Summer was a magical time during my youth. For most of the summer I would live with my grandmother on her farm but for six weeks my parents would send me to summer camp in the Appalachians. My brother hated summer camp but I loved it. Alex would cry when he had to go. I would cry when I had to leave. Camp was an adventurous time filled with hiking, overnight trips, trout fishing, arts and crafts, canoeing, etc. I also made some friendships that are still thriving today despite the great distances between us.
Summer camp was also a place where a boy could have his first experiences with things he shouldn’t have been doing at that age. My parents paid thousands of dollars every year for me to experience this and one summer I almost ruined it. I came close to getting sent home.
My counselor that year had the nasty habit of dipping smokeless tobacco. I and two other boys decided we were going to “borrow” a can and try it for ourselves. For this offense, you could be sent home and banished from camp. I and my two accomplices crafted a devious plan.
The tobacco was kept in a locked trunk but we knew where my counselor hid the key. I, Dave, and Pete decided to skip a period of class that day and would sneak in the cabin, open the trunk, and take one of the cans of tobacco and try it. We had heard you could get an incredible buzz or high from it and wanted to experience it. I managed to obtain a can and we sneaked behind the cabin to try it.
“Did you get it?” Pete asked excitedly.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the can of Kodiak tobacco.
“Who is going to try it first?” Dave asked.
“Let’s all do it together,” I replied.
I opened the can and we each took out a liberal pinch and placed it between our gums and teeth.
“Yuck, this stuff tastes nasty,” said Pete.
“Keep it in a few minutes,” I said. “You are supposed to get a buzz.”
Within minutes, my head started to swim with a feeling of euphoria. We all started laughing hysterically and couldn’t quit. It was quite a pleasant feeling in the beginning. By this time, Pete’s face had started to turn green.
“Are you okay, Pete?” I asked.
“I think I am going to get sick,” He said.
In our ignorance, we had all been swallowing the tobacco juice and not spitting it out. One by one, we each grew violently ill. We were soon heaving and throwing up.
Our counselor just happened to come back to the cabin for something and he heard the commotion behind it and investigated. We were caught red handed with the can lying on the ground beside us. At first, he was very angry with us and gave us a long lecture about what we had done.
“I ought to take all three of you down to the office and turn you in,” He said.
We pleaded with him not to. We all started to cry. The thoughts of what my parent’s would do to me weighed heavily on my mind.
“Okay, we will keep this to ourselves,” He said. “But if I ever catch you three doing anything like this again, you are going home.”
We all sighed with relief. We ended up having to do cabin cleaning duty every morning for the rest of our tenure there. It was a small price to pay compared to the beating my father would have given me if I had been sent home.
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
The Heat Is On
What a hot day! It was hot at dawn. I rolled out of my bed and opened all my windows for my resident wasps. They were buzzing at the glass and wanting out for the day to forage. The nest in my apartment just inside my window is thriving. There are now up to seven worker adult females assisting the queen. I counted over six capped cells with the larva inside metamorphosing into adults. They should hatch any day now.
The wasps never bother me and have become acclimated to my presence. I guess it must seem strange that I am harboring a wasp nest inside my home and encouraging its development. If I put my finger up near the nest, one of the workers will attempt to give me nourishment by secreting a droplet of liquid as if I were a larva. That is how accustomed they are to me.
After fixing a simple breakfast of cheese toast and coffee, I donned my daypack and walked the ten minutes down to the Pig to stock up on some more Gatorade. I had a feeling I was going to need it today. The heat index is forecasted to get over the hundred degree mark. I really should just give in and turn on the air conditioner but I hate the incessant drone it emits. It is right next to my computer desk.
I saw DJ RapStar having an animated discussion with Cap with Tag Guy. Cap w/ Tag was just standing there stoically as if he was ignoring him without any expression on his face. DJ RapStar seemed almost as if he were preaching evangelically he was speaking with such animation. I try to avoid any contact with DJ RapStar. The guy is racist and trouble with a capital T. I took the long way around the periphery of the parking lot to the grocery store and managed to avoid contact.
Having my backpack with me made me feel uncomfortable about wearing it into the store. I was afraid they would think I was shoplifting but I took a chance and left it on. They see me almost everyday down there and know I am a good customer. If George or Slop is down there, I usually get one of them to watch it and I set it upon a bench. George or Slop were no where to be seen today.
Upon checking out, I managed to get Virginia as my cashier. Linda’s line had a little, old, black lady with a buggy full of groceries. The little old lady was just starting to unload them. It would have been a lengthy wait.
Virginia is a surly cow. She has worked at the Pig for years and has never managed to get promoted above cashier status. She always insists on putting my items in paper bags instead of plastic. If you are walking, the plastic bags with handles are much more convenient. I asked for plastic and she let out a loud sigh as if this simple act was causing her a great deal of extra work. I had to bite my tongue to keep from saying something as it wouldn’t be worth the ordeal.
It was a boring day today with nothing noteworthy to write about. I walked home in the oppressive heat and just sat down to write this. Maybe, if I get up the energy, I will attempt to write another story about my travels with Preacher Man. They are many more to tell.
The wasps never bother me and have become acclimated to my presence. I guess it must seem strange that I am harboring a wasp nest inside my home and encouraging its development. If I put my finger up near the nest, one of the workers will attempt to give me nourishment by secreting a droplet of liquid as if I were a larva. That is how accustomed they are to me.
After fixing a simple breakfast of cheese toast and coffee, I donned my daypack and walked the ten minutes down to the Pig to stock up on some more Gatorade. I had a feeling I was going to need it today. The heat index is forecasted to get over the hundred degree mark. I really should just give in and turn on the air conditioner but I hate the incessant drone it emits. It is right next to my computer desk.
I saw DJ RapStar having an animated discussion with Cap with Tag Guy. Cap w/ Tag was just standing there stoically as if he was ignoring him without any expression on his face. DJ RapStar seemed almost as if he were preaching evangelically he was speaking with such animation. I try to avoid any contact with DJ RapStar. The guy is racist and trouble with a capital T. I took the long way around the periphery of the parking lot to the grocery store and managed to avoid contact.
Having my backpack with me made me feel uncomfortable about wearing it into the store. I was afraid they would think I was shoplifting but I took a chance and left it on. They see me almost everyday down there and know I am a good customer. If George or Slop is down there, I usually get one of them to watch it and I set it upon a bench. George or Slop were no where to be seen today.
Upon checking out, I managed to get Virginia as my cashier. Linda’s line had a little, old, black lady with a buggy full of groceries. The little old lady was just starting to unload them. It would have been a lengthy wait.
Virginia is a surly cow. She has worked at the Pig for years and has never managed to get promoted above cashier status. She always insists on putting my items in paper bags instead of plastic. If you are walking, the plastic bags with handles are much more convenient. I asked for plastic and she let out a loud sigh as if this simple act was causing her a great deal of extra work. I had to bite my tongue to keep from saying something as it wouldn’t be worth the ordeal.
It was a boring day today with nothing noteworthy to write about. I walked home in the oppressive heat and just sat down to write this. Maybe, if I get up the energy, I will attempt to write another story about my travels with Preacher Man. They are many more to tell.
My Experiences with Blog Explosion
A long time ago, a friend recommended and referred me to Blog Explosion. I took a look and even went so far as to sign up. I thought it was just a gimmick though and never went any further. A few days ago, I decided to take another look and try it out. It does work but you have to have a lot of free time on your hands.
I thought, “Cool, I will get to read some interesting blogs while I earn credits.” My elation over this prospect was soon deflated. The majority of the blogs out there are mind numbingly boring but it seems the authors have paid for credits or something. Their blogs are constantly brought up. I would have to sit there for thirty seconds reading completely uninteresting crap. It was about as much fun as stepping in dog crap and having to scrape it off your shoe with a stick.
There are also thousands of political blogs saying the same exact damn thing. It seems as if these authors take the talking points of either party and just post them into a blog. Thousands are doing this and it is another thirty seconds wasted. When I hit a political blog I could guess with uncanny accuracy what the author was going to be writing about.
My main goal was to drum up some more content on my blog via comments. I wasn’t so interesting in just visits. Comments give long time readers interesting stuff to read and allow you to interact with your readership. Comments give a blog a sense of vitality. The problem with Blog Explosion is that the majority of visitors only stick around for the mandatory 30 seconds and click away in their quest for credits. The interface with Blog Explosion also makes it hard to bookmark a page in your browser which is frustrating. I did find a few interesting blogs but I had a hard time revisiting them with Blog Explosion’s clumsy interface.
Anyways, I will probably still dabble with it over the next few weeks and see what happens. I certainly won’t be sitting in front of the computer all day and clicking those links though. I would rather have a life than a frequently visited blog.
PS – Everybody and their grandmother is posting about the new Harry Potter book. It reminds me of the hype surrounding a long anticipated summer blockbuster film such as the latest Star Wars. If I have to read another long winded post about how long you had to wait in line to receive Harry Potter at midnight, I will turn off my computer and go outside.
I thought, “Cool, I will get to read some interesting blogs while I earn credits.” My elation over this prospect was soon deflated. The majority of the blogs out there are mind numbingly boring but it seems the authors have paid for credits or something. Their blogs are constantly brought up. I would have to sit there for thirty seconds reading completely uninteresting crap. It was about as much fun as stepping in dog crap and having to scrape it off your shoe with a stick.
There are also thousands of political blogs saying the same exact damn thing. It seems as if these authors take the talking points of either party and just post them into a blog. Thousands are doing this and it is another thirty seconds wasted. When I hit a political blog I could guess with uncanny accuracy what the author was going to be writing about.
My main goal was to drum up some more content on my blog via comments. I wasn’t so interesting in just visits. Comments give long time readers interesting stuff to read and allow you to interact with your readership. Comments give a blog a sense of vitality. The problem with Blog Explosion is that the majority of visitors only stick around for the mandatory 30 seconds and click away in their quest for credits. The interface with Blog Explosion also makes it hard to bookmark a page in your browser which is frustrating. I did find a few interesting blogs but I had a hard time revisiting them with Blog Explosion’s clumsy interface.
Anyways, I will probably still dabble with it over the next few weeks and see what happens. I certainly won’t be sitting in front of the computer all day and clicking those links though. I would rather have a life than a frequently visited blog.
PS – Everybody and their grandmother is posting about the new Harry Potter book. It reminds me of the hype surrounding a long anticipated summer blockbuster film such as the latest Star Wars. If I have to read another long winded post about how long you had to wait in line to receive Harry Potter at midnight, I will turn off my computer and go outside.
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
A Heart to Heart with Slop
I had walked down to the Pig to buy a gallon of milk and a loaf of bread. As I rounded the corner I saw HIV/AIDS Guy peddling his wares in the parking lot. HIV/AIDS Guy has the same spiel every time. He tells this sob story about how he is dying of AIDS and needs your spare change to keep him alive. He even wears an old ID band from the local hospital to prove how sick he is. Anybody with any common sense realizes he is full of shit. He saw me and made a beeline straight in my direction. “Fuck,” I muttered under my breath. He had seen me smoking a cigarette.
“Hey man, would you let me bum a cigarette?” He asked.
Everyone down at the shopping center knows not to ask me for a cigarette. I do not let people bum cigarettes. If you give one then everybody sees you as an easy mark and will constantly bug you for another.
“I don’t want to give a dying man a cigarette,” I said. “Your health is already bad enough. It would make me feel guilty.”
“Oh, come on!” He said. “One cigarette ain’t gonna hurt me that much.”
“Sorry man,” I said as I kept walking. “I couldn’t live with that on my conscience.”
I had used his spiel against him and felt vindicated for all that times I had to stand there and listen to his bullshit.
I walked on up towards the Pig and saw Slop sitting on the bench between the dollar store and the grocery store. I sat down beside him to finish smoking.
“You seen George?” I asked.
“Nah, I ain’t be seeing George for a few days now.” Slop said.
Slop was sweating profusely as always. He had a red cotton rag in his hand he was using to wipe away the river of sweat running down his brow.
“Slop, don’t you get tired of sitting down here in the heat everyday?” I asked.
“I don’t be havin’ anything else to do,” Slop said.
Slop is one of the laziest men I have ever met. I am always astounded that he manages to navigate his great bulk down to the shopping center everyday to panhandle.
“You don’t be havin’ an extra dollar I could borrow, do you?” Slop asked.
“Slop, you are on disability, right?” I asked.
“It be going to my sista tho,” Slop said. “I be helpin’ to see about her kids.”
“Well, you probably have more money than me and I get goddamned tired of you asking for a dollar every time you see me,” I replied.
Slop chuckled.
“I will be leavin’ you alone from now on,” He said.
“Now, for that, I will give you a dollar.” I said.
I handed Slop a dollar. He promised he would never bug me again, I didn’t believe him thought. I headed on up to the store to finish my shopping and then walked home.
“Hey man, would you let me bum a cigarette?” He asked.
Everyone down at the shopping center knows not to ask me for a cigarette. I do not let people bum cigarettes. If you give one then everybody sees you as an easy mark and will constantly bug you for another.
“I don’t want to give a dying man a cigarette,” I said. “Your health is already bad enough. It would make me feel guilty.”
“Oh, come on!” He said. “One cigarette ain’t gonna hurt me that much.”
“Sorry man,” I said as I kept walking. “I couldn’t live with that on my conscience.”
