August 27, 2003

Ode To The Taurus

while out like scouts on a new route, the wrightsville beach chapter of Bojon apparently ran into some car trouble this past weekend.

Bojon Mobile

here's the report sent in by colonel white:

    Oh yes.....The one and only Ford Taurus may have seen her last battle Friday night. As we began to crest the top of the Wrightsville Bridge...all power was lost and all dashboard lights blew up. Brown, Shroeds and the Yam with J. Rasta behind the wheel ridin' as the fabulous four.

    Fab Four

    Cox simply says," Ya gotta give it gas."

    Holding back all comments such as "Cox, is that a clip-on tie you're wearing?" I say, "My brother, I've known about the gas peddle since I was about 12 in driver's Ed, and that aint gonna do it."

    Needless to say, givin' gas to the old julip did nothing to change the fact that this once "Nascar-like" taurus wasn't gettin' us back home.

    I crept the thing into the parkin' lot beside Redix. Done. After waitin' some 45 minutes for the cab that supposedly had been called by the Yam, the Yam dials none other than his dad. Dr. sorry to wake you, sir...

    At this point it is approachin' 4:30 a.m. Brown and I are indulging in the Baja Mexican burrito that we acquired earlier in the night. Shroeds has decided not to wait for the cab or Dr. Pete and sets out on the journey walkin' to the Cox family domain, only to be picked up by the good doctor after he corraled the rest of us.

    anyway, i did manage to get a chucle out of Dr. Pete on the way home by saying, "Dr. Cox, we'll probably still be calling you when we're sixty to have you come pick us up." He agreed, in his own way, that this was probably true.

very nice, fellas. at least you didn't have to ride in a paddy wagon with these guys...

Friend or Foe

Posted by bojon at 04:11 PM

August 25, 2003

The Pharaoh Knows

in anticipation of Burning Man 2003, here's a little essay scribed at the conclusion of last year's festivities:

    toss out the measuring sticks: there's an event out there that is badder than anything i have ever seen. badder than anything i have ever imagined. badder than anything i can hope to articulate.

    The Man

    i'm talking about Burning Man, and i'm tellin' you it blows the doors off of everything else i've ever been part of. i'm not knocking jazz fest, i'm not forgetting about hermosa, i'm not overlooking vegas, i'm not discounting halloween, i'm not mocking the preakness, i'm not short-changing the bay-to-breakers. i'm telling you that this event is not even in the same class.

    i set out for the desert last week with high expectations, an abundance of enthusiasm, and a strong dose of curiosity. what i saw, what i did, what i experienced was beyond comprehension.

    there is no description i can provide, no picture i can show, no story i can relate that can put this event in perspective. shit, there is no perspective. there is no comparing it to anything.

    its a real life mad max, combined with the bar scene from star wars, mixed with about every fairy tale there is, every story from Dr. Seuss, every episode of curious george. and oh yeah it takes place on a moon-like dust bowl of a crater that fossilizes everything the second it gets the slightest bit wet. and oh yeah, it's 100 degrees in the day and under 50 at night. and oh yeah the place is hopping 24/7 with 30,000 possessed souls. and oh yeah it's the size of a shitload of football stadiums, and people either have on elaborate costumes or no clothes at all, and there was this over-sized rubber duck that housed a killer bar with a sweet jazz band, and there was the church of funk, and the temple of joy and of course THE MAN himself. and did i mention the topless dancers at pinky's, most every minute of every day. or what about the insane bocce course. or the ban on shark fucking at the deep end. or the fact that its downhill no matter which way you are pedaling. and then there was the big white moby dick whale that got pulled over by the police on the playa for speeding. and the mushrooms. the mescaline. the liquid. and then everything went dark.


    get the picture? no of course not. cause i went, and i don't get the picture. not only was i at the show, i was in the show. but the show is bigger than all of us.

    what i'm getting at is that burning man is a must. camp bojon can only get bigger and better each time we go. do yourself a favor, mark off your calendar and get on fucking board for next year. last week changed forever how i will view the world, and i recommend you let it do the same for you next time around . . .

ah yeah, bring on The Playa!!!

Posted by bojon at 02:13 AM

August 21, 2003

What Happens Around Here At Night, Mr. Acorn

one eye gets bigger, the other eye gets smaller . . .

Posted by bojon at 02:57 AM

August 19, 2003

It's the Final 7% that Makes All the Difference

word up to the wisdom:

    "It is not the critic who counts, nor the man who points out where
    the strong man stumbled, or where a doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man in the arena whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly, who errs, and who comes up short again and again, who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, and spends himself in a worthy cause." (Teddy Roosevelt)

yatta, yatta, my friend. it's not the Joker. not the Penquin. not ze cat womaaan.'tis the Riddler who knows the score.

and the gnome. and the gnome. and the gnome . . .

Posted by bojon at 02:22 AM

August 16, 2003

Must Be Soon Time For The Man To Burn

and this just in via our boston bureau . . .

    Police pull over man riding motorized bar stool

    RENO, Nev. -- Police pulled over a man on a bar stool -- after a slow speed pursuit on one of Reno's busier streets.

    It started Monday when an officer saw a man riding the motorized bar stool at 35 mph. He was being followed closely by a woman in a Mustang.

    Both driver and rider were pulled over.

    The woman told police she had been on the phone with a dispatcher reporting the bar stool stolen.

    The owner of the bar stool confirmed that the stool, powered by a small engine, had been taken three weeks earlier.

    Jarrett Orcutt, 22, said he had bought it a little over a week ago, thinking it was a toy and added that he had driven it between Reno and nearby Sparks several times. Police estimate its value at more than $1,000.

