Meditations with a Porter

I’ve got a porter to accompany me as my thoughts meander.

I found six choice cuts of beaverwood this morning. I still don’t know what to do with my collection. Get a rig and tour it around Oregon? Can you make a living selling beaverwood?

In a couple of weeks I will launch a new book, in serialized form, a memoir of my growing up in Oregon City called Pioneer Pride. It will be offered exclusively on the blog in 500-700 word installments that will appear a couple times a week. The book should run to about 35,000 words. I will invite readers to purchase the book from my web site. It’s an untested business model for me, but I want my writing about my hometown out there and this seemed like the most feasible method.

I keep encountering a shaggy black dog on the beach in the mornings.nHe apparently lives in one of the nearby beachfront homes and rises early for a sandy stroll without its owner. He’s obviously having a grand time by himself.

I have nothing but disgust for the primary system that chooses candidates for the Presidency. Why has this farcical process continued and Iowa and New Hampshire have this absurdly outsized influence on electoral politics? And to think this was a reform to overthrow the smoke-filled rooms and the party bosses! There has to be a better way. There is. A set of regional primaries staggered over several months. Simple .

I feel like taking a train trip but don’t know where to go.

My return to the construction job has brought endless personal benefits. It even inspired a new country song about a golfer.

In recent days, I got back into writing the kink modern Western called Meth Town. It is utterly a delight to create this novel. It might even have some commercial appeal. Imagine that.

A loud, obnoxious Trumpian drunk just entered my office in OTA country. I usually leave not long after he arrives. He says he licked an inoperable cancer, a million to one shot, and survived to become THIS?

Kirk Douglas died a couple days ago. He was one of my favorite actors. He also wrote one of the best American memoirs of all time, The Ragman’s Son, published to universal acclaim in 1988. He wrote it himself and I urge people to find this extraordinary book. His story about his high school drama teacher should be a movie.

I played my first game of pool in 15 years the other day. I won.

A great story about a horny, OTA, retired log truck driver drifted my way yesterday. Apparently he wants to rig up a projection system where he can broadcast Porn Hub videos on an outdoor screen in his RV park. I may have to use that in the Western. It’s too good to pass up.