Posted by: nativeiowan | November 9, 2019

2019 v11.been bizzy

Here’s a montage of some cool things recently…

The whistling ducks are back and nesting again this year… a very beautiful bird. Wonder how they taste?A fire n smoke accented sunset…blue skies n dry lawn out in the back yard…Hallowe’en is my favourite holiday… I get to legally scare the shit outta a bunch of strangers n not get in trouble…look closely… do you see the resting vampire bat? Lucky for me the sun was out…

Blues skies, dry winds…

new ink…

Had a cool traffic stop… The pilot has huge balls and a lot of skill…

Posted by: nativeiowan | October 23, 2019

2019 v10.HotnSourSoup, and the meaning of life

I speak to those of my faithful followers who recall the Sea King restaurant in Honiara. Of course the Sea King has a couple different incarnations over more than 3 decades. Down by the Yacht Club, briefly across Mendana Ave, The big garish place by the Mataniko Bridge.

But no matter which Sea King you remember, you will remember the hot n sour soup. Nothing compares to it. It never changed. I had an image of a steaming cauldron of H&S soup ever cooking in the back.

I have found a place that replicates my memory of the H&S soup very well…

Gracie and I found this place by accident earlier this year. Today I woke up and rode my BMW R1200RT over 500ks, for over 5 hours for this… and its worth it.

And the girls here as killer…

If you’re ever any where near Coffs Harbour, do your self a favour.


Posted by: nativeiowan | October 20, 2019

2019 v10.17yrs old

Posted by: nativeiowan | October 19, 2019

2019 v10.19th

OK, been a while. A lot of note taking place. A lot to think about, ruminate upon, and even – yes, for you 60s n 70s folks- to Grok.

Impeachment with out due process.

The Deep State is now revealed as a “positive”… They are patriots. “They Know Best”.

The selling of political influence is commonly sanctioned. It’s just part of doing business. We’re too busy to worry about it.

Early summer in southern hemisphere = GLOBAL WARMING!!! Early winter in northern hemisphere = GLOBAL WARMING!!!

The glaciers are melting! The glaciers are melting…

Open boarders, Come one, come all… free stuff for new comers, medical, abortions, sex changes… we’re open for business.

I see at least three standards/ levels of compliance: 1) Elites, 2) Protected minorities, 3) the Average Joe.

You be Elite and you are all but exempt from the laws.

You be any way, bit, form, or part a Protected Minority and we’ll throw the rules and reg and laws out the window. Cross the boarder. Claim state-sponsored subsistence… VOTE FOR US.

I’m kinda disgusted. Kinda tired. And do not see the attraction is a nonfactual, politically motivated future. There is a lot of BULLSHIT floating about…

Are we so degraded mentally and spiritually to NOT wish to maintain some semblance of control on our own future? Our own destiny?

But what worry… we’ll all be dust in 12 years… or is it 10, now?

Only print or discuss the “NEWS” that suits THE agenda. Don’t talk about the positives. There are none. Dig up the dirt, then accuse them of being dirt-diggers…

Mike’s thoughts in as few words as possible: Wars are bad, but often necessary. Boarders are good and very necessary. Citizenship and Nationality is something to be valued. Not degraded. All people elected to any political office is unworthy of the office. All elected entities are only concerned with their next re-election to office. Without the masses there can be no leaders.

How well can you say “MOOOO”?

We have rain here in Queensland. Not everywhere and never enough, and often too much. I live in a land of contrasts. I live in a world of contrasts.

And the beat goez on…

Morel later

Posted by: nativeiowan | October 12, 2019

2019 v10.rainySaturday

It’s a rainy Saturday here in Queensland.

The rain is very good, very needed. We’ve been in drought since July. Only had one decent rain in the over 3 months. And we’re the lucky ones. There are areas of Aus that live in perpetual drought. Australia is a desert.

So I am sitting in my comfy recliner, wrapped in a granny-blanket, watching the bluez, listening to the latest goings-on and misdirections and prestidigitation.

The apologetic, self proclaimed victims that make up the DNC candidates makes me wonder what has happened. Where did it all go sideways?