I had used his spiel against him and felt vindicated for all that times I had to stand there and listen to his bullshit.
I walked on up towards the Pig and saw Slop sitting on the bench between the dollar store and the grocery store. I sat down beside him to finish smoking.
“You seen George?” I asked.
“Nah, I ain’t be seeing George for a few days now.” Slop said.
Slop was sweating profusely as always. He had a red cotton rag in his hand he was using to wipe away the river of sweat running down his brow.
“Slop, don’t you get tired of sitting down here in the heat everyday?” I asked.
“I don’t be havin’ anything else to do,” Slop said.
Slop is one of the laziest men I have ever met. I am always astounded that he manages to navigate his great bulk down to the shopping center everyday to panhandle.
“You don’t be havin’ an extra dollar I could borrow, do you?” Slop asked.
“Slop, you are on disability, right?” I asked.
“It be going to my sista tho,” Slop said. “I be helpin’ to see about her kids.”
“Well, you probably have more money than me and I get goddamned tired of you asking for a dollar every time you see me,” I replied.
Slop chuckled.
“I will be leavin’ you alone from now on,” He said.
“Now, for that, I will give you a dollar.” I said.
I handed Slop a dollar. He promised he would never bug me again, I didn’t believe him thought. I headed on up to the store to finish my shopping and then walked home.
Monday, July 18, 2005
Travels with Preacher Man
I had quit my job as a research technician at a major university and decided to enroll in one of those month-long truck driving schools. I took to driving a big rig like a fish to water. “You are going to make a damn fine truck driver,” My instructor used to say.
Within a matter of weeks I had that glossy new commercial driver’s license in my hands. I was itching to get out on the roadways and start making those big bucks. The lure and romance of the open road was calling me.
I applied to numerous companies and got several offers for starting positions. There was this one company with big shiny blue trucks and it caught my eye. They also paid well. I soon had a bus ticket in hand and was on my way to Mississippi to start my training. I was assigned to the Dollar General account and my trainer was called Preacher Man. I was going to live with this strange man for two months as he showed me the ropes. This made me apprehensive but the urge to get my own truck and to drive solo drove me ever forwards in my quest. (It was also refreshing to be away from the ever watchful eye of my then wife.)
Preacher man turned out to be an interesting fellow. Preacher lived dual lives. During the week he was a foul mouthed and brusque truck driver. On the weekend he was a mild mannered pastor at a small local church. Preacher was married and had three kids. A picture of his family was prominently displayed on the dash of his rig. Preacher Man also had an affinity for prostitutes who are affectionately called “Lot Lizards” in truck driver lingo.
I will never forget my first night as a long haul truck driver. No sooner than we had almost pulled out of the parking lot a demure female voice called out over the CB.
“Any of you boys looking for a good time?” She said.
Preacher picked up the CB and responded.
“I am up for a good time if the price is right.” He said as he took that picture off his dash and stored it above the sun visor.
I sat there in shock as I had never experienced something such as this but I knew what was going on. They negotiated for a few moments and then soon two young ladies were crawling into the cab of the truck with us. They looked like teenagers they were so young.
“Does your friend there need a companion as well?” One lady asked in reference to me.
The lady’s companion put her hand on my leg, squeezed it, and smiled.
“I’m married but thanks anyway.” I replied as I blushed before Preacher could respond.
Preacher Man drove back into the complex and dropped me off at the trucker’s lounge so he could take care of his business. I remember sitting in that lounge for what seemed like ages waiting on Preacher Man to return. “What in the hell have I got myself into?” I thought.
Preacher turned out to be an okay fellow but I never did like his occasional romps with Lot Lizards. The truck always reeked of sex after every encounter and it made me uncomfortable. I was overjoyed when I finally was promoted and took into possession my very own big rig. I finally had some privacy and some peace and quiet. Trucking did turn out to be one of the hardest jobs I ever worked though.
Within a matter of weeks I had that glossy new commercial driver’s license in my hands. I was itching to get out on the roadways and start making those big bucks. The lure and romance of the open road was calling me.
I applied to numerous companies and got several offers for starting positions. There was this one company with big shiny blue trucks and it caught my eye. They also paid well. I soon had a bus ticket in hand and was on my way to Mississippi to start my training. I was assigned to the Dollar General account and my trainer was called Preacher Man. I was going to live with this strange man for two months as he showed me the ropes. This made me apprehensive but the urge to get my own truck and to drive solo drove me ever forwards in my quest. (It was also refreshing to be away from the ever watchful eye of my then wife.)
Preacher man turned out to be an interesting fellow. Preacher lived dual lives. During the week he was a foul mouthed and brusque truck driver. On the weekend he was a mild mannered pastor at a small local church. Preacher was married and had three kids. A picture of his family was prominently displayed on the dash of his rig. Preacher Man also had an affinity for prostitutes who are affectionately called “Lot Lizards” in truck driver lingo.
I will never forget my first night as a long haul truck driver. No sooner than we had almost pulled out of the parking lot a demure female voice called out over the CB.
“Any of you boys looking for a good time?” She said.
Preacher picked up the CB and responded.
“I am up for a good time if the price is right.” He said as he took that picture off his dash and stored it above the sun visor.
I sat there in shock as I had never experienced something such as this but I knew what was going on. They negotiated for a few moments and then soon two young ladies were crawling into the cab of the truck with us. They looked like teenagers they were so young.
“Does your friend there need a companion as well?” One lady asked in reference to me.
The lady’s companion put her hand on my leg, squeezed it, and smiled.
“I’m married but thanks anyway.” I replied as I blushed before Preacher could respond.
Preacher Man drove back into the complex and dropped me off at the trucker’s lounge so he could take care of his business. I remember sitting in that lounge for what seemed like ages waiting on Preacher Man to return. “What in the hell have I got myself into?” I thought.
Preacher turned out to be an okay fellow but I never did like his occasional romps with Lot Lizards. The truck always reeked of sex after every encounter and it made me uncomfortable. I was overjoyed when I finally was promoted and took into possession my very own big rig. I finally had some privacy and some peace and quiet. Trucking did turn out to be one of the hardest jobs I ever worked though.
Sunday, July 17, 2005
Comma Usage for the Comma Clueless
I was reading through some of my old posts this afternoon. I realize that I can be clueless as far as the correct use of commas. This is one aspect of my writing that I struggle with the most. I am always unsure of the correct point in my writings to place a comma. This drives me crazy quite frankly.
I have just pulled out my trusty Hodge’s Harbrace College Handbook and opened it to the chapters on the correct usage of commas. I laid it open and face down on my desk. I will endeavor to read those chapters tonight as I curl up in the bed before I go to sleep. Maybe I will finally get a clue as to the correct usage of commas during my readings tonight.
I have just pulled out my trusty Hodge’s Harbrace College Handbook and opened it to the chapters on the correct usage of commas. I laid it open and face down on my desk. I will endeavor to read those chapters tonight as I curl up in the bed before I go to sleep. Maybe I will finally get a clue as to the correct usage of commas during my readings tonight.
Sometimes, Marriage Ain’t All It’s Cracked Up To Be
I guess you only know how to act or not to act from experiences with your own parents. My parents always slept in separate bedrooms and had distinctly different lives going on. Both my parents were fiercely independent up until the time my mother got sick. They loved each other but they also kept a healthy distance. I only knew how spouses should act from watching them.
When I first got married to Rachel, it was total culture shock. Rachel’s father was completely pussy whipped by my mother-in-law. He waited on her hand and foot and complied with her every wish. My mother-in-law wore the balls in that household. I always felt sorry for the guy and would wish he would just run away or something. One time he did pack his bags and carried them with him to work every day with the intent of leaving. He would always come back home that evening with that bag in hand looking defeated.
Rachel thought I should act like her father. Of course this all didn’t start until after our honeymoon. I rebelled vehemently and this caused many screaming and arguing matches in the early parts of our marriage. She expected me to go to bed every night at a certain time. That was one of the biggest sources of contention that I remember. I enjoyed staying up late as I could be a night owl in those days. I liked to work on my hobby of Model Railroading after a tough day at work. I relished the time after the TV had been turned off for the day and all was quiet. The more she insisted that I conform to her wishes the more I rebelled. I told myself I wasn’t going to have some woman telling me when to go to bed. I was a grown man, God damn it!
“Why can’t you just go get in the bed and go to sleep?” I would ask. “I am not making any noise and keeping you up.”
“I can’t sleep without you in the bed with me,” She would reply.
“Rachel, this is my quiet time,” I would say. “This is time I want for myself. I spend every waking hour with you when I am not at work. Can’t I just have one or two hours by myself?”
“Fine, be alone then!” She would scream and go running out of the room to cry on the bed until she fell asleep.
Later in the marriage I learned to just give in and go to bed. I was finally broken. I left many projects on my hobby desk unfinished. I would lay in the bed as my wife snored watching the ceiling fan spin round and round for what seemed like hours. Eventually I would go to sleep with emotions of anger and resentment smoldering in my thoughts.
When I first got married to Rachel, it was total culture shock. Rachel’s father was completely pussy whipped by my mother-in-law. He waited on her hand and foot and complied with her every wish. My mother-in-law wore the balls in that household. I always felt sorry for the guy and would wish he would just run away or something. One time he did pack his bags and carried them with him to work every day with the intent of leaving. He would always come back home that evening with that bag in hand looking defeated.
Rachel thought I should act like her father. Of course this all didn’t start until after our honeymoon. I rebelled vehemently and this caused many screaming and arguing matches in the early parts of our marriage. She expected me to go to bed every night at a certain time. That was one of the biggest sources of contention that I remember. I enjoyed staying up late as I could be a night owl in those days. I liked to work on my hobby of Model Railroading after a tough day at work. I relished the time after the TV had been turned off for the day and all was quiet. The more she insisted that I conform to her wishes the more I rebelled. I told myself I wasn’t going to have some woman telling me when to go to bed. I was a grown man, God damn it!
“Why can’t you just go get in the bed and go to sleep?” I would ask. “I am not making any noise and keeping you up.”
“I can’t sleep without you in the bed with me,” She would reply.
“Rachel, this is my quiet time,” I would say. “This is time I want for myself. I spend every waking hour with you when I am not at work. Can’t I just have one or two hours by myself?”
“Fine, be alone then!” She would scream and go running out of the room to cry on the bed until she fell asleep.
Later in the marriage I learned to just give in and go to bed. I was finally broken. I left many projects on my hobby desk unfinished. I would lay in the bed as my wife snored watching the ceiling fan spin round and round for what seemed like hours. Eventually I would go to sleep with emotions of anger and resentment smoldering in my thoughts.
Saturday, July 16, 2005
To Porn or Not To Porn
George has been bugging me for weeks about bringing him some pornography off of the internet. He said he heard that you can find anything your heart desired and you can if you know where to look. I am not one much for porn as most of the women that are featured seem fake and unobtainable. My medication also completely blunts my sex drive so I have very little interest. George is interested in a different kind of porn though than that. Here is today’s conversation and what entailed.
“I be wantin’ to see some thick women off dem internets,” George said.
By thick, George means heavy set.
“What do dey call dem big bitches on there?” George asked.
“BBWs,” I said.
“BBWs?” asked George. “What dat be?”
“Big Beautiful Women,” I replied.
“Now we be talkin’,” George said. “How bout bringin’ some pictures down for me and Slop to look at.”
I laughed.
“Black or white?” I asked.
“I like ‘em chocolate,” George replied.
“How big do you want them?” I asked.
“Dat baby gotta have back!” George exclaimed meaning a big ass.
“George if I brought you a few pictures you would be constantly bugging me for more,” I said. “I don’t want to get involved in all of that.”
“Ah, come on, help a brotha out,” George said.
“George, get your own computer and get hooked up to the internet.” I said. “That way you can look all day if you want to.”
“Yo ass know I don’t know nothin’ bout computers,” George said.
I just chuckled and lit up a cigarette. We sat there for a few moments in silence as George mulled over his options to obtain porn.
“So, you ain’t gonna help a brotha out?” George asked again.
“Drop it George!” I said sternly as I laughed again.
George just laughed along and said something about going down to the county library to look. I would like to be a fly on the wall as that would be an interesting altercation. I am sure that would go over like a lead balloon with the resident librarians. I can just picture George trying to do it though.
“I be wantin’ to see some thick women off dem internets,” George said.
By thick, George means heavy set.
“What do dey call dem big bitches on there?” George asked.
“BBWs,” I said.
“BBWs?” asked George. “What dat be?”
“Big Beautiful Women,” I replied.
“Now we be talkin’,” George said. “How bout bringin’ some pictures down for me and Slop to look at.”
I laughed.
“Black or white?” I asked.
“I like ‘em chocolate,” George replied.
“How big do you want them?” I asked.
“Dat baby gotta have back!” George exclaimed meaning a big ass.
“George if I brought you a few pictures you would be constantly bugging me for more,” I said. “I don’t want to get involved in all of that.”
“Ah, come on, help a brotha out,” George said.
“George, get your own computer and get hooked up to the internet.” I said. “That way you can look all day if you want to.”
“Yo ass know I don’t know nothin’ bout computers,” George said.
I just chuckled and lit up a cigarette. We sat there for a few moments in silence as George mulled over his options to obtain porn.
“So, you ain’t gonna help a brotha out?” George asked again.
“Drop it George!” I said sternly as I laughed again.
