Jonnie Portrait

Jonnie portrait by Amanda, Austin, Texas, 2002.

A.I. animated version:

 

Found Object

Look at this swell checkbook cover!

Yeee-Ha!

[Originally posted on I'm Nacho Steppinstone, Feb. 18, 2004]

Found Object

Karate napkins - for karate parties.

Found karate napkin.

[Originally posted on I'm Nacho Steppinstone, Feb. 4, 2004]

Fourth of July Fireworks Review

Launched from a rubber cat's head.

Presentation and review of some of the fireworks we shot off on 4^th of July, 2002; Los Angeles, CA.

T&T Flashing Fountain: 

These were mini spark fountains, they also emitted a long tongue of flame at the end, which I'm not sure was intentional. Note they are named "T&T" instead of "TNT." That is kind of interesting.

M - Extremely flammable.

J - These should only be lit in the swimming pool.

Mini Monster: 
They were selling these 2 for 1 at the fireworks stand. The first was set off in the dirt, the second in our Chinatown burn bin.

J - These burn a long time

K - It's like Satan puking.

M - Clean & simple.

Mini Monster.

King Kong: 

King Kong & Blazing Rebel.

Jonnie carelessly lit off King Kong right next to the table full of the rest of the night's fireworks. We were lucky that none of them caught fire.

J - That was a shower of power! I'm saving the label!

K - That was way too close for comfort.

M - Jonnie is no longer allowed to place fireworks in their landing positions.

Chamelia Flower, Purple Rain, Giant Mystery Geyser.

Chamelia Flower:

M - Cheap trick.

J - Uhhhh...

Giant Mystery Geyser:

M - I didn't see that one, I was trying to take pictures.

J - The shower of sparks contained bright ribbons of liquid plasma.

K - The red sparks were like projectiles. Green & red, like Christmas.

Rose Blossom.

Rose Blossom:

We thought the packaging was interesting because, unlike the other fireworks, this one looked like a box of Miracle Grow plant food. It was almost misplaced with the gardening equipment. It was a pretty good display overall, but a huge ball of fire flew way out into the trees.

M - What was that? Nothing flies that far!

Killer Bees:

J - I love the sound effects. Loud and shrill; I guess, like a swarm of killer bees.

M - It reminds me of the band, Divisia.

Killer Bees & Razzle Dazzler.

  

Razzle Dazzler:

M - The razzle was there, but I didn't see much dazzle.

K - It razzle dazzled me.

J - It stinks a lot worse than the others.

K - It smells like a school bus on fire.


Golden Shower:

K - It makes me have to pee.

    

Bizarre:

J - Yuck, it smells like marijuana.

Golden Shower, Bizarre, Eagle Fountain.

K - Colorful & fun until it screams & blows up at you.

M - I don't like those poppy ones. Those that pop at you.

K - It's like burnt shoes.

Eagle Fountain:

J - Made in China.

M - There's no blue.

J - It's commie red & hippie green.

K - Red, White, & Green.

Flashing Wheel.

M - It's the Mexican flag.

Flashing Wheel:

We had two of these. We nailed the first one to a tree & the second to Ulysses' rubber cat.

K - It looks like a foggy morning right now.

M - Phew!.

J - I like that it comes packaged with its own nail.

Missile War & Desert Blitz.

Desert Blitz packaging.

Missile War:

M - I'm afraid of Missile War.

K - It went from all rainbow & nice, to...I don't know...the Apocalypse!

Desert Blitz:
K - Similar to the last one, but more dramatic.

J - There was a ceasefire. It had machine gun bursts from both sides, then it all stopped; then they started in at each other again.

M - I think Missile War is a cheap knockoff of Desert Blitz.

Starfire:

We liked the label's depiction of the burning village, like someone burnt the house down playing with fireworks.

Starfire, Mad Dog, Twin Peaks, Laser Dragon.

M - That one was like an experienced lover.

K - I need a cold shower.

J - You should cover your eyes for that one.

Twin Peaks:

M - That one invaded my personal space.

K - Who killed Laura Palmer?

Laser Dragon:

J - Long-lasting, but monotonous.

K - Reminded me of popcorn.

