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From Sunnyside's Lousy Book

North County San Diego

Instead of the feeling of being in a hair dryer, I felt the ocean air at least fifty miles inland before I even reached Riverside. As I approached the inland valleys I was amazed at how much greener the foliage was compared to the landscape around Santa Barbara. It sure was a change from the rocks of Vegas. It was a Sunday afternoon on the 1st of June, 2003 when I arrived in Oceanside. Though highway 101 is connected to a large community, just taking a drive down the highway made me fall in love with the small town feeling. Santa Barbara may cater to the rich, but the Oceanside communities cater to everybody. The people seemed to be friendlier and the girls looked fine.
       After driving down coastal Highway 101 just once, I was amazing how many thumbs-up I received. I had no doubt my underground following had made people in North County well aware of me and my truck.
       I found a place to park my trailer in the inland valleys at Champaign Lakes RV Park, just up the road from the Lawrence Welk Resort. It was the first time I’d opened my curtains to the view outside. It was nice only having a trailer to one side, a small creek out back, and a large pond off to the side.

June 4th, my truck hit the 120,000 mile mark and I treated it to an oil change. I had someone in a dark green Bronco watch me change the oil while I was parked under the I-15 Bridge on Gofer Canyon Highway. And there was a cop parked outside the entrance of the RV park as I arrived back home afterwards.

There was a lot of media coverage about Hillary Clinton’s brick due out on the 9th of June 03. In my opinion; it’s purely political. The fact is, she used three writers to write it and the main writer was the speech writer she used over the years. Of course she had a team of lawyers looking over every page of print. From looking over the pages, I noticed that it contained: Bill this, Bill that. Just because there was an $8 million advance; doesn’t mean it has any truth to it. I think it will be focused on spilled milk. Just days before it was due out; the folks in the media was discrediting the $28.00 brick. Update: 8 days later on the 17th I found that Barns & Nobel has discounted it by 30%. On the 17th, I got $20.00 from a young surfer for one of mine.

June 11th in Escondido, I had a guy driving a BMW Dealer’s service truck give me a thumbs up.

June “13th” I discovered that the hard drive reappeared in my old computer.

June 17th, I think the underground was trying to tell me that the phone numbers on my resume have been rigged with impersonators, so I decided to take a different approach and looked for bare wood like I’d do when I was painting in Washington.
       I took was the advice I received from Ab, the stucco contractor who took me for $60.00 just before I left Las Vegas and took out an advertisement for a handyman. The fallback was that I’d received calls from anyone. And wasn’t exactly like the word-to-mouth referral I once had. I learned right off the bat; to be cautious about finishing someone else’s unfinished work. And I should never believe the horror stories the customers will tell you about the other people who have worked for them in the past.

July 1, 2003: Got this gal on Recodo Ct. in Carlsbad, whose live-in brother was more or less a legal secretary who had worked in the civil service of the US Government. I guess he he’s a wannabe lawyer because he said that he’d worked under several of them before. One day while I was working in the kitchen, I couldn’t help but overhear the wannabe while he was talking about his search for work to a man who was at the home at peculiar times. It sounded as if wannabe was out of work, (I thought – relocating,) and trying to get a job with the National Security Agency, or the Department of Justus.
       By the third day I had invested over $125.00 into materials and I asked if she had run to the bank for me. She said, “No, I was going to pay you when the job was done.” By that day I was into the job two and a half days and received an urgent call from a lady who needed to have some patch and paint done right away in order to get her summer rental ready for the weekend. I cleared the urgency for leaving the current job for a few days with Miss Recodo, and it was agreed that I would return on the following Monday to finish up by the job which was down to only installing the new baseboard in living areas.
       Monday morning I received a call from Miss Recodo and she informed me that she decided to have her brother install the base. She asked for my address so she could send me a check. The odd thing about the conversation was that she didn’t even ask me how much she owed me. I told her that I needed to add up the hours and material receipts and that I’d call her back later on that night with the total amount of the bill.
       Instead of calling her back that night, I decided to drop by and give her a copy of the receipts and a printout of the formal billing. No one answered the door, so I left a copy of the billing on her door. While walking out to my truck, I heard the phone ring twice followed by her daughter answering the phone. I went back and knocked on the door again, but there was no answer. That night I called to find out if she found the billing I’d left on the door but no one answered the phone. (Caller ID.)
       The next day, I had to wonder if I would find the next sucker installing the baseboard I’d bought. Miss Recondo was playing the caller ID game again and not answering the door. The following day, she accidentally called back a caller ID number – which was mine. She asked, “Is this Jake?”
       I replied, “No, this is Dennis.” Then the phone hung up on me. Her voice was familiar, so I compared my notes with My Caller ID. Sure enough – she didn’t even say hi. I called her right back – all I got was her voice mail. It seemed like someone was playing a game.
       Stopped by the house around 8 pm and heard the neighbor boys say that they were home but not answering the door.

July 2nd: Stopped by the house on Recodo Ct. and found the car in the garage. Of course no one answered the door.

