A Dingo's got my Barbie!!!

Still the same Close Shave

Anyway, as I was saying before I was so rudely set upon by a bunch of Pharisees,  I had moved to the middle of nowhere, wrested control of the project from the guy who thought he was in charge, and got myself a reliable car. Things were going great, cue the ominous music...

One clear and sweltering Summer morning as I made my way to work, the sun only just peeking over the horizon, and the sound of cattle gently lowing in the air (Dorothea McKeller* eat your heart out), little did I know that within minutes my life would take an unexpected turn. (now that there's some mighty fine writtin')

For those who have lived, or are living in a remote area, you would already know that your windshield (windscreen to some) always seems to have a coating of bugs, complete with the attendant yellow and white gunk that oozes out of them on impact, for everyone else, now you also know. It was this patina of pests that made driving into the sun very difficult, so much so that I had to stick my head out the window in order to navigate the road up to the main site.

In case you're unaware (although for the life of me I can't imagine there's anyone among us who hasn't driven with their head out the window), there is a natural tendency for the car to head in the direction that your head goes. This means that the car ends up on the wrong side of the road. That sounds lot worse than it was, firstly is was a private road, and secondly I was only doing about 30 miles an hour.

The trouble was however, that even with sticking my head out the window, my vision was still very much impeded by the bright sun shinning directly into my eyes, it was so bad that it seemed like I was driving at night with no lights. The best I could do was focus on edge of the asphalt and try to keep the car lined up with it.

Unfortunately for me the road had a slight incline, fortunately for the guy at the other trying to get the concrete truck started, it had a slight decline which was just perfect for clutch starting the truck. One minute I was blindly making my way to work in my newly fixed up car, and the next I was rapidly making my way to hospital in an ambulance.

I spent the next six weeks in hospital, and then another 14 weeks in an ankle-to-hip cast, and I had lost my front teeth, well actually I didn't lose them exactly, I just left them stuck in the door of my car. When I finally got back to work, I asked the guy driving the truck about what happened (bear mind that I knew him before the crash), and he laughingly replied "It was the strangest thing, I was sitting in the truck and saw you coming up the road, when all of a sudden you just lined your car up with my truck and came straight at me, I thought you were just screwing around and before I realised what was happening it was too late." It must have seemed funny to him at the time, for his back was to the sun so everything would have seemed normal.

So there you have it, I promised you that the next close shave would have dire consequences for me an it did, even today my leg hurts in cold weather, and my teeth never did grow back.

Oh, here's a little treat that I just found for you, the actual entry I made about the crash at the time (and I seems I was a year out with my earlier estimate, it was actually '75 not '74, but I was close, and I did say around 1974)...

Stay tuned, I've got even more close shaves.

*Coincidentally, that poem was written on a sheep station not far from here.

Another close shave.

It appears to me, that according to my dwindling comment numbers, I'm on a slippery slide into obscurity. While I don't obsess over how many sick perverted people loyal friends are reading the Dingo, I can't help but wonder what I'm doing wrong. And then it hit me like a concrete truck!! For some reason, reading the Dingo is viewed by many as a bloodsport, and frankly there hasn't been enough blood lately.

So for all of you who derive schadefreude-like pleasure from my misfortunes, here's the story of the time I actually did get hit by a concrete truck...

It was around 1974, when I naively accepted a job in the middle of nowhere. I say naively, because at the tender age of twenty, I chose to go live and work at a place eight hours drive from home, that I'd never even heard of before, and take charge of a crew of twelve electricians and labours working on the installation of the equipment used in the operation of a newly constructed abattoir, plus of course all the light power for the buildings themselves.

This may not have been so hard if it wasn't for that one small detail they failed to mention...the guy who had been in charge for the past year was still there and thought he was still in charge, which led to some uncomfortable moments. But being young and stupid, I eventually prevailed. Plus, I was fully qualified and he wasn't, so there was no way he could have gotten the installation signed off anyway.

Oh, I forgot to mention, initially I didn't have a car as I'd just returned from New Zealand where I'd been for six months or so (now that's a story of misadventure for another time!), but eventually I bought a '62 EJ Holden Station Wagon that had a good body but a crook engine...

and a '60 FB Sedan with a good engine but a crook body...

and then swapped the engines all by myself and ended up with a car that had a crook body and a crook engine.