Quote from Céline

whenever they get a chance, never fear, people make you waste hours and months ... they use you as a wall to bounce their bullshit off of ... blah! and blah! and blahblahblah! ... you put up with it for an hour, you'll need two weeks to recover ... blah! blah!                                          

   - Louis-Ferdinand Céline, North

Old Isaac Gilliom (by Todd)

Old Isaac Gilliom

Fine young man

Went to Vera Cruz

from Switzer-Lan'

Quick as a whip

he went Apostolic

just as quick

might been alcoholic

Oh Isaac Gilliom!

- Todd

[From the Gilliomville Message Board]

Chipping & Driving

Hot & Spicy or Cheesy: pick your poison for the long drive from Texas to L.A.

[Originally posted on I'm Nacho Steppinstone, Dec. 13, 2003]

Hook 'Em Horns

During our visit to Austin, Texas, I was very surprised and amused to so see the locals flashing the heavy metal devil's horns all over the place. At first I felt like I'd stumbled upon a cult or a criminal organization of some sort, so of course I had to take a picture:

Hook 'Em Horns!

It turns out, "Hook 'Em Horns" is a University of Texas, Austin school spirit thing. The gesture represents the school's sports mascot, the Longhorn. 

Brother Todd later drove me out to witness this statue:

Rock On, Dude.

Relief on the statue's base.

[Originally posted on I'm Nacho Steppinstone, Dec. 15 2003]

Uncle Rog's Cottage

[Compiled from various posts on the Gilliomville message board, contributed by various Gillioms and Franks]:

Q:  Who was that Aunt who made the really good cinnamon rolls at Uncle Rog's cottage?
A:  It was Aunt Elva. She also made wonderful potato salad.

When it rained at Uncle Rog's, the girls would go shopping. I remember one year I got new nail polish, and Aunt Elva let me paint her fingernails hot pink. I thought she was the coolest old lady ever.

One time the family was all out at Rog’s cottage and young Rick (about 13 years old) got into Rog's booze and ended up very drunk.

Remember the time at the lake when Nick hooked Aunt Vi in the middle of the forehead [with a fishing hook] and she had to walk around with a hook in there for several hours until they found a doctor to take it out?

I remember mostly loads and loads of jello cubes and as much soda pop as we wanted. There was that outdoor built-in cooler with running water inside, keeping a constant cool temperature. It was like, "wow...we can just keep going back for more...even if we aren't thirsty...They NEVER run out!!!" I'm glad I wasn't footing the soda bill.

I remember all of us licking the jello cubes and trying to stick them on windows. It was kind of gross re-licking them after they fell off, they were all dirty and stuff.

Gilliom Heritage, pt. 2

[Compiled from various posts on the Gilliomville message board, contributed by various Gillioms and Franks]:

Here’s how I understand my lineage - I am Todd, son of Jon, son of John, son of Orel, son of Isaac, son of Abraham, son of Adam.

Uncle Ralph was able to speak and read German during WWII. While stationed in Germany, he spent the night with a female circus performer, “to watch over her tigers.”

Jon, do you ever remember dad telling about working in the hay mow and one of the brothers was to come up to help him?  Before the brother came up, he threw the pitch fork into the mow and it ended up stuck in the calf of dad’s leg.

They had a game of hide and seek in the basement consisting of hiding and then the seeker would heat up a nail red hot on the coal stove and with a pair of pliers start poking into the corners trying to find a body.

Grandpa [John] Gilliom and some of his friends used to play a game which involved drinking a laxative. The general idea was to see who could be the last man holding it, but they learned real quick it was a better trick to go in the bathroom first, lock the door, and hole up. We asked Alvin Gerber and Uncle Rog about it, but they denied involvement pretty quick.

The story of the liquid laxative is Gospel according to dad. He told me that story so many times that I know it is true. He laughed so hard when telling it. He got the biggest kick about someone wising up and going into the bathroom first and taking up stool space. I asked Rog about it a few years ago and he played totally stupid. He tried to pass it off as being dad and Alvin. I wish dad was alive to refresh some minds.

Grandpa John, Son of Orel and father of Nancy, Jon, and Rick.

The story of the mink in the tile is quite clear in my mind. Dad always told the story, but I heard it straight from Uncle Ralph. The boys saw a mink on the way to school and chased it into a tile. Someone guarded the tile and someone else went home for traps. Uncle Ralph was the master trapper. He exposed a trap at the entrance to the tile. The second trap was cleverly concealed behind the first. The mink later saw the first trap and jumped over it. The mink landed with both front feet in the concealed trap. The story was always told with Ralph being quite the hero.

