Well, here I sit, atop a mountain overlooking Charlotte Amalie harbour, on a sunny, warm December ---- hell, I don't even know - or care - what day it is. I guess that signifies I'm truly on vacation.
It's been interesting to say the least and I (thankfully) have six more days left. Unfortuntely, unlike work time, this vacation will go by like Flash Gordon on crank. Alas, the mystery of time. Speaking of time, things here move in comotose speed, which is totally foreign to me. In Atlanta, I never stop. Here, you aren't expected to do anything. I realized yesterday (my second day on the beach) that soon I would need to occupy my time with something or just resign myself to becoming sloth-like. This is actually a struggle as one should not practice laziness as it is a very, very difficult addiction to reverse. That being said, I've been known not to practice what I preach.
Has anyone read "The Life of Pi"? I ask this because it is the first book I've been able to read in two years. Baby Bro suggested it, but after page 26, I think this could be a tear jerker. I wish Dave Barry would crank out another one.
Speaking of tear jerkers, I've had the opportunity to see some of the wedding photos. Thankfully, the photographer knew enough about female pride that she took few photos of yours truly. I honestly had NO fucking idea how fat I really got when I quit smoking. As my bud, Party, would say, "Man, she's got more chins than a Chinese phonebook." To make matters worse, the dress I wore was a deep purple, which makes me look like a nuclear sized Concord grape. I can honestly say, I can appreciate both sides of the good and evil of getting sick and desperately depressed. While I was sick, I thought, "This can get no worse". Now, I see the point of suffering - whoo, sounds way too Catholic, but that's the only way to rationalize. Sad it took two months and 40 pounds for me to see this. Losing weight is simply calories in vs. calories out. Duh - as our mantra this week seems to be, "Here's your sign".
TV says HotLanta isn't that hot today. Mid 40s and storms. Today the weather here looks ominous - partly cloudy and in the 80s.
I've promised myself not to do anything technological while on this trip and since blogging qualifies, I've already screwed the pooch. I'll figure out how to upload photos later so everyone freezing their asses off can know I'm thinking about them.
Wednesday, December 28, 2005
Friday, December 16, 2005
Speaking of Death...
Here's a very interesting perspective on dying from an editorial from the AJC today...
A good life should end easily
By JACK REEVES
Published on: 12/16/05
Marvin died within seconds after the injection. Our veterinarian softly uttered, "There's no charge." My wife, Nancy, cradled our cat as I drove home. He was old, had a terminal illness, and suffered. Once a humane society kitten, we buried him with tears and honor. A stone and daffodils mark his grave.
The life of convicted killer Stanley "Tookie" Williams' ended Tuesday from injections of sodium pentothal, pancuronium bromide, and potassium chloride.
Pentothal induced unconsciousness within 30 seconds. Pancuronium bromide, a muscle relaxant, stopped breathing within a minute. Potassium chloride instantly stopped his heart. It was totally painless.
Nancy died of stage four cancer on Nov. 27. She was 66. Amid bodily anguish and horrid consciousness she pleaded twice: "I wish someone would give me a shot and I could go to sleep."
The hospice nurse came two days before. During her initial visit, she discussed with Nancy her living will, in which Nancy directed that "the application of life-sustaining procedures to [her] body , including nourishment and hydration, be withheld or withdrawn and that [she] be permitted to die."
For Nancy, there was no "shot" — only liquid morphine sulfate. Day and night I put measured doses under her tongue. Twice, though, she suddenly arose in bed, eyes wide staring at me, and screamed.
I'm haunted: What horror slouched through her soul?
She went through the stages of death for three days. Her temperature elevated, then she became colder as blood was being preserved by her failing organs. There is a death rattle: a gurgling sound produced by air passing through mucus in the lungs and air passages. Her breathing became difficult as her courageous heartbeat accelerated.
Some 48 hours after the hospice nurse was satisfied that all was in (legal) order, my beloved Nancy succumbed.
A friend and I were with her to the end. We had nothing to sufficiently palliate our suffering either.
Marvin's death occurred in seconds. Williams' occupied two unconscious minutes. We have mercy on pets and those who cruelly murder. But not for the Nancys.
The love of my life was past president of the Licensed Professional Counselors Association of Georgia, Counselor of the Year in 2005, and elected to the board of directors of the new LPCA Foundation. She was an extraordinary, good person.
I could not help her die without pain and terror. Nancy, even with morphine, experienced the private hell of her death — for days. I know. She screamed its horror to me.
"I wish someone would give me a shot and I could go to sleep."
Why can't we?
This truly epitomizes my opinion about allowing people to end their lives the way they want to go. Fuck you fundamentalist, sadistic, right-winged neo-Christians who think it's a sin to end your own life. This is the whole reason God gave us free will, dipshit. Or, did you skip that part of CCD?
A good life should end easily
By JACK REEVES
Published on: 12/16/05
Marvin died within seconds after the injection. Our veterinarian softly uttered, "There's no charge." My wife, Nancy, cradled our cat as I drove home. He was old, had a terminal illness, and suffered. Once a humane society kitten, we buried him with tears and honor. A stone and daffodils mark his grave.
The life of convicted killer Stanley "Tookie" Williams' ended Tuesday from injections of sodium pentothal, pancuronium bromide, and potassium chloride.
Pentothal induced unconsciousness within 30 seconds. Pancuronium bromide, a muscle relaxant, stopped breathing within a minute. Potassium chloride instantly stopped his heart. It was totally painless.
Nancy died of stage four cancer on Nov. 27. She was 66. Amid bodily anguish and horrid consciousness she pleaded twice: "I wish someone would give me a shot and I could go to sleep."
The hospice nurse came two days before. During her initial visit, she discussed with Nancy her living will, in which Nancy directed that "the application of life-sustaining procedures to [her] body , including nourishment and hydration, be withheld or withdrawn and that [she] be permitted to die."
For Nancy, there was no "shot" — only liquid morphine sulfate. Day and night I put measured doses under her tongue. Twice, though, she suddenly arose in bed, eyes wide staring at me, and screamed.
I'm haunted: What horror slouched through her soul?
She went through the stages of death for three days. Her temperature elevated, then she became colder as blood was being preserved by her failing organs. There is a death rattle: a gurgling sound produced by air passing through mucus in the lungs and air passages. Her breathing became difficult as her courageous heartbeat accelerated.
Some 48 hours after the hospice nurse was satisfied that all was in (legal) order, my beloved Nancy succumbed.
A friend and I were with her to the end. We had nothing to sufficiently palliate our suffering either.
Marvin's death occurred in seconds. Williams' occupied two unconscious minutes. We have mercy on pets and those who cruelly murder. But not for the Nancys.
