Just keeping up the old post count...

...or something...

Still have that persistent feeling that nothing I write here is of significance or importance to annnnybody, but it's also interesting that my most mundane posts frequently attract the most comments, while the rare flashes of political and social insight are less likely to draw comments.  Who knows?  Just one of those mysteries.

But because I get tired of seeing the old subject header every time this page is opened, here's a random update.  My source is none other than the personal diary I keep offline as a Word document.

So here it is.  You asked for it.  Well, actually, no you didn't.  But here it is anyway:
~

9/1:  FG has friended me on Facebook.  He was, I guess, the first boy I ever kissed – in 9^th grade on a music department trip to Washington DC.  I just wanted to try it out, a what-the-hell kind of thing.  Naturally he turned out to be one of the nerdiest kids in the whole school and thought we'd end up getting married or something.  He kept following me around.  I never had the slightest interest in him.  Fortunately, he got married ASAP, to some girl, less than 2 years out of high school.  But – the first thing he said to me on Facebook was how vividly he remembered the kiss.  Mama mia.  No one's gonna tell me my lips are, or ever were, that special!!

9/4:

Very roller-coastery mood type of day!  I had the alarm set for 8am, but woke up at 6:02 and all I could think of was the neighborhood's executive committee meeting and how I hadn't 1. typed the minutes from last month's meeting; 2. typed an agenda for the president or 3. typed the minutes from the August general residents' meeting that Dorothy R. had recorded when I couldn’t make the meeting on Aug. 12^th. [anxiety]

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Toby the Love-Hate Dog

Yes, we now officially have a love-hate relationship with Toby. Toby is the dog owned by our neighbor. Description of neighbor: Gets drunk just about every day, has a bunch of cronies who come over and stand around a barrel full of burning trash to stay warm. They pee outside, behind an old wrecked cinder-block shed.

Now. Guess how he keeps his dog.

Yep, you guessed it. Outside, all day, all night, year round, on a chain ... "I love my dawg," he says. You can tell ... he bought Toby a house of his very own. Probably even put a blanket in there. Yeah, that's luurve.

The neighbor's a good guy. Really. He tries. Just because he doesn't succeed isn't necessarily a reason to hold anything against him. He's pathetic and he's a loser, and that about sums him up. But there are many, many worse people in the world and it's one of those things where you say, if he left, one can only guess what sort would move in. The old "better the devil you know" dilemma.

But Toby, true to his tied-up, fenced-in, neglected dog nature, barks ALL DAY, ALL NIGHT, ad infinitum. Loudly. He's a beagle, so he always starts out with a nice, robust howwwwwwwwl! And then the hysterical yapping commences.

Drives Carl nuts. Carl is a nervous individual and a fitful sleeper. He grabs naps whenever he can, and that's generally when Toby decides to howl and yap at something. I bought Carl the loudest table fan I could get and he runs it year 'round, just to drown out Toby. Sometimes even the fan doesn't help.

Last night, Carl tried to grab a nap around 7pm (he wanted to be awake for Desperate Housewives...it's a new season). Toby, however, was in fine form, just off the scale. I even went to the living room window to see if anyone was out there provoking this ruckus. It doesn't take much, but when Toby goes on at such length, it means a group of pedestrians (often with their own dawg, invariably a pit bull) is loitering in front of my house or the neighbor's, just taking their time getting along up the street. I didn't see the expected crowd, just one guy walking at normal speed. Once that lone pedestrian disappeared from view, Toby quieted down, but it was too late for Carl, who emerged from the bedroom grumbling under his breath, cursing the entire canine species.

So this afternoon I get home from work and there's my neighbor outside. He greets me -- we rarely have long conversations, but they're friendly nonetheless. I was pondering whether or not to broach the subject of his little noisemaking quadruped, when he said "Say -- you hear Toby last night barking up a fit?" Um, yeah... I told him yes, and he said "Well, I knew somethin' was up. I looked outside, and there was a man right there--" he pointed to our living room window -- "tryin' to peek in through yo' window. He come 'round from the back, so he probably was casing your back patio too, so make sure you got everything locked up. And then he come 'round and tries to peek in your window. I told him he got no business on your land and told him I was gonna get my gun and call 9-1-1, and he took off right quick." I thanked him, went inside and told Carl.