At recess, some of the boys started chasing and teasing a skunk and ended up getting sprayed and sent home.

Jon, do you remember a bull dog we had (I think it might have been when we lived in Vera Cruz) and we tied it to the clothes line and he hung himself? I surely didn't dream that, did I?

No, it was not a dream. I hated that dog. I remember we had Pug at Raymond Miller's farm. He was given to us with pedigree papers and all. He was a registered Boston Terrier. He used to go out in the pig lot and eat pig shit and then throw up in the yard and on the side walk. I used to wear shorts in the summer and he would bite me. He would just break the skin, but would leave big bruises. Don't you remember it? He used to bite you too. I remember the time he was barking at the cows and the whole herd stampeded, after him. Do you remember that? We lived in Vera Cruz, when he was chained on the clothes line run and got tangled up and hung himself one night. I never shed a tear. I hate pug-nose dogs of any kind to this day.

John, Jon, Nancy, and Hazel Gilliom.

John had a maiden Aunt. Aunt Sarah. She was Grandma Gilliom's sister. She made her home with Grandma & Grandpa. Those of you who remember mom know she did not take criticism well and being ordered around by other people even worse. She wanted to call Jon, "Barry," and Aunt Sarah did not like the idea one bit. Mom said if it had to be John, at least she would spell it the way she wanted to. Hence, the "Jon."

Dad used to get pissed off that Grandma wanted to name him Barry. He hates that name. I imagine he's over it by now, because he hasn't mentioned it in about 20 years. Maybe it's just too sore a topic.

I was going through photos here and found an autobiography Uncle Jon wrote for a class in grade school. It was a fun read - he said when he grew up, he wanted to be a barber, "so I can meet a lot of new people in a well-ventilated shop.”

Q:  To all relation of Gilliom roots:  Are we French?  Folks think my last name is French??? Are we French ... Guys I have to know. It’s really been bothering me. Yes or no - is this true?

A:  No, we are not French. Basically we are Swiss. I think there was a French Grandmother somewhere back there but Grandma Gilliom and all the Aunts and Uncles spoke Swiss. Mom (Grandma Hazel) could not understand Swiss so when we were at Grandma's everyone would speak English.

"Gilliom" does sound French. Uncle Jon says we were based in Alsace-Lorraine for some years. Alsace-Lorraine went back and forth between German and French occupation. We could've picked up a French spelling of the name there. I'm not sure where all that fits in the timeline though.

Gilliom Heritage, pt. 1

[Compiled from various posts on the Gilliomville message board, contributed by various Gillioms and Franks]:

The Old Gilliom Farm House.
Photo courtesy of Ross Frank.

It was all started back in the old country of Switzerland by Adam Gilliom (who my [Rick’s] Adam was named after). Adam’s wife's last name was Roetlishbarger. They had a son John, whose wife's name was Elizabeth Schneck. John and Elizabeth had two sons named Christian and Abraham, who came to America in 1823. Abraham Gilliom was born on Mount Munster, Canton, Bern Switzerland Sept.14, 1811. At the age of 12, he and his family immigrated to Wayne County, Ohio. Isaac was born in Ohio.

They moved outside of Vera Cruz between 1845 and 1847 to a farm of about 330 acres which the present Harold Isch was part of. Isaac married Melanie Hanny. She was born in Canton, Bern Switzerland on May 3, 1836. She came to America in 1844 with her family. They were French. I met a strange little photographer in Sedona AZ when I was running my meat route and when I told him my name was Gilliom, he said. “You’re Swiss.” He said our family name is a "registered name" in Bern Switzerland and that it was a Swiss Gov thing. Possible cause: the Swiss Gov taxes everything!!

He also told me that "Canton" was or is another name for mountain. With Switzerland a neutral Country, many people were there from many other countries:  France, Germany, Italy etc. I don't know why our name is registered...if we were within the law or outlaws and just a bunch of German hillbillies. This is from a family tree written by Grandpa Orel. Aunt Dula lent me copy back in 1986 or ‘87 and I haven't kept it up to date. I think I gave Jon a copy.

Isaac Gilliom, 1833-1873 was the first Gilliom that belonged to the Apostolic Church. I have no idea what religion they were in Switzerland. Isaac had a brother, Jacob, who went West in 1854 and was never heard from again.