July 3rd, Got a letter from the bitch, with two checks from two different accounts from the same bank. It appears that her and her bro had a game plan running all along. She withheld $60.00 for the possession of the original receipts. It seemed as if she and her brother were requesting the only legal proof of me ever performing work on her house. It was clear to me that I was being took -- but what more was there to loose, I thought. So I sent her the originals and I never saw the $60.00 check that was promised.
       She got me for $180.00. Therefore; $260 + $60 = $320.00 - $180.00 = $140 – Fuel to get there three days. She took me for more than she paid me and that adds up to a less than minimum wage.

July 4th, is the day that the biggest sham is put on every year. Funny: Jay Leno made snide remarks about the French, but the truth is that Benjamin Franklin and the French are the ones who had more to do with defeating Great Britain than George Washington.

The word on the street is that there are folks in Congress who want to change the patent laws even more just to dog me. The thing about it is: There are people who know it would be a sell out to near every single private inventor out there. If they do so, there will be a very slim chance of any private inventor ever getting a patent on an invention. I doubt it if a private inventor would even get past a patent lawyer. My guess is that there would be about as many invention submission corporations advertising commercials on TV as there are car commercials. Basically, the corporations are attempting to buy off Congress, so that corporations will be the only ones who will benefit from the patent industry. If the corruption within Congress takes place, it will prove that the Constitution of the United States isn’t worth the paper it’s written on.
       Bush has already taken away the small entity discounts on patent application fillings and taken away two thirds of the operating budget of the USPTO.

July 7, 2003: I wouldn’t be able to count the amount of times I’ve heard: “He doesn’t know yet. They are going to tell him. They want to make a deal with him. They haven’t told him yet.”
       Who in hell are they anyway? A bunch of idiots who run their mouths off? No doubt they’re people who I don’t want to hear and I say, SHUT UP!

July 8, 2003: The temp agency finally dispatched me to a job where I worked around a few of the carpenters in the SD area. They’re more talented than the ones in LV, and they have a lot of confidence in themselves. However they’re too good for me -- I lasted only one day. Kinna makes me glad they aren’t driving my truck.

July 09, 2003: Had a guy run into a light pole with his truck because he was looking at my truck instead of where he was driving.
       It’s funny how my intuition works. That is; with a little education, I figured out which publisher would want to publish my book. Then tonight I overheard an older guy talking to his buddy and he mentioned my book and the name of the large publishing company that wants to publish it. Well my intuition was right if what the guy was saying is true. But who is he to say? I heard that the government won’t let them.

July 12th, I received a call for a handyman from a new tanning salon that was about to open in Escondido. Shortly after my arrival, I was approached by an old man who was walking his dog behind the store. He asked about my truck so I gave him a twelve page flyer. About five or ten minutes later as my customer and I were outside by my truck, the old man came up to me and handed the flyer back to me. He said, “You are going to rot in hell.”
       I said, “Get away from me. Guys like you are why I wrote the dam thing – you didn’t even read it!” Then the old man asked if he could have the flyer back. I yelled, “No -- you‘re an idiot. You don’t even know how to read. You don’t even know what you are talking about!”
       My customer didn’t say anything, but I ended up handing him the flyer so he would know what it was all about. Later my customer told me that his impression of the conflict with the old man was a result of me handing out some kind of religious pamphlet. I asked my customer if he disliked the information surrounding my story. He said he could handle it just fine, but if it would have been about religion – he surely wouldn’t have liked it at all.

July 14th, 2003, I heard I saved another inventor.