George just laughed along and said something about going down to the county library to look. I would like to be a fly on the wall as that would be an interesting altercation. I am sure that would go over like a lead balloon with the resident librarians. I can just picture George trying to do it though.
Livin’ Large
I feel as if I live in the tropics. We are caught in a persistent and stagnant weather pattern. Everyday the heat of the sun causes thunderstorms to bubble up and fire. The humidity in the air is so thick you feel as if you could cut it with a knife. It rains for most of the day everyday. This leaves only a narrow window of early morning or late afternoon to complete my daily hike.
Today I left the house as the sun was first coming up. I must have walked around 6 miles. On my way home, I passed by Merl’s Diner and decided to get some breakfast. Merl’s is like a family owned Waffle House but the food is a thousand times better. I took a stool and ordered steak and eggs and a cup of coffee. I was starving and was living large by purchasing such an elaborate breakfast.
An elderly man was sitting next to me at the counter. He had a wiry, wild, and untamed beard. He looked like the stereotypical homeless man. He struck up a conversation.
“Sure looks like the Chattahoochee is gonna flood,” He said.
I had noticed that there were sandbags by the door in preparation when I walked in.
“If this rain keeps up, it sure will like it did in ninety eight,” I replied.
He took a drink of his coffee and then continued the conversation.
“Now the flood of sixty-two, that was the big one,” He said. “They had boats trawling the streets of downtown West Point the water was so high.”
“That was before my time,” I replied. “But I have heard stories about it.”
By this time, my food had arrived. The waitress sat down a plate with a huge steak on it with a side of eggs and a bowl of grits. She sat down another small plate with two huge buttermilk biscuits sitting upon it.
“I am never going to eat all of this,” I thought.
I managed to eat every bit of it and it was delicious. I placed a nice tip on the counter, paid for my meal, and bid the elderly gentleman goodbye. I then walked on up towards the shopping center were the Piggly Wiggly resides. I was almost back home.
Saturday is the busiest day of the week for the Pig. It was bustling with activity this morning. The flea market was also open and scores of people were perusing the stalls. The parking lot was just jammed full of cars. A day such as Saturday is the opportune time for the Piggly Wiggly groupies to make some extra cash through their various means. The activity and hustle and bustle draws them there like moths to a flame. I had an interesting conversation with George and I will post it as soon as I get it written.
Today I left the house as the sun was first coming up. I must have walked around 6 miles. On my way home, I passed by Merl’s Diner and decided to get some breakfast. Merl’s is like a family owned Waffle House but the food is a thousand times better. I took a stool and ordered steak and eggs and a cup of coffee. I was starving and was living large by purchasing such an elaborate breakfast.
An elderly man was sitting next to me at the counter. He had a wiry, wild, and untamed beard. He looked like the stereotypical homeless man. He struck up a conversation.
“Sure looks like the Chattahoochee is gonna flood,” He said.
I had noticed that there were sandbags by the door in preparation when I walked in.
“If this rain keeps up, it sure will like it did in ninety eight,” I replied.
He took a drink of his coffee and then continued the conversation.
“Now the flood of sixty-two, that was the big one,” He said. “They had boats trawling the streets of downtown West Point the water was so high.”
“That was before my time,” I replied. “But I have heard stories about it.”
By this time, my food had arrived. The waitress sat down a plate with a huge steak on it with a side of eggs and a bowl of grits. She sat down another small plate with two huge buttermilk biscuits sitting upon it.
“I am never going to eat all of this,” I thought.
I managed to eat every bit of it and it was delicious. I placed a nice tip on the counter, paid for my meal, and bid the elderly gentleman goodbye. I then walked on up towards the shopping center were the Piggly Wiggly resides. I was almost back home.
Saturday is the busiest day of the week for the Pig. It was bustling with activity this morning. The flea market was also open and scores of people were perusing the stalls. The parking lot was just jammed full of cars. A day such as Saturday is the opportune time for the Piggly Wiggly groupies to make some extra cash through their various means. The activity and hustle and bustle draws them there like moths to a flame. I had an interesting conversation with George and I will post it as soon as I get it written.
Thursday, July 14, 2005
Idle Talk over Two Rueben’s
I heard the familiar horn of my mother’s Honda in the driveway. It was pouring down rain but this didn’t daunt my mother’s quest for a meal out. My father says she is obsessed with eating out and food and she is.
I opened my umbrella and walked out to the car. She got out and got in the passenger’s side. She always lets me drive.
She had changed her mind and wanted a Rueben sandwich from Arby’s. She decided that eating at the White House Restaurant was too expensive for two weeks in a row. We are going to go once a month from now on.
I drove us down to Valley onto the main strip and pulled into the Arby’s. We both got out and made our way inside. She had to double check three times that the car doors were locked. I patiently looked on. She can be kind of anal and obsessive compulsive about those kinds of things.
Once inside we ordered, received our food, and sat down to eat. I try to make small talk but my mother is not one for talking much and especially not captivating conversation. We usually just sit there quietly as we eat our meal. It is a side effect of her mental illness. Sometimes she can surprise me though with her veracity and lucidity like she did today.
“I haven’t been to see Bob since last week,” I said guiltily as I took a bite out of my sandwich.
“Bob drives me crazy,” She said. “He is so country and always has that toothpick hanging out of his mouth. I don’t blame you.”
“Well, Charlie goes by there everyday after work.” I replied. “It makes me feel guilty.”
“They bought Charlie’s house,” She said. “He is just taking care of business.”
“I guess you are right,” I said. “I still feel guilty though.”
They had a television tuned to CNN inside the restaurant. They started showing a segment about the recent debacle with Karl Rove. My mother completely took me by surprise with our next exchange. She actually knew who Karl Rove and Valerie Plame were.
“Bush said he would fire anybody involved in that Plame leak,” She said. “I bet this just gets swept under the carpet and forgotten; the good old boy network in action.”
My jaw dropped and a look of astonishment came over my face.
“Have you been watching television?” I asked.
“No, I have been reading the Journal Constitution everyday.” She replied.
I have never known my mother to know anything about the news or current events especially politics. I have never even seen her pick up a newspaper. She tends to only read those trashy harlequinesque romance novels.
“What brought this sudden change in reading on?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I just picked up the paper one day and started reading it. I have been reading it for weeks now.” She replied.
We went to talk a great length about current events. We finally finished our meal and headed home full and satiated. Mom sure can surprise me sometimes and I like to see her get involved and be active. I hate to see her sleep her days away like she normally does. Maybe this is the first step of a period of renewed vigor and vitality. I certainly hope so.
I opened my umbrella and walked out to the car. She got out and got in the passenger’s side. She always lets me drive.
She had changed her mind and wanted a Rueben sandwich from Arby’s. She decided that eating at the White House Restaurant was too expensive for two weeks in a row. We are going to go once a month from now on.
I drove us down to Valley onto the main strip and pulled into the Arby’s. We both got out and made our way inside. She had to double check three times that the car doors were locked. I patiently looked on. She can be kind of anal and obsessive compulsive about those kinds of things.
Once inside we ordered, received our food, and sat down to eat. I try to make small talk but my mother is not one for talking much and especially not captivating conversation. We usually just sit there quietly as we eat our meal. It is a side effect of her mental illness. Sometimes she can surprise me though with her veracity and lucidity like she did today.
“I haven’t been to see Bob since last week,” I said guiltily as I took a bite out of my sandwich.
“Bob drives me crazy,” She said. “He is so country and always has that toothpick hanging out of his mouth. I don’t blame you.”
“Well, Charlie goes by there everyday after work.” I replied. “It makes me feel guilty.”
“They bought Charlie’s house,” She said. “He is just taking care of business.”
“I guess you are right,” I said. “I still feel guilty though.”
They had a television tuned to CNN inside the restaurant. They started showing a segment about the recent debacle with Karl Rove. My mother completely took me by surprise with our next exchange. She actually knew who Karl Rove and Valerie Plame were.
“Bush said he would fire anybody involved in that Plame leak,” She said. “I bet this just gets swept under the carpet and forgotten; the good old boy network in action.”
My jaw dropped and a look of astonishment came over my face.
“Have you been watching television?” I asked.
“No, I have been reading the Journal Constitution everyday.” She replied.
I have never known my mother to know anything about the news or current events especially politics. I have never even seen her pick up a newspaper. She tends to only read those trashy harlequinesque romance novels.
“What brought this sudden change in reading on?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I just picked up the paper one day and started reading it. I have been reading it for weeks now.” She replied.
We went to talk a great length about current events. We finally finished our meal and headed home full and satiated. Mom sure can surprise me sometimes and I like to see her get involved and be active. I hate to see her sleep her days away like she normally does. Maybe this is the first step of a period of renewed vigor and vitality. I certainly hope so.
Doom and Dread
I don’t feel like doing anything today but sitting in my apartment. I didn’t sleep well last night and am living up to my namesake today, grumpy. I am also feeling this impending sense of anxiety, doom, and dread. It is that feeling that something bad is about to happen. Nothing bad is about to happen that I know of.
I had a message on my answering machine this morning. It was from my father’s pharmacy. They are having computer problems again. This is a brand new Dell computer. Veronica seems to think it is a virus. Getting a virus is a pretty rare event especially if you have an anti-virus protection installed. I have a good idea that the co-pharmacist has installed a bunch of frivolous junk off of the internet like she normally does such as AOL chat programs and realplayer. Stuff full of spyware and adware. I tried to get my point across to them that the more frivolous stuff you install on a computer then the more unstable windows will get. The computer should just be used for filling prescriptions and submitting orders. Nothing else and that would solve all their problems. It normally takes some kind of human input to cause a problem if the computer was formerly running just fine. For some reason they can’t seem to grasp this concept though.
Every Thursday I go out to eat with my mother. Mom just called to remind me of this. She wants to go to the White House Restaurant tonight. For some reason I dread doing this as well. I would rather have a quiet meal at home. I don’t feel like getting out today. We always get the exact same thing every time. She gets baked shrimp and I get a ribeye steak. They never do cook my steak right and it is always over done. Maybe tonight I will try the fried seafood platter. Some nice fried oysters and scallops sound good to me right now. We live close enough to the Gulf of Mexico that fresh seafood is readily available.
Well, I am now going to drag my sorry ass into the shower and get cleaned up. I even dread doing that, especially shaving. I don’t know what has gotten into me today. I just wish these butterflies in the pit of my stomach would go away. I hate feeling like this.
I had a message on my answering machine this morning. It was from my father’s pharmacy. They are having computer problems again. This is a brand new Dell computer. Veronica seems to think it is a virus. Getting a virus is a pretty rare event especially if you have an anti-virus protection installed. I have a good idea that the co-pharmacist has installed a bunch of frivolous junk off of the internet like she normally does such as AOL chat programs and realplayer. Stuff full of spyware and adware. I tried to get my point across to them that the more frivolous stuff you install on a computer then the more unstable windows will get. The computer should just be used for filling prescriptions and submitting orders. Nothing else and that would solve all their problems. It normally takes some kind of human input to cause a problem if the computer was formerly running just fine. For some reason they can’t seem to grasp this concept though.
Every Thursday I go out to eat with my mother. Mom just called to remind me of this. She wants to go to the White House Restaurant tonight. For some reason I dread doing this as well. I would rather have a quiet meal at home. I don’t feel like getting out today. We always get the exact same thing every time. She gets baked shrimp and I get a ribeye steak. They never do cook my steak right and it is always over done. Maybe tonight I will try the fried seafood platter. Some nice fried oysters and scallops sound good to me right now. We live close enough to the Gulf of Mexico that fresh seafood is readily available.
Well, I am now going to drag my sorry ass into the shower and get cleaned up. I even dread doing that, especially shaving. I don’t know what has gotten into me today. I just wish these butterflies in the pit of my stomach would go away. I hate feeling like this.
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
Drunk at Noon
“George, you are drunk,” I said.
George looked up at me with bloodshot eyes from the bench he was sitting on.
“Fuck off, ya white cracka!” George exclaimed and then started to laugh hysterically.
I looked around the parking lot to see if his car was here. It wasn’t to be seen. He apparently got a ride.
“George sho be fucked up.” Slop said sitting next to George.
“Fuck yo ass Slop. You fat mutha fucka.” George said as he began to laugh again.
“Hey man, let’s get you home,” I said. “You need to sleep it off.”
George unscrewed the cap off of a pint of whiskey wrapped in a brown paper bag and took another big slug.
“I be waitin’ for someone,” George replied.
I sat down on the bench next to George and lit up a cigarette. George fumbled in his shirt pocket to finally pull out a cigar. He put it into his mouth and I held up my lighter to light it.
“What’s going on man? You usually don’t get this fucked up,” I said.
“Dat bitch said she would meet me here,” George said. “Her ass ain’t shown up yet.”
“He be thinkin’ Yolanda gonna give him some pussy,” Slop said.
I gave Slop a stern look trying to shut him up as he was trying to escalate the situation. I know George is crazy and all but he looks out for me. He would jump in and help if something happened to me down at the Pig. I owe him a helping hand.
“Come on, man,” I said as I grabbed his elbow. “Let’s head to the house.”
George yanked his elbow away.
“I ain’t goin’ nowhere until I see that bitch!” George said loudly.
“How bout me and you get a twelve pack of beer and split it?” I asked. “Me and you haven’t had a drink together in a long time.”
By this time a big storm was coming and the thunder was getting ever louder. I walked into the Pig and bought a twelve pack of beer and then headed back outside. George saw the twelve pack and got up.
