Shaman Hammer

When I heard that Leroy was stopping in North Carolina to collect a few things on the way to his mother’s house, I was very excited. I immediately started taking mental notes on the location of nearby porta-jons, rows of unguarded traffic cones, big-hair heavy metal rock bands, local auto races, and other sources of amusement. I wanted Leroy to have a good time while he was in town. But when we arrived at Leroy’s storage unit, it turned out that the task at hand amounted to more than “throwing a few things in the back of the rental truck.” Leroy is the proud owner of the 1934 Old Italian Car. Well, as I should say, the remains of a 1934 Old Italian Car. The kind of car that can only be moved by jacking its ass up in the air and sliding furniture dollies under the crumbling tires. So how do you move a car like that onto the trailer? One inch at time. How do you secure it so it doesn’t fall off? With steel come-along cables. And ropes. And nylon straps. And chains. And duct tape. Why hoi...

I hate to think that this posting may join the legions of the “does size matter” opinion columns. But I’m afraid I cannot make my point without addressing this eternal issue. Let me begin by saying that, under most circumstances, size does matter. But just because your motorcycle engine is smaller than your friends’ doesn’t mean that you can’t have any fun. My first motorcycle was a used 250cc Honda Rebel. I wanted to buy a motorcycle and join the two-wheeled community, and was able to do so for only $300 because I was willing to accept that fact that I was going to own something smaller than almost everyone else. Sure, I could have deferred the purchase and saved up more money for a bigger motorcycle. But at the time my poverty status was so acute there was no telling how long that was going to take. Looking back, I see that I made the right decision. I bought the little Honda Rebel and began having fantastic two-wheeled adventures right away. I rode through the mountains. I rode to t...

I was nine years old when Jimmy Carter was elected president, but nobody in my family voted for him. I remember his election vividly because even at that young age I was fascinated with politics and world events. I watched the news every chance I got and, believe it or not, often read the newspaper. My friends will readily affirm that I have always been overly-sensitive and prone to drama. Even today the issues clouding my mind quickly grow out of proportion, becoming larger and more important than they really are. Yet my lack of relativity was exponentially greater when I was a timid, insecure, fearful child trying to make sense of the world for the first time. I wanted more than anything to understand how everything fit together… I wanted reassurance that I was living in a logical, interconnected paradigm and that our American society was the safest possible place for me to learn and grow. Unfortunately, nothing that happened during the Carter administration made me feel in any way s...