The whole process was pretty interesting; I borrowed a block and tackle and fixed it to a beam under the slaughter floor, undid all the mounting bolts and any crap attached to the motor of the EJ, then just pulled it out of the housing leaving me with a good body but no engine in the EJ. Next I did the same thing to the FB leaving me with a good engine hanging from the block and tackle, I then pushed the FB out of the way and pushed the EJ under the motor which was still hanging from the beam. Then I just lowered it into the EJ and hooked everything back up and presto! The only thing that threw me was that the clutches were different, the EJ was hydraulic while the FB was mechanical/hydraulic which meant I had to reroute the hydraulic line. Now that I see it written down for the first time, I can't believe I actually did it, knowing as little as I do about cars!

Hmm, I have a feelling that last paragraph will have some of you scratching your heads and saying "WTF?", and frankly I don't blame you, after all I'm not only the one who wrote it, but I'm also the one who actually did it, and I am totally fucking confused! So here's the Cliff notes...Bought two cars, took the good engine out of one and put it in the other one.

Gosh look at the time! I guess you'll have to come back later to find out if I survived the crash...

(I didn't plan on making this a cliff-hanger, I just got sidetracked when I started writing about it, one of these days I'll outline a post before I write it)

Sailing on Los Banos Pt II

My, aren't we just the most bloodthirsty bunch of commenters in the coliseum. I'm almost too embarrassed to write this, seeing as how I didn't drown and all. But if I don't finish it, you'll all just end up baying for my blood!

Let me start by reminding you that this is part of the "Close Shaves" series, and if you have read any of the previous ones (I'd normally include a link or two here, but I'm a little afraid of what RC's reaction might be), you'd know that I generally end up unscathed (there is an exception to this, but that's yet to be written). So you can assume that not only did I not drown, but even more amazingly, I didn't even end up in the drink!

If the weight of disappointment weighs heavily on you, you could just watch the fascinating clip that I'll provide for your amusement. Oh damn! I forgot, clips have been banned until further notice...d'oh! OK then, I guess it's up to me to regale you with tales of projectile vomiting.

The thing you need to understand about ET, is that he had (and in fact still has) an abnormal capacity for a) enjoying himself, b) consuming way too much noxious substances, and c) paying for it the next day. There are tales of his legendary barfing prowess in the sidebar (I would normally have provided links to the posts, but I'm trying to avoid criticism, so you'll have to find them yourselves).  If you do want to read some funny ET stuff, they are listed under "The Funny Ones" and will be titled ET something or other. All this is to explain why in the period between the conclusion of the singing and the beginning of the sleeping, there was a fairly long period where ET was laying flat out on his stomach on the trampoline with his head hanging over the front, feeding the fish. Trust me, that was funny!

After ET had finally ceased producing both heart rending moans and high protein fish food, we were finally able to get some shut eye. For the next few hours the combination of pot, booze and deep sleep made me feel like I was floating. Of course the fact that I was actually floating helped a lot as well. This state of euphoria was interrupted every now and then by us having to get out of our sleeping bags, jump on to the sand and push the Cat off whatever shore it had run aground on. When I say we, I mean everyone except ET. By morning, VP and I were bright eyed and bushy tailed...ET, not so much. Now the fun really began.

I said earlier (point number 'c' in fact) that ET generally paid for his fun the next day, what I meant to say was that he invariably cut a pitiful figure of abject misery. It was from ET that I learned that a human actually could turn green for a number of hours. This was in the days when I used to smoke cigarettes, as did VP but he only smoke socially. Now I'm not sure how social this was, but I know we both had fun standing either side of ET while we enjoyed our heart starters of beer and tobacco. Again, ET...not so much. Hahaha I'm laughing just recalling this shit! (Oh here's something, I was talking to ET yesterday and told him I was writing about this today, impressed is not how I would describe his reaction).

We de-rigged the Cat, threw our crap in the back of VP's truck and headed home. But the best was yet to come, VP decided to show me a mean streak that I didn't know he had (if you knew him you'd understand, he's the nicest, most genuine person I've ever known). While ET was doing a laudable impersonation of Gollum just after he got beat up by Sam Gamgee, VP announced that we should get some breakfast. Against ET's protestations, he pulled into the Casa De Fruita (you'll have to look it up if you're interested in learning more about this wonderful establishment, I'm not allowed to do links).