I was planning to deliver my last two “rebuilds” to my buddy, Genius Jim at Blacktop Moto works…

I am an non-repentant Brit-Bike ol fart. Over the past 10 years I have collected and rebuilt (or am rebuilding) eight machines. These are the last two to go into Jim…

But the weather has delayed me. I don’t want to risk these machines, A stunning 51 TR6/ 650 and a very rare XR75 Hurricane. Both not easy to replace so I’ll hold off.

Jim recently got my 57 Royal Indian running…

Here’s a very cool 62 Norton Dominator… a machine that made us all wet our pants when we were young… known as the Snortn Norton… it was a beast… still is a beast…

Where was I… on this rainy Saturday… Oh yea, watching the bluez… and being nostalgic…

I was a young liberal, a DNC door knocker, vehemently anti-republican. Pro- Civil rights, pro-abortion, pro-legalisation of pot, anti-the tax man, anti-conscription… probably anti about more things than I was pro.

When did this all change? For the DNC and for me.

For me I went from being vehemently anti-republican to being vehemently anti-political. I have interacted with and played in political sand-boxes. I have been altruistic. I have spent a lot of time and energy looking for the political Mr. Right (Ms Right?). All ways open and optimistic that such was a reality.

I have irrevocably changed.

The DNC may not have changed all that much. Perhaps I have learned to see through the slight of hand. Have learned to identify the BS within the rhetoric?

I do think that I agreed with the DNC for ages… I read the liberal publications, agreed with the liberal view points and watched and listened as the liberal leaders used and abused their privilege and position. Just like I had accused the conservatives.

Since WWII… Since the beginning of the current economic era, since the end of FDR and The New Deal, we have had 13 duly elected presidents. The Donald is lucky #13. Prior to The Donald we have had 6 DNC and 6 RNC leaders.

I am a child of the 60s and the 70s. I was “there” in the heady days of green-army coats festooned with peace patches and McGovern badges. We made posters that said “make love not war”. We sang “we shall come” and “blowing in the wind” as we stood and marched in front of heavily armed police and National Guard. I remember when Kent State became infamous.

The song we marched to told us, “Tin soldiers and Nixon coming… four dead in Ohio”…

I knew many returned from Nam guys. Some are still alive. Many had returned broken and terminally sad and sickened by life. Many died by choice. Many were simply reckless with their life and died accordingly: Accidents, mishaps or tragedies. Tragedies they were all.

I had marched for, sang for, protested for change. For an end to wars and racism and political lying and… well, I guess we all were looking for something unattainable.

And the beat goez on…

Posted by: nativeiowan | October 10, 2019

2019 v10.BedSideManner

Its a nice overcast Thursday here in Qland. Up and running early. A fair bit to get done. Weather is perfect for 2wheelz.

2wheelz is guuuud.

I am going to write about two dear friends, and my most recent ink-addition…

By ol amigo, Vas Eliopolous, now Dr. Eliopolous, used to make us laugh with stories of med-school, training and mishaps. One of the things I recall laughing about was his tales of erroneous bed-side-manner. He told tales of Practitioners misreading patients and saying things that either caused alarm or confusion. Vas was a good mimic and could do the voices and facials well. He was a one-man stand up routine.

A few days ago I showed up at my Ink-Masters’ house for my first session in ages. My last couple attempts at body-art saw me wimping out. Tapping out early due to the pain. This session was to be my recently into the realm of offering myself as a canvas for a master (or mistress) artisan.

Check out

You’ll see Tu and Ify on the front page. And get to see some of their amazing art.

I carry a fair amount of their work. For ten years I’ve been getting whaled on. More by Tu than by Ify… both arms, chest and back, legs and right thigh… belong to Tu. My neck and left leg carries Ify’s work.

So I’m going in to reconnect. To get back into the ink-thing, and to commemorate my affliction with totality. My ol-fart need to chase The Eclipse. To bask in the murky dusk of an absent sun.

Once you catch an eclipse you’ll understand…

I planned my new ink with Ify… sun in left palm, moon in right palm… totality on the back of right hand. Made sense to me and was eager to DO IT.

So I rock up. It’s always great to visit Tu and Ify’s home/ studio. They have great kids, always extra family around, and a positive vibe they share with poise and grace.

So I rock up, give hugs, grab the 3yrold, start catching up, and Ify says, “You know what you’re in for today? It’s really going to hurt. You ready for this?”.

