The People Across the Street (Part 1)

Picture in your mind, if you will, a pristine park: The lawn neatly tended, flowers in full bloom, a fountain in the middle of a brick paved path way whos flowing water manages to sparkle in the sunlight perfectly no matter what position Sol has taken in the sky. Birds sing in harmony. Children laugh and frolic. Then, in the middle of the park, a gigantic mangy bear takes a gigantic crap. This would be symbolic of the people who live across the street from me.

My house is in no way decadent - in fact, far from - but the neighborhood is fairly nice. Fairly quiet. Most of the homes are older but well appointed. The house I live in was actually the home of the foreman who ran the orange field that once populated the area this neighborhood now claims. The house across the street, I imagine, once belonged to the slower, less productive cousin of John Wayne Gayce.

I can only say with relative certainty that there are 37 people living in the 2 bedroom ranch house across the way. I say this because, with the exception of 2 or 3 key characters, the cast is a rotating ensamble of deluded and despondant extras that never stays constant for more than a weeks time, and tends to spread over to the duplex next door to it, as well as the old school tin trailer residing in the back lot.

Through the next few blogs, I will begin recounting - chronologically, because that is the only form of logic that can be extracted from these scenarios - the adventures of the people across the street.

Stay tuned, dear readers.

I found a witch! May we burn her?

Is it me, or has Fox News and the Republican Party become the conservative equivalent of the Maury Pauvich show? For the last few weeks, it seems like all I'm hearing from these guys is some crap about Obama's birth certificate. Really? I mean...Really? I understand a need to question policies and proposals and the like with some degree of intelligence, but to go on a witch hunt over a birth certificate to get the man out of office is pretty weak. Not as weak as Glenn "Poppin Fresh" Beck calling Obama a racist with no real evidence, but weak just the same. I know I've had my rants and raves about the sensationalist spin the media has taken, and it just seems to keep getting worse. I fully expect to see Rush Limbaugh doing the running man on the stage when Maury announces to a quiet audience that the results are in, and Obama is "Not American."

To make matters worse, some crazed Russian broad living in California thinks she knows the Constitution better than the U.S. government (Though under the previous administration I'd be inclined to agree with her), starting a movement that has been labelled "The Birthers", which in and of itself makes me physically ill.

Seriously guys. Come up with rational, well thought out, unedited and sensationalized reasons why the guy is doing a bad job and something should be done about it, and maybe then Jon Stewart will have nothing to pick on you about. Then again, come up with the same reasons why the last guy shouldn't be held accountable for war crimes, and I'll consider taking you seriously too.

The same goes for the liberals though. Last time I checked, the economy still sucks, the healthcare system is still expensive as hell, and the sun isn't shining out of the President's ass. Did real television journalism die with Cronkite? I'm going to say yes. Journalism has been the Terri Schiavo of television, and someone needs to pull the feeding tube and start the whole thing over. How about instead of trying to spoon feed us bullshit opinions, you give us the information and let us process it? If I want a circus, I can go to Gibsonton, FL and see it any day of the week.

Oh, and I called Glenn Beck "Poppin Fresh" because he's white and doughy. In case you guys missed that.

He's also a jackass.

Possibly worse than Kurt Loder, and you all may recall how much I hate that asshole.

Not Necessarily The News

Excuse me while I try to yell over the braying of the sheep, because what we've got here is a failure to communicate. So...Michael Jackson died. You know what? Big deal. The guy hasn't done any appearances outside of court since the late 90s. I'm still not convinced this isn't another attempt to rip off McCartney. (See: Paul is Dead) "But he touched millions!" the crowd says. I don't think he was ever formally convicted of that. (If you think that makes me an asshole...Hi! I'm Chris, have we met?)

So, while the media turns into a Perez Hilton sideshow, the US is pulling out of Iraqi cities. Hundreds have died since the announcement was made. No vigils are being held. The International Pissing Contest is reaching a crescendo as North Korea threatens to launch nukes and Iran takes offense to Obama's stance against the violence. Hundreads have died. Thousands more potentially should this go the distance. Jesse Jackson is not pushing for answers. Probably because there's less cameras over there covering it.

You go ahead and light your candles for a fallen pop star who had faded well before he vanished. I'll take the "asshole" stamp you've given me, press it firmly to my forehead, and wear it with pride. I'd rather be regarded as an jerk for not caring about the one so long as I don't bleed indifference over the many.

A desparate piece

I stopped at the Sunoco near my work. The place has been open for about a year now and has yet to have fuel in the pumps. I go in to get cigarettes and some water. As I'm leaving a fairly attractive woman approaches me. She says she's got her baby in the car and she needs money for gas to get home. I can spare five bucks, so I let her have it. She sees I have a cigarette, and I give her one. I figure my good deed for the year is done. I'm reaching for my keys, and she asks if I'm single. I say yes, and go about opening my door. She comes back around to my side of the car and states that if I can give her fourty dollars for gas and cigarettes, she'll make it worth my while. I'm filled with a kind of sadness that the economy has gone this far. I am not naive, but she obviously wasn't a working girl, and in an act of need was willing to give herself for money. I told her that if I had the fourty to spare, I'd give it to her without compensation, but I can't spare it. She seemed kind of saddened by this, as if her last ditch effort wasn't good enough. I told her to just take what I gave her and get her kid out of this heat.

