July 1, 2009

“Mommy, I’m Hot and Why is the Creek Brown?”

I’m not an environmentalist, I just play one on TV. I think that natural resources are an amazing asset that should be used with care and caution. At the top of my list of those not playing by my rules are logging and mining companies. It is no coincidence that these industries (almost) rhyme with “plundering”.

Oregon was once pristine. I will spare you the manifest destiny speech and get straight to the point: our planet’s ecosystem is nearly destroyed.

It really is. Earth is experiencing a Human Dilemma. Earth likes its humans, but they are making a huge mess.

It’s a good thing for conservationists. Take the National Forest Circus, I mean Service, for example. According to this press release, they are in the Siuslaw National Forest outside of Eugene as we speak Working with our Partners to Restore the Land.

I photographed some of the lovely restoration projects on Siuslaw River just this morning (click to enlarge):

Wow! An operational Slash and Burn logging operation! What a great “Partner”! Thanks National Forest Circus… I mean Service!

July 1, 2009

Smash Up Your Yard and Plant a Victory Garden!

During WWI and WWII, the allied countries asked their good citizens to plant food gardens. This had two effects: to alleviate pressure on the food supply and to boost the morale of the peoples through work and production.

Last time I checked, America was fighting at least two wars. Desperate times call for desperate measures, so a group in Coburg, OR called Cascadia Food Not Lawns wants you two rip up your lawn and plant a vegetable garden!

Grass is so passé in Lane County, anway.

April 17, 2009

Don’t Believe the Hype.

Yes, indeed, the recession is upon us. I’m no economist, but after a decade of stuffing our faces with prime rib and lobster,  and driving our M1 Abrams tank two blocks to the grocery store, and then building gargantuan tracts of pathetically constructed 5 million dollar suburban wasteland spec homes and selling them to janitors, I have only one thing to say: THIS SHOULD NOT HAVE SURPRISED ANYONE.

George Bush said two things that I agreed with in eight years: that OB/GYNs should be free to share their love with women all across the country and that Wall Street was “drunk with greed”.

I read that last year 40% of the world’s money disappeared. Where did it go? No one knows because MONEY ISN’T REAL. Sure, money is cool looking and we need it to pay the rent… but it magically disappears! What kind of a “friend” magically disappears? I’ll tell you, a really crappy one.

I have a suggestion for you, my gentle reader: make new friends. Do something that you love to do with your time. Write the book, paint the picture, play the song. Go for a walk. Smell a rose. Stop by a real friend’s house and say hi. Don’t fret about the numbers on your bank statement, work on collecting the dividends of your gross domestic happiness.

January 24, 2009

2009: A Very Bad Year for Stay-At-Home Boyfriends

The results from a nationwide study are in, and the projections for stay-at-home boyfriends are at an all-time low for the first quarter100_1076 of 2009. A sagging economy, rising sales in X-Box 360’s and a growing demographic of women who are refusing to pay their boyfriend’s cell phone bill have all contributed to this unprecedented crisis.

Our report suggests that there are other factors involved as well, like a record number of women who no longer find laziness endearing. As one disgruntled girlfriend put it, “A boyfriend who stays in bed just isn’t any good in bed.”

Stay-At-Home Boyfriends of America have responded to this crisis with a statement defending their lifestyle. Consistently warm beds, reliable mailbox service and codependent companionship were all cited as benefits to stay-at-home boyfriendism.

“Is this really what women want?” said a newly single stay-at-home boyfriend, “To come home to an empty house with food in the refrigerator and no dishes in the sink? These women are going to wake up cold, fat and unfulfilled next winter.”

Women are expected to stick with this new trend and are also set to release a new list of demands for boyfriends this summer. Preliminary data points to higher standards in male life and career planning, the rejection of the term “freelance” as an official employment status and a return to the “male payment” method of dating, shopping and apartment rental.

October 15, 2008

The John McCain Hummer Buyback Program.

Due to a failure of the world credit markets, increasing prices for fuel and commodities, and the possibility of a global recession, Americans are facing the foreclosure of their homes in record numbers this year. McCain and Obama have both introduced plans to alleviate the concerns of homeowners, but McCain has taken this plan one step further.

“A lot of politicians are focusing on the Americans who are unable to make their mortgage payment this month,” McCain said, “but no one is talking about the Americans who can’t afford to make their Hummer payment or to fill their Hummer’s gas tank. These are my constituents, greedy hard-working American assholes, and I am here to help these scumbags.”

Under McCain’s ambitious new plan, the treasury would buy all of the Hummers in the United States at full blue book value. “We are going to get this awful burden off of the American people’s shoulders,” McCain said, “And while I am at it, I am going to use these Hummers to fight the Wars on Terror in Iraq, Afghanistan, and to initiate my planned invasion of Iran in 2009.”

“Not only will our troops have the best vehicles to exterminate terrorists and insurgents with, they will also have some great new features in their combat battallions, such as leather seats, CD player with iPod compatibility, air conditioning, 25-inch chrome wheels with spinny disks, and TV sets in the headrests,” McCain said.”Our troops will be better equipped on the ground and will be better prepared to wage the most comfortable, luxurious never-ending wars in World history.”

September 19, 2008

Mail Is Holy (All Hail Mail).

I met a man named Michael S. Gardner on my neighbor’s porch last year. He had a handbound book with an anthology of the zine that he edits/publishes called Burnside Represent. I looked at it and asked if it was for sale and he seemed really surprised. “Yes! Yes it is!” he said. I gave him twenty bucks on the spot and went on my merry way.

