Police Story

Look closely at this man's face. If you've ever been in Moorestown, New Jersey you may have seen him. He may have pulled you over because your headlight was out, or you went through a stop sign. You may have cursed him. You may have thanked him because you only got a warning "this time." I bet you would never guess that Robert Melia, Jr. had a secret. Sure, you think everyone's got secrets. You secretly like shows on Oxygen. You know your neighbor's secret is that she sometimes lays out topless when she thinks no one is looking. Melia, Jr., however, has a bigger secret ... or did. He'd probably still have it, too, if he didn't video tape it.

Police were investigating their peer, and it wasn't for the type of thing anyone wants to investigate anyone for. They were seeing if there was any validity to the charge that Melia, Jr. and his girlfriend had molested three girls. Then they came across some video footage that most likely made them momentarily forget the charges against the New Jersey officer while at the same time lending them credence.

Melia, Jr. had taken video of himself receiving oral sex from "five underage calves." You read that right. Baby cows. Oral sex. Luckily for Melia, Jr. he lives in New Jersey, which doesn't recognize bestiality as a crime.

Prosecutors were undeterred by New Jersey's decidedly "progressive" views on animal fucking. They had him charged with annoying the animals, but failed to prove the calves didn't like sucking the pig, so to speak, though they tried. They pointed out that the calves repeated head-butts against the cop were due to the fact that they were upset because they weren't getting any milk for all their efforts. That didn't really fly with the judge. Any state that allows bestiality probably has a fairly strict criteria for what really constitutes as animal annoyance. Anyone can get a cow to suck them, but if they put the cow in a dress and make it wear make-up, that could possibly be going overboard.

Melia, Jr., who was a patrolman who had been on the force since 2000, had the animal cruelty charges dropped. New Jersey, however, hasn't gotten around to decriminalizing pedophilia yet, so he didn't get so lucky with those charges, but one can see his defense with little effort. ("Your Honor, my client obviously likes cows and not little girls." "Your Honor, I object. The cows were underage!" But were they female?)

New Jersey, the East Coast equivalent to the South when it comes to jokes, does itself no favors when it comes to this incident. Police the country over also take a bit of a hit. How can anyone who has knowledge of this story not help but snicker when they see the K-9 unit drive by? Where you once made pig noises when one passed by, do you now moo? Melia, Jr. has also ruined the good name of zoophiles everywhere. He has tainted them with those charges of child molestation. It is easy to see that many would denounce him as nothing more than a pervert whose prurient interests like not in animals or children but in anything considered taboo. (And if the zoophiles think you are a freak ...)

Thanks to Melia, Jr., an entire state is now in the spotlight as being a haven for people who love being mounted by dogs and filming their wives with a horse. Not only does it become a mecca for this, but it also shows that their lawyers can't even win a case where there is video evidence of a man getting a hummer from not one calf, but five of them. What does that say about New Jersey's legal system through and through? It doesn't bode well for those young girls, either. Their parents are probably worried to death that these lawyers won't be able to close this case, either.

Look at that face again. Imagine him in the field, his penis exposed to the night air as the calves lap at it. Imagine him enjoying it and feeling bad about every hamburger he's ever eaten. Look closer. He looks like a cop. Look even closer. He looks like he enjoys making love to animals. Now look at the woman below him. His girlfriend.

It all starts to make sense now, doesn't it?

Tsunami advisory canceled.

Another Day at the DMV (AKA Afternoon Bloodbath Fury)

Let's set the mood, shall we? I'm on my lunch break. I'm stressed about money and my job. The rain hasn't come yet, and that's pissed me off, too. And then it dawns on me. My car registration expires in two days. I've paid it. The check has cleared. I haven't received my sparkling new sticker. I don't want to be pulled over for an expired registration. I don't do well when pulled over. Time to call the DMV.

For fifteen minutes I am told my expected wait time is less than ten minutes. That is my first sign that this DMV experience is going to go exactly how I am expecting it to. Finally, I get a human. An actual living boy!

I explain my situation. How I paid at the beginning of September. How the check cleared about two weeks ago, and how I have not received my sticker yet.

"Sir," the non-robot says, "I don't see anything in our system that shows me your check has been processed."

"I'm telling you it cleared."

"If you have proof of that, you can take it to your local DMV and they will issue you a sticker right there."

So I call my bank. I explain the situation. The teller looks up my check and sees that the DMV has, indeed, cashed it. Wingo. Then she says, "This is the second call today regarding this situation with the DMV."

The DMV is, like most other California state agencies, on furloughed Fridays. The DMV, like many other California state agencies, does not have a good reputation when it comes to customer service. Combine furloughed Fridays and already spotty service, and you have a recipe for disaster.

I got permission to leave work to take care of this little bit of Hell, got a copy of my canceled check and headed to the DMV. The line was out the door. Shit. Fuck. Damn.

