Sometimes, I have the knack for being in the right place at the right time with a camera. On Friday, I happened to be strolling to the post office when I spotted this:

I recognized it instantly as a speeder. (Also known as track speeder, railcar, railroad motorcar, etc.) Last year, I happened to be shooting in the graveyard when a bunch of speeders rolled into town, and it was very neat. I assumed that where one speeder went, others would not be far behind, and the car’s driver confirmed this, explaining that they would be doing a run to Fort Bragg and back over the weekend, and he was on the coast getting things squared away.

Speeders, for those not in the know, are the motorcars which used to be utilized for train maintenance. Most railroads these days use specially outfitted vans and trucks which can be driven on railroad tracks, and the old motorcars got sold off in huge lots in the 1970s and 1980s (at the same time that rail in general was declining in the US). Fortunately, a number of speeders got rescued by enthusiasts, and they take them out for spins now and then. The excursion this weekend was led by the Motorcar Operators West (MOW), an affiliate of the North American Railcar Operators Association (NARCOA).

Everyone who participates in these things seems to be universally friendly and eager to share knowledge, and I love talking to them when they come into town. I also love taking pictures of their incredibly cool railcars, which are restored and maintained with a loving hand. Following is a selection of shots, and there are many more on my Flickr set, for the train nerds among you.

Stripes! There are two railcars linked together here.

The line of railcars coming in. It was very misty/rainy, and in fact it started pouring almost immediately after everyone had gotten into the rail yard.

I love this South Coast Railroad speeder.

Everyone files into the railyard.

Here they are all lined up and ready to go in the morning. They picked a perfect time to head out: bright and sunny, with barely a cloud in the sky. 45 minutes later, it was thoroughly overcast. And there’s the Engine 66, for scale. The train headed out before the speeders.

A little hazy, but I love the Fairmont Railcar shown here.

Here they are on their way out. The grey railcar at the end had a huge bouquet of flowers in the cab, which I tried to snap, but unfortunately the photo came out extremely blurry.

So, I swung by the local Democratic Headquarters today on my way to the post office, to get the address of the rumored website where I could log on to check my absentee ballot status (it’s here, by the way). And I was just going to include the link in my sites of interest tomorrow, except that I want to talk, for a moment, about my experience in the Democratic Headquarters, because it was profoundly unpleasant and negative, and I figure that writing about it will help to cleanse me.

I don’t know if being condescending, patronizing, and rude to voters seeking information is just the new hip thing, but I found my treatment to be supremely offensive, and even counterproductive. I felt like I was being marginalized for my age and physical appearance, that I was written off as someone who is stupid and not worthy of attention, and I found it profoundly alienating. If this is how the Coast Democrats are treating young voters, and how Democrats in general are treating young voters, it’s no wonder young people don’t vote.

My experience started out just fine. I strolled in, asked the lady behind the desk about the website, and she told me that she didn’t know, but that another person in the office did, if I was willing to wait for him to get off the phone. I was, so I stayed and chatted with her about phone banking, and thought that she wasn’t very knowledgeable, and maybe not the best choice of a desk person because of that, but she was nice and that made up for a lot. Really, she was. Really really nice. I mean it.

So then, the guy came out from the back, and I explained what I was looking for. And he duly found the site, and said I could sit down and use their computer, and they were using some kind of funky browser than I am not used to, so he was snarky about that, acting like I was totally illiterate, and that wasn’t very cool, but hey, computer users can be touchy about brand loyalty.

When I finished, he told Nice Lady that if people asked in the future, she could send them to the site or just look them up in their database to see if they had voted yet. And I said something along the lines of “oh, you won’t find me, I’m not a registered Democrat.”

And then, my friends, shit turned bad. He’d already been kind of giving me the brushoff, but then, he said, can you believe it “why aren’t you a Democrat? Is it because you don’t want to participate in the electoral process?”