“You be my brotha,” George said as he put his arm around my neck and over my shoulder.
“Let’s head on to the house.” I said as we both walked to my car.
I managed to get George home in one piece. His elderly mother was standing at the door as I drove up. I apologized for George’s condition and handed her the twelve pack of beer. She understood and told me to take care. George likes to drink but I rarely see him three sheets to the wind. I just knew he was going to get arrested.
George looked up at me with bloodshot eyes from the bench he was sitting on.
“Fuck off, ya white cracka!” George exclaimed and then started to laugh hysterically.
I looked around the parking lot to see if his car was here. It wasn’t to be seen. He apparently got a ride.
“George sho be fucked up.” Slop said sitting next to George.
“Fuck yo ass Slop. You fat mutha fucka.” George said as he began to laugh again.
“Hey man, let’s get you home,” I said. “You need to sleep it off.”
George unscrewed the cap off of a pint of whiskey wrapped in a brown paper bag and took another big slug.
“I be waitin’ for someone,” George replied.
I sat down on the bench next to George and lit up a cigarette. George fumbled in his shirt pocket to finally pull out a cigar. He put it into his mouth and I held up my lighter to light it.
“What’s going on man? You usually don’t get this fucked up,” I said.
“Dat bitch said she would meet me here,” George said. “Her ass ain’t shown up yet.”
“He be thinkin’ Yolanda gonna give him some pussy,” Slop said.
I gave Slop a stern look trying to shut him up as he was trying to escalate the situation. I know George is crazy and all but he looks out for me. He would jump in and help if something happened to me down at the Pig. I owe him a helping hand.
“Come on, man,” I said as I grabbed his elbow. “Let’s head to the house.”
George yanked his elbow away.
“I ain’t goin’ nowhere until I see that bitch!” George said loudly.
“How bout me and you get a twelve pack of beer and split it?” I asked. “Me and you haven’t had a drink together in a long time.”
By this time a big storm was coming and the thunder was getting ever louder. I walked into the Pig and bought a twelve pack of beer and then headed back outside. George saw the twelve pack and got up.
“You be my brotha,” George said as he put his arm around my neck and over my shoulder.
“Let’s head on to the house.” I said as we both walked to my car.
I managed to get George home in one piece. His elderly mother was standing at the door as I drove up. I apologized for George’s condition and handed her the twelve pack of beer. She understood and told me to take care. George likes to drink but I rarely see him three sheets to the wind. I just knew he was going to get arrested.
A Hot and Balmy Dusk
Yesterday evening I got a bug up my butt to go camping. Sometimes it just hits me like that and on the spur of the moment I bolt into action. I was sitting here in front of the computer bored, hot, and listless and decided to get out for the evening. I have completely run out of interesting things on the web to read and do.
I packed up my car and headed out to the country near Waverly. It was a long but comforting drive. I had all my windows rolled down and the smell and feel of the country air was invigorating. The winding country roads were also a joy to drive.
I finally hit the dirt back roads and made my way to my favorite camping spot. I arrived at the millpond only a few miles from camp to find the bridge almost flooded. What was normally a small creek was a raging river. Water was roaring over the stone dam and the water was almost up to the level of the roadway on the bridge. This bridge has been condemned several times over the years due to flooding. I debated over trying to cross. It would be a ten mile detour around the other way. I finally got up the courage to try my luck and slowly crept over the bridge. I made it over without any incident but it was scary to say the least. I had visions of me and my prized vehicle being washed off the bridge into the raging waters below me.
I continued to drive on up to the land my family owns. I pulled up into the meadow and started to unpack my gear. I noticed that someone had started building a deer tree stand for hunting in one of the big pines near where I camp. No one in my family hunts so I knew it was an interloper. I pulled a hammer out of the toolbox in the back of my car and pulled it apart and off the tree. I will have to keep an eye out for their return. It kind of disturbed me that a stranger was coming up here to such a deserted spot in the middle of nowhere. This is my secret place and I felt it had been violated.
I then pitched my tent and rolled out my sleeping bag. Once I was satisfied that everything was set up for the evening, I proceeded to get my fire going. I had brought several nice large logs of oak from home that I had split with my axe. This is perfect wood for a long lasting and burning fire. I have pretty much exhausted my supply of fallen dead wood around the area. Within minutes I had a nice fire going and was pleased with my ever increasing skill when doing this endeavor. I have got fire building down to a fine art.
For supper, I ate two tins of sardines on saltine crackers with a liberal dash of hot sauce. I didn’t feel like preparing any elaborate meals last night and that simple supper sufficed. For desert I ate some cinnamon apple crisp bars and drank a pint of milk I had in the cooler. I cleaned up after my meal and got settled down for the night.
Even thought the sun had set and it had grown dark, it was still incredibly hot. I looked at my thermometer and it read 81 degrees. Not the best of sleeping weather as your sleeping bag quickly turns into a sweaty mess. I decided to lie on top of my bag and hopefully would finally drift off to sleep. As I lay there, I could the mournful and lonesome call of a far off whip-o-will. It brought back flash backs of my homeless days. I finally fell to sleep lamenting all the wrong turns I had taken in life.
I packed up my car and headed out to the country near Waverly. It was a long but comforting drive. I had all my windows rolled down and the smell and feel of the country air was invigorating. The winding country roads were also a joy to drive.
I finally hit the dirt back roads and made my way to my favorite camping spot. I arrived at the millpond only a few miles from camp to find the bridge almost flooded. What was normally a small creek was a raging river. Water was roaring over the stone dam and the water was almost up to the level of the roadway on the bridge. This bridge has been condemned several times over the years due to flooding. I debated over trying to cross. It would be a ten mile detour around the other way. I finally got up the courage to try my luck and slowly crept over the bridge. I made it over without any incident but it was scary to say the least. I had visions of me and my prized vehicle being washed off the bridge into the raging waters below me.
I continued to drive on up to the land my family owns. I pulled up into the meadow and started to unpack my gear. I noticed that someone had started building a deer tree stand for hunting in one of the big pines near where I camp. No one in my family hunts so I knew it was an interloper. I pulled a hammer out of the toolbox in the back of my car and pulled it apart and off the tree. I will have to keep an eye out for their return. It kind of disturbed me that a stranger was coming up here to such a deserted spot in the middle of nowhere. This is my secret place and I felt it had been violated.
I then pitched my tent and rolled out my sleeping bag. Once I was satisfied that everything was set up for the evening, I proceeded to get my fire going. I had brought several nice large logs of oak from home that I had split with my axe. This is perfect wood for a long lasting and burning fire. I have pretty much exhausted my supply of fallen dead wood around the area. Within minutes I had a nice fire going and was pleased with my ever increasing skill when doing this endeavor. I have got fire building down to a fine art.
For supper, I ate two tins of sardines on saltine crackers with a liberal dash of hot sauce. I didn’t feel like preparing any elaborate meals last night and that simple supper sufficed. For desert I ate some cinnamon apple crisp bars and drank a pint of milk I had in the cooler. I cleaned up after my meal and got settled down for the night.
Even thought the sun had set and it had grown dark, it was still incredibly hot. I looked at my thermometer and it read 81 degrees. Not the best of sleeping weather as your sleeping bag quickly turns into a sweaty mess. I decided to lie on top of my bag and hopefully would finally drift off to sleep. As I lay there, I could the mournful and lonesome call of a far off whip-o-will. It brought back flash backs of my homeless days. I finally fell to sleep lamenting all the wrong turns I had taken in life.
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
I’ve Never Met a Homeless Republican
I rarely, if ever, talk about politics. The will be one of those rare moments. I just got finished reading a few politically charged exchanges on a blog and it spurred this post.
I have read thousands of political debates and discussions/arguments on the internet and each of the individuals in these debates is solidly entrenched in their respective corners. I don’t think I have ever read anyone concede defeat in such encounters. I do find reading these debates amusing from time to time but always find most of them pointless in that no middle ground is ever reached.
During my first college days back in the early nineteen nineties, I was solidly in the Republican camp. I listened to Rush Limbaugh every night and cheered on my republican constituents to take control of the senate and the house. This was before my mental illness established itself and before I had an experience with homelessness. I had plenty of money. I had a nice car. I had a stable living situation. I had inherited my family’s middle class status. I also inherited their politics.
When my mental illness established itself in my early twenties, my political landscape started to change. I realized that if it were up to the right, I would be thrust upon the streets and left to fend for myself if I were unable to take care of myself due to my illness. I realized that people would run to the aid of those with physical ailments such as diabetes or cancer but mention schizophrenia and people shied away. I fear most people see mental illness as a personal weakness of character and not an actual disease of one of our most important and major organs, the brain. It is easy to look at an MRI or X-ray and see a tumor but you cannot do this with a mental illness. That is why mental illnesses are so hard to diagnose.
My experience with homelessness was the final nail in the proverbial coffin for me as far as any right wing leanings I had. I realized that there is very little help for those of us in situations not of our making. There are safety nets for entities such as large corporations and businesses but little to none for those average citizens who are besieged by a debilitating mental illness. If you do not have a family who will support you or help you then you a quite frankly shit out of luck.
There IS help out there but it is not easy to find and often takes months or years to get. You have to become adept at maneuvering a complicated series of red tape, appointments, and interviews; most of the time you have to be destitute to finally receive this help. There is also the catch-22 when mental illness is involved in that if you are too sick to take care of yourself or think rationally then how in the hell are you going to fill out all those forms and make it to interviews and appointments? That is where your family becomes your last defense against insanity, poverty, and homelessness.
I have never met a homeless republican. I could be proved wrong and shown one but I seriously doubt that they are rational or possessing a sane mind. All the homeless people or formerly homeless people I have met online have been solidly left leaning and liberal many of them radically so. Your social and economic status greatly influences your political leanings.
I have read thousands of political debates and discussions/arguments on the internet and each of the individuals in these debates is solidly entrenched in their respective corners. I don’t think I have ever read anyone concede defeat in such encounters. I do find reading these debates amusing from time to time but always find most of them pointless in that no middle ground is ever reached.
During my first college days back in the early nineteen nineties, I was solidly in the Republican camp. I listened to Rush Limbaugh every night and cheered on my republican constituents to take control of the senate and the house. This was before my mental illness established itself and before I had an experience with homelessness. I had plenty of money. I had a nice car. I had a stable living situation. I had inherited my family’s middle class status. I also inherited their politics.
When my mental illness established itself in my early twenties, my political landscape started to change. I realized that if it were up to the right, I would be thrust upon the streets and left to fend for myself if I were unable to take care of myself due to my illness. I realized that people would run to the aid of those with physical ailments such as diabetes or cancer but mention schizophrenia and people shied away. I fear most people see mental illness as a personal weakness of character and not an actual disease of one of our most important and major organs, the brain. It is easy to look at an MRI or X-ray and see a tumor but you cannot do this with a mental illness. That is why mental illnesses are so hard to diagnose.
My experience with homelessness was the final nail in the proverbial coffin for me as far as any right wing leanings I had. I realized that there is very little help for those of us in situations not of our making. There are safety nets for entities such as large corporations and businesses but little to none for those average citizens who are besieged by a debilitating mental illness. If you do not have a family who will support you or help you then you a quite frankly shit out of luck.
There IS help out there but it is not easy to find and often takes months or years to get. You have to become adept at maneuvering a complicated series of red tape, appointments, and interviews; most of the time you have to be destitute to finally receive this help. There is also the catch-22 when mental illness is involved in that if you are too sick to take care of yourself or think rationally then how in the hell are you going to fill out all those forms and make it to interviews and appointments? That is where your family becomes your last defense against insanity, poverty, and homelessness.
I have never met a homeless republican. I could be proved wrong and shown one but I seriously doubt that they are rational or possessing a sane mind. All the homeless people or formerly homeless people I have met online have been solidly left leaning and liberal many of them radically so. Your social and economic status greatly influences your political leanings.
Monday, July 11, 2005
Church Lady Exposed!
I had been on my daily hike today and rounded the corner of the Cherry Valley Shopping Center where the Piggly Wiggly resides. I saw George sitting in front of Fred’s Dollar Store trying to give people rides for money. I also saw Church Lady sitting in front of the Pig with a table and chair. She is getting upscale.
I walked towards George. He was talking to an older black lady who was holding a shopping cart. George left her alone when he found out she had her own car and had driven there. She made her way to her car.
“Wazzup, my brotha!” George exclaimed when he saw me walking over.
I wanted to ask George about Church Lady. He is pretty informed about everyone who hangs out down at the Pig.
“George, I need to ask you something.” I said as I stood next to his car.
“Get in da office.” George said as he opened the driver’s side door and sat down in front of the wheel.
I opened the passenger’s side door and sat down as well. The car reeked of cigar smoke. George took a big gulp out of a bottle of Mad Dog 20/20 wine and then screwed the top back on. He then cranked up the car and drove over to a deserted part of the parking lot.
“Do you needs me to hook yo ass up?” George said as he turned the car off.
“What?” I asked trying to follow along.
“Wacky weed or pussy.” He said. “George be yo man.”
I wasn’t interested in marijuana or prostitutes even though George knew where these things could be procured.
“No, man!” I said. “I wanted to ask you about Church Lady. She is driving me crazy.”
“You didn’t give dat crazy, white-ass, cracka any money?” George said.
“No.” I said. “I was just wondering if she is legit.”