Damn! I said to Ify that I loved her bed side manner.

Sure, we know all ink is less than fun. I equate ink to beating your hand with a hammer… sure feels good when you stop.

And Ify goes on about how bad the hands are to ink. How much it all hurts. She states, “I cringe to think of it.”.

Well damn!

Did I say damn?

So we do the inking. It do hurt like hell. But we chat and gossip and a few hours later its done and I am happy.

Whaddya think…



I tip my hat to the Ink-Mistress. And thank both Tu and Ify for sharing their vibe.

Big smilez

More later

Posted by: nativeiowan | September 30, 2019

2019 v9.septemberalmostgone


Golly! Time sure flies… sitting in QLD, in the middle of a drought, with teens home for school for 2 weeks, as seasons change, and my shoulder heals.

As long as I cook heaps of meat daily, the teens are happy – and even useful. Both are big and strong and actually do a lot to contribute, all in all.

Been on the farm, then back at the ranch. Two teens and two toddlers. Both a challenge. Neither easier than the other. Both a pain in the arse. The teens useful, the toddlers cute.

Back to the farm tomorrow. Without the toddlers.

So I sit, I sit and listen:

I hear the breeze. It’s not enough to ring my Mr. Frog wind chime

Funny how old meaningless things can mean so much. A ten-dollar wind chime I have repairs many times. 10 years old, and a valuable possession. It’s quiet today/ right now.

But the wind, but the wind, I hear it distinctly. The palms rustling, the trees talking. Too early in the eve for birds to be active. A few solitary calls. No mating and ruckus stuff like the doves and kookaburras have been of late. They hang around and make one hell of a fuss. The males preen and sing as the female plays hard to get.

The sky is powder blue with non-promising clouds. Thick grey-ish clouds but I don’t feel moisture in the air.

We need rain.

And the beat goez on…

More later

Posted by: nativeiowan | September 12, 2019

2019 v9.ol-fart’s tale

This is going to be a tale of an old-fart. An old-fart’s tale…

I think back in time. when I was still a “working-stiff”. Up in the morn, to work by a set time, a morning of bizzyness, a lunch of some sort- often liquid, an afternoon of more dizziness, head home at a set time, call into the local watering-hole, homeward after a set amount of lubricative sedative, family, n home and supper and shower and bed… then up in the morn again.

I cranked and wanked for a solid 30 years. I wore a uniform. Had hours and responsibilities and, as a business owner, I had bills and loans and debt and commitments. Monday – Friday was standard, with at least a half day on Saturday, and usually a quiet Sunday afternoon in-office catching up and closing out.

My job description was never distinct. I never got paid by-the-hour.

In the 90s I was lean and hungry and never said, “…no, I cant”, ever. My commercial loan applications were wonderful works of fiction.

In the new-century… As I was pushing 50, my business had grown, my debts and commitments increased, my schedule cranked and wanked more, and more. Bank-managers/ Wank-managers called me up and invited me out and negotiated for my business. I had good suits, and a bizzy schedule, and flew dizziness class, and had a damn good time of it all. Ended up with over 250 employees.

I “retired” as 2011 rolled around. At that time my routine completely changed. As retired-ol-fart there is no frenetic, demanding routine. Of course there is a routine but its not set-in-stone, or demanding, or penalising like before. What ever routine you have as an ol-fart is of your own making.

I gave up going to the pub and starting drinking at home. I decided I preferred my own cooking so gave up going out at all. My suits go unworn.

I found I normally woke earlier and worked harder once retired. I cultivated hobbies and rekindled old joys such as family and cultivation and dogs and things that shine and go real fast.

One of the things I recall from about 2005, when I was still kicking-arse and taking-… business-names… going into the Point Cruz Yacht Club (PCYC) in Honiara after work…

I’d buy my first liquid-sedative and slide up to what was notoriously referred to as “Table Number One”.

It took me a couple decades to graduate to Table Number One. From the lowly Volunteer, to the young-bloke trying to make a go in business, to the heard-of but still enigmatic Yank-from-the-West, to the guy who owed heaps to all the banks and was known by all.

Table Number One was reserved for the Old-Boys. The Bankers and Wankers and Managers and Accountants and Lawyers… And those business-dudes who owed enough to be impotent.