The love of my life was past president of the Licensed Professional Counselors Association of Georgia, Counselor of the Year in 2005, and elected to the board of directors of the new LPCA Foundation. She was an extraordinary, good person.
I could not help her die without pain and terror. Nancy, even with morphine, experienced the private hell of her death — for days. I know. She screamed its horror to me.
"I wish someone would give me a shot and I could go to sleep."
Why can't we?
This truly epitomizes my opinion about allowing people to end their lives the way they want to go. Fuck you fundamentalist, sadistic, right-winged neo-Christians who think it's a sin to end your own life. This is the whole reason God gave us free will, dipshit. Or, did you skip that part of CCD?
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
You Didn't Say, "I'm Sorry"
What a load of crap. Schwarzenegger rejected Tookie William's clemency appeal because he didn't say, "I'm sorry". Fuck you, Arnie. If I didn't do something yet you were going to stick a deadly needle in my arm, what makes you think I'd sell out either? And before you say, "how do you know he didn't kill those folks", I'd ask you to look at the national headlines last week of that poor slop, Robert Clark, who spent 24 years in the STATE pen of Georgia for a crime he didn't commit. Hell, these rednecks were going to fry his ass as well if it weren't for the technology that he some how was able to acquire.
Speaking of sorry, death, and shear stupidity, how lame is it that Bush came out yesterday and compared his invasion of Iraq with the "struggles of the American founding fathers"? I'd just like to punch him in the mouth. That asshole doesn't even know his history, so I'd like to clarify a couple of points for him. First, the American founding fathers INVADED this country to run like scared, chicken-shit losers from those formidable, nasty, renegade Englishmen. Second, they butchered all the natives that were here so they could steal their land. Third, the founding fathers started their own fucking war because they wanted to be set loose from the English government. Slight difference to what we see today in Iraq. Today, Bush wanted oil and the overabundant rise in Neo-Conservative Christianity in a predominately Muslim nation. He lied to go to war (and those desendents of those founding fathers fell for it). The Iraqis - although shit upon by Saddam, still had a more peaceful existance than they can ever have now. Apples and oranges, dipshit.
And to say that Iraqis have lost 30,000 citizens since the Bush invasion - "give or take a few???" A few what? Are we counting pennies here or what?
Oh, and now I read that Bush says many other nations need a regime change before there is peace in the world. I say we start with the good ol' US of A.
Saturday, December 10, 2005
That's a Bitch, Rich
Richard Pryor passed away today. The world is now without one genius comedian.
Rest in peace.
Rest in peace.
Thursday, December 08, 2005
Georgia's Backward Ass Retards
I don't mean to offend backward ass retards, but just in one day's AJC you can find these little tidbits of awe from some of our local village idiots...
This morning, a 7-year-old boy was run down by a MARTA bus. Apparently, Junior was weaving his bike in and out of traffic when the bus hit him. Now, this wouldn't seem all that stupid except that the boy's father and uncle were on the bus and after they watched the kid get hit, they proceeded to beat the shit out of the bus driver. OK, let me get this straight, these two morons watch their son/nephew play chicken with a 4-ton MARTA bus and then proceed to beat the driver up??? Why the hell did they let the kid play in traffic in the first place? Some folks should just be neutered before they can re-populate the world with little morons.
Another brilliant move - Our illustrious governor has decided he would step in and help the Georgia Board of Regents select a new Chancellor. There were three candidates before this morning, one guy was the interim director, the other was a Chancellor from another State education system, and the third guy is an former energy company CEO with no educational experience at all. Guess who dipshit picked. I'll give you a hint: Sonny is a Republican. Yup, he selected the CEO. I guess he thinks education should be run like a business. What a heap of crap.
There is a big stink going around as to what people should call a fucking Christmas tree. Apparently, it isn't very PC to call it a Christmas tree since not everyone celebrates Christmas. A mayor in a very redneck town outside the City was not re-elected Tuesday because the tree he had put up at his City Hall was called "The Grand Tree", not a Christmas tree and the Bible-thumpers came right out of the woodwork and ran right to the polls. Dumb shit. Look, people. Jews don't have a tree, Muslims don't have a tree, and I'm pretty damn sure the Kwanza folks don't have one, either. Only the commercially-driven, usually Capitalist, Christians have a goddamn tree. It's a Christmas tree. I would think the Jews would have a problem if we told them they should rename the Menora the "Holiday Candlestick".
Speaking of trees and retards, don't ever send your roommate out alone to buy your tree. While I was in Borders yesterday, I tell Roomie, "Go over to Lowe's and see if you can find a little $30 five-footer". He comes back 20 minutes later with a fucking NINE footer. Hello, we only have 8-foot ceilings. Looks like the goddamn Grizwald family Christmas tree. It's so big, we can't see the TV from the couch and it hasn't even fully relaxed yet. Once it does, the branches are going to burst through the window. Roomie says that the tree actually costs 90 bucks, but they were mistagged so he got a great deal. Again, the Grizwald's ain't got nothing on us this year.
Oh, and there is fucking ice coming out of the sky. What's up with that? I put up with all this crap in Georgia because we're not supposed to get ice. What a rip.
This morning, a 7-year-old boy was run down by a MARTA bus. Apparently, Junior was weaving his bike in and out of traffic when the bus hit him. Now, this wouldn't seem all that stupid except that the boy's father and uncle were on the bus and after they watched the kid get hit, they proceeded to beat the shit out of the bus driver. OK, let me get this straight, these two morons watch their son/nephew play chicken with a 4-ton MARTA bus and then proceed to beat the driver up??? Why the hell did they let the kid play in traffic in the first place? Some folks should just be neutered before they can re-populate the world with little morons.
Another brilliant move - Our illustrious governor has decided he would step in and help the Georgia Board of Regents select a new Chancellor. There were three candidates before this morning, one guy was the interim director, the other was a Chancellor from another State education system, and the third guy is an former energy company CEO with no educational experience at all. Guess who dipshit picked. I'll give you a hint: Sonny is a Republican. Yup, he selected the CEO. I guess he thinks education should be run like a business. What a heap of crap.
There is a big stink going around as to what people should call a fucking Christmas tree. Apparently, it isn't very PC to call it a Christmas tree since not everyone celebrates Christmas. A mayor in a very redneck town outside the City was not re-elected Tuesday because the tree he had put up at his City Hall was called "The Grand Tree", not a Christmas tree and the Bible-thumpers came right out of the woodwork and ran right to the polls. Dumb shit. Look, people. Jews don't have a tree, Muslims don't have a tree, and I'm pretty damn sure the Kwanza folks don't have one, either. Only the commercially-driven, usually Capitalist, Christians have a goddamn tree. It's a Christmas tree. I would think the Jews would have a problem if we told them they should rename the Menora the "Holiday Candlestick".