    Orcutt faces Reno charges of possession of stolen property, possession of drug paraphernalia and numerous traffic violations.

    Sparks police are handling the stolen vehicle report.

Posted by bojon at 01:23 AM

August 11, 2003

Duffy Gotta Huffy

ah yeah, just about time for the annual pilgrimage to black rock city . . . and as the desert fest fast approaches, high time to get the ToDo list in order.

in preparation for his first Burn, agent michael O' Duffy of the O' Duffy clan picked up a crucial piece of the preparatory puzzle this past weekend.

that's right kids, agent duffy scored a huffy . . .

Duffy on a Huffy

nabbing a junker bike is one of the rites of passage to the Burn of course, and this particular acquisition was not without its twists and turns.

we hit one of our secret suppliers R US and picked out the no frills, no gears beach cruiser. grabbed the floor model which turned out to be the last cruiser in stock. only catch was that this baby had no hand grips.

alas, not a problem; rather, an opportunity.

pointed out the shortcoming to our sales rep and promptly requested a wee discount. not having the authority to grant such a request, the sales rep pulled in the manger.

to our dismay, the manager claimed this bike does not come with hand grips.

ah contraire, we argued. clearly such a fine cruiser would have hand grips. just imagine if it rained: the handle bars would get rather slippery, and that would be outright dangerous. we need a discount.

but alas, our argument was too strong. yes dangerous, the manager realized; so dangerous that the store could not sell a bike with such a defect. think of the liability.

ah shit, game plan backfires. tables turned. at this point we were ready to pay extra to take this puppy home.

fortunately, the manager's break time manifested itself, and while she hustled off for a doughnut, we scooted to the cashier and paid straight up for the cruiser.

and so, happy as clams, we made our way home.

check out some footage of agent duffy taking the huffy for a test drive.

one step closer to the Burn, my friends, one step closer to the Burn . . .

Huffy in the Stable

Posted by bojon at 11:48 PM

August 07, 2003

Conrad, Oh Conrad, Time To Go Home

ah yes, this just in: Captain Carlito sends word that his adventures in peru thus far have been nothing short of swashbuckling. last we heard from the Captain, he was in pursuit of any sign of agent willie, who disappeared in peru a few weeks ago.

turns out the good Captain was coming up empty searching for agent willie through conventional means, and so he decided to go undercover disguised as a local alpaca hat salesmen.

Undercover Brother

excitement abounds. here's the report:

    A mellow rapids run, an insane 800 m mountain bike descent (that I am doing again tomorrow by the way), fifteen long bus rides and a five day trekking circuit around the Ausangate Massif later, and still no sign of agent willie. otherwise, I have been blessed with good experiences and good luck (not counting that thing with my stomach that just wouldnŽt go away).

    however, i now must part paths with the Andes mountains and bid farewell to my lovely and talented travelling companion, who is on to warmer and whiter (oh no you didnŽt!) mountains in Colombia.


    Next, I will be beating a path to the coast in search of the fabled kilometer-long left. Along the way IŽll be picking my childehood partner in crime and favorite bandito known simply as Comrade Z, master of the redwood bansai, the three-sixty between the legs reverse no look off your head finger-roll layup, and of course the Anchor Bay skim-surf world. We plan to leave no dirt road unchecked and no ceviche unsampled . . .

    and, oh yeah, i found agent willie!!! we came across him frolicking in a field with a peruvian goddess masquerading as a llhama herder. agent willie kept calling her his "fair maiden," and she kept calling him "conrad."


    truth be told, agent willie seemed to be quite well adjusted to the scene and rather fond of his captor. of course we immediately suspected Stockholm Syndrone, but since nobody seemed to making a big fuss about things, we didn't cause a stir.

    rather, we let the two have their peace for a bit and then made sure agent willie caught the next flight out. he should be home soon. aside from being a bit disshelved and a tad disoriented, we found him to be in fine spirits.


    now about catching up with Comrade Z and that fabled left . . .

marvelous work, Captain!!!

Posted by bojon at 08:29 PM

August 03, 2003

High Jinks in Hermosa

    "high jinks": Devious yet harmless, usually playful acts: devilry, deviltry, diablerie, impishness, mischief, mischievousness, prankishness, rascality, roguery, roguishness, tomfoolery. Informal : shenanigan (often used in plural). Opposite: See GOOD.

absolutely epic weekend in hermosa beach celebrating the last stand of three legendary beermongers about to take the plunge into married life.

Three Blind Mice

classic rendition of Blackout Friday at the poop deck got things rolling, and it was all down hill from there. at high speed. with no breaks.

the festivities peaked at Shellbacks on saturday afternoon. one of the finest collections of banditos imaginable mixing it up to the extreme. clearly, we would have sacked a stagecoach if one had rolled by.

some of the video footage from the weekend includes:
1. Pimp Daddy [CLASSIFIED]
3. Wish All The Ladies [CLASSIFIED]

must say, it was a real treat to catch up with so many quality individuals. a bunch of characters, all with an edge, all with hearts of gold. such weekends are good for the soul. excellent way to charge the batteries.


did a little research on the origins of the phrase "high jinks". here's what i found:

    "high jinks" dates back to the 1600s when it referred to a game played at drinking parties. Guests threw dice to decide who should perform some daft task for the amusement of the company, or down a large drink, failure to do either requiring some forfeit. In the early nineteenth century, the phrase could refer to a gambler who would drink with his victim to soften him up. By the 1840s it had broadened into its modern sense of any kind of high-spirited fun, noisy revelry or boisterousness. Nobody seems to know exactly who came up with the term "jinks," but there's speculation that it may have been influenced by the term "kink."

well, that about sums it up . . .

Posted by bojon at 11:59 PM