George laughed heartily and took another gulp of wine.
“Dat bitch be playin’ all da crackas dat come in da Pig.” George said. “Monte saw her buying a carton of cigs and some beer at Fat’s da otha night.”
George was speaking of Fat Albert’s convenience store. Monte is his cousin who sometimes comes down to the Piggly Wiggly to cash his monthly check.
“I knew it!” I said loudly with conviction.
“Don’t be givin’ dat bitch any money.” George said.
“Don’t worry, I won’t.” I replied.
“How bout buyin’ dis old nigga a beer?” George asked.
I handed George a five dollar bill and bid him farewell. I had a hunch about Church Lady and now my hunch had been confirmed. I was talking to a friend the other day on the phone who had the same feelings as well. Church Lady is full of shit and is playing people. I will feel a lot less guilty about saying no from now on.
I walked towards George. He was talking to an older black lady who was holding a shopping cart. George left her alone when he found out she had her own car and had driven there. She made her way to her car.
“Wazzup, my brotha!” George exclaimed when he saw me walking over.
I wanted to ask George about Church Lady. He is pretty informed about everyone who hangs out down at the Pig.
“George, I need to ask you something.” I said as I stood next to his car.
“Get in da office.” George said as he opened the driver’s side door and sat down in front of the wheel.
I opened the passenger’s side door and sat down as well. The car reeked of cigar smoke. George took a big gulp out of a bottle of Mad Dog 20/20 wine and then screwed the top back on. He then cranked up the car and drove over to a deserted part of the parking lot.
“Do you needs me to hook yo ass up?” George said as he turned the car off.
“What?” I asked trying to follow along.
“Wacky weed or pussy.” He said. “George be yo man.”
I wasn’t interested in marijuana or prostitutes even though George knew where these things could be procured.
“No, man!” I said. “I wanted to ask you about Church Lady. She is driving me crazy.”
“You didn’t give dat crazy, white-ass, cracka any money?” George said.
“No.” I said. “I was just wondering if she is legit.”
George laughed heartily and took another gulp of wine.
“Dat bitch be playin’ all da crackas dat come in da Pig.” George said. “Monte saw her buying a carton of cigs and some beer at Fat’s da otha night.”
George was speaking of Fat Albert’s convenience store. Monte is his cousin who sometimes comes down to the Piggly Wiggly to cash his monthly check.
“I knew it!” I said loudly with conviction.
“Don’t be givin’ dat bitch any money.” George said.
“Don’t worry, I won’t.” I replied.
“How bout buyin’ dis old nigga a beer?” George asked.
I handed George a five dollar bill and bid him farewell. I had a hunch about Church Lady and now my hunch had been confirmed. I was talking to a friend the other day on the phone who had the same feelings as well. Church Lady is full of shit and is playing people. I will feel a lot less guilty about saying no from now on.
A Prickly Experience and a New Nurse
My alarmed loudly sounded. I looked at the clock. I had thirty minutes to get to my doctor’s office for my shot and it is way overdue. I hastily threw on some clothes and ran to my car. I got in and drove directly to the pharmacy to get my shot out of the refrigerator and then on to the doctors. I signed in and took my seat in the waiting room next to an elderly lady.
“Weather sure did get rough yesterday.” She said in a gravelly voice as if she had smoked for years.
“It got really bad last night.” I replied.
“Did your power go out?” She asked.
“No.” I said. “We were lucky.”
“Mine was out when I left the house.” She said.
She went on to start talking about her grandchildren. She even went so far as to start showing me pictures of them. I tried to feign interest about these strangers I was being shown.
I heard the door to the back rooms open. I crossed my fingers in the hopes that I was next. The receptionist called my name loudly.
Yes! It was my turn! I always hate having to wait for something that takes five minutes. I walked back to the waiting room to find a strange face greeting me.
“Michelle had to leave.” She said. “I will be giving your shot.”
She was young and very cute. She looked just out of high school and nursing school. It seems just as soon as a nurse gets comfortable and proficient at giving my shot they leave. They have a hard time keeping gals down there as they work them mercilessly and with grueling hours.
I handed her the box with my shot in it. She opened it up and looked perplexed. She starting to unfold the directions so find out how to prepare it.
“Oh, shit! Not the directions!” I thought. “This is going to take an hour!”
“I can show you how and it will only take a minute.” I said hoping for the best.
She handed me the box and I showed her how to put it together. If you have never done it then in can be convoluted.
“Big stick!” She said after I had pulled my pants down to the side.
It felt as if someone was jabbing my ass with a sharp dagger. I winced from the pain.
“Are you okay?” She asked with a tone of concern.
“Yeah, just glad to get this over with.” I replied.
Just another day in the life of a man with schizophrenia.
“Weather sure did get rough yesterday.” She said in a gravelly voice as if she had smoked for years.
“It got really bad last night.” I replied.
“Did your power go out?” She asked.
“No.” I said. “We were lucky.”
“Mine was out when I left the house.” She said.
She went on to start talking about her grandchildren. She even went so far as to start showing me pictures of them. I tried to feign interest about these strangers I was being shown.
I heard the door to the back rooms open. I crossed my fingers in the hopes that I was next. The receptionist called my name loudly.
Yes! It was my turn! I always hate having to wait for something that takes five minutes. I walked back to the waiting room to find a strange face greeting me.
“Michelle had to leave.” She said. “I will be giving your shot.”
She was young and very cute. She looked just out of high school and nursing school. It seems just as soon as a nurse gets comfortable and proficient at giving my shot they leave. They have a hard time keeping gals down there as they work them mercilessly and with grueling hours.
I handed her the box with my shot in it. She opened it up and looked perplexed. She starting to unfold the directions so find out how to prepare it.
“Oh, shit! Not the directions!” I thought. “This is going to take an hour!”
“I can show you how and it will only take a minute.” I said hoping for the best.
She handed me the box and I showed her how to put it together. If you have never done it then in can be convoluted.
“Big stick!” She said after I had pulled my pants down to the side.
It felt as if someone was jabbing my ass with a sharp dagger. I winced from the pain.
“Are you okay?” She asked with a tone of concern.
“Yeah, just glad to get this over with.” I replied.
Just another day in the life of a man with schizophrenia.
Sunday, July 10, 2005
3:00 PM Update
So far, so good. Power is on and the internet is still up. We are going to miss the brunt of this storm I do believe. The hurricane is headed more northeasterly than I had thought.
Our biggest concerns will not be high winds but flooding from the Chattahoochee River if this rain keeps up. It is currently pouring down rain with a gusty breeze. It is almost eerily quiet though other than the sound of the rain pouring off my roof eaves.
Our biggest concerns will not be high winds but flooding from the Chattahoochee River if this rain keeps up. It is currently pouring down rain with a gusty breeze. It is almost eerily quiet though other than the sound of the rain pouring off my roof eaves.
History in the Making
Well, it looks as if Dennis is now category 4 and taking a more northerly course. It looks like Pensacola beach is going to get slammed. The rain shield from the hurricane is now about 100 miles south of me and moving closer. It is just about to overtake Columbus Georgia just south of me. I fear this is going to be a storm for the history books.
Ivan last year left us with many trees and limbs down. It took a week for me to cut up all the limbs with a chainsaw and to get the yard back to normal. I had a pile of debris six feet tall by the side of the road for pickup when it was said and done. We will just have to wait and see how far north this will impact us here in east central Alabama.
I will update weather conditions throughout the day as long as I still have power. I lost the internet/cable during Ivan last summer but the power remained on.
Currently, it is overcast with strong gusts of wind. The rain shield and first major outer bands will move over us within the next two hours. The weather will only go downhill from there. More updates to follow…..
Ivan last year left us with many trees and limbs down. It took a week for me to cut up all the limbs with a chainsaw and to get the yard back to normal. I had a pile of debris six feet tall by the side of the road for pickup when it was said and done. We will just have to wait and see how far north this will impact us here in east central Alabama.
I will update weather conditions throughout the day as long as I still have power. I lost the internet/cable during Ivan last summer but the power remained on.
Currently, it is overcast with strong gusts of wind. The rain shield and first major outer bands will move over us within the next two hours. The weather will only go downhill from there. More updates to follow…..
Saturday, July 09, 2005
Church Lady, Go Away!
I awoke from a long nap and was hungry. I decided to walk down to the Pig and get the fixings for spaghetti. It was a hot and humid day. The heat wafting up from the road was causing mirages on the roadway and made the horizon shimmer. You could also hear the distant rumbles of thunder as summertime pop-up storms were beginning to fire. Cicadas were calling earnestly everywhere fueled by the heat of the day.
I walked past the flea market down below the Piggly Wiggly and stopped to look. They have tons of bootleg CDs and DVDs. They have all the current in-theater movies but they are low quality copies with mono sound. These are made by someone going into a theater with a camcorder and recording the movie. I asked what the ladies asking price was….five dollars a DVD.
“I’ll let you have two for $8.50.” She said.
“No thanks.” I said
The people that run the flea market are country come to town. They look like something off of the Beverly Hillbillies. The father scoots around in one of those powered mobility chairs you often see advertised on the television. He rarely wears a shirt and he constantly has a cigarette dangling from between his lips. The children are all running around with bare feet on the hot concrete.
I continued on towards the door to the Piggly Wiggly. All I needed was some cans of tomatoes, ground beef, and spaghetti noodles. Cap w/ Tag Guy was standing next to the coke machine as always and nodded his head hello. The tag on his cap went flailing about wildly as he did this. George and Slop were no where to be seen. I didn’t pay attention to the exit to see if Church Lady was out there.
I purchased my items and stepping through the automatic doors. I was caught completely by surprise. An ambush!
“Honey, can you spare some change for god’s work?” Church Lady asked persuasively.
She had a wild and fanatical look in her eyes. She held out a bucket with the picture of her church and a cross on it. She also held out a propaganda pamphlet with her other hand.
“My hands are full.” I said and they were full with bags of groceries.
“Set down your groceries over here. We need to pray so that Jesus can come into your heart.” She said. “Have you been washed in the waters?”
What she meant was whether or not I have been baptized. My patience with her has been growing thin as of late.
“No thanks.” I said firmly and started to walk away.
“God bless you and may Jesus walk with you.” She said loudly as if taunting me.
Church Lady is getting really fucking old as of late. I am seriously tempted to start driving to another grocery store.
I walked past the flea market down below the Piggly Wiggly and stopped to look. They have tons of bootleg CDs and DVDs. They have all the current in-theater movies but they are low quality copies with mono sound. These are made by someone going into a theater with a camcorder and recording the movie. I asked what the ladies asking price was….five dollars a DVD.
“I’ll let you have two for $8.50.” She said.
“No thanks.” I said
The people that run the flea market are country come to town. They look like something off of the Beverly Hillbillies. The father scoots around in one of those powered mobility chairs you often see advertised on the television. He rarely wears a shirt and he constantly has a cigarette dangling from between his lips. The children are all running around with bare feet on the hot concrete.
I continued on towards the door to the Piggly Wiggly. All I needed was some cans of tomatoes, ground beef, and spaghetti noodles. Cap w/ Tag Guy was standing next to the coke machine as always and nodded his head hello. The tag on his cap went flailing about wildly as he did this. George and Slop were no where to be seen. I didn’t pay attention to the exit to see if Church Lady was out there.
I purchased my items and stepping through the automatic doors. I was caught completely by surprise. An ambush!
“Honey, can you spare some change for god’s work?” Church Lady asked persuasively.
She had a wild and fanatical look in her eyes. She held out a bucket with the picture of her church and a cross on it. She also held out a propaganda pamphlet with her other hand.
“My hands are full.” I said and they were full with bags of groceries.
“Set down your groceries over here. We need to pray so that Jesus can come into your heart.” She said. “Have you been washed in the waters?”
What she meant was whether or not I have been baptized. My patience with her has been growing thin as of late.
“No thanks.” I said firmly and started to walk away.
“God bless you and may Jesus walk with you.” She said loudly as if taunting me.
Church Lady is getting really fucking old as of late. I am seriously tempted to start driving to another grocery store.
Thursday, July 07, 2005
Taking Action
This is the last time I will speak of this subject. I know my readers are growing tired of my incessant rambling about this. Keep in mind that this is a personal journal and something with which I organize my thoughts and put them down for posterity.
Uncle Bob was LITERALLY driving me crazy. The phone has ringed over ten times today as he seldom leaves a message. He then called my mother to see if I was over there. All this as he wanted me to get a box down out of the closet that held some insurance papers and wanted me to help him take a bath. I finally had to take action for my mental health’s sake.
I called a lady named Floreen who used to help take care of my grandmother before she passed away. (My grandmother had Alzheimer’s disease and needed around the clock supervision.) She was very good and patient with cranky senior citizens. Bob can be a tad racist as well and I warned her. She said she would come everyday for 8 hours a day at $7 dollars an hour and see about Bob.
Now, I had to talk Bob into agreeing to go through with this. He is notoriously frugal, thrifty, and cheap. He is also very wealthy. I told him that I had a mental illness and that my health was failing over his constant barrage of demands and phone calls. I told him I was not a nurse or a home health care provider. I also told him about Linda and that she was willing to come and assured him that she was good help. He finally reluctantly agreed after much persuading. He really didn’t have much of a choice in the matter as he is not able to take care of himself at the moment and he needs someone who is trained in taking care of the elderly.