Speaking of trees and retards, don't ever send your roommate out alone to buy your tree. While I was in Borders yesterday, I tell Roomie, "Go over to Lowe's and see if you can find a little $30 five-footer". He comes back 20 minutes later with a fucking NINE footer. Hello, we only have 8-foot ceilings. Looks like the goddamn Grizwald family Christmas tree. It's so big, we can't see the TV from the couch and it hasn't even fully relaxed yet. Once it does, the branches are going to burst through the window. Roomie says that the tree actually costs 90 bucks, but they were mistagged so he got a great deal. Again, the Grizwald's ain't got nothing on us this year.
Oh, and there is fucking ice coming out of the sky. What's up with that? I put up with all this crap in Georgia because we're not supposed to get ice. What a rip.
Friday, December 02, 2005
G-O-D Put him Here?
Here's an interesting insider opinion of where things really stand with regard to the Iraqi situation. Check out Seymour Hersh's (NY Mag) take. Beware, it's a little frightening.
http://www.newyorker.com/printables/fact/051205fa_fact
http://www.newyorker.com/printables/fact/051205fa_fact
Notes from a Treehugger
These came from a friend who works in the Environmental/Sanitation department on campus:
Recycling one aluminum can saves enough energy to run a TV for 2 hours.
Recycling all of the paper used in the Sunday edition of the New York Times would save 75,000 trees per year.
Throwing away an aluminum can wastes as much energy as pouring out a soda can half-filled with gasoline.
The energy saved from recycling a glass bottle will light a 100-watt bulb for four hours.
Replacing one incandescent lamp (light bulb) with a fluorescent one, saves 500 tons of coal.
Americans comprise about five percent of the world's population, and produce 27% of the world's garbage.
We must be so proud.
Recycling one aluminum can saves enough energy to run a TV for 2 hours.
Recycling all of the paper used in the Sunday edition of the New York Times would save 75,000 trees per year.
Throwing away an aluminum can wastes as much energy as pouring out a soda can half-filled with gasoline.
The energy saved from recycling a glass bottle will light a 100-watt bulb for four hours.
Replacing one incandescent lamp (light bulb) with a fluorescent one, saves 500 tons of coal.
Americans comprise about five percent of the world's population, and produce 27% of the world's garbage.
We must be so proud.
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
Ponche
Surfing the web for another recipe, I fall upon this little ditty.
It must have been the evil twin that happened upon this one considering I was originally looking for a pecan pie recipe.
This is for a hot holiday punch with a Spanish vida ("Ponche"). Considering I can get all these ingredients at the Farmer's Market, I'm thinking of renting a vendor's stand and brew some up to feed to the other veggie vendors over the winter. Too bad the licensing for selling booze in that part of the state is such a pain in the ass. And really, who wants a punch with no "punch", especially the ass-bustin' Latinos who have to work in the freezing cold.
Just think the lost capitialistic opportunity to sell poncho to Latino workers for three bucks a shot. Considering they sell me fruits and vegetables at NO less than 90 percent than the grocery there's a wicked potential market there. I guess we should thank the radical Christian Coalition for ensuring this would not be possible.
Alas, enjoy yet something else for the holidays...
Ponche
2 Golden Delicious apples, peeled, cored, and cut in 1/8ths
3/4 cup raisins
1 pound guava, quartered
3 (3 to 4-inch) pieces sugarcane, each cut in strips
1/2 cup prunes
1/2 pound crabapples, peeled and cored
2 cups (1-inch) diced pineapple
1 cup sugar
4 (2-inch) pieces Mexican cinnamon
8 cups water
Tequila
In a large pot, place the fruit, sugar, cinnamon, and 8 cups of water. Bring to a boil and lower heat and simmer for 1 hour. Serve hot in a mug that has a shot of tequila in it.
It must have been the evil twin that happened upon this one considering I was originally looking for a pecan pie recipe.
This is for a hot holiday punch with a Spanish vida ("Ponche"). Considering I can get all these ingredients at the Farmer's Market, I'm thinking of renting a vendor's stand and brew some up to feed to the other veggie vendors over the winter. Too bad the licensing for selling booze in that part of the state is such a pain in the ass. And really, who wants a punch with no "punch", especially the ass-bustin' Latinos who have to work in the freezing cold.
Just think the lost capitialistic opportunity to sell poncho to Latino workers for three bucks a shot. Considering they sell me fruits and vegetables at NO less than 90 percent than the grocery there's a wicked potential market there. I guess we should thank the radical Christian Coalition for ensuring this would not be possible.
Alas, enjoy yet something else for the holidays...
Ponche
2 Golden Delicious apples, peeled, cored, and cut in 1/8ths
3/4 cup raisins
1 pound guava, quartered
3 (3 to 4-inch) pieces sugarcane, each cut in strips
1/2 cup prunes
1/2 pound crabapples, peeled and cored
2 cups (1-inch) diced pineapple
1 cup sugar
4 (2-inch) pieces Mexican cinnamon
8 cups water
Tequila
In a large pot, place the fruit, sugar, cinnamon, and 8 cups of water. Bring to a boil and lower heat and simmer for 1 hour. Serve hot in a mug that has a shot of tequila in it.
Back from the Desert
Well, not two days back from Phoenix and I already want to go back. What an awesome time. I was only out there for three days, but it felt like an hour. Phoenix is really a beatiful place. It is smack dab in the middle of a valley, surrounded by mountains and the weather - sun, 75 degrees and 25% humidity. Of course, I come back to Atlanta to rain, 50 degrees, and 95% humidity. Blah! Girlfriend says the summers are miserable, though. The AC does not stop and nobody wants to do anything outside. I thought we had it bad here, but we get humidity where she says it's like a giant hairdryer.
My boss told me that when I got back, I'd feel claustrophobic because Phoenix only has a couple of carefully placed palm trees and NO high rise buildings. It really was weird not seeing anything really over 3 stories. They're building 75 story monsters in downtown right now.
Had loads of fun, though. Highly recommend it.
Now, it's back to the old, boring ass job. I have had nothing at all to do today. What a joke. They're paying me so much money to literally read the news and blog. Alas, if I don't find something interesting to do - really, really soon - I'm headed for trouble. At least I'm doing my three mile run at lunch now instead of waiting to get home. It helps to break up the day when you can take a 2 hour lunch and get the exercise portion of the day done. A lady in my office stopped me this morning and asked how much weight I had lost. According to the scale, it's around 40 lbs. Not too shabby, but after trying to lose one pound in two years, the fattage is now flying off. Girlfriend and I even went shopping for girl clothes and I've managed to get into a size 6. I haven't been a 6 since I was 18 years old. Pretty cool. The secret is definately no processed food, no beer and a minimum of 3 miles and 1 hour of yoga a day. Now if I could just find a place that sells bathing suits in December for the St. Thomas trip.
