Wolf Battles Mildew and Mold With Marble

Maintaining a house in a tropic environ is not an easy task. Various forces of nature seek to destroy anything foreign. Termites devour cupboards, cabinets, and doors. The heavy saline air coats surfaces with a salt grime that also attacks the innards of household appliances. And perhaps most pervasive is the tendency for mildew and mold to thrive in the hot and humid fecundity of the surrounding jungle.

Battling these insidious fungal usurpers is best conducted with ironclad vigilance and liberal dispersals of chlorine bleach. Hot spots need to be identified quickly and removed immediately. There is also something to be said for incorporating within the design of the home certain elements that impede the proliferation of mold and mildew. Sufficient ventilation and building supplies that resist moisture are the most common examples of this practice.

In the construction of his home, however, the Wolf decided to create a new paradigm. Yes, he would erect a structure impervious to the threat of fungal invasion using materials most would deem to be counterintuitive to his goals. The result was a striking marble edifice with very little cross ventilation and interior walls covered in a cloth reminiscent of burlap.

But alas, the jungle once again failed to bend to the Lobo's will and mildew rapidly spread over much of the brown fabric adorning the living spaces. As usual the Wolf's response was quick and decisive. The burlap had to go. But what to use in its place? A lesser man would have settled for walls of painted plaster. Yet the Lobo doesn't believe himself to be a lesser man (the Badger does). He is a man that rules over his domain. And so he turned to the past and sought architectural inspiration from those who governed with the moxie and panache that he brings to every day life.

It was only natural that he would settle upon the Roman Emperor Caligula. For whose legacy is more closely linked to both the austere nobility of marble clad structures and the frivolous gaiety that takes place within them? It is hard to imagine a historical figure that more completely envelopes the Wolf's worldview.

And thus the Lobo set about transforming his moldy jungle abode into a stunning architectural tribute to his lifestyle guru. The Badger was there to document the undertaking as it unfolded. As a result of the project he has become convinced that just as Rome teetered on the edge of collapse under Caligula's rule, the jungle reign of the Lobo is precipitously close to implosion. And when the marble dust of depraved insanity settles the Tejon will be poised to grasp the scepter of victory.

The Lobo's Minions Undertake Their Master's Bidding

Roman Bath From Floor to Ceiling

Attention to Detail Even Caligula Would Approve Of

Don Quixote Wishing the Wolf Were a Windmill

Badger Battles.....Scorpion

Most readers have probably surmised that the Badger has a deep affection for eating. The photos featured in previous posts attest to this fact. What may not be so easily gleaned, however, is the fact that the Tejon enjoys preparing his food almost as much as consuming it.

Amongst other things, the ritual of fixing the evening meal offers yet another outlet through which the Tejon can slough off the accumulated daily stresses of engaging the Lobo. This part of the afternoon is generally split between quiet meditation on the day's events and relaxed speculation as to what the future might hold.

It can happen though that various forces conspire to crush the serenity of the moment. Instances where extenuating circumstances pull the Badger from the cathartic bliss of chopping vegetables or arranging coals for the grill. Though these diversions are neither welcome nor appreciated, they comprise an inevitable aspect of jungle living and thus force the Tejon to abandon his zen cocoon and reluctantly respond to the matters at hand.

Today we find the Badger in the midst of just such a scenario. In this case he has been assailed by a deadly scorpion as he prepares to light the barbecue. For most men such a discovery would not only spoil the calm tranquility of the moment, but also announce the probability of a prolonged and agonizing death. For the Tejon it is just another task preventing him from enjoying his meal. Remember, the Badger spends his days battling a foe more infernal and insidious than any scorpion.

The series of photos below depicts the Tejon as he nonchalantly faces down the formidable adversary. Watch as his combat hardened reflexes take control. Behold as he puts his most trusted ally at ease by making light of a serious situation. And finally observe him as he steals one of the Wolf's most brutal battlefield tactics and dances a brief jig on the body of his vanquished enemy.