July 16, 2003: (My little sister’s birthday.) It was a good day for making enemies. Since I had only sold one book in the six weeks of being in the area, I came to one possible conclusion that it may be not how many books I’ve sell, but may be who I could say actually had it.
       The day started out by noticing a congressman’s office located just off Highway 78. I couldn’t suppress the urge to drop by the politician’s office and drop off a Lousy Book. I was sure the congressman of me and just what my book is all about, but I just wanted to be able to say that he had one.
       His receptionist seemed to be impressed with the attractive looking booklet and wanted to be helpful so she accepted a Lousy Book for him. I said, “I’m an inventor who’s had to write a Lousy Book about bad history.”
       I said “The booklet I was supplying her has 16,000 words and based on a book that has over 260,000.”
       “I realize that the amount of books I sale isn’t as important as being able to say who actually has it. On the back cover I’ve listed some of the celebrities and news reporters who I’ve managed to get it to.”
       I kept the spiel short and left the office -- but before entering the elevator, I realized that I should have gotten the congressman’s phone number as well.
       As I walked through the door the second time, I saw the receptionist standing in front of someone’s desk in the office, off to the right. She was just handed back the booklet by someone behind the desk. The receptionist and another lady came out of the office and into the reception area with me. They inquired as to why I was back; and how they could contact me. I instructed them to my address and phone number in the back of the book.
       I was surprised at the interest in my booklet because I figured that they should’ve known about me by then, but then you’ve gotta figure it’s common sense that politicians would prefer to keep blinders on their employees if it is all possible. It was obvious my little booklet sparked interest with the ladies so I began my spiel with a little less passion than usually do because could predict my spiel being cut short, by some kind of security, if I didn’t. (In my opinion, the unseen person behind the desk in the other room must have made a call to the room on the opposite side of the office as I was airing my spiel.) Suddenly a thug appeared from the room to the left of me.
       I said, “Even though I’ve invented the work truck of the future, I’ve become nothing but a freak show. It’s all because of the GATT treaty and the way it changed the patent laws. Clinton wanted me dead and I’ve managed to stay alive but there are other inventors who are dying every day because if the GATT treaty. People complain that housing cost too much, but the fact that they are built with obsolete motorized horse and buggies isn’t helping any. The government doesn’t give a dam, because there’s a tax for them. Private inventors and their families are being killed every day and the result is that we are selective breading the human race. We’re breeding stupid people and because of it, you have to worry about your daughter bring home a moron.”
       The situations became reminiscent of the experience I had in Doug Sutherland’s office. This big guy with a minor facial disfiguration as if he’d found out what a baseball bat feels like when it’s smacked across the nose came slowly walking up behind me. As I looked over my shoulder I noticed his head was caulked to the side as if he was unaware of the information I was providing the ladies. He seemed clueless as to just who I was and seemed interested in learning more about it, but I’m sure he had orders to get rid of me. It appeared to me that he wasn’t interested in formality introducing himself, so I said, “Are you the congressman?” (Of course I knew he wasn’t, but it was better than asking if he was the thug who was called to throw me out.) This time instead of being someone who called himself an officer of security matters, he referred to himself a local representative for the congressman.
       I said, “You must be the guy who’s supposed to get me out of here.” (This bought some time.)
       “No,” he said, “But can I help you with something?”
       I said, “I know you can’t help me with anything more than finding the door for me,” and I continued my spiel, talking about how Clinton would like to see me dead and that he used the GATT treaty to protect his election. I said, “I’m losing my teeth because of the drugs the city of Tacoma had my friends put drugs into my drinking water. The state of Washington paid a guy to switch cigarettes on me with a $600,000.00 lottery ticket. I’m dying of cancer and there is nobody who will do anything to help me. I’m dead meat, but you should think about saving the other inventors who are dying every day.”
       The thug jumped in and said, “The congressman isn’t here right now and he had nothing to do with the GATT Treaty. He wasn’t even a congressman at the time.”
       I said, “It doesn’t matter, he’s still in the good ol boy’s club.” As the thug stepped forward I said, “I can tell you’ve had enough of me and you want me out of here.” He had no response, but the next step forward told me what his agenda was. I said, “That’s ok, I just wanted to be able to say, ________ has my book.”
       The thug returned with, “We would appreciate it if you didn’t use the congressman’s name in your book.”
       “Well can you get me a response I could use?”
       “No,” he said forcefully.
       “Well, he should just get the GATT treaty dropped and I’ll make him out to be a hero.”
       “He had nothing to do with the GATT treaty.”
       “So – I don’t care. All I care about is the other inventors and their families who are going to die tomorrow because of it.”
       He said, “The congressman wasn’t in office at the time the GATT treaty was signed, so he doesn’t deserve to have his named mentioned in your book about it.
       “Well I didn’t have anything to do with the signing of the GATT treaty, and I didn’t deserve to be set up with a fire department that burned down my house. I was only the guy who caught his van on fire; but it gave Clinton a reason to sign the treaty; and because of it -- we’re killing the smart guys and breading stupid. I don’t deserve being a freak show everywhere I go. I don’t deserve being told that I’m going to rot in hell by an idiot who can’t even read. I don’t deserve having to deal with these stupid people every day.”
       He said, “Why don’t you just put together a mailing list and mail it to people”.
       “Hell, that’s the US government’s mail, and Affirmative Action is at work there.
       Shit if it even makes it there, it won’t be the same if it even gets there.”
       “Oh, that’s too bad.”
       “Hell, it’s too bad there will be kids losing their parents to the American dream tomorrow.”
       “I’m sorry, we can’t help you.”
       “You mean you can’t help yourselves, from breading stupid people. Hell, you work for a congressman and you tell me that you’re helpless. And all I can do is write a lousy book about our own stupidity.”
       “Please don’t use his name in your book.”
       “You can bet I will. What do you think I walked in here for?”
       I turned and walked out the door. Once I was inside my truck, I felt like kicking myself in the ass for not writing down the thug’s name, so I turned off my truck and made another trip up to the third floor. As I opened up the door, there was the thug sitting on the front edge of the receptionist desk. He was by himself as if he was expecting me. With my note book and pin in hand, I said, “Oh, what was your name?”
       “Don.”
       “Don what?”
       “Just, Don.”
       “Well you have to have a last name, to get a social security card, so the government can get taxes out of you. You must have a last name.”
       “Just, Don.”
       “You’re a public official aren’t you?”
       “Yes.”
       “Well I can use your name then – I’ll get it sooner or later.”
       “Don’t use the congressman’s name in your book.” Then he stood up and opened the door for me. It goes to show that our politicians only care about themselves and not the people who they claim to represent.