I was a young-bloke in the old-bloke clique.

So, one day as I dump my first brew down my throat, as I listen-in to the conversation that’s already started, I have a very clear thought… I bang my bottled-brew on the table and say in aloud voice, “Stop It! You guys are talking about your last doctor’s visit, about your next appointment. Stop it. What about fast cars and loud engines and beautiful boats and daring exploits and good looking women and , well, what about talking about fun stuff? Interesting stuff?”.

The collective of ol-farts looked at me for moment, pensively puffed their fags, sipped their quickly warming brews, then returned to their previous conversations.

Today’s story is one of an ol-fart feeling pretty damn good…

I’m 5 weeks and 3 days out from shoulder replacement surgery. And I feel pretty damn good. I’m done with appointments and rehab and physio. I feel pretty damn good.

It’s a hapi-ol-fart tale.


Posted by: nativeiowan | August 28, 2019

1029 v9.1

It’s one of those productive/ nonproductive days. I guess being productive isn’t high on my priority list today. I’m still healing from shielder surgery. Three-weeks post-op. And I think I’m doing well. Too much activity and I do get tired. I’m still sleeping a lot. And, for an old fart, feeling very well…

Well enough to start initialising a new suite of hardware/ software I recently bought. It’s always a chore. Swapping over/ upgrading to new gear. And I am such a dinosaur that I’ve gone more than a decade without new software. My laptop is over 6 years old. My old standby software programmes are woefully last-generation. Lots of glitches and slowness and hassles. I can’t upgrade my computer’s OS much l because the upgrade will leave my antiquated software behind. And you can’t just buy an upgrade of all software. Not unless you have kept up to date consistently over the last dozen or so reiterations of said software.

I think of a good buddy of mine, my main computer-guru-go-to-guy… he has resisted upgrading for much longer than I. He has kept his museum-ready 17″macbook alive for more than a decade. He runs software that I lost use of years ago. I am sooo impressed he’s managed it this long. But one day, and I wish him many more years maintaining his current platform, he, like me, will be spending a few days getting everything you need transferred, translated and working.

So I bit the bullet and am doing a 100% upgrade. It’s not for the feint of heart. I spent the money required for all new software. I’m looking forward to getting it all cranking. But I do anticipate a rocky run…

Logging on here to WordPress took a bit of time. I’m not migrating my old hard drive over to this one. It is possible to simply do a “dump”, but I’ll do it the slow and tedious way. I need to cleanup and sort out all my passwords, subscriptions and leases. One of the nice things about everything new is I get to do a lot of housekeeping.  Looking forward to it. And I do have time… Thats the good NewZ…

Whats the news? What the BlueZ?

So much horseshit out there. There is so much I simply don’t get… the name calling… the illogical accusations… you’re terrible because of what you do, but when I do the same it’s ok… Your attitude has provoked my to violence, so its all your fault…

Got a question I been mulling over:

It would appear to be a Democratic “thing” to scream and holler doom and gloom because of climate change and especially sea level rise. I have been involved in many passionate discussions on this topic. I have been abused and maligned because of my opinion(s). I am well informed OFTEN IN CAPS that the glaciers are melting and sea levels are rising at an alarming rate. Prepare for all coastal regions, island nations, to be underwater in 10 to 20 years.

So my question… which is very well discussed here…

Has Obama changed his mind, lost his mind, or was it all BS, all along?

And the beat goes on

More later


Posted by: nativeiowan | August 24, 2019

2019 v9.self fulfilling prophecy

I’m listening to a highly educated man discourse about the “problems with race” in the US. This gentleman is a University Professor. A Teacher. His speciality is “African American Studies”. He is not a white guy

I think he is peddling racism for as profit.

He discusses articulately how he see things. The current situation in the USofA. He has many examples of inherent racism. Many examples of overt racism. He is telling me, that through my status at birth, my privileged education (that I worked and paid for), that – wait for it – I am unknowingly, unwittingly racist…. AND… I need help. I need education. I need to be regulated in order to be  a better, non-racist humanbean. Maybe even a reeducation camp…

What a load of horse shit!

To reiterate, from my perspective I am being told that I am : *Unwittingly I am racist and live my life by racist rules and standards. *I need to be regulated in order to alleviate my nasty, unsocial and unforgivable behaviour.