Ah well, I guess I better get my ass up and do something. Maybe I'll walk to the other side of campus. At least the sun finally came out.
My boss told me that when I got back, I'd feel claustrophobic because Phoenix only has a couple of carefully placed palm trees and NO high rise buildings. It really was weird not seeing anything really over 3 stories. They're building 75 story monsters in downtown right now.
Had loads of fun, though. Highly recommend it.
Now, it's back to the old, boring ass job. I have had nothing at all to do today. What a joke. They're paying me so much money to literally read the news and blog. Alas, if I don't find something interesting to do - really, really soon - I'm headed for trouble. At least I'm doing my three mile run at lunch now instead of waiting to get home. It helps to break up the day when you can take a 2 hour lunch and get the exercise portion of the day done. A lady in my office stopped me this morning and asked how much weight I had lost. According to the scale, it's around 40 lbs. Not too shabby, but after trying to lose one pound in two years, the fattage is now flying off. Girlfriend and I even went shopping for girl clothes and I've managed to get into a size 6. I haven't been a 6 since I was 18 years old. Pretty cool. The secret is definately no processed food, no beer and a minimum of 3 miles and 1 hour of yoga a day. Now if I could just find a place that sells bathing suits in December for the St. Thomas trip.
Ah well, I guess I better get my ass up and do something. Maybe I'll walk to the other side of campus. At least the sun finally came out.
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
Rest in Peace
Dear Sam,
You will be sadly missed on this Earth. Rest in Peace.
Alright, he might be ugly - well, really, really ugly, but everyone has someone in the world that loves them and Sam's owner is missing the little guy.
You will be sadly missed on this Earth. Rest in Peace.
Alright, he might be ugly - well, really, really ugly, but everyone has someone in the world that loves them and Sam's owner is missing the little guy.
All I Want for Christmas is...
Bugatti Veyron
Right. Like I could possibly drive something like this. Lest we not forget the asking price, either. I'm sure I have a body part that I could sell that would make up the difference in the $1.2 Million price tag.
Monday, November 21, 2005
The Perils of Being an Urban Pioneer
Warning:
Diatribe Ahead
So, I'm a slacker when it comes to our neighbourhood meetings, but #1 I don't like meetings and #2 it starts at 7 PM and because nobody knows how to hold a meeting, the thing can go on for hours. I handled it pretty well Monday night, considering my moral and ethical belief system was all but assaulted by this Capitalist, Bush-lovin' slug...
Perhaps some background before the verbal assaults begin:
If you don't already know, Atlanta has no mass transit system. Well, we have M.A.R.T.A. which stands for Metro Atlanta Rapid Transit Authority.
----Heee, let's see if my Mum really reads my blog:
Want to know what I found out the other day? Old time Rednecks think MARTA stands for... "Moving Africans Rapidly Through Atlanta". Damn!
Anyway, MARTA doesn’t go anywhere you need to go. It simply runs a north-south, east-west route with a stop every 2 miles or so. Lots of good the train does you. And don’t even think of riding the bus unless you carry a handgun! So Atlanta now has an opportunity to develop this idea for light trolley and rail using rehabilitated existing rail lines connecting them with parks, neighbourhoods, tourist areas, etc. It is something that I am eagerly backing because it really will bring Atlanta into that "International Spotlight" that it’s been craving since 1996. You can see more about it at http://www.beltlinepartnership.org.
Along with the light rail, there are propositions to have more greenspace added around the rail. Atlanta has the least amount of greenspace of all the cities in the country the same size or larger, so for us tree-huggin’, Socialist-types, green is good. However, as I was reminded Monday night, some people think that since green places don’t generate revenue, they are not worth the effort.
That being said, a parallel project has been initiated by our very, very enthusiastic neighbourhood president (who we will call “Dippy”) and her completely annoying partner in crime, who happens to be a Capitalist, elitist (or is that redundant?) architect/developer (who we will call Rupert). They have come up with something called the Chosewood Park Development Corporation. Dippy, of course, has elected herself as the “Interim Director” of this little ditty. These two, along with some students in Rupert’s class at GT, have come up with a very ambitious, almost fantasy, concept to redevelop “The Hood”.
Now, if you don’t know, Chosewood Park (aka “The ‘Hood) consists of a City of Atlanta Watershed yard, a low-income apartment complex, single-family homes, oh yeah… and the fucking projects. To add more salt to this festering wound, most of the single-family homes are owned by unscrupulous people who rent their homes out to Section 8 families and most of the other properties are owned by the City of Atlanta. Needless to say, they are mostly dilapidated, shitholes, which makes them very lucrative to the City. Most of Dippy’s project requires the City to sell most of their property and as a graduate in Environmental Development; I know this has a snowball’s chance in hell.
The City has been involved with something called the Hope VI (Empowerment Zone) program since before the Olympics in ’96. This is a federally funded program that gives money to the city to demolish very old, very unsavory housing projects and rebuild them under the tenant “Mixed-income”. This means that the property will be rebuilt with nice, attractive apartments and townhomes and those that can afford the rent/mortgage pay it, and those that can’t afford it pay what they can and the rest is subsidized by the government’s plan. Boy, I can hear the Capitalists screaming from here, but it really does work and I will tell you why. Unlike Section 8 (which I’ll blab about in a minute), the people who participate in the Mixed-income program W-A-N-T to be there. These folks are hard-working, have no criminal record, keep their homes tidy, etc. The bottom line is that good, hard-working people deserve that break or two that most people attain through no action of their own.
Do not confuse mixed-income with Section 8. Section 8 is another HUD funded program, but this one is much, much different. Section 8 folks pay what they can based on their income, then receive money from HUD to cover the rest. They can rent a house anywhere they want as long as the landlord accepts them and in Chosewood, there are lots of ‘em. See, if you have a Section 8 renter, you are almost guaranteed 70-80% of your rent even if your tenant defaults on their part. Most of the houses they rent out are crap, so what if you only get part of your rent? Chances are the landlords own the house outright because they bought them in the late ‘70s and ’80 when whitey was making the great exodus to the suburbs and property values plummeted.
Section 8 folks are, for the most part, a little different than those who qualify for Mixed-income. First, most (not all Section 8) are the “I deserve a handout because …” –type. Second, Section 8 is not enforced at all. Nobody living in a Section 8 house can have a criminal record and if anyone is arrested and convicted while living in the house, the entire family is supposed to move. This does not happen, I promise. But, again, not all folks on Section 8 fall into this category.