Before I even realised what had happened, VP had somehow managed to coral ET into a booth and then sat between him and any possible escape, he then ordered the greasiest combination of breakfast foods that I've ever seen assembled on one plate (we're talking link sausages, bacon, hash browns, sausage patties, refried beans and all kinds of chilli sauces). It was then that ET stopped acting like Gollum and began his chameleon impression, first he turned white, then he turned grey, then he turned a sallow yellow. It was that his point he simply let out a soft whimper and slumped defeated in the corner of the booth.

I'm sorry, I know this was a bit anticlimactic after yesterday's post. And I'm sorry I didn't drown for you guys, but you have to remember that these aren't works of fiction, so I have to write what actually happened. And don't forget that I started by saying (it was the first thing I said in fact) "This one isn't so much a 'close shave' but more of a "you fucking retards!" story."

However, I promise that I end up in hospital in the next mishap.

Sailing on Los Banos

Another in the "Close Shaves" series.

This one isn't so much a 'close shave' but more of a "you fucking retards!" story. It's also one that Marnie asked for well over a year ago (don't bother clicking the link, she hasn't been around for ages). So Marnie, if you're out there I hope you enjoy this...

Many years ago, when ET, VP and I still lived near each other, we used to do adventurous things together all the time (when we weren't so out of it that we couldn't do anything). On this occasion VP thought it would be a good idea to go moonlight sailing on Los Banos. This would have been a good idea if it wasn't for two things, alcohol and drugs.

VP was an experienced sailor, ET and I weren't but that did mean anything. I think this whole episode may have been to celebrate someone's birthday (it may have even been mine), but the details are a little foggy (I'll have to ask MDW). However, I remember enough to give a general recounting of the debacle.

In anticipation of a splendid evening sans femmes, we packed booze, food and weed, hitched up the trailer of the Hobie Cat (that's not the one in the story, but it's the same model) and headed out to the lake. It was about a 45 minute drive and by the time we got there both Et and I were, as the hippies used to say, 'wasted'. Luckily VP still had his wits about him and he got the Cat rigged in no time at all and before we knew it we were skimming across the lake.

Boy did we have us some fun, VP kept pulling out all kinds of tasty treats from his backpack (his wife is one of the best cooks I've ever met. Gail, I know you read this so "you're welcome"), ET kept pulling out his bottle of Bourbon (and beer chasers), and I kept rolling doobies. Hey, speaking of Doobies, did you know that Blackwater by the legendary Doobie Bros has a three part harmony at the end of it that was specifically written for three drunk, stoned guys on a Hobie Cat? Or at least it seem to us that it was three part harmonies written for drunks (on account of there being three of us, and you know the rest). We sung it for hours (both VP and ET have pretty good voices), in fact if it wasn't for the all the guys out fishing that night, yelling at us to 'shut the fuck up', I think we may have been able to sing it until the sun came up (if we didn't pass out, that is). If I can find a clip I'll include it for those who are unfamiliar with it.

Since the pricks fishing had no sense of humour, we decided to call it a night and got into our sleeping bags while VP tied off the mainsheet (that's the rope that controls the angle and tension of the sail). It' s important to note two things here; 1) it is sheer lunacy to get into a sleeping bag and drift off into a drunken slumber when you are on the trampoline of a catamaran, and 2) it is absolute lunacy to get into a sleeping bag and drift off into a drunken slumber when you are on the trampoline of a catamaran in the middle of the night when no-one is at the helm. If you have any understanding of sailing you will know what I'm talking about (I've since owned several sailing boats).

This is getting a tad long, and there's a bit more to go, so I'll finish it tomorrow or the day after (I like to keep my posts short, I also tend to read posts on other blogs that are of the shorter variety [hint]).

OK, I found a clip (two actually), this one features the original track off the album ('What were once vices are now habits', rather apt don't you think?). There are some interesting images in this clip that relate to the song lyrics, plus it features a full moon as did the night we went sailing...

For those who prefer to see the the band perform (which I normally do) here's a link to them playing the same song in one of their farewell concerts.The Doobie Brothers' Black Water. Ironically, while this song is about the Mississippi River, the band itself is from San Jose, where this story takes place. Go figure!