I make my way to the head of the line, explain my situation and am told to take a number so I can be helped. It seems kind of backwards, but this is Humboldt County and the DMV. I imagine I should just be thankful I wasn't told I had to go outside, use a pay phone and wait for someone to come out and help me.

I take my number and sit down and start to people watch. The place was packed, and it would have been hard not to people watch.

Nearby is a guy and his girlfriend. He is cracking jokes. She is humoring him. They seem like a nice couple. Nothing too wild in the sack. I'm guessing his big fantasy is getting a hummer when the Raiders played, and she's complied a few times and actually likes it. They may have tried anal once. She wasn't too into the idea, but did it anyway. She didn't like it. He did like it, but then felt weird later when he thought that his enjoyment of it may mean he was gay. I picture both of them liking Corona and sushi, though he really feels at home behind a grill and has one special meat dish he is known for at gatherings. My guess? A hamburger where he adds special spices and a hint of Tabasco to the meat.

To my right is a little girl who really likes my tattoos. She has questions. Her mom doesn't want her asking them. I'm not talkative, but I humor her a bit. Mom keeps pulling her away from me. Mom is heavier than she should be, and her shorts are shorter than they should be. I realize that if she makes one wrong move on the tiny DMV torture seats that said shorts may just be pulled up inside her. I pray that doesn't happen.

Then I see someone that makes the heavier mom look downright supermodel size.

I don't judge people by their weight. Never have. I could lose quite a few pounds myself. I am realistic about things, however. This woman, the one struggling to walk to a chair, was dangerously obese. I'm sure diabetes was the least of her worries. Her size wasn't what caught my attention, though. It was her breasts.

The breasts started out in the proper place, but the further down one went, the more spread apart they became. by the time they almost reached her hips (yes, almost reached her hips), they were on either side of her torso. If she would've had holsters on, each breast would have rested on the handle of her guns. I couldn't help but picture that naked. Nipples the size of those plastic children's plates that characters like The Wiggles on them. Veins would be visible the further down you go, very blue against very white skin. Her very existence was the difference between men and women.

Women need to wear bras because gravity eventually catches up. If guys' penises did the same thing, however, they would be doing everything they could to stretch those puppies out. If they could achieve the equivalent effect, they would. This woman needed a bra (and most women wear them knowing this eventually happens). I doubt she could find one the proper size now that it was too late, but she needed one and she avoided it, and now those demons were beyond redemption. Seriously, she could've slung them over her shoulders and it would've looked like her back had sprung boobs.

My time at the window arrived. I explained the situation again. I presented my copy of the canceled check, which the bank teller had taken the initiative to blow it up so it could be more legible. That, however, wasn't good enough.

The DMV worker looked the check over. She couldn't find some code she needed on it. She called over the manager and said, "This isn't a very good copy."

It was, but I didn't say anything. I didn't want to blow it.

It took three employees to get the code put in ... and it still didn't work. I was asked to take another seat. Now I was pissed. "Would you like me to take another number, too?"

"No. Just sit down."

So I did. Again. For awhile. For a long while.

I expect to see the workers sacrificing a chicken and reading its entrails. If this happened, it was not in my line of vision, but I could imagine it nonetheless. They were looking for answers, typing in codes, consulting runes, shaking an eightball, breaking out tarot cards. Whatever they could do to figure out this mysterious code or obtaining what I heard called a "kickback six."

Eventually it got cleared up. I got my sticker and was able to leave. There seemed to be three other people there who may have had similar problems, which does not surprise me. What did surprise me is that I got out of there without killing anyone.

And for those keeping track, yes we are still under a tsunami advisory. My hope is that it hits the DMV ... though it may have to take a number.

Humboldt has no rain yet. I am trapped at the DMV. Punishment?

Irritating.

Rain is finally on its way. Feels like home again.

You're Gonna Get Yours

On September 16 in Eureka, California an alleged (at the time -- don't know the status now) robber got a little taste of what happens when people take the "law" into their own hands. The alleged robber, whom I shall call Dumb Ass simply because I don't want to use his real name without knowing his current criminal status, is 29. After pissing, shitting or doing God knows what in the bathroom of the Shell station on Fifth Strreet, Dumb Ass decided it would be a good idea to get some Camels. Who knows? Maybe it's the brand his old lady likes or something.

Now, most Camel smokers, probably the most honest of all cigarette smokers despite the brand's blatant phallic worship, pay for their smokes with hard-earned cash or government hand-outs. Not Dumb Ass. He decided to grab them from behind the counter and make a run for it.

Sean Grimes of Eureka was at the counter at the time. He was purchasing his drink of choice for that moment: Rockstar. Go figure. He heard the Shell cashier yell and looked up to see Dumb Ass coming straight at him.

Grimes, acting more like a lineback instead of a rockstar, "kind of slammed into him." With the aid of other customers they kept the capitalism safe and the alleged robber on the ground until the po-po came.