For example, I have two Section 8 families next to me. One family on my right another one right across the street. The family that lives to my right is headed by a very, very hardworking, strong woman. She works 9 hours a day, 6 days a week. When her derelict daughter got hooked on crack, she kicked her out of the house and took custody of her grandchildren. She never has loud parties and keeps her house clean inside and out. Best of all, she respects us as her neigbours and we reciprocate.
Then there are the pigs across the street. Hmmmmm, where do we start? Mama works (at least I think she does). She has anywhere from 8-12 people, mostly teenagers, hanging out in the front yard all day, everyday. Most of these folks are hanging in the front yard so they can sell weed and crack to those unsavories that pass through the ‘Hood. They are not in school and do not hold jobs – unless you consider selling crack a “job”. The constantly blare hip-hop music until late at night and there is always trash all over their yard, which blows into my yard. They have completely destroyed the fence that the landlord installed around the front yard and they genuinely do not give a shit about where they live or what they do. We’ve called the police on them countless times and several times some of the little shits have actually been picked up.
And they are still there. Section 8 only works for a very, very small percentage of people. Those who do not feel like they deserve a “handout” and are willing to work to earn their right to a decent home are the minority.
OK – so back to the meeting on Monday. Although this was supposed to be a meeting to discuss ‘Hood issues, Dippy and Rupert used it as a platform to promote their development plan to us. This plan, which they only asked input on after it was completed, was pitched heavily to us only after we had a presentation from a lady working for the Trust for Public Lands. The plan the TPL presented showed hundred of acres of land they wanted to purchase in order to establish more public greenspace. Some of this land is in Chosewood, but of course, it was land that Dippy and Rupert earmarked for “retail and commercial” space.
So Dippy stands up and says, “Oh what a great idea, but you can’t have any of the land in Chosewood because we have other plans.” Well, this just starts this cozy little dialogue between Dippy/Rupert and the TPL. Basically Rupert goes on his gig about how greenspace doesn’t generate revenue and jobs are what we need in our ‘Hood. I guess he means jobs like selling shoes or something because every crack dealer making ten grand a week wants to work like a dog earning minimum wage. Anyway this little dispute went on for over an hour – again because Dippy doesn’t know how to run a meeting and call for a sidebar.
Then, just to be sure to really piss me off, after the TPL leaves, Rupert takes it upon himself to begin lecturing us on how we don’t want greenspace and parks, what we really want it retail, shopping, and restaurants. What we want? He also said that the TPL has the same agenda as the Sierra Club (a group I support) and that they need to just find other land as opposed to Chosewood properties. It was about that time that I almost stood up and bitch-slapped him.
Oh, but it gets better. After all this discussion, Dippy says we need to elect officers to her new Corporation. She volunteers to be the President, which everyone but me voted “yes” and then we finished with almost all the other officers except one – and here’s the coupe de grace - Dippy says we need a Corporation Representative. What the hell this is, I haven’t a clue, but she says, “Since Rupert has done all this work on our development, I think it would be a good idea to nominate him. Well, Dippy, Rupert doesn’t live in our “Hood. He lives in a trendy, Jewish condo complex in Midtown. When someone mentions Rupert’s potential conflict of interest, he gallantly steps up and says, “I do realize my participation in this corporation could invite such arguments. After all, I do stand to make a ton of money off this development”. Those fucking idiots I call neigbours still voted him in.
We have decided that that will be the last meeting we attend. First, I have a degree in Environmental Development, which is a concept regarding developments that keep nature and the environment as the first priority – the almighty dollar ranks about 4th on the list. Second, the City isn’t going to sell their land. Third, know your audience before you attempt to grand stand all your useless, arrogant knowledge and try to force feed it down my gullet.
I had thought about telling Dippy and Rupert to stick their project somewhere darker than the shelf, but I think I’m just going to team up with the Trust for Public Land and make sure they put a park or greenspace – or whatever will fuck up Dippy’s project. – dead smack in the middle of the ‘Hood. It’s always better to play dirty.
Diatribe over.
Diatribe Ahead
So, I'm a slacker when it comes to our neighbourhood meetings, but #1 I don't like meetings and #2 it starts at 7 PM and because nobody knows how to hold a meeting, the thing can go on for hours. I handled it pretty well Monday night, considering my moral and ethical belief system was all but assaulted by this Capitalist, Bush-lovin' slug...
Perhaps some background before the verbal assaults begin:
If you don't already know, Atlanta has no mass transit system. Well, we have M.A.R.T.A. which stands for Metro Atlanta Rapid Transit Authority.
----Heee, let's see if my Mum really reads my blog:
Want to know what I found out the other day? Old time Rednecks think MARTA stands for... "Moving Africans Rapidly Through Atlanta". Damn!
Anyway, MARTA doesn’t go anywhere you need to go. It simply runs a north-south, east-west route with a stop every 2 miles or so. Lots of good the train does you. And don’t even think of riding the bus unless you carry a handgun! So Atlanta now has an opportunity to develop this idea for light trolley and rail using rehabilitated existing rail lines connecting them with parks, neighbourhoods, tourist areas, etc. It is something that I am eagerly backing because it really will bring Atlanta into that "International Spotlight" that it’s been craving since 1996. You can see more about it at http://www.beltlinepartnership.org.
Along with the light rail, there are propositions to have more greenspace added around the rail. Atlanta has the least amount of greenspace of all the cities in the country the same size or larger, so for us tree-huggin’, Socialist-types, green is good. However, as I was reminded Monday night, some people think that since green places don’t generate revenue, they are not worth the effort.
That being said, a parallel project has been initiated by our very, very enthusiastic neighbourhood president (who we will call “Dippy”) and her completely annoying partner in crime, who happens to be a Capitalist, elitist (or is that redundant?) architect/developer (who we will call Rupert). They have come up with something called the Chosewood Park Development Corporation. Dippy, of course, has elected herself as the “Interim Director” of this little ditty. These two, along with some students in Rupert’s class at GT, have come up with a very ambitious, almost fantasy, concept to redevelop “The Hood”.
Now, if you don’t know, Chosewood Park (aka “The ‘Hood) consists of a City of Atlanta Watershed yard, a low-income apartment complex, single-family homes, oh yeah… and the fucking projects. To add more salt to this festering wound, most of the single-family homes are owned by unscrupulous people who rent their homes out to Section 8 families and most of the other properties are owned by the City of Atlanta. Needless to say, they are mostly dilapidated, shitholes, which makes them very lucrative to the City. Most of Dippy’s project requires the City to sell most of their property and as a graduate in Environmental Development; I know this has a snowball’s chance in hell.