I feel as if a ton of weight has been lifted off my shoulders. The constant ringing of the phone has ceased. I shall now go take a long nap in comfort and silence. I think I may even turn on the air conditioning for a change in celebration.
Uncle Bob was LITERALLY driving me crazy. The phone has ringed over ten times today as he seldom leaves a message. He then called my mother to see if I was over there. All this as he wanted me to get a box down out of the closet that held some insurance papers and wanted me to help him take a bath. I finally had to take action for my mental health’s sake.
I called a lady named Floreen who used to help take care of my grandmother before she passed away. (My grandmother had Alzheimer’s disease and needed around the clock supervision.) She was very good and patient with cranky senior citizens. Bob can be a tad racist as well and I warned her. She said she would come everyday for 8 hours a day at $7 dollars an hour and see about Bob.
Now, I had to talk Bob into agreeing to go through with this. He is notoriously frugal, thrifty, and cheap. He is also very wealthy. I told him that I had a mental illness and that my health was failing over his constant barrage of demands and phone calls. I told him I was not a nurse or a home health care provider. I also told him about Linda and that she was willing to come and assured him that she was good help. He finally reluctantly agreed after much persuading. He really didn’t have much of a choice in the matter as he is not able to take care of himself at the moment and he needs someone who is trained in taking care of the elderly.
I feel as if a ton of weight has been lifted off my shoulders. The constant ringing of the phone has ceased. I shall now go take a long nap in comfort and silence. I think I may even turn on the air conditioning for a change in celebration.
Tropical Storm Cindy or the Great Escape
I had to escape yesterday. The phone was constantly ringing and I was an anxious, anxiety filled, nervous wreck. I think it is time for another shot but I can’t remember the last time I got one. I need to call my doctor’s office today and find out when my last one was. I am not feeling very well mentally as of late.
Bob called at 12 PM and left a message that he had to be at the doctor’s office at 2 PM for a checkup. He said he needed me to come over and do some things right away. He didn’t give me any advance warning or notice. He expected me to drop what I was doing and had planned and to sit for the rest of the day in the doctor’s office. I muttered very loudly as the message was being recorded, “FUCK THAT SHIT!” I got really angry as he has a black woman who can take him but he has to pay her to do it and he is too cheap. She cleans his house and cooks his meals.
I quickly packed up all my gear, loaded it into the car, and got the hell out of dodge. I went to my old homeless stomping grounds where no one could find me. No phones. No people. No noise. No traffic. No Uncle Bobs. As I was driving there, the closer I got the better I felt. I could feel the anxiety melt away and the butterflies in the pit of my stomach dissipate.
I had also forgotten that I had tropical storm Cindy headed directly towards me. After I got the tent set up, I sat on my cooler and tuned my radio to the weather band. There were all kinds of watches and warnings out for my county and around central Alabama. Within an hour of setting up my camp it started to rain and RAIN HARD. It poured rain endlessly for hours. The sound of the rain was a roar on the fabric of my tent. The wind was also extremely gusty and really put my tent to the test.
I had not been there long until my stomach started to cramp. I had to go to the bathroom bad and I was caught in a downpour. A very compromising situation I might add. I waited until I couldn’t wait any longer. I donned my emergency poncho and ran out into the storm and driving rain to relieve myself. By the time I got back to the tent I was soaking wet. I took off all my clothes, climbed into my sleeping bag to get warm, and feel fast asleep. I didn’t wake up until early this morning. I guess I was just exhausted from all that has been happening lately.
Bob called at 12 PM and left a message that he had to be at the doctor’s office at 2 PM for a checkup. He said he needed me to come over and do some things right away. He didn’t give me any advance warning or notice. He expected me to drop what I was doing and had planned and to sit for the rest of the day in the doctor’s office. I muttered very loudly as the message was being recorded, “FUCK THAT SHIT!” I got really angry as he has a black woman who can take him but he has to pay her to do it and he is too cheap. She cleans his house and cooks his meals.
I quickly packed up all my gear, loaded it into the car, and got the hell out of dodge. I went to my old homeless stomping grounds where no one could find me. No phones. No people. No noise. No traffic. No Uncle Bobs. As I was driving there, the closer I got the better I felt. I could feel the anxiety melt away and the butterflies in the pit of my stomach dissipate.
I had also forgotten that I had tropical storm Cindy headed directly towards me. After I got the tent set up, I sat on my cooler and tuned my radio to the weather band. There were all kinds of watches and warnings out for my county and around central Alabama. Within an hour of setting up my camp it started to rain and RAIN HARD. It poured rain endlessly for hours. The sound of the rain was a roar on the fabric of my tent. The wind was also extremely gusty and really put my tent to the test.
I had not been there long until my stomach started to cramp. I had to go to the bathroom bad and I was caught in a downpour. A very compromising situation I might add. I waited until I couldn’t wait any longer. I donned my emergency poncho and ran out into the storm and driving rain to relieve myself. By the time I got back to the tent I was soaking wet. I took off all my clothes, climbed into my sleeping bag to get warm, and feel fast asleep. I didn’t wake up until early this morning. I guess I was just exhausted from all that has been happening lately.
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
Sadness and Tears
I started out this morning’s hike with bold intentions. I was going to make it to the big water tower near my old junior high school and then head back. I needed to get out in the fresh air and clear my head. I also needed a lofty goal that challenged me and took my mind off my current problems and circumstances.
Along the way I passed by Uncle Bob’s house. He lives only a few blocks away from me. I decided to stop by and check in on him. I rung the door bell and my cousin Jean opened the door and welcomed me inside.
“How is he doing?” I asked quietly.
“He is hanging in there.” She said. “He is in the bedroom.”
I walked into the bedroom where I found Bob sitting in the chair by the bed; the very bed that Aunt Jessie had died on.
“Hey fella, you doing okay?” I asked loudly as he can be kind of hard of hearing.
He looked up and held out his hands towards me. I held mine out and he grasped it with both his hands and held it tightly.
“I really appreciate what you have done lately.” He said. “I know it was not fun getting me up there and seeing about all that.”
“Don’t you worry about that.” I said. “We are going to see about you. You are family.”
“I went up there and went through hell and I came back home to find my wife is dead.” He said as he choked back tears.
My eyes swelled with tears as well and a few drops fell down my cheeks and splattered on the hardwood floor. I wiped them off and tried to regain my composure.
“We are gonna get through this.” I said. “We are all going to stick together.”
“Are you gonna get me to the funeral?” Bob asked. “I can’t take the visitation. I don’t want to go to that.”
“I will get you up there and we are going to stay with your brother that night in Acworth.” I said. “I have already talked to him on the phone. He called me this morning.”
“I appreciate it.” He said as he let go of my hand.
I told him goodbye and walked out of the room.
“Jean, you call me if you all need me.” I said as I gave her a hug.
I exited the front door and slung my daypack back on. I started to head towards the water tower but no longer had the will to hike. I solemnly walked the two blocks back to my apartment and wrote this.
Along the way I passed by Uncle Bob’s house. He lives only a few blocks away from me. I decided to stop by and check in on him. I rung the door bell and my cousin Jean opened the door and welcomed me inside.
“How is he doing?” I asked quietly.
“He is hanging in there.” She said. “He is in the bedroom.”
I walked into the bedroom where I found Bob sitting in the chair by the bed; the very bed that Aunt Jessie had died on.
“Hey fella, you doing okay?” I asked loudly as he can be kind of hard of hearing.
He looked up and held out his hands towards me. I held mine out and he grasped it with both his hands and held it tightly.
“I really appreciate what you have done lately.” He said. “I know it was not fun getting me up there and seeing about all that.”
“Don’t you worry about that.” I said. “We are going to see about you. You are family.”
“I went up there and went through hell and I came back home to find my wife is dead.” He said as he choked back tears.
My eyes swelled with tears as well and a few drops fell down my cheeks and splattered on the hardwood floor. I wiped them off and tried to regain my composure.
“We are gonna get through this.” I said. “We are all going to stick together.”
“Are you gonna get me to the funeral?” Bob asked. “I can’t take the visitation. I don’t want to go to that.”
“I will get you up there and we are going to stay with your brother that night in Acworth.” I said. “I have already talked to him on the phone. He called me this morning.”
“I appreciate it.” He said as he let go of my hand.
I told him goodbye and walked out of the room.
“Jean, you call me if you all need me.” I said as I gave her a hug.
I exited the front door and slung my daypack back on. I started to head towards the water tower but no longer had the will to hike. I solemnly walked the two blocks back to my apartment and wrote this.
Tuesday, July 05, 2005
I am such an Asshole
I was just complaining about Uncle Bob and being an asshole. He is an 84 year old man who has just had open heart surgery. He is relying upon me to help take care of him. My cousin Jean found his wife, Aunt Jessie, dead in the bed this morning. She was fine yesterday and walking around. Dad just has called me. I feel terrible and horrible. What terrible timing as well when Bob is still very frail and weak.
I now have to drive up there and face him with a guilty conscience knowing how callous I have been when commenting about them. He is also going to be dependent upon me for getting to and fro from rehabilitation. It is going to be a tough few days I fear. I don’t handle deaths in the family very well. I just have not faced it very much in my lifetime. I shall now go climb in my car with a low hung head and begin the long drive to uncertainty, sorrow, and pain.
I now have to drive up there and face him with a guilty conscience knowing how callous I have been when commenting about them. He is also going to be dependent upon me for getting to and fro from rehabilitation. It is going to be a tough few days I fear. I don’t handle deaths in the family very well. I just have not faced it very much in my lifetime. I shall now go climb in my car with a low hung head and begin the long drive to uncertainty, sorrow, and pain.
Monday, July 04, 2005
The Dreaded Call
I got the dreaded call this morning at 6:00 AM.
“Who in the hell is calling me at 6:00 in the morning?” I thought as I stumbled towards the phone.
It was Uncle Bob. These people have no understanding of privacy, civility, or normal sleep periods.
“Jonathon? Will you drive up here today?” Bob asked in his country twang voice. “I really need you up here as I need some help.”
Driving up there is a three hour drive.
“When are you discharged?” I asked standing there half asleep.
“Most likely Wednesday hereabouts.” Bob replied.
“I will get up there as soon as I can.” I answered kind of evasively.
Which meant that I would be up there first thing in the morning; I don’t want to spend the 4th of July on the road. I also don’t have the money for a hotel room and wouldn’t have any place to stay for two nights other than the chair in the hospital room.
I have plans for today such as our traditional 4th of July chicken barbeque. I wouldn’t miss that for anything in the world even the second coming of Christ. My father cooks it and it is a family tradition and delicacy. Dad uses my grandmother’s special recipe barbeque sauce and slow roasts the chicken for hours over charcoal. My grandmother was often quoted as saying us grandchildren would eat a dish rag if it were coated it in this sauce. It is that good. There is a family legend where my cousin Clifton ate four halves or two whole chickens in one sitting back in the sixties that gets told every 4th of July on this occasion.
I did drive by the Piggly Wiggly earlier on my way to the convenience store. It was deserted and closed. Hey, even crack dealers have to get a day off from time to time. I did see George down at the convenience store playing the lottery. He has developed quite an addiction for scratch off tickets. That conversation will ensue after this.
“Who in the hell is calling me at 6:00 in the morning?” I thought as I stumbled towards the phone.
It was Uncle Bob. These people have no understanding of privacy, civility, or normal sleep periods.
“Jonathon? Will you drive up here today?” Bob asked in his country twang voice. “I really need you up here as I need some help.”
Driving up there is a three hour drive.
“When are you discharged?” I asked standing there half asleep.
“Most likely Wednesday hereabouts.” Bob replied.
“I will get up there as soon as I can.” I answered kind of evasively.
Which meant that I would be up there first thing in the morning; I don’t want to spend the 4th of July on the road. I also don’t have the money for a hotel room and wouldn’t have any place to stay for two nights other than the chair in the hospital room.
I have plans for today such as our traditional 4th of July chicken barbeque. I wouldn’t miss that for anything in the world even the second coming of Christ. My father cooks it and it is a family tradition and delicacy. Dad uses my grandmother’s special recipe barbeque sauce and slow roasts the chicken for hours over charcoal. My grandmother was often quoted as saying us grandchildren would eat a dish rag if it were coated it in this sauce. It is that good. There is a family legend where my cousin Clifton ate four halves or two whole chickens in one sitting back in the sixties that gets told every 4th of July on this occasion.
I did drive by the Piggly Wiggly earlier on my way to the convenience store. It was deserted and closed. Hey, even crack dealers have to get a day off from time to time. I did see George down at the convenience store playing the lottery. He has developed quite an addiction for scratch off tickets. That conversation will ensue after this.
George vs. The Government
This is an interview I had with George earlier today after my family barbeque had concluded.
“That goddamn white ass cracka is not my president.” George exclaimed as he sat on a bench in front of the Piggly Wiggly.
Cracka or cracker is a derogatory, slang term for white people in the south. I am chronicling my experiences from today’s earlier encounter so bear with me. Posts such as these play havoc with Microsoft Word.
“Who do you want as your president?” I asked inquisitively.
“That nigga lady, Condo Rice.” George exclaimed. He was really worked up over this.
“George, Condo is as conservative as they come. She is a puppet of G. W.” I said adding fuel to the fire.
“G. W.?” George asked.
“That monkey, George W. Bush.” I replied.
I am pretty neutral in political matters but I do think G. W. looks like a chimpanzee.