So much for trying to shut Toby up. No telling how long the trespasser was lurking around; he might have looked in through the window of the office when I was sitting right here in plain view.

Words fail me, trying to express how much I love this neighborhood... Click Here to Read More..

It Came Out...

A couple of months ago I took this picture from the front porch. Our sunsets are always spectacular, but once in awhile the morning sky shows off, too.

Here's the shot I was hoping for:







Click Here to Read More..

A handful of random one-liners

Just not organized enough to stick to one topic today, so here's where I dump the lint-catcher that resides between my ears...

Didn't want to to go church today, but glad I did.
A lot of people there have suffered losses in just the last week or so.
The choir has some good new people in it.
I waited too long to see the doctor about my foot, but we're working on getting it taken care of now.
Life could be better.
Why does the mutt next door always stop making noise as soon as I put on music to drown it out?
If Wally loses much more weight, he will disappear.
Seriously thinking about changing the theme for this blog, but worried I'll make a hash of it.
The days go by too damn fast.
Talked to my bff last night; it was good to catch up.
She hates weddings as much as I do.
I'd rather go to a funeral than a wedding.
At least with a funeral you can leave early and people assume you're grief-stricken and not just bored silly.
Funerals are way cheaper, too -- no gifts expected.
I'm feeling glimmers of optimism for this presidential election.
I just hope no one I'm pulling for does anything monumentally stupid to screw it up before Nov. 4.
Interesting how the tide seems to have shifted just recently.
Took long enough.
Michael Clayton was such a boring, pointless movie, I sent it back to Netflix after sticking with it for 30 minutes.
I like listening to Chris Isaak and have no idea why.
Coffee's ready; be right back.
Coffee pot needs cleaning.
Bookcases need reorganizing.
We surely do need rain.
The kitchen counter is a mess.
We really need a new refrigerator.
Facebook is addictive.
The husband of a friend of mine has been diagnosed with squamous-cell carcinoma.
Christmas will be here before we know it.
Anticipation of a bad outcome often keeps me from taking decisive action.
There sure are a lot of people in the news media who get paid beaucoups bucks and still haven't a clue about spelling, grammar or usage.
Ahh -- Warren Zevon.
Die Hard is still a great movie.
The first one.
Samsung makes better cell phones than Nokia.
I need to call Pete and wish him a happy 61st.
Slim Fast is a better idea than a milkshake from Arby's today.
They're closing Coney Island's Astroland.
Putting up more yuppie condos, no doubt.
I just hate what they're doing to New York City.
I'm so, so glad that Thomas Kinkeade is out of Carl's price range.
It's amazing how things can change in ten years.
Another hopeful sign: Michael Dowd
I don't even want to think about a fall wardrobe.
Comedians annoy me when they toss out what made them famous in the first place and go out of their way to create a "serious" public image.
Chicken parmigiana sounds like a good plan for dinner tonight.
I haven't owned a swimsuit since 2005.
Being an only child isn't such a terrible thing.
With an older sibling I'd have been an insufferable brat.
With a younger sibling I'd have been an overbearing bully.
The guy next door finally emptied out the crap from the bed of his old pickup.
There was someone sleeping in there yesterday.
Why do all ice cream trucks use the same music?
And what does "Turkey in the Straw" have to do with ice cream?
If I had my way, all existing recordings from Evanescence would be destroyed, and the lead singer would be sentenced to sing nothing but polkas for the rest of her life.
Three vacation days left.
One is scheduled already.
Sitting here doing this is not the best use of my time. Click Here to Read More..

Stop That, Y'all!

About 2 hours ago, Carl and I were sitting down to dinner and became aware of some sounds.

The first sound, the one that never completely stops, is the dog next door (to the north). I think he's half beagle, half Jack Russell, which means he's hyper and excitable and barks all day and most of the night. But it doesn't take much analysis to differentiate between the "I'm bored, somebody pay attention to me" bark and the "Holy Shit! Somebody come take a look at THIS!" bark. We were hearing the latter. Mixed in with the barking were a deep bellowing male voice, a screechy female voice, and little-kid voices.