The City has been involved with something called the Hope VI (Empowerment Zone) program since before the Olympics in ’96. This is a federally funded program that gives money to the city to demolish very old, very unsavory housing projects and rebuild them under the tenant “Mixed-income”. This means that the property will be rebuilt with nice, attractive apartments and townhomes and those that can afford the rent/mortgage pay it, and those that can’t afford it pay what they can and the rest is subsidized by the government’s plan. Boy, I can hear the Capitalists screaming from here, but it really does work and I will tell you why. Unlike Section 8 (which I’ll blab about in a minute), the people who participate in the Mixed-income program W-A-N-T to be there. These folks are hard-working, have no criminal record, keep their homes tidy, etc. The bottom line is that good, hard-working people deserve that break or two that most people attain through no action of their own.
Do not confuse mixed-income with Section 8. Section 8 is another HUD funded program, but this one is much, much different. Section 8 folks pay what they can based on their income, then receive money from HUD to cover the rest. They can rent a house anywhere they want as long as the landlord accepts them and in Chosewood, there are lots of ‘em. See, if you have a Section 8 renter, you are almost guaranteed 70-80% of your rent even if your tenant defaults on their part. Most of the houses they rent out are crap, so what if you only get part of your rent? Chances are the landlords own the house outright because they bought them in the late ‘70s and ’80 when whitey was making the great exodus to the suburbs and property values plummeted.
Section 8 folks are, for the most part, a little different than those who qualify for Mixed-income. First, most (not all Section 8) are the “I deserve a handout because …” –type. Second, Section 8 is not enforced at all. Nobody living in a Section 8 house can have a criminal record and if anyone is arrested and convicted while living in the house, the entire family is supposed to move. This does not happen, I promise. But, again, not all folks on Section 8 fall into this category.
For example, I have two Section 8 families next to me. One family on my right another one right across the street. The family that lives to my right is headed by a very, very hardworking, strong woman. She works 9 hours a day, 6 days a week. When her derelict daughter got hooked on crack, she kicked her out of the house and took custody of her grandchildren. She never has loud parties and keeps her house clean inside and out. Best of all, she respects us as her neigbours and we reciprocate.
Then there are the pigs across the street. Hmmmmm, where do we start? Mama works (at least I think she does). She has anywhere from 8-12 people, mostly teenagers, hanging out in the front yard all day, everyday. Most of these folks are hanging in the front yard so they can sell weed and crack to those unsavories that pass through the ‘Hood. They are not in school and do not hold jobs – unless you consider selling crack a “job”. The constantly blare hip-hop music until late at night and there is always trash all over their yard, which blows into my yard. They have completely destroyed the fence that the landlord installed around the front yard and they genuinely do not give a shit about where they live or what they do. We’ve called the police on them countless times and several times some of the little shits have actually been picked up.
And they are still there. Section 8 only works for a very, very small percentage of people. Those who do not feel like they deserve a “handout” and are willing to work to earn their right to a decent home are the minority.
OK – so back to the meeting on Monday. Although this was supposed to be a meeting to discuss ‘Hood issues, Dippy and Rupert used it as a platform to promote their development plan to us. This plan, which they only asked input on after it was completed, was pitched heavily to us only after we had a presentation from a lady working for the Trust for Public Lands. The plan the TPL presented showed hundred of acres of land they wanted to purchase in order to establish more public greenspace. Some of this land is in Chosewood, but of course, it was land that Dippy and Rupert earmarked for “retail and commercial” space.
So Dippy stands up and says, “Oh what a great idea, but you can’t have any of the land in Chosewood because we have other plans.” Well, this just starts this cozy little dialogue between Dippy/Rupert and the TPL. Basically Rupert goes on his gig about how greenspace doesn’t generate revenue and jobs are what we need in our ‘Hood. I guess he means jobs like selling shoes or something because every crack dealer making ten grand a week wants to work like a dog earning minimum wage. Anyway this little dispute went on for over an hour – again because Dippy doesn’t know how to run a meeting and call for a sidebar.
Then, just to be sure to really piss me off, after the TPL leaves, Rupert takes it upon himself to begin lecturing us on how we don’t want greenspace and parks, what we really want it retail, shopping, and restaurants. What we want? He also said that the TPL has the same agenda as the Sierra Club (a group I support) and that they need to just find other land as opposed to Chosewood properties. It was about that time that I almost stood up and bitch-slapped him.
Oh, but it gets better. After all this discussion, Dippy says we need to elect officers to her new Corporation. She volunteers to be the President, which everyone but me voted “yes” and then we finished with almost all the other officers except one – and here’s the coupe de grace - Dippy says we need a Corporation Representative. What the hell this is, I haven’t a clue, but she says, “Since Rupert has done all this work on our development, I think it would be a good idea to nominate him. Well, Dippy, Rupert doesn’t live in our “Hood. He lives in a trendy, Jewish condo complex in Midtown. When someone mentions Rupert’s potential conflict of interest, he gallantly steps up and says, “I do realize my participation in this corporation could invite such arguments. After all, I do stand to make a ton of money off this development”. Those fucking idiots I call neigbours still voted him in.
We have decided that that will be the last meeting we attend. First, I have a degree in Environmental Development, which is a concept regarding developments that keep nature and the environment as the first priority – the almighty dollar ranks about 4th on the list. Second, the City isn’t going to sell their land. Third, know your audience before you attempt to grand stand all your useless, arrogant knowledge and try to force feed it down my gullet.
I had thought about telling Dippy and Rupert to stick their project somewhere darker than the shelf, but I think I’m just going to team up with the Trust for Public Land and make sure they put a park or greenspace – or whatever will fuck up Dippy’s project. – dead smack in the middle of the ‘Hood. It’s always better to play dirty.
Diatribe over.
Thursday, November 17, 2005
Look Who Came to Visit!
Holy sheeeeettttt! Twenty-nine degrees - in the City - by 5:00AM! The cats have overtaken the den where I have the itty-bitty, electricity-guzzling, space heater. I tried to walk in there a minute ago and they didn't want to spare any body heat. They kicked me out.
However, I hear that New Englanders will wake up to the "zeros".
Just when you think you have it bad...
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
My Name is Earl
You must watch this show. Maybe it's the Augusta in me, but lines like this are too familiar...
Think really, really country accent...
Joy (drying her hair): "I'm sweatin' like a whore in church. No offense, Charlene."
Charlene: "Oh, nun taken. I don't go to church."
Think really, really country accent...
Joy (drying her hair): "I'm sweatin' like a whore in church. No offense, Charlene."
Charlene: "Oh, nun taken. I don't go to church."
Sunday, November 13, 2005
The SEC Rules
Auburn 31 - Georgia 30
The B-E-S-T college football game I can ever remember. What a blast. If I had only been in a betting mood, I could have cleaned house yesterday! Alabama also lost out to LSU in another killer game, and I listened to Spurrier give Florida a royal ass whopping. The SEC has to be the best conference out there - screw the Pac 10 and that useless USC (yup, we're still a little bitter over that rip off from last year).