“Goddamn niggas don’t know dey place anymore.” He said looking frustrated and commenting about Dr. Condoleezza Rice.
“What do you think about Rumsfeld?” I asked.
“Is he a white cracka?” George asked.
“He is our secretary of defense and pretty white.” I replied. “He has a comb over.”
“Fuck that white ass cracka.” George said. “He don’t own this nigga.”
George was quickly growing tired of this line of questioning. I thought it was quite intriguing.
“Fuck all this shit. Will you buy dis brotha a beer?” George asked.
The intelligent portion of our conversation had ended. I bought him a Milwaukee’s Best Ice Beer and smoked a cigarette as we sat on the bench in front of the store. The sun slowly set and I was soon to head for home.
“That goddamn white ass cracka is not my president.” George exclaimed as he sat on a bench in front of the Piggly Wiggly.
Cracka or cracker is a derogatory, slang term for white people in the south. I am chronicling my experiences from today’s earlier encounter so bear with me. Posts such as these play havoc with Microsoft Word.
“Who do you want as your president?” I asked inquisitively.
“That nigga lady, Condo Rice.” George exclaimed. He was really worked up over this.
“George, Condo is as conservative as they come. She is a puppet of G. W.” I said adding fuel to the fire.
“G. W.?” George asked.
“That monkey, George W. Bush.” I replied.
I am pretty neutral in political matters but I do think G. W. looks like a chimpanzee.
“Goddamn niggas don’t know dey place anymore.” He said looking frustrated and commenting about Dr. Condoleezza Rice.
“What do you think about Rumsfeld?” I asked.
“Is he a white cracka?” George asked.
“He is our secretary of defense and pretty white.” I replied. “He has a comb over.”
“Fuck that white ass cracka.” George said. “He don’t own this nigga.”
George was quickly growing tired of this line of questioning. I thought it was quite intriguing.
“Fuck all this shit. Will you buy dis brotha a beer?” George asked.
The intelligent portion of our conversation had ended. I bought him a Milwaukee’s Best Ice Beer and smoked a cigarette as we sat on the bench in front of the store. The sun slowly set and I was soon to head for home.
Sunday, July 03, 2005
War of the Worlds
I thought I would start doing a few movie reviews for fun and to add content to my blog. I will post these as I see them. If you haven’t seen the film then be careful as some of my reviews will contain spoilers. My next review will be of the Clint Eastwood’s Oscar winning film Million Dollar Baby.
I am sure many of you are familiar with the original radio production of H. G. Wells War of the Worlds. The original book was published in 1898. The radio production was broadcast in 1938. I have heard that it caused panic as gullible listeners mistook the drama as real. I can imagine how frightening that must have been. Imagine your world besieged by aliens and thousands are dieing by the minute. That certainly would cause panic on the streets.
Steven Spielberg’s earlier classics such as E.T. The Extraterrestrial or Close Encounters of the Third Kind are feel good movies where the aliens are benign and have come to befriend us. This movie is of a much different and darker vein. It reminds me of 1996’s alien invasion movie Independence Day. This is a dark and grim film until the end and the aliens seem indestructible and insurmountable.
The film’s protagonist is Ray Ferrier played by Tom Cruise. His children come to visit as their mother (Ray’s ex-wife) and her new husband must travel to Boston to see her parents. Ray is an inept father who has never been too involved with his children. Not only is this an alien invasion movie but a tale of a father’s redemption in the eyes and minds of his estranged children. The poignant scene at the end where Ray’s daughter is reunited with their mother is moving. Ray is also reunited with his son whom he had feared dead.
Ray and his children flee to escape the aliens and are helped by a character played by Tim Robbins. Mr. Robbins plays a slightly unhinged survivalist whom was formally a paramedic and in my opinion steals his scenes with Cruise. He puts in a masterful performance and his scenes were some of the most memorable of the film for me. There were several tension filled scenes involving him.
The ending is predictable as all such movies of this kind are. What other could you expect out of a summer blockbuster? The humans prevail and the aliens are vanquished by a cause that is very scientific. I don’t want to give away too much so go see the film if you are interested. The film is closed with a narration by Morgan Freeman who explains what happens to the Aliens.
I give this film 3 stars out of 4 as it was a fun watch and kept me interested. There were several notable performances such as Tim Robbins and Dakota Fanning. Certainly not of the caliber of Spielberg’s earlier works such as Schindler’s List or Saving Private Ryan but good none the less. An interesting one hour and fifty seven minutes.
United States, 2005
U.S. Release Date: 6/29/05 (wide)
Running Length: 1:57
MPAA Classification: PG-13 (Violence, frightening images)
Theatrical Aspect Ratio: 1.85:1
Cast: Tom Cruise, Dakota Fanning, Justin Chatwin, Tim Robbins, Miranda Otto
Director: Steven Spielberg
Producers: Kathleen Kennedy, Colin Wilson
Screenplay: Josh Friedman and David Koepp, based on the novel by H.G. Wells
Cinematography: Janusz Kaminski
Music: John Williams
U.S. Distributor: Paramount Pictures
I am sure many of you are familiar with the original radio production of H. G. Wells War of the Worlds. The original book was published in 1898. The radio production was broadcast in 1938. I have heard that it caused panic as gullible listeners mistook the drama as real. I can imagine how frightening that must have been. Imagine your world besieged by aliens and thousands are dieing by the minute. That certainly would cause panic on the streets.
Steven Spielberg’s earlier classics such as E.T. The Extraterrestrial or Close Encounters of the Third Kind are feel good movies where the aliens are benign and have come to befriend us. This movie is of a much different and darker vein. It reminds me of 1996’s alien invasion movie Independence Day. This is a dark and grim film until the end and the aliens seem indestructible and insurmountable.
The film’s protagonist is Ray Ferrier played by Tom Cruise. His children come to visit as their mother (Ray’s ex-wife) and her new husband must travel to Boston to see her parents. Ray is an inept father who has never been too involved with his children. Not only is this an alien invasion movie but a tale of a father’s redemption in the eyes and minds of his estranged children. The poignant scene at the end where Ray’s daughter is reunited with their mother is moving. Ray is also reunited with his son whom he had feared dead.
Ray and his children flee to escape the aliens and are helped by a character played by Tim Robbins. Mr. Robbins plays a slightly unhinged survivalist whom was formally a paramedic and in my opinion steals his scenes with Cruise. He puts in a masterful performance and his scenes were some of the most memorable of the film for me. There were several tension filled scenes involving him.
The ending is predictable as all such movies of this kind are. What other could you expect out of a summer blockbuster? The humans prevail and the aliens are vanquished by a cause that is very scientific. I don’t want to give away too much so go see the film if you are interested. The film is closed with a narration by Morgan Freeman who explains what happens to the Aliens.
I give this film 3 stars out of 4 as it was a fun watch and kept me interested. There were several notable performances such as Tim Robbins and Dakota Fanning. Certainly not of the caliber of Spielberg’s earlier works such as Schindler’s List or Saving Private Ryan but good none the less. An interesting one hour and fifty seven minutes.
Friday, June 17, 2005
Day Trip
I know I write a lot about nature but that’s what excites me and spurs me to write. I have always been a naturalist at heart.
This morning I got up as the first light of dawn was starting to show. A pale sky blue glowed on the horizon and you could still see the twinkling of the brightest stars remaining overhead. The first calls of the morning songbirds echoed throughout my neighborhood. I was having my morning cigarette and an ample mug of coffee.
After completing my morning ritual, I went inside and packed up some provisions for a day trip out in the country. I packed some turkey and swiss on rye sandwiches and some chips. I also threw in two large bottles of lemon-lime Gatorade, a large bottle of tap water, and some energy bars. I picked a few select items of my gear to add also such as my handheld radio, one book, first aid kit, survival knife, and my snake bite kit. I placed all of this into my daypack and donned it upon my back. I climbed aboard my mountain bike and peddled my way out spring road until I escaped the city limits.
The cool morning air was comforting and almost chilly if I picked up any speed going down hill. I wish I had brought my fleece throw over. Soon, the sun shone in earnest and the day quickly heated up. The humidity was low so that made for a pleasant experience despite getting up into the lower nineties.
Eventually I found my way to one of my favorite spots to rest and recuperate on such a trip. It is a large, smooth granite rock jutting out of the forest floor along side a babbling brook. It is quite a way off from the dirt trail and I found it by accident last summer as I was exploring one afternoon.
I parked my bike up against a large oak nearby and sat down with my back towards the large rock facing the meandering creek. The soft sound of the water gurgling was music to my ears. I ate my sandwiches and drank my fair share. I watched as a lone crayfish crawled across the creek bottom looking for shelter. I then pulled out my book and begin to read as I munched on an energy bar. It was a beautiful setting underneath the dense canopy of old growth hardwoods. Shafts of sunlight shone through breaks in the forest overhead and a cool breeze was blowing. My eyelids grew soon grew heavy and I laid the book upon my chest and fell fast asleep.
By my watch, I awoke an hour later and was being eaten alive by mosquitoes. They were out in full force and had found me. I hastily packed up all my stuff and climbed aboard my bike to escape the onslaught. I rode a little deeper into the forest and then decided to turn around and head for home.
This morning I got up as the first light of dawn was starting to show. A pale sky blue glowed on the horizon and you could still see the twinkling of the brightest stars remaining overhead. The first calls of the morning songbirds echoed throughout my neighborhood. I was having my morning cigarette and an ample mug of coffee.
After completing my morning ritual, I went inside and packed up some provisions for a day trip out in the country. I packed some turkey and swiss on rye sandwiches and some chips. I also threw in two large bottles of lemon-lime Gatorade, a large bottle of tap water, and some energy bars. I picked a few select items of my gear to add also such as my handheld radio, one book, first aid kit, survival knife, and my snake bite kit. I placed all of this into my daypack and donned it upon my back. I climbed aboard my mountain bike and peddled my way out spring road until I escaped the city limits.
The cool morning air was comforting and almost chilly if I picked up any speed going down hill. I wish I had brought my fleece throw over. Soon, the sun shone in earnest and the day quickly heated up. The humidity was low so that made for a pleasant experience despite getting up into the lower nineties.
Eventually I found my way to one of my favorite spots to rest and recuperate on such a trip. It is a large, smooth granite rock jutting out of the forest floor along side a babbling brook. It is quite a way off from the dirt trail and I found it by accident last summer as I was exploring one afternoon.
I parked my bike up against a large oak nearby and sat down with my back towards the large rock facing the meandering creek. The soft sound of the water gurgling was music to my ears. I ate my sandwiches and drank my fair share. I watched as a lone crayfish crawled across the creek bottom looking for shelter. I then pulled out my book and begin to read as I munched on an energy bar. It was a beautiful setting underneath the dense canopy of old growth hardwoods. Shafts of sunlight shone through breaks in the forest overhead and a cool breeze was blowing. My eyelids grew soon grew heavy and I laid the book upon my chest and fell fast asleep.
By my watch, I awoke an hour later and was being eaten alive by mosquitoes. They were out in full force and had found me. I hastily packed up all my stuff and climbed aboard my bike to escape the onslaught. I rode a little deeper into the forest and then decided to turn around and head for home.
Thursday, June 16, 2005
Evening Serenity
The evening is filled with the late calls of cicadas, crickets, and the chattering of the last remaining chimney swifts as they spiral down to their nocturnal abodes. The day is drawing slowly to a close. The cool, evening air wafts over me after a hot day and it is comforting. I pour myself a large glass of ice cold sweet tea and sit on the porch. I light a cigarette and take deep draughts. The last vestige of sunlight is on the western horizon; a perfect setting for the end of a perfect day.
It is times like these I wish I was camping amidst the wild woods. I yearn to fill my backpack with gear and to set out on an adventure; an adventure of survival, solitude, and oneness with my surroundings. The ambience of an evening such as this brings out the “Walden” in me.
It is times like these I wish I was camping amidst the wild woods. I yearn to fill my backpack with gear and to set out on an adventure; an adventure of survival, solitude, and oneness with my surroundings. The ambience of an evening such as this brings out the “Walden” in me.
Monday, June 13, 2005
Green Lantern
The yard is alight with the sparkling blinking of fireflies. It reminds me of the Green Lantern comics I read in my youth. Green Lantern had a ring that glowed fluorescent green much like the fireflies. It gave him super human powers.
The humidity of a southern mid-June permeates my clothes and the sheets on my bed. I lay most nights listening to the night time sounds and my radio as the sweat drips down my back. I am at one with my environment and sitting here sweating in a fruit of the loom t-shirt and boxer shorts. I do not mind the heat. On several blogs I read, the authors are complaining about our current heat wave. Earlier in the winter they were complaining about the ice and snow. I guess you can’t please everyone. I for one welcome this turn in the weather. I have had my life time’s fill of cold weather during my stint of homelessness. Bring on the heat ye weather gods.
Last week and weekend was busy. I went out to eat with my mother two times a day. We tried almost all the restaurants in this small town. I have probably gained ten pounds. She was starving and so was I. My father was in Palm Beach, Florida visiting with his cousin so he says or was it his mistress? I could care less about his personal misgivings. I do believe he has more going on than he lets on. At least he takes care of my mother very well and sees about her financially.
My ex-wife has come by several times the past few days. I do not answer the door and she has gone so far as to holler into my open windows trying to reach me. She has also left several suggestive messages on my answering machine. It is all about sex I do believe. Her overweight carcass has not had much success getting fucked since we have broken up and ended our marriage so she turns to me as her ace in her back pocket.