The house next door (to the south) practically has "Please tear me down and put me out of my misery" painted on it. It was (and probably still is) owned by this old guy named George. George lived in it for awhile, and then it got seriously burglarized, so he was left with few possessions. He moved in with his daughter, coming back periodically to try to fix it up. I'm not sure about the inside, but he did the best he could to keep the yard in order. I think his grandson was preparing to buy the house from George, but then George changed his mind. At least, that's the gossip.

For a year and a half now, various people have come and gone, appearing to be moving in, but then disappearing until the next wave arrives. I've lost count of how many "Rent-a-Center" trucks have pulled up at the curb.

For awhile there was an effort to fix the place up; they were banging on our door at (no exaggeration) four o'clock in the morning, asking to use the phone, for food, for clothes because they were freezing in mid-February, etc. The people come and go, but one thing remains constant: The growing collection of junk vehicles. Oh, yeah, this is a real picturesque neighborhood we live in. Pickup trucks with crap in the back; big stretch limos, a motorboat... I know this is George's grandson, trying to buy & resell cars. And naturally, he just has to do this here on our loosely zoned street.

There's a lady in a bright hot-pink pickup truck who's been here quite a bit. She has three or four really tiny kids, at least two of whom are girls. I have no idea how she's related to George's grandson, but today, the two of them, a younger girl, and all the kids were out front, and it was a brawl. The guy was right up in the women's faces, yelling at full volume. The older woman was screaming back at him, and the younger girl was just hysterical, finally falling on the ground, weeping. The little ones just ran up & down in front of the house. It just kills me to see tiny little kids being exposed to that kind of mayhem. I went through enough of that with my parents -- it's just a terrible thing to do to children.

It got worse - at one point the younger woman was in the air, her feet being pulled by the guy and her arms, head and neck being pulled by the woman. That was when I dialed 911. As I was calling the cops, the neighbors began coming down the street, strolling, just casual, but definitely interested in what was going on. I saw old Archie from down the block, which just goes to show how far those loud voices were carrying.

In this part of town it's almost a cliche that people don't call the cops. It's one of the biggest problems, crime-wise. Our county commissioner comes to our neighborhood meetings on a regular basis. He gives out his number and says "If you don't want to call the police, call me -- I'll call them for you and no one will ever know it was you." So, I will call the police when I see people fighting physically outside my house. They stayed out there for a long time but after the police arrived (and stayed for all of five minutes), things calmed down.

No, I don't want to move.

I want THEM to move. Click Here to Read More..

There's This Guy

He's a single dad, apparently not at all well-off financially, and he's in my neighborhood. Talking to him briefly, he seemed like the sort of person who might feel comfortable at my church. Since this is a small city and people tend to know who's who, even when someone's been here a short time, I mentioned him to one of the ladies I went to the Florida church conference with.

Sure 'nough, she knew him. She knew all about him. She warned me to keep a distance.

According to her, he had come to church a few times and brought his child. He had raised a huge fuss with the religious education people because they offered his child a snack, as is customary. It was the opinion of my church friend that the guy was borderline abusive toward his child.

From her observation, it wasn't the fact that the child had a food allergy or dietary restriction of any kind -- it was because the food wasn't home made -- it was store-bought and therefore had ingredients that came from factories or non-union corporations, where workers are exploited, etc.

It's not clear whether he notified the staff beforehand that no snacks were allowed; my impression is that he landed on them with both feet, as though the idea of giving kids snacks is so "out there" he couldn't believe it.

Now, I know perfectly well that N.D. (Neighborhood Dad) is hardly alone in his ideology. But here in this li'l corner of the world, he's more alone than he would be in, say, Seattle or Portland or some parts of New England. Not only is this very much the South, but our neighborhood isn't exactly known for its vegan population! I recycle, vote Democrat and attend a liberal church and I'm sure some people around here would consider me kind of fringe-y, despite my otherwise conventional ways.

