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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: People
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Halloween and I've a tentative date with Batsh*t, supposed to pick him up in Riondel and take him to the Cabin for their Halloween party...
I'm not expecting to see him there, it was "arranged" - if that is the word, by scroll, cryptic messages hidden in with all the "Mocha Java" and strippers and coffee cups.
But I'm not going to be the one to default on the date, I'm there, it's 5:30 (damned Ferry Schedule, either be an hour and a half early or an hour late...), 5 to 6 he sidles up to the jeep. Outside, raining, cold, he's cautious in his approach, I've noticed he doesn't make eye contact, he's got his coffee thermos in his hand, a plastic bag in the other, another gift...
We get to the cabin, it's mostly empty, the party won't start for a couple more hours, there's 5 waitresses there in various costumes, I'm starting to figure out where he gets his ideas for the 5 piece Electra Band, 5 costumed, nubile young women, as demons, zombies, always the bit of leg, breast, arm...
They know him, they're kind to him, he's flush, it's the end of the month. he's got an envelope full of cash...
I was hoping for some good documentary footage, but the light is too dim, and the flash bothers his face, nonetheless he tells a single story for me, afterward he segways into other stories, camera off, about how he's wearing Roger Vadim's Leather coat, about other adventures with Marilyn, Jane, Sophia...
He buys a round of drinks, the night continues, by 9:00 PM after the fire show it's time to run him back to his bike, hidden in the bushes, he digs it out and hops on, he's keeping his shack a secret for the moment, he's given me - in addition to some more scrolls, a bag of coffee and $5.00, just because, it's what he likes to do, and it crosses my mind that for someone with nothing he's one of the most generous people I've ever met...
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: People
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And I've been getting these dumb-ass emails from "Tweekaboo", the "Social Media Platform" for people that just got kids.
"Family life is all about moments. The first moments, the messy moments, the tender moments, the 3am moments, the proud moments. These are the wonderful real-life moments that tell the story of your child's life. We call these moments Tweekaboo moments.
At Tweekaboo we're parents too. Designed for busy families, Tweekaboo uses your smart phone to make saving magic moments, easy."
Bloody Hell.
To some people kids are like herpes or religion and they want to share their experience with anyone that will listen. So Amber has somehow mistyped her friends name into her phone and I've been the (un)lucky recipient of all the glorious updates as to her precious little bundle of joy, 3 a day, and Google alerts me every time something new happens. Headlines like: "Koala Costume", "Aunt Mandy trying to get Charley in the Halloween...", "Love my PJ's from Grandma" and "Happy Halloween from our little Pumpkin". I'm guessing it's one of the other Rod/Rob Boyle's from down under, somewhere someone got deported to a sunnier clime and my relations got sent to Canada. And now you want me to take this bullet for you? I wrote tech support at Tweekaboo, told them they had the wrong guy, I'm not that guy, I don't even slightly envy that guy, who's probably just nodding dully along to the conversations with Amber and never for a moment thinks to correct his email address with her, he's getting away far too lightly, but I can't bear it anymore and tech support at Tweekaboo, they're just glad someone's using their product, I could create an account and log in and tell Amber directly, but maybe what I should do - in the spirit of the season, is log into Tweekaboo and start sending Amber all of my precious family moments..."...a tight circumcision", "...that was a smelly burp - OOPS", "...first soiled diaper", that kinda thing, maybe then she'd work it all out.
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: People
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And finally old Batsh*t delivers, more scrolls, 7 of them, amazing, an hour's reading and sounding things out...figuring things out. References to the Terminator movies, Replicants (Bladerunner), more lobster and peacock, and a girl that says it's "Raining Mushrooms". I noticed on my days photo safari yesterday (watch banner) what I suspected were Liberty Caps, suspicious, and reading the scrolls I understand...
He's a wizard of the first order in Foon, it's always cryptic - his nicknames for everyone - the chef is Ms. 777, the other waiter is Cyclone, I'm "Litn'n Rod", the world is mapped differently, a few of the scrolls integrate centerfolds and cross over into pornography - I have to look a minute, that's a penis she's holding and it's squirting up into her mouth, yep, that's pornography, but there's lots, lots there, she - despite the penis - is managing to hold on to a coffee cup in her other hand, coffee cups, coffee pots, his leitmotif.
I love this guy. And he's stalled on our meeting up today, there's a party across the lake at the Cabin, I have to dig out my HD Camera and bring it, he's not invited (I don't think), neither am I, but it'd be great to interview him there...