We might not be coming to Atlanta this January, but at least we beat the Daaawwggggss. Woof, woof, woof.
Life in General
Well, you know you're going to have it rough when your astrological sign goes "retrograde" for three - count 'em three - weeks. According to today's horoscopes, we Geminis should expect communication and travel to be extremely difficult if not impossible. Timing couldn't be any better considering I'm flying across the country next week and I'm depending on my phenominal communication talent to get myself another job - hopefully, landing something before next year. Go figure, that crafty Mercury would go on hiatus right when I really need him (he must still be pissed about the Yin and Yang tats). He'd better be back in three weeks, though. I guess lots of patience is in order.
Speaking of life in general, here's my "Life Grade". I think it's a little off in the finance department, but otherwise not too bad. Thanks to my pal at Yorkshire Soul for the link. Try it and see what yours is...
Well, after two weeks, the sandpaper will be put away. Now it's time to prime and work the plaster. I really wanted to get the plaster done before the rain (since it hasn't rained her in six weeks, the humidity level is hovering around 10%), but my slack ass didn't make that deadline. Speaking of deadlines, if I don't bust my ass this weekend, my deadline to finish the dining room before I leave for Arizona will be shot. Unfortunately, there is just so much other stuff going on and I have to sit in a dead-end job doing nothing but blogging and reading the news eight hours a day.
I guess it's time to get back to it. I may even sneak home at lunch and start some priming. Vapours could help lighten my mood, if not kill the last remaining brain cell.
Speaking of life in general, here's my "Life Grade". I think it's a little off in the finance department, but otherwise not too bad. Thanks to my pal at Yorkshire Soul for the link. Try it and see what yours is...
| This Is My Life, Rated | |
| Life: |  6.6 |
| Mind: | 6.7 |
| Body: |  7.5 |
| Spirit: | 6.7 |
| Friends/Family: |  5.4 |
| Love: |  4.6 |
| Finance: | 7.8 |
| Take the Rate My Life Quiz | |
Well, after two weeks, the sandpaper will be put away. Now it's time to prime and work the plaster. I really wanted to get the plaster done before the rain (since it hasn't rained her in six weeks, the humidity level is hovering around 10%), but my slack ass didn't make that deadline. Speaking of deadlines, if I don't bust my ass this weekend, my deadline to finish the dining room before I leave for Arizona will be shot. Unfortunately, there is just so much other stuff going on and I have to sit in a dead-end job doing nothing but blogging and reading the news eight hours a day.
I guess it's time to get back to it. I may even sneak home at lunch and start some priming. Vapours could help lighten my mood, if not kill the last remaining brain cell.
Thursday, November 10, 2005
A Vegetarian View on Thanksgiving
Only we strict veg-heads would appreciate this upon the arrival of Thanksgiving...
Damn, that was rude, but have you forgotten who you're dealing with?
This really is so very sad considering how many people are dying from bird flu and how little vaccine there is to combat it. How is it that the drug companies still can't make enough of this Tamiflu even though this threat has been out there for so long? I know... we schmucks aren't paying them as much as we are the oil companies.
Speaking of rude, we're gonna gang up on Cat-man and tell him 1) no more cats and 2) M-A-S-S-I-V-E amounts of therapy are on the horizon or he's totally fucked. Mum says, "You wouldn't be so mean". Again, forget who you're dealing with??
Big party tomorrow at Spanky. A good friend retired after 20 years at Tech so we can only celebrate with lots of really cold beer and really good food. Between hamburgers, hot dogs, potato salad, deviled eggs, jalapeno cornbread, and fudge chocolate cake - it will be a struggle to keep the poundage off. However, Mum surprised me with a trip to St. Thomas for the holidays. Since I haven't been to a beach at under 125 lbs since I was 18 years old - I have incentive. That goddamn exercise ball has been my buddy again ever since I started feeling better. If you think you can do sit-ups on the floor, try it on the ball. Big - HUGE - improvement factor. Of course, after cleaning and moving out 6 or 7 cat kennels from Cat-man's this morning, the ball will have to wait for a day.
Speaking of balls, Terrell Owens needs his teeth kicked in. No, I'm not even remotely qualified to do the job, but please. What a dipshit. If I were Donovan McNabb, I do it, though. Thank God the Eagles told him to jump off a short bridge. What an asshole-ee-oo.
And back to Thanksgiving - I'm oh so looking forward to going to the big AZ. Gail and I are planning on dragging out her fake 12' tall tree and decorating it. Cannot wait to see the final product as she is a Gin and Tonic girl and I'm a Rum and Coke girl. We'll be lucky if the fucking tree doesn't wind up in the neighbour's house. We might even swing some clubs since the weather is supposed to be in the high 70's. Weather here was like that until last night. Then those fucking Canadians sent down a cold front that drop the temp like no other. Of course, the cold front is preceeded by 15-20 mpg wind. The acorns and pecans fell in tandom. Sounded like godamned downtown Baghdad. Alas, I almost busted my ass stepping off the back stairs and I'm still recovering from the ladder/screen door incident.
Ah well, must check the vegetarian (yet still awesome) cornbread and try to frost a cake without licking the spoon.
Damn, that was rude, but have you forgotten who you're dealing with?
This really is so very sad considering how many people are dying from bird flu and how little vaccine there is to combat it. How is it that the drug companies still can't make enough of this Tamiflu even though this threat has been out there for so long? I know... we schmucks aren't paying them as much as we are the oil companies.
Speaking of rude, we're gonna gang up on Cat-man and tell him 1) no more cats and 2) M-A-S-S-I-V-E amounts of therapy are on the horizon or he's totally fucked. Mum says, "You wouldn't be so mean". Again, forget who you're dealing with??
Big party tomorrow at Spanky. A good friend retired after 20 years at Tech so we can only celebrate with lots of really cold beer and really good food. Between hamburgers, hot dogs, potato salad, deviled eggs, jalapeno cornbread, and fudge chocolate cake - it will be a struggle to keep the poundage off. However, Mum surprised me with a trip to St. Thomas for the holidays. Since I haven't been to a beach at under 125 lbs since I was 18 years old - I have incentive. That goddamn exercise ball has been my buddy again ever since I started feeling better. If you think you can do sit-ups on the floor, try it on the ball. Big - HUGE - improvement factor. Of course, after cleaning and moving out 6 or 7 cat kennels from Cat-man's this morning, the ball will have to wait for a day.
Speaking of balls, Terrell Owens needs his teeth kicked in. No, I'm not even remotely qualified to do the job, but please. What a dipshit. If I were Donovan McNabb, I do it, though. Thank God the Eagles told him to jump off a short bridge. What an asshole-ee-oo.