I rounded out the day by noticing two news vans parked off the side of Highway 78, overlooking a marsh. I thought it was a good opportunity to tag a couple local reporters with my lousy book so I turned around to find out what important news the local TV stations had to report.
       I pulled off to the side of the road in front of a van tagged with Local Channel 8 logos. I walked around back of it and I was confronted with a camera man. In a kind voice he asked if he could help me. I said, “Yes; I was wondering if you have a reporter with you.”
       “Yes I do,” he said, “I’ll get her for you.” He stepped around the side of the van to face the side door.
       A moment later, he appeared from the curb side and said, “She’s just inside the side door – she’ll see you now.”
       I appeared in front of the opened slider and found a beautiful blonde reporter sitting in front of the script she was writing. The pleasantly soft spoken blonde said, “Hi.”
       I said, “Do you have a card I could get from you?”
       She said, “No, not on me, but my name is Heather Myers. I really don’t have much time right now”
       “Yeah, I know the drill. I’ve done this many times before. My name is Dennis Sattler, and I’m and inventor. I’d like to give you a copy of my book.”
       “Well, thank you – I’ll take a look at it.”
       “Don’t just look at it, -- read it,” I said. “Aren’t you afraid of your daughter bringing home a moron?”
       “Yes, I am.”
       “Well, you better read it and find out how we are selective breading the human race. The GATT treaty has us breading stupid people and that is what you should be worried about.”
       She looked back at me with frightened eyes and I said, “I’m the inventor of the work truck of the future, but I’m nothing more than a freak show to the construction workers. While they’re driving obsolete trucks -- they’re laughing at the truck they should be driving -- and that’s pretty stupid now isn’t it?”
       “Hay I’m real busy and I really don’t have time to talk about it right now.”
       “Yeah, you’re not the first reporter that has said that.”
       “Is there some way we can contact you later?”
       “Yes, just before the copyright notice in the back.”
       “Oh, thank you, we’ll get back with you later….”
       “I’m sure you won’t.”
       I turned and walked away.
       Just across the street from my truck was another news van. This one was unmarked, but after a little investigation I could tell it was one which belonged to Channel 7/39 of NBC by a card placed on top of the dashboard. I walked over to the curbside, but the doors were closed. I saw a female who looked like she might be a reporter sitting in the passenger seat writing something and she appeared to be ignoring me. In an effort not to startle her, I walked over to the driver’s door and knocking on a window. She looked up acknowledging me and then I opened up the door.
       “Are you a reporter?”
       “Yes, I am.”
       “Do you have a card?”
       “Yes, but not on me right now.”
       I had a strong felling that she was onto my game. I’m sure she had noticed my truck parked across from her and I’m pretty sure she knew who I was; as well as what I was up to. “Well I was going to give you one of my books, but I just gave my last one away, so I’ll give you one of the flyers I’ve been handing out around town.”
       She looked back at me as if she didn’t want anything to do with me so I said, “Its front page news. It’s all about how the GATT treaty has us selective breading the human race.”
       “Excuse me but I have ten minutes before I’m on the air.”
       “Yeah, you’ll report the last bird, but you don’t give a dam about the fact that we are breading stupid people.”
       Then there was an angry man’s voice from the back of the van, “Shut the dam door!”
       I tossed the “What Happened” booklet onto the console and slammed the door.

The next day on the 17th, I learned that the reporters were reporting on the spraying of the wet lands that was an effort to get rid of mosquitoes.
       I noticed a bit in the North County Times newspaper that wasn’t even mentioned in the San Diego Union paper. It was a bit about an affiliate of the “congressman,” who got caught impersonating a NBC reporter in an effort to get in on a meeting of the anti-recall association. I learned that the congressman who’s a Republican was behind the whole recall movement to recall Governor Davis. I learned that the congressman is worth about $100,000,000.00 from his car alarm business. It turns out that the congressman has spent nearly $2 million to get the recall election under way. The funny part of it all is that he wanted to steal the governor’s seat, but polls showed that he’d find himself in last place. I’d guess it’s because the word on the street is that he committed not only auto theft, but arson as well. However, the charges were dropped and it’s my guess is he had enough money to buy-off a judge or two.
       July 23rd was one morning I wished I’d figured out how to disconnect the anti-lock brakes (Or as Chrysler calls RAWL box.). Though the brakes are generally weak in reverse, they occasionally go to the mush stage when backing up. I usually couscous about them when backing into a parking spot because of the fear of hitting the vehicle behind, but this morning I was in a hurry and when I missed a street, I backed up fast and found out what it’s like when you run into something in reverse. At least it was only a steel post and not someone’s private property. Like I’ve said before; I just want hydraulics, because I want to be the one who’s doing the stopping. I was dispatched to a job were English wasn’t the spoken language. July 25, I found myself without a job to go back to.
       I decided to add another name to the list of so- called celebrities who I can say have my Lousy Book. So on July 31, 2003 I stopped by 613 W. Valley Parkway, Suite 320, in Escondido 92025 which was the office of Congressman, Randy Cunningham of the 50th District. He’s got a phone number (760) 737-8438 if you feel like giving him a call to find out what he thinks of my book.
       It was uneventful situation when I dropped it off. The office was empty, but in a moment after my arrival a couple of his boys walked in. Both were young and green if you ask me. They reminded me of young car salesman. The boys asked if they could help me and I asked, “Is the Congressman in?”
       “No, he’s out - going around talking to people in the area today.” (Like sure – they’re always out – unless you have an appointment with them, or have money I guess.) “Well, I just wanted to drop off one of my books for him.”
       “Oh – he likes it when people give him things like that.”
       “He won’t like this,” I said, “He already knows all about it. The only reason I’m giving him this book is so that I can say he has one.”
       . “Here,” I said, as I handed a What Happened booklet to one of them. “You can have this one of these so you know what it’s all about and what kind of guy you are working for.”
       “Oh thanks,” one said.
       “Yeah, there are inventors dying every day because of them.” I turned and headed for the door.