I haven’t had any sexual relations since I broke up with Alaine and plan on keeping it that way. My father always said, “Son, you hand is your best friend.” I am inclined to believe him now that I am older and have had some experience.
The humidity of a southern mid-June permeates my clothes and the sheets on my bed. I lay most nights listening to the night time sounds and my radio as the sweat drips down my back. I am at one with my environment and sitting here sweating in a fruit of the loom t-shirt and boxer shorts. I do not mind the heat. On several blogs I read, the authors are complaining about our current heat wave. Earlier in the winter they were complaining about the ice and snow. I guess you can’t please everyone. I for one welcome this turn in the weather. I have had my life time’s fill of cold weather during my stint of homelessness. Bring on the heat ye weather gods.
Last week and weekend was busy. I went out to eat with my mother two times a day. We tried almost all the restaurants in this small town. I have probably gained ten pounds. She was starving and so was I. My father was in Palm Beach, Florida visiting with his cousin so he says or was it his mistress? I could care less about his personal misgivings. I do believe he has more going on than he lets on. At least he takes care of my mother very well and sees about her financially.
My ex-wife has come by several times the past few days. I do not answer the door and she has gone so far as to holler into my open windows trying to reach me. She has also left several suggestive messages on my answering machine. It is all about sex I do believe. Her overweight carcass has not had much success getting fucked since we have broken up and ended our marriage so she turns to me as her ace in her back pocket.
I haven’t had any sexual relations since I broke up with Alaine and plan on keeping it that way. My father always said, “Son, you hand is your best friend.” I am inclined to believe him now that I am older and have had some experience.
Friday, June 10, 2005
Lost in a Virtual World
I’ve rekindled my love of online gaming now that I have a fantastic internet connection again. The past few days I have been lost in the virtual world of online warfare that is Battlefield: Vietnam. I have been trying to keep my virtual persona alive in frenetic 64 person battles.
Today was the world premiere release of the demo to Battlefield 2. I think I have finally found another game that is going to suck me in for the foreseeable future. I was extremely concerned that my now aging, two year old computer wouldn’t run it well but it runs fabulously with very nice graphics settings and a high frame rate. I was smart in sparing no expense a few years ago on this computer.
Updates to this blog will be sparing and few for the foreseeable future. Frankly, I have grown bored with blogging and blogs in general. The many blogs I once read are either inactive or gone. Most of the authors that I enjoyed update on a frustratingly infrequent basis to the point I no longer stop by. Each to his own I say.
I mainly wanted to let my longtime blogging friends know what’s up. I am fine and well and busy enjoying a new pastime. I just have more intriguing fish on my plate at the moment. I could never do this when I was married as my ex-wife would go ape shit if she even caught a glimpse of me playing.
If you enjoy a good game and are a gamer, fire up Battlefield: Vietnam or Battlefield 2. I will see you on the battlefield.
Today was the world premiere release of the demo to Battlefield 2. I think I have finally found another game that is going to suck me in for the foreseeable future. I was extremely concerned that my now aging, two year old computer wouldn’t run it well but it runs fabulously with very nice graphics settings and a high frame rate. I was smart in sparing no expense a few years ago on this computer.
Updates to this blog will be sparing and few for the foreseeable future. Frankly, I have grown bored with blogging and blogs in general. The many blogs I once read are either inactive or gone. Most of the authors that I enjoyed update on a frustratingly infrequent basis to the point I no longer stop by. Each to his own I say.
I mainly wanted to let my longtime blogging friends know what’s up. I am fine and well and busy enjoying a new pastime. I just have more intriguing fish on my plate at the moment. I could never do this when I was married as my ex-wife would go ape shit if she even caught a glimpse of me playing.
If you enjoy a good game and are a gamer, fire up Battlefield: Vietnam or Battlefield 2. I will see you on the battlefield.
Monday, June 06, 2005
Out of a Blue Sky
I was sitting in my car. The sunlight was beating down relentlessly. The sweat was dripping down my face and falling off the tip of my nose. I was eating a turkey and swiss on rye sandwich and listening to the weather band. I could hear the rumbles of thunder all around me with great looming thunderheads in the sky. The horizon was deep blue/black and looked ominous.
Suddenly, I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. POP! In a flash, a lone strike of lightning came out of one of the thunderheads and landed near my car on the hilltop. The subsequent crash and rumble of thunder was a loud, booming, immediate crack that made my ears ring. It was so loud it was almost deafening. It scared the holy shit out of me.
Needless to say, my storm watching adventure came to an end. I realized I was next best thing to a lightning rod sitting in my car on the biggest, treeless hilltop for miles. I ate the last of my sandwich, finished my milk, cranked up the car, and navigated down the dirt trail to the main dirt road and headed home.
My ears are still ringing but what an adrenaline rush.
Suddenly, I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. POP! In a flash, a lone strike of lightning came out of one of the thunderheads and landed near my car on the hilltop. The subsequent crash and rumble of thunder was a loud, booming, immediate crack that made my ears ring. It was so loud it was almost deafening. It scared the holy shit out of me.
Needless to say, my storm watching adventure came to an end. I realized I was next best thing to a lightning rod sitting in my car on the biggest, treeless hilltop for miles. I ate the last of my sandwich, finished my milk, cranked up the car, and navigated down the dirt trail to the main dirt road and headed home.
My ears are still ringing but what an adrenaline rush.
Stormy Day in Alabama
This kind of weather gets me excited; the classic pop-up thunderstorm southern afternoon. The radar is lit up with wandering storms meandering towards the northeast. After writing this, I am going to pack up a lunch and some cold drinks and head out to a big hilltop in the countryside to storm spot for awhile. It is a pristine 360 degree view of the countryside and the horizon. Good thing my car has four wheel drive cause if it rains hard, I am going to need it. Dirt roads can get awful muddy after a storm.
Today was a busy day. This morning I got my bi-weekly Risperdal shot. Luckily, I didn’t have to wait very long to be seen. A new nurse is giving my shot and she is not very skillful with her technique yet. It was very painful in the old derrière. It is also hard to pull down your pants and expose yourself to someone that you are not familiar with. I try to tell myself that she has probably seen a thousand strange asses in her career.
Next on the agenda was to go to my father’s pharmacy, install a computer, and get it networked and online. It took me hours to get everything running right and networked with his older computers. I finally got his quickscript applications running right so he could fill prescriptions and print prescription labels on that computer. I also got him set up so he could do his weekly stock/drugs/merchandise orders online instead of having to call it in. It gives me great satisfaction to be able to help him in such a capacity. It would have cost him a fortune to have a technician come out and do it.
Well, I must be off to wild woods of the countryside with my trusty weatherband radio in hand. Hopefully some grand weather awaits me.
Today was a busy day. This morning I got my bi-weekly Risperdal shot. Luckily, I didn’t have to wait very long to be seen. A new nurse is giving my shot and she is not very skillful with her technique yet. It was very painful in the old derrière. It is also hard to pull down your pants and expose yourself to someone that you are not familiar with. I try to tell myself that she has probably seen a thousand strange asses in her career.
Next on the agenda was to go to my father’s pharmacy, install a computer, and get it networked and online. It took me hours to get everything running right and networked with his older computers. I finally got his quickscript applications running right so he could fill prescriptions and print prescription labels on that computer. I also got him set up so he could do his weekly stock/drugs/merchandise orders online instead of having to call it in. It gives me great satisfaction to be able to help him in such a capacity. It would have cost him a fortune to have a technician come out and do it.
Well, I must be off to wild woods of the countryside with my trusty weatherband radio in hand. Hopefully some grand weather awaits me.
Sunday, June 05, 2005
Kid in a Candy Store
Man, I didn’t realize how bad my internet connection had become. It is just blazing fast now and has not gone down once since this afternoon. I am busily downloading the British television shows I have missed the past few days at huge rates of speed. I feel as if I have rediscovered broad band.
A lone pop up thunderstorm has erupted on the horizon. My windows are filled with the far off flashes of lightning and the room rumbles with occasional thunder. The lightning bugs are also dancing their courtship ballet throughout my backyard; just a typical summer evening in the south. It feels good to be alive and experiencing this after such a dreary and overcast week last week. I think I will go sit out on the porch with a mug of coffee and enjoy the light show despite the oppressive humidity.
A lone pop up thunderstorm has erupted on the horizon. My windows are filled with the far off flashes of lightning and the room rumbles with occasional thunder. The lightning bugs are also dancing their courtship ballet throughout my backyard; just a typical summer evening in the south. It feels good to be alive and experiencing this after such a dreary and overcast week last week. I think I will go sit out on the porch with a mug of coffee and enjoy the light show despite the oppressive humidity.
Internet Woes
My internet has been down since Friday. It has been frustratingly slow and intermittent for months now. They have come out multiple times to install new modems and it works for a few hours then goes back down again. After the third call today of this week and an estimated two days for the technician to arrive and to try and diagnose, I took matters into my own hand. (Why they didn’t check the signal strength on the line I do not know.)
This house has cable in every room. There are two 1000 mhz splitters out in the cable box on the back of the house with five distinct lines running from them to each room via the basement. I unhooked the line coming from the telephone pole than ran into the box and water just poured out of the first cable splitter I tried. Apparently, the cable box has a bad leak. It is supposed to be sealed to the elements.
I went and bought a new high performance 2300 mhz splitter at radio shack for $10. I came home and installed it and instantly my modem fired back to life and I was back on the web with a rock solid connection. (3 megabytes per second down.) All these months of a poor, crappy connection and it was as simple as that. It feels damn good to be back online and to have solved the problem myself. They kept trying to blame my router or my computer which I was sure it was not the problem.
Next, I must begin the arduous task of trying to get them to refund the past few months of my internet bill. They did a poor and faulty install of the cable box which let the water in. I will bug ‘em till they relent I tell ya! I can’t wait to see the look on Randy’s (the technician) face when I show him what was wrong. He has been over here so much we are on a first name basis.
This house has cable in every room. There are two 1000 mhz splitters out in the cable box on the back of the house with five distinct lines running from them to each room via the basement. I unhooked the line coming from the telephone pole than ran into the box and water just poured out of the first cable splitter I tried. Apparently, the cable box has a bad leak. It is supposed to be sealed to the elements.
I went and bought a new high performance 2300 mhz splitter at radio shack for $10. I came home and installed it and instantly my modem fired back to life and I was back on the web with a rock solid connection. (3 megabytes per second down.) All these months of a poor, crappy connection and it was as simple as that. It feels damn good to be back online and to have solved the problem myself. They kept trying to blame my router or my computer which I was sure it was not the problem.
Next, I must begin the arduous task of trying to get them to refund the past few months of my internet bill. They did a poor and faulty install of the cable box which let the water in. I will bug ‘em till they relent I tell ya! I can’t wait to see the look on Randy’s (the technician) face when I show him what was wrong. He has been over here so much we are on a first name basis.
Wednesday, June 01, 2005
The Hermitage
I grow ever more isolated as time goes by lately. My only contact with the outside world is the internet/email and a hand full of store clerks I encounter every week. I don’t know what has gotten into me but I crave isolation. Only when I am alone do I feel comfortable and at ease. I don’t even get lonely anymore. I am perfectly content to sit here, read all day, take long walks or bike rides of exploration, and listen to talk radio.
I posted a comment on Kevin’s blog. I restrained myself and was nice. I wanted to tell him he was speaking out of his ass over the subject of healthcare and doctors. He sure has been preachy lately. Ever since he threatened to sue me several times over a blog I have had an ill will towards him. I wish I had saved those emails. He would threaten me with a lawsuit and “lawyer friends”. I would write back for him to go ahead and sue me as I was judgment proof. I had nothing he could have taken and would enjoy seeing him waste his time. You can’t garnish disability. It was quite comical on my end but he was definitely serious even though his threats were without backing. I liken him to an internet bully.
Panhandling has ended down at the Piggly Wiggly for the time being. Someone higher up must have gotten pissed off and complained. Now the cops are doing regular sweeps of the parking lot and sitting out there a lot. Cap W/Tag, Slop, Weasel, George, and the gang have temporarily disappeared. The police will soon tire of these tactics and the gang will reemerge from the backstreets and back alleys of downtown. It has been nice to walk down to the grocery store without being hassled for change, cigarettes, or beer though.
I posted a comment on Kevin’s blog. I restrained myself and was nice. I wanted to tell him he was speaking out of his ass over the subject of healthcare and doctors. He sure has been preachy lately. Ever since he threatened to sue me several times over a blog I have had an ill will towards him. I wish I had saved those emails. He would threaten me with a lawsuit and “lawyer friends”. I would write back for him to go ahead and sue me as I was judgment proof. I had nothing he could have taken and would enjoy seeing him waste his time. You can’t garnish disability. It was quite comical on my end but he was definitely serious even though his threats were without backing. I liken him to an internet bully.
Panhandling has ended down at the Piggly Wiggly for the time being. Someone higher up must have gotten pissed off and complained. Now the cops are doing regular sweeps of the parking lot and sitting out there a lot. Cap W/Tag, Slop, Weasel, George, and the gang have temporarily disappeared. The police will soon tire of these tactics and the gang will reemerge from the backstreets and back alleys of downtown. It has been nice to walk down to the grocery store without being hassled for change, cigarettes, or beer though.
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