Allow me to underscore, several times, how ridiculous it is that petroleum cars are the norm. I solemnly vow that I will only drive alternatively-fueled vehicles, now and forever.

Via a series of grievous events, I left the city of Oakland with a bit less than half a tank of diesel, $35 in cash, and no other assets. Oakland is approximately 800 miles from Seattle. I estimate that I drove about 900, as I missed several junction exits and had to retrace my path on more than one occasion. Ground navigation is not my strong point; we usually have Kristina to handle that. She does a hell of a lot better than Google Maps Mobile.

I left Oakland and drove north at either at 10mph (traffic) or 80mph (rage-fueled open freeway, once I got out of traffic) until I was just above the red, put $30 into the tank (filling it), and reset my mile counter.

It was Oregon, maybe 200 miles south of Portland, before I got down to about a quarter tank, and put $5 and whatever change I scraped off my floor into the cupped hands of the redheaded pump attendant. Through bad math or flirtation, I got $8 of diesel, up to the midpoint again.

This time I stayed at exactly 60mph. I made it into downtown Seattle a notch above red. Total miles since my last fill in California: 620.

Some quick and dirty math, using the assumption that I drove about 800 miles on $38, tells me I was paying under 5 cents per mile. And I didn't start driving with fuel economy in mind until it was nearly too late.

Let's assume you get 25 miles per gallon in your regular, petroleum-burning car. Average petroleum price I saw was about $2.60, which comes out to over 10 cents per mile.

Even if I had gotten fuel only at that ridiculous $3.36 station I posted earlier (which I didn't; most diesel stations were about $2.90), I'd still be paying only ~6 cents per mile, about 40% less than the vast majority of petroleum-engine owners.

Diesel engines also run underwater, meaning I can plow through hip-deep flood puddles with impunity. My engine makes an awesome sort of gurgling noise. And my exhaust is blue.

If you're getting less than 30mpg, you're being robbed.

Tags: california, diesel, jetta, road trips, vehicles
status: alternately-fueled
noise: Lady Of My Dreams // Music For People by Vast

Not yet returneth from the deeps, alias southern California, but the shows could mostly be considered successes. One of my favorite things about playing gigs is the afterglow, in which new fans and old ones write in with greetings and impressions of the performances and when we're really lucky, photos.

The Pomona show was notable mostly for its fantastic comraderie in the face of malfunctioning sound boards, poor scheduling, and complete lack of preparation space. I wish I had thought to get a photo of myself doing the Captain's makeup as he perched on the sink of the women's restroom.

At Bar Sinister, we had less time to pretty up but the show itself more than made up for it. Prior to the performance, we had received an email from a dedicated fan's girlfriend, who asked if we would be willing to dedicate a song to Adam on his birthday, which fell on the night of the show.

Adam is a fetching young man of admirable height who attended our Bat's Day show a few months ago, so we were pleased to see a familiar face and even more pleased to serenade it. The Captain pulled the stunned Mr. Livingston onstage and proceeded to hold his hand for the duration of the song. Afterwards, it was decided that he would assume a crew position onboard, with a specially-made dogtag and all.

Discussions about the exact nature of his new employment are ongoing, but I'm agitating for "teaboy", as this would bring him directly under my supervision, as he requested. But he is apparently also an accomplished engineer, so perhaps a dualistic role would be best. I hope he doesn't mind frygrease; the filters haven't been scraped in a year.

Tags: california, fans, performances, photos, shows

Those of you with sensitive or squeamish dispositions should avoid this particular Veenic monologue, as it deals with that awful girl's rather vexing fascination with biology, living or not...so...living.

On my overland voyage to San Francisco, I went through a stretch of I-5 just north of Williams, California, that seemed absolutely baptised by the myriad dooms of dozens of owls. Heads, wings, talons, feathers flopping and flirting with each zooming car.

As I am an avid collector of wings and feathers, and could not bear to pass up the chance to examine one of the beasts personally, I switched my hazards and skidded to the shoulder.

This particular owl, illustrated further in the photoset to which he belongs on Flickr, is in near-perfect condition (he suffers from a broken scapula so that one wing is floppy, and a few bloodstains. Other than that, nary a feather out of place) and appears entirely undecayed except that his eyes are simply hollow slits, which gives him a mask-like visage. He is, as you can see, still limp. And I cannot detect any odor from him whatsoever.

And that is why I picked him up and took him with me. He represents my best "find" in my experience with finding things of this sort, and I am now at a loss for what to do with him during the duration of my stay in hotels and other peoples' homes. Currently he is iced in a hotel bucket, swaddled in many protective layers of plastic.  I considered shipping him home to Daddy Veen for freezing until I can return, but ultimately, he represents such a lovely specimen in his entirety that I think I will use the money from this gig to have him properly preserved in a fitting attitude of owlishness. Perhaps with his eyes closed, as they appear now.

I have also offered him to a friend who is interested in taxidermy, but she will probably have trouble getting him back to the UK with her.

While I find the mounting of "trophies" to be rather tasteless, I had no part in the death of this creature, and see him as a fortuitous salvage rather than any sort of victory.

My warmest thanks to the wilderness and her bounty. I plan on collecting more more from that stretch of road on my way home, and there will be skulls and feathers for everyone.

PS: you are all welcome, and in fact encouraged, to turn me into decorative, morbid, or curious objects after I am dead. Anything else would just be a waste of raw material.

Tags: birds, california, dead things, feathers, owls, roadkill, roadtrips, taxidermy, wings