August 18, had this guy next door to me try to get me kicked out of the trailer court. Funny how what he says to is girlfriend/wife, contradicts what the fireman in the trailer court is saying. It’s not too difficult to determine who’s bought.
       Just getting me kicked out of the trailer court wasn’t enough. This guy would get up at three in the morning and bang his cabinet doors until my bathroom light would go on. Then it would stop until I was laid back down. Then the slamming took off until I turned on the light. It went on for over an hour.

There has been times when I’ve given crews at fire stations old back editions of my book. However, at a training station in Encinitas while I was walking across a field towards a group of them training how to cut up cars, I heard some of their wise cracks. I had an old edition under my arm for them, but after I heard the snide remarks, I realized they were too proud of themselves and I didn’t need to inform them of anything they already know about.
       Basically I’ve lost all of my remaining respect for firefighters that day. They say they want to “help” people but I’m sure the only thing they’re concerned about saving is their own reputation as heroes. They don’t care about the inventors who are dying every day. All they care about is how many times they may find themselves on television. They just want to be heroes, and nothing else matters to them but their own pride.

San Diego country had proved to be a depressing market for selling books. Though there is a higher percentage of people who know how to read than in Las Vegas, they don’t take the time to. In my opinion, they think too much of themselves and that’s all they care about. It made me miss Santa Cruz that much more.

Within the last week of October 2003, southern California had their share of fires. Funny thing is that Governor Davies asked for money from the federal government to help get rid of diseased trees because of the threat of them being fuel for fires. His request was turned down. Then there was this federal grant that was put together for fighting such fires, but the fire departments never received any of the funding because it was redirected to the police agencies.
       Then when the “Cedar” fire started, a pilot of a sheriff helicopter spotted the origin of the fire. Even though the sheriff helicopter was outfitted with a water dousing device, the pilot was told to stay away from the fire for safety rules and regulation reasons. If you ask me, that’s when I would have been pulling the cords out of the radio, if I had been the pilot.
       When one of the first fires started on Camp Penalton, I was parked just outside of the gate of a fire department in Oceanside. The firemen there were sitting outside next to their off-road tanker truck most of the day, just waiting for the call they knew they would receive. Tell me – what were they waiting for?

Then I looked at what I saw on the television throughout the fallowing week. I saw only one of the van type trucks designed to carry firefighters who fight forest fires. I saw only one of the bus type trucks drive by in the back ground, and every time I saw a fire actually being fought, it was by the firefighters with their picks and shovels who arrived in the vans or buses. Every time I turned on the TV I saw firemen standing around their trucks in the nice clean uniforms eating donuts. It seemed like the whole fire bit was just a photo-op for the firefighters from their stations with their shinny firetrucks.
       While the town of Julian was in threat of being burned down, there were firetrucks lined up on what looked like Main Street looking shinny and pretty and nowhere near a fire. They were standing around as if they were waiting for the news trucks to show up.
       There was a fireman killed while the fires were still burning. They said at times that the entire city of San Diego only had one fire engine available for in-town calls. But it’s funny how the firefighters had time to put on their nice blue numbered fire department uniforms to stand in formation – spelling out the dead man’s name – with 51 fire trucks parked in a horse shoe shaped pattern – just for the aerial photo-op to put on the evening news. I can only say – What do you do for a living guys? Fight fires you say? Hell – there’s still fires going on. What the hell were they doing all polished up on TV for? There is this thing called a pick and a shovel – get out there and show us you know how to use them.
       From what I gather; the true heroes that evolved from the firestorm crises weren’t firemen at all. They were a group of thirteen young men from Santana High School, who took on the task of saving their own neighborhood. With the help of shovels and a water-truck from often used at construction sites, they saved thirteen homes.
       There was a guy on the news who said that fire fighters just stood around and watched the fire.