And back to Thanksgiving - I'm oh so looking forward to going to the big AZ. Gail and I are planning on dragging out her fake 12' tall tree and decorating it. Cannot wait to see the final product as she is a Gin and Tonic girl and I'm a Rum and Coke girl. We'll be lucky if the fucking tree doesn't wind up in the neighbour's house. We might even swing some clubs since the weather is supposed to be in the high 70's. Weather here was like that until last night. Then those fucking Canadians sent down a cold front that drop the temp like no other. Of course, the cold front is preceeded by 15-20 mpg wind. The acorns and pecans fell in tandom. Sounded like godamned downtown Baghdad. Alas, I almost busted my ass stepping off the back stairs and I'm still recovering from the ladder/screen door incident.
Ah well, must check the vegetarian (yet still awesome) cornbread and try to frost a cake without licking the spoon.
Sunday, November 06, 2005
How to Lose 8,000 Calories in 4 Hours
Be THE biggest Depeche Mode fan and go to one of the best shows since... well, since the last DM concert. Between six hours up and down a ladder (working on the dining room) and four hours of dancing my ass off at the show - I had to have lost another 10 lbs. At least, I'm feeling like I lost something, but maybe that's just my sanity. Roomie says that there should be no such thing as bad dancing, after all, if you're dancing, you're having a good time. But, if that's the case, why has he yet to stop laughing at my sorry ass. The imitations are enough to make you spit milk through your nose.
Holy Sheeeetttt - I haven't hurt this badly in a very long time. Oh, and just to ensure my butt is completely worn out, I had to have a fight with the ladder and the screen door. Fell off the 8 foot ladder and landed on the only piece of furniture left in the dining room, then ran smack dab into the screen door when I was hauling paint up from the truck. You go, Girl!
Anyway, the show was unbelievable! I cannot believe that Martin Gore can still move like that (I can't believe I can still move like that). They played for almost four straight hours to me and 7,000 of my closest friends. And they played lots and lots of old stuff, which took me back to my high school salad days. This venue, though, was damn near Tennessee so we had to get a hotel last night, but my word, was it worth the money and the trip! Something tells me this might be the last show they do, and that will be sad.
Considering I cannot barely move (bruises and sored muscles), I'm due at a friend's house in an hour to participate in what can only be referred to as "serious intervention". This friend is a horder - a cat horder to be exact. He had to go out of town due to a death in the family and he asked if I would watch his cats. When I asked how many cats he had - and he told me 6-0 - that's sixty, fucking cats - I blew it. Anyway, another cat friend said, "enough is enough" and she wants me to meet her at Cat-man's house to take all the cats to shelters around Atlanta. Cat-Man is going to have a stroke, but if we don't do this, my sane cat friend will call animal control. Ironically, we both were huge proponents of making animal cruelty a felony in Georgia. Now look. However, just the thought of lifting a cat carrier is excruciating. I'm seriously trying to figure out a way to just sit on the couch under my heating pad and watch football or a movie. Something tells me that will not be the case, though.
I also have an appointment to get another tattoo at 3:30. I can't imagine it could hurt anymore than what I'm feeling now, but trying to drive might be problematic. Roomie thinks shoulders, but I'd have an easier time hiding them from the anal fam if I get them on my hip. Of course, blogging about the goddamn thing kills the notion of secrecy. You go, Girl.
It is a beautiful autumn day in the big City and even the pigs across the street are being relatively quiet. One day, I'm just going to pull a gun on them and then maybe they'll move on. Speaking of pigs, three guys got busted in Norcross on Thursday. They had been using their Katrina money to buy and sell coke and weed. According to the police, they were bragging about it saying it was their right to abuse the FEMA money because they were due the hand out. Please, anyone who thinks they are due a fucking handout because their fucking ancestors were brought over and sold as slaves 150 years ago, needs to get a brain and a fucking job. Besides, how stupid can you be to brag to total redneck police officers that your stupid black ass deserves a handout?
Time for another Goody powder and maybe some raw tuna for the protein boost. I should just drink blood as much as my body needs. I'm also going to burn the ladder and the screen door.
Holy Sheeeetttt - I haven't hurt this badly in a very long time. Oh, and just to ensure my butt is completely worn out, I had to have a fight with the ladder and the screen door. Fell off the 8 foot ladder and landed on the only piece of furniture left in the dining room, then ran smack dab into the screen door when I was hauling paint up from the truck. You go, Girl!
Anyway, the show was unbelievable! I cannot believe that Martin Gore can still move like that (I can't believe I can still move like that). They played for almost four straight hours to me and 7,000 of my closest friends. And they played lots and lots of old stuff, which took me back to my high school salad days. This venue, though, was damn near Tennessee so we had to get a hotel last night, but my word, was it worth the money and the trip! Something tells me this might be the last show they do, and that will be sad.
Considering I cannot barely move (bruises and sored muscles), I'm due at a friend's house in an hour to participate in what can only be referred to as "serious intervention". This friend is a horder - a cat horder to be exact. He had to go out of town due to a death in the family and he asked if I would watch his cats. When I asked how many cats he had - and he told me 6-0 - that's sixty, fucking cats - I blew it. Anyway, another cat friend said, "enough is enough" and she wants me to meet her at Cat-man's house to take all the cats to shelters around Atlanta. Cat-Man is going to have a stroke, but if we don't do this, my sane cat friend will call animal control. Ironically, we both were huge proponents of making animal cruelty a felony in Georgia. Now look. However, just the thought of lifting a cat carrier is excruciating. I'm seriously trying to figure out a way to just sit on the couch under my heating pad and watch football or a movie. Something tells me that will not be the case, though.
I also have an appointment to get another tattoo at 3:30. I can't imagine it could hurt anymore than what I'm feeling now, but trying to drive might be problematic. Roomie thinks shoulders, but I'd have an easier time hiding them from the anal fam if I get them on my hip. Of course, blogging about the goddamn thing kills the notion of secrecy. You go, Girl.
It is a beautiful autumn day in the big City and even the pigs across the street are being relatively quiet. One day, I'm just going to pull a gun on them and then maybe they'll move on. Speaking of pigs, three guys got busted in Norcross on Thursday. They had been using their Katrina money to buy and sell coke and weed. According to the police, they were bragging about it saying it was their right to abuse the FEMA money because they were due the hand out. Please, anyone who thinks they are due a fucking handout because their fucking ancestors were brought over and sold as slaves 150 years ago, needs to get a brain and a fucking job. Besides, how stupid can you be to brag to total redneck police officers that your stupid black ass deserves a handout?
Time for another Goody powder and maybe some raw tuna for the protein boost. I should just drink blood as much as my body needs. I'm also going to burn the ladder and the screen door.
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