Orel Gilliom.

I was talking to Uncle Roy last Sunday and he told me a good story about great grandpa Orel. When Orel decided to ask for his first wife's hand in marriage, he followed the church's tradition of visiting the church elder to request a proposal be sent to his prospective wife. Apparently when he did, the elder said, "Well, my Lizzie has feelings for you.” So Orel married Lizzie instead of the person he originally had intended to ask for. I guess sometimes a sure thing is better than a chance of first choice.

The spelling of "Orel" has been corrected [changed from “Oral”] in Gilliomville’s online photo gallery.

I did a genealogy project in college. Cousin Carol from Michigan told Mom that Peter Meyer met his wife at a square dance when his fiddle got caught in her skirt. Sounds scandalous to me.

I think it was Grandpa Ed and Grandma Flonie that meet at the square dance. (Now there is a name for someone in the family to carry on - Little Flonie Fern).

There was an Obed, son of Orel. Obed was John's brother that was killed in a wagon/car accident in his late 20's. Obed was in the wagon and the car hit him. Some of the family were on their way to the hospital and had an accident themselves. I have no idea who was driving but I know Aunt Vi had a head injury and was unconscious for several days.

Ask Kenny Gilliom about the story about the car wreck, I think he was thrown through the window. And Ralph was driving, "after a night at the Bluffton Street Fair."

While the era of the horse-drawn wagon is indisputably over, I am proud to be of a line to stick with them even into the era when it was dangerous to do so. God bless Great Uncle Obed!

I don't mean to make light of Gillioms' past tragedies, but personally, I always thought a horse would be a safer way to get around drunk. On one hand, I hate to hear about folks dying no matter how it happens, but on the other hand, something about Obed's departure sounds so close to home -- almost predictable.

Band Sketch

 Miski's Vengo Vaquero band sketch:

L to R: Jonnie, Miski, Sarah.

FU w/ Xtra Cheese

Sarah's guest check book from work.

Did you know waitresses wrote such things in their guest check books?

Sarah's guest check book from work.

[Originally posted on I'm Nacho Steppinstone, Feb. 2, 2004]

Pig Roaster

I don’t have much to say that is good about San Bernardino, but I loved this graphic which was painted on the outside wall of a barbecue place during my time there, 2000-2002.

Pig Roaster.

[Originally posted on Rebel Leady Boy, Aug. 10, 2005]

Found Flyer

I encountered this flier while living in Los Angeles. It was issued around New Years, 2002 as part of a campaign to discourage residents from discharging firearms into the air while celebrating New Years.

I thought it was funny in 2002 because it seemed like such a common sense non-issue, but these days, who knows? It would probably be construed as government overreach.

flyer, front.

flyer, back.

Hit 'Em Again

At the time of the 9-11 attack on New York's World Trade Center, I was working the night shift in a San Bernardino gas station. The maintenance guy (Tony) used to come in at all hours and get drunk in the adjoining mechanics' garage since it was closed down in the evenings. There are a lot of funny memories around that situation, but I thought the funniest occurred the day after the 9-11 terrorist attack when everybody was driving around with American flags on their cars and reveling in lust for revenge.

The day after the attack, Tony was getting drunk in the garage like usual and a friend of his kept coming into the station and asking me, "What's Tony doing? Getting drunk?"

I don't know why he gave a shit, but it was really bothering him. Eventually he returned and said, "We should write something fucked up on Tony's truck since he's in there getting drunk." I didn't have anything better to do, so we threw around a few ideas, finally going with a pro-Bin Laden slogan.  After a little brainstorming, Tony's friend came up with the perfect thing.

As Tony pulled out of the parking lot later that night, his car displayed the phrase, "Hit 'Em Again, Bin!" printed across his tailgate in white shoe polish.

It was pretty funny. He later said people were honking at him and yelling at him all the way home. He assumed it was because he was driving drunk, so he'd slow down and then they'd pull up next to him, flipping him the bird, and yelling at him.

In retrospect, I'm surprised he didn't get shot.

[Originally posted on I'm Nacho Steppinstone, Dec. 14, 2003]

Innovations in Armrest Design

The second armrest looks way more comfortable than the first.

Sun? Moon?

My dad, Jon Sr., in Anchorage, 2001.

He made this painting by tracing around a trash can lid.

A Jon Sr. original.