Meanwhile - I'm forbidden from copying his artwork, but I've taken a picture of the job lot of scrolls against the backdrop of other written ephemera, you can open in new tab and embiggen and you'll get an idea of what he's about...and they're double sided every one!
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: People
- Hits: 1487
He's paranoid about my copying his work, last one with the message: "An...No FUCKIN CELL PH PICTURES NO EMAIL NO REPRODUCTION ANY SORT ... OR ... UR OUT OF PICTURE 4 FUCKIN WIT [ONLY HOMAGES R MY PALS...TUS 4 UR MEMORY- OK!""
Every picture comes with a warning - forbidding all copying. I started us off on the wrong foot when I was photographing his art, and now I'm paying the price...
As of late he's begun assigning me Quests. 2 Pictures, both good (in his inimitable style - with a note attached that I have 18 hours to take them to town and drop them off to X**** at the Bike Shop and Y**** at the Hume hotel, both collectors of his artwork, with directions and passwords to introduce myself...I've become his errand boy...
And every night after work, or after the days adventures I return to the dungeon to find he's left me a present - more rants - on paper coffee cups, tourist literature, drawings - on paper - gifts - a pair of new black steel-toed Timberlands - size 9 1/2 - about 2 sizes too small...
The next day I spot him on the beach, I'm at work, I buy him some lunch, he glances at my shoes - Oxfords, but he mistakes them for the ones he gave me:
"...you're wearing the shoes I gave you...they were my son's, he wore them through 12 different jungles...steel toed because of all the fucking venomous snakes...I had him wear plastic bags over 'em the entire time, that's why they're in such good condition..."
This is one of the rare hints at his own personal tragedy, the one that derailed him, the death of his son, I have no real details, just rumours, before that he was (relatively) normal, but that was the last straw...
He's got a bunch of garbage laid out on the picnic table on the beach, he's explaining what each object is...a bad digital watch: "This is Joe DiMaggio's watch...he gave it to his son...it needs a new strap..." and a big, slightly used candle ... "This was the candle Joe DiMaggio was burning when he proposed to Marilyn..."
...and from there on to the News, Madonna's buying his island, she's done with New York, just finalizing the sale, ... other elaborate stories ... Keith Richards is getting one of his new paintings... the same-old, same-old...
...returning to the dungeon, time to get ready for work, there's another cache left for me, a pewter cup, "Steve" badly engraved on the side, filled with notes and drawings, reading it, there's the hit-list of people who've mistreated him on the Ferry Landing, invective damning Lang's, The Fishing shop, the Bakery, I return outside to thank him...
"Steve McQueen's cup..." he explains to me ...
- Details
- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: People
- Hits: 1255
He looks to be a street guy, prosthetic leg, maybe late 50's, early 60's, rides his bus up to the bus stop, parks it, goes inside the shelter.
I'm early for the bus, sitting down against the outside of the shelter, can't see in...
More people are showing up every minute, a young kid, maybe 8 or 10 goes into the shelter with him, takes a seat...
And he begins...intoning, a weird accent, high, nasal voice...."We are doing to this planet what we have done to Mars...our history is older than has been recorded..."
He's channeling, or something, I can only hear him, in the smoky haze, the sun and mountains obscured it almost seems relevant...I look over into the bus shelter at the kid, he's got a horrified, WTF expression on his face...
He continues..."The price of gas should be 10 fold what it is now...only when it is $20 per litre will it stop...."
The kid is weirded out, grabs his knapsack and leaves the shelter, homeless guy has taken off his prosthetic, eyes rolling in his head as he channels the spirits, makes his prophecies, his amputated stump hangs down, a mass of soggy flesh that resembles an elephant's trunk, "Only in Foon" I'm thinking...he continues with his prophecies and dire warnings to the human race at sporadic intervals...
As other passengers show up to wait he hops out, talks to them, shows them a pair of long-handled snipping shears, for the arborist, he's raving about what a great deal they were, fairly normal conversation, I was hoping for better, all the locals know him, humour him, I just watch..
Then, when the bus comes, he loads his bike on the front, grabs his leg, his packages and shears, hops on the bus, stands close to me and begins to amuse a young girl, he's quacking at her like a duck, speaking in that Donald-Duck voice, but mostly just quacking, the girl, her mother, they're amused, even the bus rides in Foon are an adventure...