At this evening's neighborhood meeting, N.D. and the youngun were on hand. We discussed an upcoming outdoor event and one of the organizers said "We'll have a crew there ahead of time to spray for mosquitoes so we won't all suffer." N.D. spoke up as if on cue, asking if she was talking about bug repellent or bug killer. "I don't like poisons," he said. A perfectly admirable sentiment, but again, this is the kind of place where people drive cars that rolled off the line when Iaccocca was actually president of Chrysler; they dump motor oil down the sewers and throw old pork bones out in the yard for the "dawg." Most of the folks 'round here would agree that "the only good bug is a dead one." I wager that N.D.'s anti-poison stance is the first such thing many people in the room had ever heard.

Finally, the meeting adjourned and we were invited to collect our food to either eat on-site or take home. They had box lunches which were probably either fried chicken or BBQ, and grilled chicken salads in plastic clamshell boxes (along with cookies & chips). N.D. steered his child out the door quickly; when someone invited him to at least take a salad, he informed them that he was vegetarian, and left. I heard someone say, "Well, what's the big deal? You get a salad, throw out the meat and eat the rest." Again, these are people who believe that to be fussy about food is to reject God's bounty -- which is why so many are obese, hypertense, and/or diabetic.

So what we've got here is two very different cultures trying to speak to each other. I see N.D. as someone who strives to make a political statement at every possible opportunity. I'm not sure he's looking to "convert" others to his way of thinking, but he holds his worldview so very sacred that he will not compromise one iota, ever, and feels compelled to spell it out whenever the question arises. On the other side you've got your basic salt-of-the-earth people who believe that if something was good enough for their great-grandparents it's good enough for them and their great-grandchildren.

And of course, there's me in the middle, Ms. Go Along to Get Along. I see the validity of both sides. I love the environment; hate the mass-production consumer culture we're in, yet understand that when you don't have a lot of money, you tend to buy cheap stuff and settle for convenience over principle.

Being in the middle has been the story of my life. Click Here to Read More..

A Dilemma

This evening I attended the monthly meeting whereby representatives of various local neighborhoods share a large room with half a dozen or so law-enforcement personnel, and report on the stuff that's taking place in their communities calling for police intervention.

It was my first time. My neighborhood association said, "Please attend and report back." But what happened was, everyone at the meeting had something to report to the officers. Except me -- I don't get terribly involved in the goings-on. I'm not that eagle-eyed person who's perpetually looking out my window and taking note of the most minute variation. And, since moving here (and actually, for many years prior), I've wondered, how does one get to be that sort of person? It seems to be very much against my nature, for two main reasons:

1. I'm extremely unobservant. No, oblivious is probably a better way to describe me. When I'm going about my business, I'm going about MY BUSINESS. That is, I'm thinking about whatever's going on in my life. Driving for me is a very automatic function and it takes place without much here-and-now observation of anything other than the road. I see things in a very uninvolved way. I miss lots and lots of details. And I have that defect in my brain that makes it hard to distinguish faces, cars, and most of the other details that "normal" people can spot and memorize. Because people in my neighborhood are very sociable, and because I have an official position in the neighborhood, I compensate for this by waving "hi" any time I drive past anyone. I don't really look to see who it is, and if I ran into that person anywhere else, I'd only be about 20% likely to recognize them as being from my neighborhood. It's THAT bad. So this is why I have a serious problem with this "crime spotter" thing. I just don't notice things.

2. The other reason I'm not law-enforcement material is, when I DO notice something, I automatically assume that everything's cool. I'm a firm believer in "mind your own business," "to each his own," and "judge not, lest ye be judged." So when my next-door neighbor piles old cars on his lawn and pulls up in a Rent-a-Center truck every month or so, I'm thinking, well, it's not the way I like to live, and I wish his property were more aesthetically pleasing, but who am I to dictate what his house looks like? Two guys talking on the porch at 2:00 in the morning. 90% of my neighbors would say "They're doing a drug deal." I say, "It's two guys talking on the porch at 2:00 in the morning." A young lady is walking down the street alone at 11pm in the middle of January, dressed in high heels, shorts up to here and a middy top that's little more than an embellished bra. 99% of the rest of the world would say, "She's a hooker and she ought to be arrested." I say, "She's a woman going somewhere, and she must be cold; why doesn't she put on a coat?" I just take things at face value and believe that if I go and make assumptions, it's going to turn out to be the one time in 10 years that the guys were just talking on the porch or the girl was walking along dressed that way because she was coming from a costume party. I don't know how to tell the difference between people who are up to no good and people who are just waiting for a friend. I'm not totally incapable of telling when something's wrong but I don't consider myself very sharp in that area. If someone smiles at me and says 'everything's fine,' I figure it's true and just go on about my business. But, I've had enough marginal, second-hand experiences in life with shady dealings that if I'm really looking for it and keep my eyes open, I can manage not to get fooled. But I wish there were some way to take lessons. Click Here to Read More..