Driving Stick

1.) Text from an email sent to brother Todd on May 31, 2000, containing a detailed description of my first experience driving a manual transmission. I was working in a factory at that time and the foreman offered me a forklift job if I went through forklift training over the weekend:

I went to forklift training this weekend and all they had was a stick shift, which I had no idea how to drive. It was pretty bad and the instructor was pretty cranky. I about ran the forklift through his wall and I kept laughing whenever I screwed something up, which was making the guy get madder and madder. In all my preoccupation over how to use the clutch without killing the machine, I kept forgetting the basic forklift safety video he'd just showed us. Looking behind you before going in reverse is very important, of course, because you could run into somebody; but it was far from my mind while I was learning how to drive a stick for the first time (in front of an audience no less).

Whenever I'd back up without looking, he'd yell, "You just killed somebody!!" and then I'd laugh really hard because he was so high strung. I was trying to concentrate on not letting the machine die and safety stuff was secondary to me. I also didn't tell him I didn't know how to drive a stick in the first place, so he thought I was just a real fuck-up.

He kept saying, "OK, I should tear up your license right now, but if you can move that crate and put it up on that shelf without fucking anything up, I'll let you have your license".

I'd say, "Alright" then take a deep breath thinking about how to work the forks and keep from killing the machine. I'd get oriented and start backing up, then he'd go "YOU JUST KILLED SIX PEOPLE!!!"

Then I'd laugh really hard and say, "I didn't mean to!"

I finally told him I’d never driven a stick before and he said, "oh, well, you should learn."
One other guy left before his test because he'd never driven a stick before either. After watching me and the instructor for awhile, he just snuck out the door and disappeared.

Anyway, there's a happy ending. The instructor told me I'd not get my license and to come back next week for more training (I was thinking, "Damn. So much for getting that forklift job then"). He took me into his office where he was really cool (I guess he was just acting like a hardass in front of the group). His associate said this sort of thing happens all the time and not to worry about it. The instructor told his associate to put my license on the bulletin board until next week when I would return to earn it, then he went out for the next class.

When he left, the associate said, "Don't worry about it", signed the license and then looked at the bulletin board and said, "There's so much stuff up there. I don't think we'd be able to find your license. It might get lost...I wonder where I could put it so it wouldn't get lost...{wink wink}...Here, I'll give it to you to hold on to and then you bring it back with you next week...{wink wink}...
I thanked him then left immediately...What a cool guy!

When I returned to the factory on Monday, I was SO NERVOUS about driving the forklift on the job. Then I found out it was a automatic, so I'm fine...whew!

2.) That little bit of stick shift experience came in handy about a year and a half later. I was working at a gas station and taking the bus because my car had broken down. The owner of the station had a side hustle flipping old vehicles—he’d buy them cheap, fix them up, and sell them off. One day, he showed up out of nowhere in an old pickup he was trying to move and offered to drive me to work.

On the way, he told me I could hang onto the truck and use it to get to and from work until he found a buyer. That was just the kind of guy he was. He didn’t pay much, but if you showed a little competence, he looked out for you.

Right after I thanked him, I realized the truck was a stick. Aside from that one rough self-taught session and a forklift incident I’d rather forget, I had zero real experience. I figured if I said anything, he might change his mind, so I just nodded and kept quiet.

When we pulled into the station, it was busy—people pumping gas, going in and out of the store, just generally being around. Re-learning how to drive stick in front of all that was not something I was eager to do. So, thinking ahead, I asked him to park behind the station where it was out of sight. I said I wanted to check the fluids, which sounded reasonable enough.

That spot behind the station is where I ended up teaching myself to drive stick. The car lurched, stalled, and died repeatedly. Once I got to the point where I could get it moving without killing it, I pulled out onto a side street—somewhere no one would know me—and kept practicing. I was completely soaked in nervous sweat. If anyone at the station had seen what was going on back there, there’s a good chance they wouldn’t have let me leave with the car.

San Bernardino Accomodations

This is the shed I lived in in Gina's back yard in San Bernardino. It actually wasn't too uncomfortable, though it would get very hot in the summer. I had electricity and cable. Gina and her family were great.  I'd try to help out where I could and lived cheaply as sort of a Kato Kaelin type.

Bed.

TV and microwave.

I bought a big rug at walmart and it fit the floor perfectly as a carpet.

This was not a great time in my life, but for living in a shed, it wasn't terrible.