Oh, if you'd like to try it yourself, here are the lyrics for the harmonies.

I'd like to hear some funky dixieland
Pretty mama come and take me by the hand
By the hand, take me by the hand pretty mama
Come and dance with your daddy all night long
I want to honky tonk, honky tonk, honky tonk
With you all night long

WT's Big car accident.

I've unexpectedly had to come down to the Coast for a couple of days, but being a good little NaNoMoFo, I can't miss a post. Here's one I prepared earlier. This also means I won't be commenting until I get back to a broadband connection.

Another in my series of "Close Shaves" stories

Has anyone ever owned an old VW beetle? This may apply to the newer ones too, but having never owned one newer than a 1968 model I wouldn't know. Anyway this is a story about VW heating systems, a young dude's refusal to wear shoes in winter, and paying attention while driving.

It was about six months after I had been kicked out of home, and things had been patched up with mum and dad, but I was still living on my own, and was not ready to come home. It was mum and dad's birthday (yes, you read that right, same day) and I was at their place for a BBQ. Dad brought out a flagon of teacher (for those unfamiliar with the term, a flagon is half gallon bottle of wine and a teacher is a cheap wine that makes you very sick then next day - '"that'll teach yer not to drink that crap again'). We polished it off drank the entire flagon over the course of the arvo, as well as and some whiskey that dad had.

Since I was pissed as a newt, mum suggested I stay the night. The next morning I left for work, I should mention that mum and dad's birthday, when they used to have them (which is pretty rare now on account of them being dead and all) was on the 1st of July, that's the middle of winter here, and it was brass monkey weather. Here's where the VW's heater comes in; they had a little air vent just above the floor on each side of the car which delivered hot air from the engine, temperature control was by a lever that let you open or close the vent a little. This meant that while you drove (if you were wearing thongs, or flip flops for the yanks, as I was), one foot got third degree burns and the other got frostbite. So what I used to do was cross my feet periodically to even things out a bit.

And so it was, that as I was hurtling along in the fast lane of the Hume Highway heading east between Bass Hill and Yagoona at 5:30am one winter's morning with my feet crossed, that I saw one of the newly released Norton Commandos going the other way. While I was soaking in all of its beauty, I failed to notice the cars in front slow down and then stop because a truck was turning off the highway. It may or, may not have been too late to stop by the item I brought my attention back to driving, but it was moot, because when I tried to hit the brakes I found that foot that was supposed to be for braking, was on the floor next to the heater and as a result, it got tangled up with my clutch foot, which was on the accelerator (you'd only do this if you were young and stupid). So without even slowing down from 40 miles an hour, I ran straight into the back of a ute, which in turn was pushed into the back of the truck that was turning off the road.

You'd think that this would be frowned upon by the police, but when he saw that there were no skid marks at all, he determined that the brakes must have failed, and who am I to argue with a cop. As a result, I didn't even get fined let alone lose my license! (despite being on my 'P plates' at the time). Oh, and I wasn't injured at all!

Unfortunately I had to pay for the damage I caused to the vehicles in front of me, and that put me in a hole for a while, plus my own car was totalled.

Stay tuned for more close shaves...

Yo,MoFo post #17

Is that a gun in your pocket?

This is just one of many stories I could tell that explains my stance on gun control and my view that guns don't kill people, morons with guns kill people. Before you gun-toting freedom fighters out there jump up and down, I know morons without guns kill people too, but small cowardly morons with guns kill people they would never have been able to kill without them. Ok sermon over, let's get on with the story.

A few years ago MDW and I were in LA visiting her family. MDW has always suffered badly from jet-lag, that is until we figured out how to combat it, and when this happened she was in bed asleep getting ove a bad case of it (it was mid afternoon). Her brother Kenny is a nice guy but he sure isn't the sharpest knife in the draw. He kind of reminds me of that little dog in the cartoon that bounds around encircling the big bully dog and eagerly does it's bidding in an attempt to ingratiate itself.

The 'bullies' in this case were from the LAPD, they were not actual bullies, it's just a figure of speech carrying on from the previous point. Also, I'm not suggesting that they would beat up citizens of darker complexion or anything like that, these were just a bunch of cops who belonged to a gun club that Kenny also belonged to, and he was always trying to emulate them and be one of the gang.