I declined to respond, and he asked what I was registered as, and I said “non partisan,” and he said “there’s no such thing,” and I thought he was making a joke, like, hah hah, it’s impossible to be non partisan, but he pushed me and said “what’s on your voter registration card,” and I said “NP,” because that’s what it says, and he said “that’s Natural Law. You don’t even know what party you’re registered in.”

Uhm, can I just say, for the record, that this was an INCREDIBLY OFFENSIVE thing to say. I realize that some people do, in fact, fill out forms wrong, but to suggest that I didn’t know what party I was registered in, with this very snide tone of voice? Not necessary.

I said “no, I am not in the Natural Law Party, I am registered non partisan. Every primary, I get a letter asking me to select a ballot or use the non partisan ballot.”

And the guy got all insistent, and up in my face, and really, really, really rude, and insisted on looking me up in their system (which, it turns out, is a database of all registered voters), and there I was, marked with a “decline to state,” since apparently they have changed the code to “decline to state” from “non partisan,” which is what it was when I registered to vote. Oh, my bad, I’m not hip to the codes.

And then he went on this whole riff about why I should register Democrat, and blah blah blah, and I said that I had fundamental ideological disagreements with the Democrats, and I thanked him for the information, and left.

And then fumed until I got home to write this. The thing was, walking into the office and talking with Nice Lady, I actually thought about volunteering on election day, helping with get out the vote stuff, maybe phone banking local voters. Because voting is important to me, and I want to make sure that people vote. I also want to make sure that people get the information they need. And my experience was so unpleasant that I came out of it thinking “screw these people, and screw the Democrats.”

I don’t think that’s the kind of message they should be sending. I think that it pays to be polite and helpful to people seeking information. And, I have to say, I’m tempted to go to the Republican office with a request for the same information, to see what kind of treatment I get there.

The new camera arrived almost a year ago, so I thought it was probably about time to return to the Skunk Train’s back lot to see what could be seen, which included a lot of “no trespassing” signs this time, which I willfully ignored right after taking this photo:

After all, the sign is on the train, so it must mean “no trespassing in the train,” right?

The rotted-out train continues to rot out, quite spectacularly:

Here’s a shot of the inside, taken through the bars you can see in the middle of the picture:

It’s a little hard to see here, but these are genuine Reading Railroad cars. It’s a bummer they haven’t fixed them up, because a Monopoly-themed train ride would be fantastic:

The side of a train car, in detail:

Decaying train controls:

An ancient fuel gauge, and check out the cracking on the tubing!

And, finally:

From the title, you might think it’s another news post. But it’s not! I shot some photos of the more notable Halloween window displays around town, and thought that some of you might like to see them. Even if you don’t, you’re going to see them anyway, because here they are. So enjoy.

Racine’s Art Supply has a very day of the dead thing going on, with more elements being added every day. It is very cool. This is the south window.

Here’s the north window:

What’s that you think you spy?

That’s Molly the dog, who belongs to Becky the owner, sitting in the window. And a super-cool skeleton cat. Who looks kind of angry, actually.

Pippi’s Longstocking, the awesomest sock store ever, over on Laurel Street.

If the Shoe Fits. I happened to run into Hillary, the owner, as I was taking the shot, and she informed me that making window displays is one of her favourite parts of owning a store. I also really want that sweaterdress, but I feel like white is not a good color for me? What say you, gentle readers? I think that on a pale blonde, a white sweaterdress would just fade out and turn kind of blech. But it is really cute.

I was walking down the street yesterday afternoon, minding my own business, when something exciting happened. Exciting things rarely happen in Fort Bragg, so this was a cause for note. What was even more notable was that I just happened to have my camera, so I could take pictures of said exciting event.

The event was a fire at the Welcome Inn, an establishment which could charitably be called “a local bar.” There wasn’t actually a fire that I would see, and no obvious damage had taken place outside, but the fire department was sure riled up, blocking off the streets and busting out the big toys.