Social Grumbling

What'm I up to now, six posts in one weekend? Feels like...

Anyway. Time to get socially relevant. Being the second Saturday of the month, it was the day that our neighborhood association meets. I'm the recording secretary. This tiny little historic neighborhood is about 99% black. I'm in the 1% minority. I agreed to be secretary because the non-profit that's backing us sent us on a nice weekend retreat last fall, put us up at a posh hotel and lavished us with t-shirts, tote bags, hats, pens, and other goodies and it seemed to me that if they ask me to help out this way, it wouldn't kill my ass to say yes and commit myself for a year. I've certainly been doing it since I moved here -- attend nearly every meeting, become a block captain, walk up and down knocking on doors getting people sign a petition to get speed bumps, make 5000 fish sandwiches on a cold November afternoon, sweep and pick up trash for several hours, watch kids on the Astro Jump so they wouldn't kill themselves, and escort a couple of college kids through the community getting people to fill out surveys and win a Wal-mart gift card.

I grew up in an all-white community. My church has recently been running a series on "sundown towns," which are designed to exclude minorities, either by making them feel unwelcome via town charter, redlining or other bureaucratic methods, or by outright threats of violence toward those who lingered. My hometown was such a place. But I grew up in the Civil Rights era and we were taught, on a consistent basis, that black people were the victims of evil whites. It was a very idealistic time. Some people I grew up with were prejudiced (especially the parents of my classmates) but I really had the idea that it was just a matter of people being nice to each other.

I still had very little interaction with black people until I was in my mid-30s. Every place I lived and worked was overwhelmingly white. This changed when my ex and I started our own retail-type business in an urban area and found ourselves hiring the people who lived there. We began to experience first-hand the complexities of social relationships. The good-guy/bad-guy lines weren't as clearly drawn as they were on the ABC Movie of the Week. Later, I went back into office life and the demographics this time around were different. I worked with and for African-Americans. This continued after the divorce when my resources were not as abundant as they had been, and I lived in lower-income areas. I had a sense of standing outside myself and wondering if it was okay to be annoyed at neighbors who wandered around at all hours of the night talking loudly and waking me up, and whose kids always seemed to be coming to the door asking for food and money. I started having thoughts like, we're all the same under the skin ... aren't we??

I worked in an office that was about 65% black, and there was an enormous amount of distrust between the races. Each group seemed to keep to itself. The rules in the place were very restrictive. Very little wiggle-room and it was ridiculously easy to get written up for stupid things. One manager said (in a whisper, of course) "If there weren't so many blacks here, we wouldn't have so many rules, but they take advantage every time." There were also whispers of "If a black person breaks a rule, we have to give them a pass the first time, otherwise we'll get sued for discrimination." There were people of both races who firmly believed that every person of the other persuasion was "out to get them."

So, here in this new town where I live now, I'm back to working in a nearly lily-white office. I know there are minorities in the company, but most of them seem to be in the warehouses in far-flung locations. My home, however, is in "the hood."

