asked if he had ever been arrested, he said he hadn’t been. But after his fingerprints were taken and run through the computer, an ages old kidnapping charge from Florida came back to bite him on the ass.

Anyway, once he was outed, he told the sheriff that he and his female sidekick---Lisa Ahne---have been living in the mountainous forests of Alsea, Oregon for the past thirty years. They have constructed a series of heavily camouflaged bunkers of sorts, and they hurriedly shuffle from spot to spot to spot when civilization comes infringing on their bucolic turf.

I’m told that Gene does not collect social security, but he does construct woodsy ornaments which he and his honey trade for supplies down at John Boy’s “Alsea Mercantile” in the unincorporated outcropping of a few buildings in a nowhere town named Alsea. In addition, Lisa is said to have a P.O. box number in town, a number that the sheriff said he will work to acquire and pass along to me. He also told me that while Gene looks a little worse for wear, his mind is still sharp.

This is where I’m at.

Despite Peace’s best efforts, she couldn’t come close to finding my dad. But after the conversation I had with Gerald twenty years ago and the advent of the Internet, I always concentrated the bulk of my search efforts on the Pacific Northwest, the heart of Boeing Country.

And now that I finally know where he lurks, I’m supremely proud of the fact that through tireless efforts spanning more than a decade, I did it. I found him. And as you and I both knew all along, he never expected nor intended to be found.

He had the well-heeled parents, the multiple university degrees, the air force stint, the electrical engineering patents, the senior engineer guided-missile exploits and the like, while all I had was a fading black ‘n’ white booking photo. And after thirty years of intentionally being off any known grid, I found him.

Who’s the genius now?

Markie

23 more edicts from the king

After reading the list of 23 executive actions our self-anointed king has initiated in the name of gun control, I write most of them off as being little more than feel-good window dressings.

And his suggestion (his demand) that Congress quickly enact an assault weapons ban as well as a limit on the size of ammunition clips, well, that’s laughable in the aftermath of the Great Gun Sales Run of 2013 directly due to the reckless anti-gun rhetoric of the oft-frenzied left.

Smart. Real, smart. Flap your fat lips uncontrollably, gun sales surge, NRA memberships spike and now, now you want to limit the availability and lethality of guns?

Democrats: Can’t live with ‘em, can’t live on the public dole without ‘em!

As for the, ahem, suggestions to Congress…

Universal background checks? Abso-freaking-lutely!

Assault weapons ban? How come only the white boys need suffer? Why not include a handgun ban so as to not seem so outwardly racist?

Besides, in an urban combat scenario such as an attack on an elementary school classroom, a semi-automatic handgun will do just as effectively as a rifle. As for the ammo clip limit, clips can be taped together with the open ends opposite each other.

Clip size? There are so many ways around that one, it’s patently absurd.

More of the same from wise-ass King Oblahblah. Speeches, talks, talk, talk and more talk. He’s easily impressed with himself. We as a backsliding country are broke and racing towards a $20 trillion debt.

Gainful employment is fast becoming an antiquated concept, replaced by an endless array of freebies and further promises of continued dependency. And now that the wise one has contributed to the surge in gun sales, he’s going to control and restrict them with a single stroke of his auto-pen.

As effing if!

Later

Record this!

For those employed by the taxpaying residents of Luzerne County, accountibility is a dish best not served.

Be they election honchos, department heads, interpreters or big civic players, they all seem to reflexively retract from the light of day being shined on their clandestine activities.

I'm all in for another term.

Vote for Walter.

Later