substitute

Arf. Three more in this Flickr set

A discussion about how old people can make money with some insurance thing.

PERSON1: Yeah, my mom was a candidate for it. Still doing great too, and she's 50 grand richer.

PERSON2: My mom could qualify but there's no way she would go for a financial thing she didn't understand.

BOB: We had to hold my mother down and pound six holly stakes through her heart. We used young Nubian boys. Actually they were from Asbury Park, they were just dressed as young Nubian boys.

Bob Trout has a computer.

Middle class retail is so dead now.

Bob and I went on an expotition yesterday to get him some clothes. Off to Adventure 16 we went! He needed some swim trunks from Patagonia and a jacket and pants thing from Sierra Design that folds up into its own bag.

Because it's September, the store had no swim trunks. They're still in the Patagonia catalog, however. We asked if they could order them for us, and they indicated that this might be possible. They all stood there looking uncomfortable; we were the only customers in the store. It was clear that they just wanted us to leave.

One employee did find a jacket (but no pants) of the folds-into-its-own bag line. We again asked if they could be ordered for store delivery and there was another uncomfortable silence with mumbling. The manager had his back to us most of the time and was on the phone otherwise, and fiddling with pieces of paper.

We left. Expotition: failed.

Today we met at Panera and I fired up the laptop. The Patagonia website had the swim trunks he wanted at half price, $18 instead of $36. We got him three pair. The Sierra Designs site had the pants he wanted and referred us to the REI site, where we bought those as well.

The REI site wanted us to go to a store to pick up the stuff, and pointed out it was FREE! shipping this way. So we clicked that button, only to find out that "items for store pickup may have an extended delivery time compared to mail delivery." Clearly they just wait for your item to show up in the regular weekly shipments and then at some time you get a phone call. Fuck that. We spent the shipping charge for Internet order.

When I was a kid, there were lots of stores. We had department stores, toy stores, specialty hobby stores, hardware stores, discount stores, all kinds! Some of the stores were in malls and others were not. Not all of them were chains.

That's just gone now. The department stores were eaten by the big box chains. Same with toys and hardware. The discount stores became the big box stores. Everything is a chain.

Now it's all poor folks or rich folks, no bourgeois. The middle-class shopping experience has disappeared. If you have a shitload of money you can go to Nordstrom or Neiman Marcus or some boutique place like Restoration Hardware and blow five bills on a few things. If not, you're going to Target or Wal-Mart.

Bob is 60 so he finds this incomprehensible. But he likes the Internet. Click, click, done. He gave me $140 in cash to buy his shit with my laptop and then we had iced tea and bullshitted.

At the gas station filling up pre rental return. This afternoon I'm taking his driver, Justin, to the airport to send him back to Nowhere, NC. He wants to move here.

Bob found a place to live in Mesa Verde with an old lady who loves dogs, regulates the neighborhood, and is a serious activist. That was quick and welcome! He's so happy to be back. I have his new cellphone for whomever wants it.

for reference:

I talked to Bob on the phone today. He's moving back here. The cultural challenges of the South were too much for him. He's currently trying to get his crap into a trailer and get out and back to Paradise.

The quote of the conversation occurred while he was explaining that he only got along with the black folk in North Carolina because the white people were so horrible. Once in a while they'd let slip something about "white guys" and then rush to reassure him that they thought he was an okay guy. As he said, "I guess I'm just as black as Bill Clinton."

So, we'll see him when he manages to get loose.

joyfulagitator I think he either lost or screwed up your phone number somehow.

The Bob Stamp is still available at zazzle.com. It's a collector's favorite and something the whole D's gang can enjoy. And our schools win, too!

Bob's in Washington, NC now.

I guess I have a reason to visit the Outer Banks this fall, and as often as I can now while he's around.

Gonna miss you around here, buddy.

Talked to Trout at length last night. He showed me some of his photos from Vietnam, including him looking 40 at age 18, various sandbags and weapons, and the view of the landscape south of Da Nang that he looked at from his guard post.

I also saw the "welcome back" letter from Reuters giving him his job in Manhattan again, in March 1969. That didn't last.

Bob saw a lot of stuff that stays, even now. Mostly kids. "Those little black-haired kids, I still see them." He told me about an orphanage he and his partner went by a lot, run by a convent. They'd bring food over for the kids every time, huge quantities of stuff from the base. The French nuns would whack them on the head for looking at the teenaged girls, and everyone was delighted at the stolen food they brought.

One time they came by and everyone was dead and dismembered. The VC had made a point, as their guerrilla manual told them to. There were a lot of points like that made, and a lot of dismembered kids. After 30 years and lately, some happy pills Bob can tell that particular story without crying now.

Later on he and his buddy were sent into the jungle, heavily armed but not uniformed, to "fuck shit up" within certain map quadrants. They were dropped by helicopter near some people who needed to be blown up, or by boat near some people who needed to find out how well our new night sniper scope worked. A lot of "heavy shit went down", as they said.

But it's the kids he still sees. When he got back to New York he didn't last too long at Reuters. He got a job working construction because he's a big strong guy who doesn't mind picking up joists all day. And he drank for 30 years, and other things. By the time he came out west in '75, Bob was in full swing as a PTSD poster boy. A lot of other "heavy shit went down" in those years.

Bob has some advice for guys coming back from Iraq and Afghanistan. "Paxil," he says, "therapy. Happy pills and talking. Don't drink, don't smoke. It's hard to really enjoy cocaine and heroin without a drink and a smoke. Mostly don't drink. I spent thirty years drinking and denying, but the kids didn't go away."

Bob's house up in the hills has roses and razor wire around it real tight.