Comfort in Charcoal

An Unwelcome Dinner Guest

Kiss of the Badger

It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time

Dance of the Wolf: Reinterpreted

Wolf Battles Fashion Forward Past

For many fashion is a confusing and confounding aspect of life. What was fashionable yesterday is rarely fashionable today. But what will be fashionable tomorrow can often indeed be what was fashionable in the past. Different people react to this dilemma in different ways. Some remain consistently relevant. They inhabit the forward cusp of what is hip and stylish. Others with less sartorial savvy plod along a few steps behind the vanguard. They cling to the status quo until what is hip and stylish has been thoroughly amalgamated into the mainstream. And then there are the mavericks, those hearty souls for whom what was worn yesterday will be worn today and again tomorrow. They exist outside of the existential struggle to remain viable and current. And perhaps more importantly they are quite comfortable with themselves.

The Lobo presents himself as just such a maverick. He is proud of his pared down wardrobe. He boasts of a closet that has remained strikingly constant for more than three decades. He wears trunks, or jeans, and a cotton polo shirt. What he neglects to mention, however, is that for at least a small period of his life he rode that forward cusp of fashion with tastemakers and trendsetters alike.

One can only speculate as to the reasons he might keep this era a secret. Perhaps it doesn't jive with the other maverick aspects of his lifestyle. Maybe he feels that the image of a fashion conscious individual might confuse those that look to him as a beacon of unwashed and rugged manliness. His reasons are his and his alone.

The fact remains, however, that this era existed. And while it is true most people who enact a wholesale change of character skate into their new lives without a reckoning of the past, it is also true that those same people have never faced the wrath of the Badger.

Once again the Tejon has ventured deep within enemy territory and using the latest in East German microfilm technology, amassed this collection of photos from Lobo's golden days of fashion. Join Tejon on a trip back to an era of sartorial innovation and invention. An era in which Lobo didn't just socialize with the fashion elite, he was the fashion elite.

Daisy Dukes and Hiking Boots? Check!

Still Life With Speedo

Not a Tan Line in Sight

Lobo: An Improvised Field Dossier

There are many of you to whom Lobo is but an abstraction. He is a construct that exists within the pages of this document and nowhere else. That is understandable. There are others amongst you who can with little effort readily conjure a vivid image of the man. You are those who have broken bread with the Wolf. Perhaps you have even drank deeply from his seemingly endless cup. Yet do you really know him? Are you any closer to the flesh and blood of the man than those who regard him merely as myth? The reality is no. Just as Homer never knew the warrior Achilles, no one can truly know the Lobo.

At the same time few argue that without Homer, we might never have heard the name Achilles. Without the poet their would have been no Aeneas, no Odysseus, and no Troy. Yet who amongst us can bring such elaborate detail to the rendering of a man we may or may not know? I certainly cannot. The Badger has no faculty for story telling. We must look elsewhere for the means to understand Lobo.

Fortunately there exists a parallel tale. The author is unknown and it concerns neither Lobo nor Tejon per se, but tells the story of a man eerily similar to the Wolf himself. I have excerpted a portion of it here. Remember that this is not the tale of Lobo and the author is no Homer, but rather the story brings to life the beginnings of a man from which we can all learn much. The hearty readers amongst you will be rewarded for their perseverance.