I really like where I live and have very few regrets. I remember the day the real estate agent drove us through this section. He knew better than to say anything negative. He probably thought it was strange that this midde-class looking white couple was specifically looking for a house here, but he didn't see our finances. We're not in the best shape. It's just a fact of life. I've never made any kind of big bucks and my husband's income fluctuates wildly. Neither of us is hugely interested in opulent living because neither of us ever lived that way. He was very poor. Shoes patched together with duct tape -- that kind of poor. Bad teeth, bad bones, bad nutrition -- that kind of poor. I did better because I was an only child and my parents sacrificed a lot for me, but neither of us was ever spoiled. The 13 years I was married to Doug are probably the closest I ever came to being "upscale," but he was incredibly stingy with me because I didn't earn as much as he and he didn't believe that the higher earner should pull most of the weight. So he stashed his money away and had plenty when we split. And I was too dumb to try going after it when we divorced. So I've basically struggled ever since. I like to think that I "could" have a lot more money if I were inclined to go after it, but truthfully, I'm content to be able to pay the bills on time and have a few modest goodies (panty hose without runs, Stouffers instead of Michelina's, high-speed internet) when I want them. I had no interest in a McMansion. The last house we had was 3 bedrooms, 1 bathroom. This one is newer, and it has 2 bathrooms. There are many, many things that need improving here, but I am truly happy. I don't care what the neighbors look like. Actions are the only thing that matters, and the overwhelming majority of the people around here are good and decent. I accept that perspective and viewpoint are going to be different; I can't change history. But people are people; that's all there is to it.

So, we moved here pretty much knowing what to expect. My next-door neighbor, Paul, is a character. He's retired from a utility company and he's a terrible alcoholic. Keeps his yard a mess, but is trying the best he can to improve his house. His buds come over and work all day when the weather is nice. Then they take a break; out comes the bottle of moonshine and a six-pack of beer. The guys duck behind an old half-wrecked cinder-block toolshed instead of going inside to use the bathroom. But I feel a genuine warmth fro m him, his friends and his extended family and am happy to have him for a neighbor.

The people on the other side of us ... well, I have very little idea of who they are, because they just come and go like the tides. This time last year they were trying to fix the place up. But they had no phone and were coming to our door sometimes at 4am asking to use the phone, asking for food, even asking for clothes. We gave them hats, scarves and even jackets. I popped popcorn for them. Other people on the block said not to give them anything because they'd keep coming back.

Well, they eventually quit coming to the door, but we did find a few things missing off our back deck (before we got wise and started locking everything up). Still, no one seems to live there permanently. Someone brings in old cars (often big stretch limos) and keeps them in the driveway for months on end. Boats, too. The owner of the house lives somewhere else; he's 80-something and during the summer, he comes over, trades his walker for a lawnmower and cuts the grass. I think eventually the house will just be torn down. He'll likely die and the taxes will go unpaid, and that will be that.

One of my earliest friends in the neighborhood was named Rita. She always sat outside and when we first moved here, we enjoyed walking to the local stores and around the streets to explore. That's how I got to know Rita. We talked a bit; she had two sons and one of them, from what we could see, was sort of limited. He didn't have a job; he just pushed a shopping cart around, picking up aluminum cans and bottles. Rita told me she'd been recently diagnosed with some sort of heart condition.

Last year there was a series of arson incidents close enough to our house that we could see the flames over the rooftops. The neighborhood gossip reached us: "That strange kid with the shopping cart did it -- his mother passed and he just lost it." That was how I found out that Rita had died. I had just started getting to know Rita and felt a great pull of loss finding out that I'd never see her out on her front porch again. I have no idea what happened to her son.

The president of the neighborhood association spotted me sitting outside one morning and immediately started inviting me to meetings. I went out of curiosity to see what everyday life was like here. Most people were very welcoming and I slowly got to know who everybody was. There were a lot of different ways to be involved, so now here I am. However, I WILL NOT be available for another officer position next year. Enough is enough.

My involvement with this group has been very eye-opening. I get to hear what people are really thinking, and two sides of some very public debates.

This town is typical of many in this country wherein the people feel that the public schools are going downhill and parents should get vouchers so they can send their kids to private schools. But it's a chicken-or-egg type question:

Did the parents bail on the public schools because the schools were so bad, or,
Did the public schools go downhill because the parents bailed?

Then there's the "soft bigotry of lowered expectations," coupled with what the Suothern Poverty Lw Center calls the school-to-prison pipeline.