In my opinion, the fire season must have been a slow one. The commercial industries surrounding the firefighting agencies must have needed some income. The must have been looking forward to the Santa Anna winds. Tell me, who started most of the ten fires?
       As for the government; the more homes that burned down, the better. It stimulates the housing industry and property values will go up because of the lack of new ones available. That means the insurance companies will flood the area with money, but tell me, who’s going to be paying for it in the years to come?
       Yep, the home owners insurance will go up, and so will their property taxes.
       Sure the houses will cost more because of a demand on lumber and of course the cost of the motorized horse and buggies that will be used to build them.
       On November 11, 2003 I found the new stick I had likings for. I went back the next day and bought the hand shaped 6’4” Xanadu, with a half moon tail. It’s called a Pig 2; it’s more of a wide short thruster. (22 ½”) Some call them a highbred. I put a twin fin set on it and it was just the kind of board I needed. It’s loose with the twin fins, but cranks with F6’s (Future, fin boxes.) Within a few days, I jumped into a 3/4 Rip Curl, Core wet suit with super flex. It took a few sessions before I got back into the swing of things.

On November 16th, as I was at the beach I was approached by a 19 year old surfer from Seaside, Oregon. I found myself talking about my book and all kinds of things in general. It must have turned into the longest spiel I’ve ever done. Whether he hung out because he had nothing else to do, (or he was planted) I don’t know. But before I knew it, over two hours had gone by and I felt that I had smothered him with my so called passion. Whatever it was; I ended up feeling like a jerk. The depression I received from it made me realize that I just have to get out of here and find another life elsewhere else. I feel that I need to forget about my cause of trying to save the smart guy. People don’t want to hear the spiel any more than I want to tell it. I’m sick of it myself. Feb. 23rd, 04: I pretty much quit writing. Bought a SWR 2-10 cabinet and decided to spend more time playing my bass.
       In the News, Pixar dumped Disney, good thing because Disney hires dip shits like George Steponpholus.
       Feb. 25th, 04: At a jam session, I met a girl from Arizona who said here major was anthropology. I asked: Who’s going to pay you to do that? She said, “People give away money all the time.” I said, “I’d rethink that one.”
       I had a guy tell me that he liked my truck. He said, “It looks so European.” I thought, yeah, what the hell am I doing here?”
       I’d put a 10k Ohm resister in place of the master volume pot in my amp. It made it run at 60% which was perfect for my two ten -- sounds great.
       Had a few too many beers and woke up with a headache the next day. I stopped by the bar the next night and drank a beer to get rid of the headache and had a guy tell me that he’d hooked up with the cute blond from Arizona and he’d never see here again. Hell, he brought her to the bar and took her home, but he never hooked up with her. I don’t think he’s the one she wanted. Rule No.9.
       In the news: Not much, they run the same stories three days in a row.
       I’m tire of seeing guys kiss on TV. Yucky poo.
       February 3, 2004: I’d been working and living at a job-sight in Vista for a few months. The boss liked having someone around who’s mechanically inclined and possesses common sense and my duties varied because of it. Things went alright until other guys in other trades began to show up. To say the least, I got tired of the rumors they’d try to spread around and it only showed me just how stupid tradesmen actually are. Or better said: Rule No. 17 relates to them very well.
       I had over two pages of space reserved for North County San Diego Chapter to fill out and have the numbering continue as of the last printing in December of 2003. Problem was that I worked too much and surfed the rest. Saved up some money but I really never wrote very much because I was usually a tired sole. Being my age makes it that much harder to surf the short board. (Then put a bad foot on top of that.) As long as I’d get a few waves every week, I’d do alright. I learned I take off right better on the twin fin set and left better with the thruster fins.
       March 6th, 2004: Last night I left my 80” bed on my truck over night. This morning while I was practicing my bass; there was a knock on my door. It was a foreman of a roofing outfit, who I’d sold a Lousy Book to. He said that he had read “some” of the book and was interested in my truck. He more or less mentioned that the book was based on the legal aspect of things, but he was interested knowing more about my truck. He said he liked what I’d done, and thought I did an excellent job on it. When he mentioned he had a fabrication shop of his own and how that if people like something, they will copy it. No doubt he was hoping I’d show it off to him, but I went the other way by telling him how crooked people are. He gave me the shit about how corrupt this country is and that there was no way to fight it. (I say I fight it all the time.) He also feed me the bit about how good of a country it is too. (And that didn’t go over very well either.)
       As you might guess, that wasn’t getting anywhere with me. All I did was explain how it was that nobody was going to be able to copy it. Then he changed his tune to how he had been screwed over by general contractors; something I’ve heard many times before. I guess he thought that we would have more in common by telling me about his fallbacks. The guy had a problem with talking too much and not listening. One thing for sure, he didn’t read and understand the Lousy Book. (Funny thing about this guy is that we sort of became friends over time.)
       Later I needed to go out and drop my bed, but I needed to make sure he wasn’t around. However, I’ve though I kept it covered from that time on.
       March 29th, ’04: Surfed south jetty when it was three foot and clean. The waves had those pockets, or should I say bowls. Used my thruster fin set. Got three good waves in the first fifteen minutes and did two, two hour sessions. The second was the typical blown closeout on shore shit. The 9 to 11am was glassy light off shore.
       3-30-04: SR still some size, but went junky.