The public life of the man once known to those around him as Gary Bolin is predictable and well documented. A pillar of regional industry, he ran his construction company prudently and responsibly. He had a hand in much of the development of the northern Idaho area in which he had settled in his twenties and was well regarded around town for the quality of his work. Though he could on occasion succumb to the baser temptation of drink, these transgressions were largely expected and forgiven of the men in his town. He was, by all accounts, the type of man admired and respected in medium sized western communities, a man of conservative nature with just enough recklessness to disarm the natural human aversion to sanctimony. This was who Gary Bolin was.
But then he was gone. Transformed, as it were, into a retired expatriate, living in Mexico and going by the garish handle “Garobo.” The shift was announced in a widely circulated email penned by Garobo himself. Using sparse, cryptic language the communiqué alluded to the fact that Gary Bolin no longer existed. He had started a new life in Mexico under the moniker Garobo and did not plan on returning. It offered no insight as to motive or inspiration. The conclusion stated that communication was welcome but all future inquiries must be made to Garobo in Mexico, not Gary, not Garobo Bolin, just Garobo.
It is easy to imagine the response in Idaho. Speculation rang from every corner of town. The bars and taverns that Gary frequented were awash in rumor and innuendo. Men and women rumpled their foreheads and scowled over cocktails. Some of the more astute among them pointed out that Garobo means iguana in Spanish. None of this, however, brought them any closer to understanding the truth behind his departure.
His town, Coeur d’Alene, was small enough that most were certain he wasn’t fleeing prosecution. They knew he had no debt, were certain his business affairs were in order, and assumed he was of good health. But what then? What would drive someone away from a successful business, from ensured income, from respect and stability? Furthermore, why Mexico? Why a country saturated with poverty and violence? And perhaps most perplexing, why Garobo?
To be certain those who knew him well saw in his past the potential for just such a transformation. They pointed out he had in his early twenties sloughed off the comfort of his middle class upbringing in Chicago and lit out for the west. They noted how when he first arrived in Coeur d’Alene he hid his Jewish heritage and affected the aire of a rough and tumble western cowboy. Even as they acknowledged that these things were true though, there remained a disconnect between the Gary they knew and their vision of a quixotic Garobo gallivanting around Mexico. And for a few nights out of this logical rift poured frenzied speculation and fiercely imaginative tales of the Garobo’s exploits in wild Mexico. The normally banal happy hour banter regarding work and politics and television was replaced with passionate and creative storytelling. Wild theories abounded and many a beautiful and intricate tale was spun in the wake of his disappearance.
Unfortunately, this isn’t one of those tales. The reality is that all but a few residents of Coeur d’Alene forgot about the saga of Garobo shortly after he disappeared. The stories dried up. His employees found work elsewhere. His bartenders served the other regulars. And the stories they told were lost nearly the second they were uttered.

We, however, are not subject to such rumor and innuendo. There lies before us a flesh and blood Lobo. That he is not Garobo is secondary. He may as well be. For we will never understand why Lobo is the way he is any more than those in Coeur d'Alene will understand Garobo's departure. Yet while we may not know why he does the things he does, we know concretely what those things are. And besides, none of this really concerns the Tejon and thus it shouldn't concern you either.

Birth of the Badger

Over one year ago a man arrived in the jungles of Mexico. The sun and the ocean and the bounty of the fertile land that comprised his surroundings fostered deep within him a sense of the vast potential of his existence. He stood at the gate of destiny and beamed at the future.

But there was someone beaming back. Rather, there was a bowlegged little man swaggering towards him with a rakish grin. This man explained to him the difficulties of living in Mexico. He complained about his solar system and his batteries and his television and his struggle to bring electricity to his home. He railed against his lawyer and the price of marble and the propensity of Mexicans to defecate in front of his gate. He called himself Lobo and insisted that others do as well.

Most importantly, however, he killed the man who had once been so naively hopeful about the carefree future awaiting him. Yes, that man is dead, but do not despair. For out of his ashes a new man has risen. A man equally optimistic yet armed with the faculties to battle Lobo's corrosive negativity. He is a badger and his name is Tejon.

Like the best battles, this one is being waged without Lobo's knowledge. But make no mistake, a battle it is and this forum will serve to document the intricacies of that struggle. For those prone to anxiety or high blood pressure be advised that much of what will appear will be salacious and shocking. For those of you willing to take a risk I promise exciting and gripping tales of intrigue and deception. Join me if you dare.