I'm still puzzled and slightly depressed by this.

We need a fix.

We need it fast.

Mothers shouldn't need to resort to this to get by.

Democracy

A major election is held and a president that a country didn't necessarily vote into office garners control. The masses complain mildly and turn up their noses.

A major election is held and a president that a country didn't necessarily vote into office garners control. The streets amass with rioters, protesters, and police presence.

It's amazing how one country treats the process like it means something great, and another country treats the same process like picking their favorite Super Bowl commercial.

Now maybe I'm making derogatory comments towards the kettle, but how jaded have we become? Sure, we've got who everyone wanted in office now, save for those few delusional die hards on the right wing who keep swearing our head man is in cahoots with Al Queida, Marylin Manson, Anne Murray, Satan, and Jame "Buffalo Bill" Gumm, but the most we got out of the questionable election of W was a bit of whining and some sarcastic comments. (Guilty)

Iranians, on the other hand, in a similar but not exactly the same situation, have been staging protests for days. Women are shedding their burkas (for lack of regional nomenclature) in protest. Streets are borderline war zones. The people, in so many words, are pissed off.

Where was that? Where did our revolutionary spirit go? It's still in the Constitution. It was telling us it's perfectly ok to toss out the government if it got this way. But we did...nothing. Then did it again 4 years later. In all fairness, it was like voting between your drinking buddy and a week old morgue resident, but that's not the point.

I seriously admire the Iranian people for speaking out and making a difference in a country where doing so could cost them their lives. I seriously wish we had had the moxy to do so ourselves, in a country where the most it would have got us is some bad press and glib remarks on Fox News.

Adrienne

I found out last night that one of my exes died back in February. She was one of the rare exes that didn't completely hate me after the break up: Her main issue with me was that I wasn't black nor was I a white guy pretending to be black. Anyway, she was horribly misunderstood, had an attitude but heart at the same time. Beneath her Asian white trash paradox of a persona was an individual who was never afraid to speak her mind and stand up for what she believed.

I'd say I'd miss her, but I'd be lying. We hadn't talked much in the last year. I don't really feel anything other than knowing that she had the potential to do good, and given more time she may have succeeded. If there is an afterworld, she's probably sitting with Estelle Getty and Bea Arthur watching her favorite episodes of Golden Girls.

Note: Don't mistake the last paragraph for whimsy. I've been out of stock on that for years and the shipment of it sank in the ice roads north of Manitoba.

I'm not going to ask any of you to say a prayer for her, because you didn't know her and that would make me a hypocrite. I won't even end this with anything schmaltzy like "stay in touch with those you care about" or any other such bullshit that you could easily find on the inside of a Hallmark card.

Nobody say "Sorry" to me, because I don't really feel anything. I think maybe typing all of this was an effort to see if I would. I guess now I know.

Fin.

Interlude

Celebration

For the first time in 5 years I saw my son. It was this Sunday, in the manufactured village known as Celebration, FL. For the occasion, it is aptly named. The place exists, though it probably shouldn't. The morning was beautiful, and my son is happy and healthy and still remembers his old man. I felt like a heel for having to go to work after only getting to spend an hour and a half with him, but child support doesn't pay itself. I was actually happy and in somewhat good spirits for the first time in a long while, listening to him telling me stories, not wanting to leave my side. Smiling. These are the things I should remember and should have stuck with me, and they do, but the happiness was like a new born cub, and the dark sarcastic bitterness that usually fills me snatched it up like so many hyenas. I still hold on to it, but now the thoughts on the town of Celebration that were lingering in the back of my mind the entire time surface.

If you have never been there, it is essentially a residence for the people of Disney and Electronic Arts. Not the park employees, mind you, but the higher ups and animation staff. The town skillfully crafted and beautiful, yet soulless. Sort of like someone made an architectural homage to Paris Hilton. The city streets are perfectly clean and lined with tidy small shops that I'm sure had happy proprietors who could market their wares and make a decent living. The market district had the look of a set from a Leave it to Beaver episode. I had to have a cigarette just to mire the air. It was too pristine.

We ate at the Market Street Grill. The food was good, but I couldn't help but think there was something sinister behind the smiles of the employees there. I saw it mostly in the waitress. The others hid it well, but looking back it does me good to know that in the suburb that Disney built there is still an underlying sense of desperation among the working class. Those that know that all is not fresh churned butter and fluffy pancakes, but there is the watered down coffee of the real world that they must return to at the end of the day.

Part of me envies the town. Part of me despises it. Both want to burn it to the ground. But I digress, as I feel I may have let the darker side take a hold of me too long, and I have been too long out of the light.