As it happened, a few days before we got there, the house next door was robbed, and while MDW was alseep in bed, Kenny was explaining what he would do if it ever happened to them. He explained in great detail how he would approach the burglars and what instructions he would give them while brandishing his weapon. Oh, did I mention he went and got his .45 Magnum to illustrate this lesson?

Well apparently, you instruct the bad guys to lie face down on the floor and if they are slow to respond you can pop a cap in their butt or just fire into the floor to get their attention. All the while he was explaining this he held his gun in the two handed grip like you see on TV and acted out the scenario. At which point his mother (my MIL) said "You be careful with that gun Kenny, you could hurt someone".

He looked at her like she was a retard, similar to how  you would look at someone if they told you they thought G. Dubya would be able to program a VCR, and of course he retorted "Don't be so stupid (his exact words), I belong to a gun club, do you think I'd have a loaded gun in the house". And to further prove his point, he pulled the trigger.

I can't say that I have never heard anything so loud, I've worked in mining and they blow things up all the time, but it sure was loud. When we got over the initial shock, we noticed the 3" diameter hole that was roughly 2" deep in the concrete floor about 6" from his mother's foot. To say I was stunned would be a slight understatement, to say MDW  was annoyed would be a huge understatement! Never before and never since, have I seen her so angry she ripped her brother a new one with a fierceness that's kept me just a little afraid of her ever since!

And this my friends is just one of the many reasons I don't like guns. One day I'll tell you some more of them.

As always, it's your prerogative to have your own opinion on guns, and I support your right to hold those views (whatever your views are), and I'm not trying to change anyone's mind one way or the other, so don't write a long comment defending guns, this is not a debate about gun control, it's just a story about a firearm accident.

NanooNanoo post #6

Willow's big bike race.

As some of you may have realised by now, I don't blog on Sundays. This is not due to any religious belief, but rather, it's because it seems that few people blog on weekends, so why should I wast my time writing a post. Sunday for me is a time of reflection, I don't mean that I think about things, I mean I get a mirror and put it in on the couch next to me in the living room while I watch TV so I don't feel like I'm all alone.

So, as I was thinking about what to write for my next post, the ideas were conspicuous by their absence. I pondered and I ruminated but I got nothing, nada, zip, zilch and other such non English words that mean diddly. The harder I thought the more it became apparent that I was thoughtless (in fact I even got an award for it!). It was like I'd hit a brick wall. And then, like a ton of bricks, two thoughts hit me simultaneously, well not exactly simultaneously, more like at the same time.

It was at this point that a though came unbidden into my consciousness "Hey, I actually have hit a brick wall! Why don't I just write about that?" (it was a rhetorical question) So here's the story of when I hit a brick wall...

Being not only the youngest in the family, but also just about the youngest in the street, everyone was riding their bikes before me. This was back in the days before training wheels, back when you believed your brother when he said "Don't worry, I'll hold onto the seat until you get the feel of it" (just one of a long list of reasons why I haven't had anything to do with that prick for over 35 years). Finally after a few painful mishaps, centripetal force eventually prevailed and I managed to stay upright most of the time.

All that was left now was to prove to all those kids that had been bagging me for not being able to ride just who was the top dog in the bicycle street racing scene. So it was that just a few short days after being able to stay perpendicular for more that 30 seconds, I entered my first race. Our street wasn't all that long (I though it was, but I went back a few years ago and saw just how small it really is), but it did have a fairly good slope. We would all line up at the high end and race downhill towards the T intersection at the other end.

Everyone seemed to get off to a better start than me, but that just made me more determined to win, so I put my head down and peddled like crazy. Eventually I caught up to them, and even began to pass them. I couldn't believe it! All these kids had been riding for months and here I was passing them like they were standing still. As it happens that's exactly what I was doing. They had all stopped a few yards from the end of the street, but I was still accelerating. I went straight across the the road at the end of our street and slammed into a 3ft brick fence.

The bike stayed on the footpath, but I ended up being catapulted over the fence, hitting the ground and bouncing for about 15ft or so until I was stopped by the front verandah of the house to which I was making an flying visit (pun intended). The owners came out to see if I was OK (I wasn't, but I wasn't seriously injured either) and I remember my mother running down the street screaming (she always was a bit of a drama queen).

But as with just about all of my accidents, I suffered only bruising. But it was fun!