       3-31-04: Picked up to 5 ft. In an hour the wind picked up and it looked stormy like WA. It was a clean up close out for the guys next to the jetty, but it had a long lines with a clean wedge. I was a bit under gunned, but I managed to drop in on them. One I didn’t give up on even though my toe caught my leash. It was a little fast and bouncy with me feet too close together, but at the bottom and pulled the leash out by hand. I looked up at overhead face that was about to pitch. I turned into it and ducked down. Got a couple good carves on the large face and as I shot up to the top of the ridge before the last drop, I looked over the back and saw what I hadn’t seen since the good old storm rider days in Westport. Stormy chop over the back, and glass in the face. It was too cool. It brought back memories of waves I’ve rode in my past. Funny thing is, I never thought they were so big back then. They had room to roam in the faces. To think of it, 4 to 7 was the norm.
       During the summer month in North County the stronger swell runs up from the south, (Something like the cleaner Santa Cruz,) but the swell is mixed with fast windblown westerly swells. From late October through May you’ll find less south swell and more northwesterly swells that are slower. When it’s south there, you better like going left. Swami’s is about the only place close by that will handle the south swell well and at the same time even go right.
       But the problem is longboards. I’ve surfed with a guy who lives five minute from Swami’s, but never surfs there because of them.
       I had Affricative Action show up in the water at Swami’s. It’s a drag when the rumors come out into the water.
       I go out into the water to get back to a place I’d used to hang out as a normal person. But the crape fallowed me. No doubt, I had some shit head longboarder ran over my board and dinged it.
       May 2nd, ’04: I watched a movie inspired by a book Oprah supported. Boy, what a sucky story.
       May 15th, ’04: I had the roofer I mentioned about on March 6th tell me that he had been across the street from the job site and watched me change beds. He told me he couldn’t build one himself and. that he and his buddy would help me build my trucks. I told him that I didn’t need or want their help. “Where were you guys five years ago, I said. June 6, ’04: Got people watching me all the time. It’s pretty bad when you hear their cell phones go off. They are waiting for collector’s items. I threw out my label junk and I think that they think it’s so. They knew I never wore them anyway. “THAT’S HIM”, is real desirable. My card table is like gold. Everybody wants it. I think it’s funny that some of my junk is more valuable in someone else’s hands than my own.
       Heard a recycled rumor that I’d almost forgot about. The one: “he’s a millionaire and he doesn’t know it.” It’s gotten pretty detailed including Deloris’ name and everything. But when you get down to it, it was designed to see if I’d chase bad money. It was a rumor originally started because I had written about my suspicion of a scenario I’d wrote in my journal. They read it and played with it. One call to Cory and he asked, Daloris, who? What do you think?
       Got this man in a box thing going on at this time.
       It’s a five foot high box that is ten foot long. It should fit right in a cargo container. I figure it’s free storage and it’s something I can live in on the street. I fiberglassed the ridge today. Cleaned the back of the trailer and gloss coated the shower.
       All in all; North San Diego had been a pretty good home for just over a year. Landing the job working for Bill Tarling was about best work situation I’d found since leaving Washington. The job was framing a commercial strip mall in Vista where I moved onto the jobsite the second week which was the end of October and I stayed there until the later part of July ’04.
       Living in Vista being only 12 miles away from the beach allowed me to be in the water in less than thirty minutes. So from November on; I found myself surfing quite a bit. When the framing job came to an end, I hooked up with the general contractor who was building the strip mall and ended up painting the place from about March on. That meant my own hours, so I was surfing most morning that had waves 3-4 foot and up.
       I’d found a few jam sessions, but the blues shit just get me down. I don’t know how these guys can handle playing Mustang Sally every week. Though the radio stations play better music than the ones in Vegas, they keep playing the same ten songs over and over. It gets ridiculous.
       A Mexican labor working for Precision Concrete bent the prongs on my adapter and plugged my trailer into 240. It blew out over fifty dollars worth of surge protectors, but sad to say my refrigerator wasn’t protected. Dennis, the owner of the company has given me the run around, or should I say: he’s hiding out. Turned out the refrigerator is a goner and the price tag was over thirteen hundred dollars.
       I was glad to have moved out of my trailer because the ammonia fumes are very potent. June 17, 2004: I’ve got about one day’s worth of work left. I’m learning to say no to more work. Summer is here and so is it in London.
       Bill Clinton has his book coming out. A sound bite for the up and coming television interview: “I did a bad, bad thing.” I’m sure they know what dirty laundry will sell; so I’m sure his affair is what they will use to sell the book. I saw him on television trying to explain why he had the affair with Monica. Gee, I don’t know what you think, but I think the guy is messed up in the head because none of his explanation made sense. I think the guy is going senile.
       About the first of July, a couple of Vista sheriffs were parked in the parking lot, less than a hundred yards from my cage while I was cleaning it. They had left their cars running and conversed from door to door over the noise. I’m not sure if what they were talking about was about me, but the things one said to the other made me think otherwise. He said was, “just let him go,” and “we’re supposed to treat him like a diplomat.” I decided to sell my Airstream at whatever the price, because sitting in the cage in the US only cost me more time and money. I felt that if the general contractor was about to let the concrete contractor screw me over, why should I do anything for him?