Little did I know that I had signed a deal with the devil. Now, every two weeks, Michael sends me a copy of his newest publication. Rain, sleet, dark of hangover, the newest Burnside Represent hits my mailbox. I have a back log of issues in my bathroom waiting for perusal.

Keeping in mind that I have now met Michael twice, it is both miraculous and sad that he is my #1 mail sender.

In honor of Michael, I am asking the world to do one thing and one thing only: START MAILING MORE CRAP.

Mail is a beautiful thing. Let me get all of you up to date on proper mailing technique. Basically, you put something in a box or envelope, put some colored money (stamps) on it, put that into a blue box on the corner and… Voila! some dude with burly, hairy calf muscles picks up that envelope or box and walks it straight over to your friends house!

Think of it like email, but with out the “e” part. Imagine the possibilities: instead of sending someone an impersonal email forward of a funny cat hat, you could send them an actual hat for their cat! Now, what do you think of that?!

Bottom Line: Mail is totally the most awesome genius invention ever. Why didn’t I think of mail? I’m always late on the good ideas.

I have set up a makeshift mail station in my home. Please send me your address (or email me) and I promise to mail you some awesome garbage from my awesome mail station. All that I ask in return is that you also construct a postage center in your dining room and mail me something random or valuable.

Timothy Herby Belrose

1539 SE 21st Ave.

Portland Oregon 97214

See you in my mailbox.

September 6, 2008

Meet the Dreadnecks.

lucien heatherstone

On a recent anthropological survey of the Rogue River valley of southern Oregon, I discovered an unknown culture living in the native vegetative structure. The Dreadnecks, rumored to be among the lost tribe of Judah, were sent into exile after the Assyrians totally maimed the kingdom of Isreal back in the dizzay BC.

Bama

They have been living right outside Grants Pass untouched by the outside world for millennia. As an observer of their annual Solstice Festival, I noted many aspects of their culture.

Immediately visible was their self-sustaining organic gardens, meditation temples and feral children. But it was their true nature revealed when the chainsaws, monster trucks, epic wooden waterslides, drunken skateboarding and debauchery began.

One thing was obvious: these Natty Dreadlocks were total Rednecks. Before I met the Dreadnecks, a grafting of two cultures so incongruent, and often hostile to one another, seemed impossible. The Dreadlock stands for everything the Redneck detests, and vice-versa.

What I’ve learned is that a culture left on its own can mutate and change in ways unfathomable. This is mainly for survival, but also for the enjoyment/destruction of nature, the conservation/depletion of resources, and the pure thrill of good old fashioned Hippie/Redneckery.

Eric Von Prizen

August 8, 2008

Go Somewhere.

If there is one thing I know for sure it’s that you just can’t travel enough. I think of world travel as my civic responsibility. I also have this constant, nagging feeling that there is something really important I need to find and I’m not going to find it unless I keep looking in places REALLY FAR AWAY.

These are some photos from some of my favorite expeditions. Go ahead and click on them to make them bigger. My kickass friend Chainsaw Chad Cheeney took the photo of me playing Putt Putt. All were taken on various trips to California, Oregon and Nicaragua.

I found a REALLY COOL SHIRT in Nicaragua. See, travel pays.

July 3, 2008

I Wrote (Write) a Something or Other

I have what people call a journal problem, though I like to call it a journal solution. I have a journal for every situation, time zone and dress code. I’m visiting my old man in Saint Louis right now and I have found no less than a dozen journals from some time or another in my life’s belongings. The earliest is from fifth grade, the latest is in my backpack.

The funny thing about my journals is that they lack reason, chronology, names, and purpose. I just grab one and write in it. It is mostly insane psycho babble that used to annoy me to read, though lately I have discovered comedic value in my past juvenilia. I also found a journal with no punctuation (?) and an excessive amount of entries written about the crashing of airplanes, buses and trains.

In one of the journals, entitled “Las Palizadas” (this means wooden fences? I am even confusing myself…) I wrote:

“Our skin looks different, but inside the wrapper its all the same sausage. Same skillet same flame. Same look of shame when our lover’s eyes tell us of their leaving. Same love same hate. Same ugly face. Same plate.”

Pardon my poetic tic.

June 24, 2008

A Flock of Migrating Business Suits (Continued…)

The last time I saw the business suits, they packed their flock into the SUV and disappeared toward the sunset. The vacant lot sat silent for weeks on end. I began to believe that perhaps it was all just a trick of the imagination. Maybe the flock of suits wasn’t real after all? Maybe they just landed to rest and drink from the asphalt pond on their way to some other development?

I stopped thinking about the scavenging birds. When the weather got nice this Summer I spent many days staring out my back window. In the evening the trees swayed in the breeze and dropped their offspring into the wind. Flowering bulbs popped up from every median and corner of the lot and shot color in every direction from here to infinity. When the sun fell into the West Hills and blankets of red and orange ran to the opposite horizon, my vacant lot was no longer vacant. Its emptiness was full of beauty.

Monday morning a band of weasels snuck into the lot and erected a chain link fence around it. They are the only animals I have ever seen who will trap themselves inside a cage. Once they secured their new territory I heard the gargle of diesel engines pull through the metal gate at the end of the property.

Like an act of God, the machines that the business suits had stored away last winter awoke loud and hungry. They set immediately to work by eating the old church. The machines had to fight the weasels for the pieces that fell to the ground. The weasels wrestled away bits and pieces and put them into boxes to send home to their families.

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