Trucks were stationed at Main Street to keep people from going up Redwood:

The hydrant was leaking a lot:

So much for the water restrictions, I guess. Water was pooling up all the way down to Main Street.

Spectators gathered in fascinated interest:

The Advocate photographer was right behind me when I took this. We gave each other a nod of mutual respect before moving on with our respective shots.

Fire trucks were also stationed in the lot behind the Welcome Inn, for a two-pronged approach, I presume:

Eventually, it was time to take off the heavy fire gear and pack up shop:

It’s a lucky thing the fire didn’t spread too far, because it was very windy yesterday. If the fire department and Cal Fire hadn’t been on it or the flames had spread fast, it could have taken out most of the 100 block of Redwood, which includes another bar (the Golden West) and the original Lee’s Chinese restaurant.

You get a piece of mail, obviously a bill from a local utility company, addressed to someone else (with their address and everything, the mail was just misdelivered). You have a number of options when it comes to deciding what to do with that piece of mail.

1. Throw it away.

2. Drop the mail in the outgoing mail slot so that it will be redelivered to the right person.

3. Drop the mail on the ground outside the post office.

4. Go the post office counter, say “this ended up in my box by accident,” and give the mail to a postal employee.

5. Call the person the mail was supposed to go to and let them know you have something of theirs.

Which of the above reflects the best practice in the scenario described above?

Which of the above do you think someone did with my bill from the gas company?

What I wanted to say:

Dear MTA,

Seriously, where the FUCK was the 5:30 bus? First the goddamn 4:30 bus was late and some nasty woman was coughing repeatedly onto the back of my head without covering her mouth, and the lateness was really really late, forcing me to run around Harvest like a crazed person, rudely cutting people off in the produce section and pissing off an old lady near the eggs, and then I SAT IN THE FUCKING COLD-ASS MOTHERFUCKING RAIN for 30 minutes, waiting for a bus WHICH NEVER CAME.

When one of your drivers finally pulled up and I asked where the 5:30 bus was, he pretended that he didn’t know what I was talking about, and told me that the 6:05 bus was “right on time.” Well, you know what? IT FUCKING WAS NOT. I sat in the cold and wet while my poorly wrapped halibut leaked ALL OVER THE BOTTOM OF MY FUCKING GROCERY BAG, thank you, now I have halibut-flavored STRAWBERRIES, and then the fucking 6:05 came at like 6:15, and THAT DRIVER pretended he had no idea about the 5:30 bus, and then he tried to skip my stop because it’s at the end of the route and out of the way, so I had to make him go back, and he got all huffy about it.

WELL FUCK THAT SHIT, MTA. Fuck it to hell. Fuck you and your stupid fucking pathetic excuse for a bus system. How can you possibly expect people to support you when your buses don’t show up, your drivers are rude, your routes blow, and your schedules suck. Seriously. Don’t you fucking pretend the 5:30 bus doesn’t exist, I SEE IT ON YOUR SHITTY SCHEDULE, and I have this whole little scheme where I take the 4:30, run around Harvest, grab the 5:30, and get home by six. I like that scheme. I like that something which should take 45 minutes, tops, takes me AN HOUR AND A HALF, but I really, really, really like it WHEN I AM FORCED TO SIT IN THE GODDAMN RAIN FOR HALF AN HOUR WAITING ON YOUR STUPID FUCKING BUS.

Had I known that the 5:30 bus just wasn’t going to show up, maybe I could have completed my shopping at a leisurely pace, said hello to all the people I pretended not to see, and not been rude to that poor old lady by the eggs.

Welcome this aboard, you fucks.

-A fucking infuriated customer

What I said:

Dear MTA,

What happened to the 5:30 bus north from the Boatyard on Monday 6 October? I routinely take a bus from the Boatyard at 5:30 during the week, but this time it never came, and it made me sad, because I ended up sitting in the cold rain for half an hour. Additionally, the 6:05 bus was also late, so really it was more like 45 minutes sitting in the cold rain feeling generally miserable while my groceries got sodden.