Deborah, who works for the non-profit, told our group today that she was at a local school for a program and while she waited, she saw one kid just wandering the halls. He'd peek in one classroom door, then move on to another, but spent an entire class period just wandering back and forth while all the other students were in assigned classes. When she asked the hall monitor about this kid, the teacher said nobody could make him go to class, so he just did whatever he wanted. Better he wander the halls than the streets. And when the kid went by, he'd peer at the hall monitor from under a cap and say "Sup." The hall monitor would respond, "Yo, sup." Deborah was outraged. "What's this 'sup' business? Why isn't that kid at least being taught to say "Hello," "How are you," "Yes" and "No?" The underlying belief is, if that were a white kid, he wouldn't get away with wandering the halls all day and speaking in monosyllables. The soft bigotry of lowered expectations says, you can't expect more of the black kids, and if you try to make them obey rules, you'll get accused of racism, and lose federal funding. Or there will be a riot, so just let it be.

And then what happens when Yo Sup turns 18 and has been socially promoted up through 12th grade? If he's very lucky, he'll get a minimum wage job and/or stay with his momma who will somehow find a way to keep a roof over their heads. Probably by working 12-hour days until she drops dead of renal failure at the age of 56.

Meanwhile the white parents complain because some of the Yo Sups aren't content to wander the halls. They have bigger issues such as guns and drugs. But then the SPLC claims that when these kids act out, they're just being set up for the prison pipeline. That's why I've been holding back money from that organization lately. I want to hear what they have to say about this issue. Do they really understand it in 3 dimensions? Anything less just sounds like they're making excuses. Click Here to Read More..

Why I'm Here

I'm thinking this might be the blog where I let myself bitch and moan and get negative. I don't do much of that on other blogs because as mentioned before, people know who I am. It's not a matter of wanting to be phony, but I definitely self-censor. Probably because in my pre-'net years when my diaries were handwritten or typed in Word, I did plenty of venting, and then later, when I read the things over, I got depressed!

I even discarded my diaries going all the way up through my late 20s, before Wally was born. From that time forward, there was some journaling, but not that much. I transitioned over to more of a log format -- just recording things that happened each day. That has proved surprisingly useful. But by and large, I've fallen away from the "emo" style of journaling.

I need to get some of it out of my system, I think. I caught myself doing it a bit on a message forum that I participate in. Last night I was in a fairly foul mood, and that might be PMS. I kind of let it rip and still feel a little uncomfortable saying those things to people who generally have a good opinion of me. What I basically said was -- the question was 'what do you think is the meaning of life' or some such -- that life sometimes has too much meaning, and the casual conversation you have today can go so badly wrong, you're feeling the repercussions for years to come. I also expressed the opinion that life ought to get a bit easier and simpler to figure out as we age, but instead, these stupid potholes in the road just seem to appear out of nowhere and you're back to square one. There are days when life seems like more of a struggle than it needs to be.

Again, my overall state of mind is not a negative one. I had one huge depression that lasted 4 years, and then it lifted. I did go to a therapist, but she was a disaster; I considered reporting her to the American Psychological Association. The thing that got me out of the dumps was having a few key things start going right (or less wrong at least) and building on that.

I also need to mention here that I "lost my religion" about 5 and a half years ago. I had been a born-again Christian for 15 years and one day I just stopped. Just like that. I got tired of waiting for "God" to do something for me. I got tired of saying "Thank you" for whatever little crumbs of good luck came along, only to find them taken back a day or two later. This was during a long stretch of unemployment. I have not been unemployed that way since. I decided that EVERYTHING in my life was going to be MY responsibility. No one else's. No God, no people, nobody but me. I don't find it that daunting to accept the blame when things go wrong. It keeps me focused and shortens the time needed for absorbing events and learning from them.

I belong to a free-thought church, which I joined almost on impulse but have greatly enjoyed. I have some small curiosity about matters of the spirit, but my exploration of those will be entirely on my terms.

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Okay, on to the next topic. I'm active in my neighborhood association, having been asked by several members to serve on the executive committee. I seem to be having trouble with "TL," who is also on the committee. She's the one I have the most contact with, and I'm starting to get the impression that she's a moody type. She will text or e-mail me something, and when I respond with a question about what she said, I get no answer. I mean, we're having a back & forth conversation, and suddenly, it's like space aliens came along and snatched her off the earth. I won't hear a peep out of her for days. She's either very moody or very scatter-brained. Either way, it's tedious to work with her.

Okay, that seems to have gotten it out of my system, at least for now. This may be blogspot's most depressing blog ever. We'll see...
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