I say it again… What a load of horseshit!

Year ago I worked as government education officer in Solomon Islands. My job entailed working in a non-formal/ adult education environment. Developing programmes, and curriculum to suit the non-formal educational needs at that time. Our topics covered the spectrum. We established programmes for numerous target groups: Parents of school age children. Women. Community leaders. Business owners and wanna bes. Our topics covered: Sanitation, water, population education, family planning, early childhood development, community organisation, and more.

I really enjoyed that job. It was dynamic. I think we did a great job. We’d plan tours and workshops and seminars. Spend long periods of time “touring” the rural villages/ areas.

I’d get numerous government departments involved. I’d chase funding and sort the logistics out. I twisted arms and set up programmes, sort out venues way rural, if not remote. Take the work we were doing to the village level dwellers.

I’d invite elected leaders and shame them into attending what turned out to be “town hall” type meetings.

And have a great time.

One situation pertinent to my topic involved some branch of the UN, I am thinking it was Save The Children… They were carrying out a “malnutrition assessment”

I was tasked with taking two well paid, well dressed and reasonably friendly “officials” on a “tour”. My original plan covered Auki to Are Are (both east and west) by canoe. Auki to Weather Coast, Malaita by road. Weather Coast Gcanal by canoe. Choiseul North Coast (my home) by canoe. And Makira east and west as far as we could drive.

Inevitably we spent about a week in Honiara meeting with Ministry  types.  Staying in an expensive hotel, eating in good restaurants each night we supposedly gathered data from the dusty offices in the Big Mango. We flew to Auki for a single night. Met with government types. Had a good meal at the old Dragon bar n grill. Flew back the next day for a few more days in Honiara. We eventually flew to Gizo where we did some diving, met with govt types and stayed at the ol Gizo Hotel. We did though, while in Gizo, do a trip by canoe to Vella. Namely to the PSS there. It was the farthest off-the-grid we traveled.

So, recapping: Two highly paid and well dressed UN officials came to assess the level/ status of malnutrition in Solomon Islands. We spent a couple weeks in meetings while staying in hotels and eating good meals, all the while collecting a decent per diem.

And guess what? They found malnutrition. They found a lot of it.

Golly, gotta luv the www… Look what I found:                                                                   Abstract                                                                                                                                                PIP:                                                                                                                                                   Cross-sectional anthropometric studies conducted in the Western Province of the Solomon Islands indicate that over half the children become malnourished before the age of 2 years, regardless of the nutritional indicator (weight for age, weight for height, height for age) used. In comparison to reference children, weight gain slows from the age of 6 months and mean weight is static from 9-17 months. Stunting is more important than wasting. Dietary research suggests that the principle cause of this malnutrition is the low energy and protein content of an infrequently administered, bulky diet based on the staple sweet potato. The coincidental onset of growth failure and dependence on weaning foods tends to confirm a primary nutritional etiology. The 2nd year of life, when growth failure was most prominent, was also the period in which energy and protein gaps in the diet were most pronounced. The inability to satisfy dietary needs is concluded to be related to inadequate total food intake resulting from infrequent feeding of a diet overdependent on a bulky starch staple and is exacerbated by nutrient restriction during illness and a high incidence of gastrointestinal infection. An intervention program designed to respond to this situation involves a trained nurse spending 2 weeks in all major villages to demonstrate the importance of a hygienically prepared, frequently fed, miltimix weaning diet based on local foods.

So the guys that were highly paid to find malnutrition found malnutrition. Amazing! What a greta job they did.

Just as the dude highly paid to find racism, to teach racism, to sell racism… he too is successful. He sets out to find what he’s paid to find.

Last thought: When I was a “classroom” teacher I learned/ was taught to reward good behaviour and ignore bad behaviour as much as possible. Same with the numerous kids I have raised. It’s hard and may not sell as well and anger and aggression but it is much more effective.

Dunno, may be just the way I see things… as a racist and  privileged stereo-typical ol white dude…

My favourite family picture, tho it is old… IMG_0760

Angelo and Abraham and Andrew were little. Abraham is 20 now and Andrew and Angelo 17. At least 10 multiracial grandkids born to me and my family since then. I’m the old racist white guy in the middle with the farmer’s tan.

The Beat Goez On…


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