Are you not doing that run any more? Because that would be a real bummer.

Thanks,

s.e. smith

Today I had the following conversation with my father the party animal:

Father: Hey, I brought by that book you wanted. Did you know there’s a head in your yard?

Me: Again? Still?!

Father: This happens often?

Me: Well, not really. There was a head, and then I buried it, so something must have dug it up again. Maybe it’s a sign that I should just leave the head alone?

Father: …

Me: Hey, I wonder if Baxt wants a head.

Dear Local Wildlife (Or Dogs),

Please take steps to ensure that the following exchange never needs to happen again:

(1:04:24 PM) meloukhia: There’s a head in my yard
(1:09:28 PM) Tristan: ?
(1:09:43 PM) meloukhia: I’m kind of hoping that if I don’t think about it, whatever dragged it in will take it away again.
(1:09:56 PM) meloukhia: However, I would kind of like to water the garden, so I am facing a bit of a dilemma.
(1:10:02 PM) meloukhia: Also, I don’t really have space to bury a head.
(1:10:12 PM) meloukhia: Maybe I should toss it over the fence!
(1:11:07 PM) Tristan: um, what kind of head?
(1:11:36 PM) meloukhia: It looks like a possum.
(1:11:53 PM) meloukhia: I didn’t really examine it very closely, it was one of those “hey I’m going to wander out onto the porch with a cup of tea and OH MY GOD A HEAD!” kind of moments.
(1:12:02 PM) meloukhia: And some vertebrae, and some fur.
(1:12:09 PM) meloukhia: As I say, I really didn’t investigate much.
(1:12:20 PM) Tristan: dude
(1:12:28 PM) Tristan: well I’m off to soak my nuts
(1:12:37 PM) meloukhia: Uhm, that sounds lovely.
(1:12:42 PM) meloukhia: I guess I really should deal with this head problem.
(1:12:44 PM) meloukhia: It’s just. Ugh.
(1:12:45 PM) Tristan: (for soy milk)
(1:13:32 PM) meloukhia: Why me
(1:14:06 PM) meloukhia: Ok, afk burying a head.

Seriously. Please. Let me never say the words “afk burying a head” EVER AGAIN. If you’re going to kill/eat things in my yard, clean up after yourselves.

Thank You.

Also, someone else was using the shovel, so, I still have a head in my yard. If any of my local readers happen to be coming into town and happen to have a shovel handy, please let me know. Because, ew.

For this Photo Friday, I am bringing back the slideshow, because there are just too many images to enjoy, and I encourage you to sit through it. Those of you who have trouble seeing the sideshow for some reason can check out the photos in my Flickr account; the photos from Paul Bunyan Days are here.

The morning of the parade dawned sunny and clear, with barely a breath of wind in the sky; a nice change from the blustery day we had on Sunday. I ambled parade-wards, running into friends along the way, and we ended up camping out in front of City Hall, where we caught the parade pretty much as it started. It’s always better to view a parade from the beginning of the route, before everyone gets all tuckered out.

Some of the highlights of this year’s parade included the Marching Lumberjacks, the best marching band ever. I love the Marching Lumberjacks with a passion. I also really enjoyed the Mexican trick riders, because they are always amazing, and the polite Obama/Biden supporters (with coordinated chants) were a breath of fresh air after the nasty ones from Mendo. You may also note that Obama made it to our parade! And the one nod to organized labor was in the Obama contingent, which was nice (although the shouts about universal healthcare were somewhat misleading since, uhm, Obama doesn’t have single payer healthcare in his platform).

I think this parade was actually better than Mendo’s this year. It was really diverse, with everything from the Pro-Meat float, which always makes me laugh, to people marching with a giant peace sign. I even got a citation from the Keystone Kops (for taking photographs without a license, and “just because”). People seemed to be having fun, both as observers and participants, and it was a general all-round good time.

This, my friends, is why I love parades.