Kind of funny how a camera man who works with Heather Meyers, of CBS Channel 8 News, ended up buying the cage. One thing for sure, he’ll get shit all over his hands. (Bad dump valve.) As soon as he pulled the trailer away, my phone began to ring off the hook. July 16th, 04: Had a strange South swell that didn’t look very good and I almost didn’t go out because of it. But the north side of the south jetty was handing out long left rides. The water was warm and my foot didn’t even give me any trouble. I was hooking a good bottom turns even going left. I got so many rides I got pretty consistent with my backside with the twin fin set in.

July 21st, I got my hands on the brick that is put out by a subsidiary of Random House. My life was actually written by Justin Cooper who took two years typing out Clinton’s book written freehand shit in note books. Though the media used the sex scandals to sell the lousy book, it’s mostly political bullshit that would bore just about anyone who isn’t into politics, and even those who are. The only thing I was interested in was the GATT treaty, and it wasn’t hard to find the two paragraphs on page 636.
       It says:
       I kept waiting for Gingrich to explain how the Democrats’ moral bankruptcy had corrupted the Nixon and Reagan administrations and led to the crimes of Watergate and Iran-Contra. I’m sure he could have found a way. When he was on a roll, Newt was hard to stop. (Gee, I read in the book Compromised, by Terry Reed, where it said that Clinton as governor of Arkansas was involved in setting up the manufacture of guns with no serial numbers to trade for cocaine from the Contras.)

As we headed into December, a little sanity crept back into the political life (Sanity, my ass.) when the House and Senate passed the Global Agreement on Tariffs and Trade, GATT, with large bipartisan majorities. The agreement reduced tariffs worldwide by a whopping $740 billion, opening previously closed markets to American products and services, giving poor countries a chance to sell products to consumers beyond their borders, and providing for the establishment of the World Trade Organization to create uniform trade rules and adjudicate disputes. Ralf Nader and Ross Perot campaigned hard against the pact, claiming it would have horrible consequences, from a loss of American sovereignty to an increase in abusive child labor. (Yeah, sovereignty flies out the window when you hand over intellectual property rights to the global corporations.) Their vocal opposition had little effect; the labor movement was less intensely opposed to GATT than it had been to NAFTA, and Mickey Kantor had done a good job in making the case for GATT to Congress. (I bet Kantor was the guy who ran around delivering the envelopes full of money.) Almost unnoticed in the comprehensive legislation that included GATT was the Retirement Protection Act of 1994. The problem of underfunded pension was first brought to my attention by a citizen at the Richmond debate during the campaign. The bill required corporations with large underfunded plan to increase their contributions, and it stabilized the national pension insurance system and provided better protection for forty million Americans. The Retirement Protection Act and GATT were the last in a long line of major legislative achievements in my first two years, and given the election results, bittersweet ones.
       (Boy, I’ll tell you what…. I’ve never read such writing that can change topics not only from just page to page, but from paragraph to paragraph. It adds up to scatterbrained writing if you ask me. I guess it’s a good way of hiding the truth. Like a Clinton speech: a bunch of flowery words, but no substance.)

August 3rd, 2004: Today was a sad day. It was the day I had to cut up my second caddy trunk and destroy my ladder rack. After it was done and over, I thought I should have set up my video camera and recorded it.
       For me, destroying them was just a couple of the things I needed to do before getting out of the shitty place. There was no glory in it. However it felt good just getting on with it. I beat the hell out of the rack and cut it into pieces with my Sawzal, just so nobody would even try to save it. As I did these things, I figured that there must have been some people getting their rocks off knowing I was doing it. I’m sure the folks in the media knew about it in an instant and it brought the realization of just what kind of men we have here.
       For one thing, I’m tired of hearing about the women in Hollywood. I’m tired of the “deal” they have everyone talking about. I’m tired of having people jerking my chain and I just want to get free from this country. Tired of the politicians who take up the airwaves. Tired of the news reporters saying things like we can trust them. Tired of these assholes patting themselves on their backs for giving the public allusions of doing any good. I’m tired of 9/11. Tired of the bullshit that goes with it. Hell it’s all political and it’s all designed to make people think they can do a dam thing about it.

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