The police searched Dumb Ass, which I'm sure is their favorite part of any takedown. On him they found a homemade black jack, which he did not apparently use in the robbery. Dumb Ass was cuffed and put in the back of the car, but not before hurdling an accusation that one of the guys that held him until the police arrived hit him in the head a couple of times (probably not the first head injury he has endured) and that others threatened him.

Dumb Ass' quote that appeared in the Times-Standard was, "They told me they wanted to do street justice. They told me they wanted to put me in a six foot hole. I want that [surveillance] video as evidence."

I guess he thought if he had the video the police would not be able to view it. Regardless, the police weren't giving him the video at that point. They needed it for their own case. (Ironically, the picture that ran in the paper shows Dumb Ass in a Homeland Security t-shirt. You know the one -- it has Native Americans on it. Beautiful.)

Besides burglary, Dumb Ass was also booked on possession of a deadly weapon, possession of a hypodermic needle (I'm sure it's for insulin) and violating probation (shock). To add further insult to the indignities of near-street justice, he was also booked on 37 outstanding warrants (surely a personal best). These warrants including probation violations, failures to appear and possession of controlled substances.

This is a typical case, but what struck me as interesting was his quote about "street justice." Where I'm from, street justice wasn't holding someone down until the cops got there. Street justice was leaving them injured or dead. I know one "vigilante" supposedly said he wanted to put him in a six foot hole (and I'm sure that's not the first time Dumb Ass has heard that), but so what? The newspaper didn't report injuries. The guy was obviously still alive. There was no "street justice," and it's doubtful there would've been ... no matter how deserved it may have been.

The other thing that struck me strange was the fact that these customers were willing to step in and catch this guy. They had nothing to gain. (And could've actually been poked by a needle for their efforts. Would Shell have paid for those medical tests?) All they ended up doing was protecting a store that overcharges for food and gas. Dumb Ass didn't pull his weapon out. He didn't hurt anyone. He grabbed smokes and ran. He wanted to be gone. He didn't want to pay $45 for a carton of Camels. These "heroes," to my knowledge, don't own the store and have no personal stake in it other than being happy that Rockstar drinks can be bought there. Why the need to act? Has the protection of a corporate entity become so ingrained that you will risk life and limb in order to stop a petty theft? What happens if Dumb Ass gets out and wants to get a few friends together to do some "street justice" of their own? Was it worth it then?

I'm not saying people shouldn't act out when they see crimes being committed. In fact, I wish more people would do it, but I also wish they would be smart about it, too. Protecting capital is far different than protecting lives. Shell, a company with a spotty corporate record to say the least, is a far bigger criminal than Dumb Ass. Just ask the people of Nigeria. Shell likes purchasing weapons for the police and military there. Those weapons are then used on people who live in villages impacted by Shell. It's a good way to keep people quiet, and Shell's problems extend far beyond stealing cigarettes. If anything, these would-be heroes should be turning their alleged talk of "street justice" onto Shell. After all, $45 of lost profit is nothing compared to 200 dead bodies connected to the security forces that do work for Shell.

Really now, which is more important? Yeah, Dumb Ass deserved to finally be caught for one of his many crimes against humanity, but what about Shell and its crimes. Those police weren't doing squat about that. Doubtful they even know of it. What happens in Ogoniland stays in Ogoniland, right?

What's criminal?

The Cold Fingers of Death Reach the Blackest of Hearts

I have an unhealthy fascination with the THiS Network. It's just been added to the Suddenlink line-up here in Humboldt County, and I've already added it to my favorites and have called Suddenlink to tell them to never drop it. Older genre films? Chuck Norris? Vincent Price? The Dunwich Horror? Check to all those things. I swear if I see Death Bed in the line-up (unlikely as it's stuff that MGM has its hands on), I just may scream.

Suddenlink also offers Chiller, which is the horror channel; BBC America, home of Top Gear (the best show on television) and Gordon Ramsey, whose many shows never fail to impress me; and the other usual suspects. I gotta admit, despite the dumb-ass name Suddenlink actually is a pretty good cable company.

Cox was the company of choice in Humboldt before Suddenlink took over. If Suddenlink is a dumb name, Cox was downright unfortunate. How do you tell your employer that you have to be home all morning because you're waiting for Cox? There was no good way around that other than to say "the cable guy," which sounds like a lame excuse. Suddenlink, while not sounding obscene, actually sounds like something you would do in a video game. At least Viacom sounded official.

Suddenlink also offers up caller ID on your television. I am supposed to have this. I do not want it, but I did want to find out why I didn't have it. From what the Suddenlink lady told me, it was just a glitch on their end, and she turned it on for me ... except she didn't. So when I called back I told her that while I didn't want caller ID on my television, I was wondering why it wasn't on yet. As I said it, I realized how ridiculous this sounded. She did ask me what my complaint and call was about then. I said something like, "I'm not really sure. If you turned it on and it worked, I'm pretty sure it would just irritate me."

"Do you want me to send someone out?"

That was the last thing I wanted. If they were to do that, I'd probably have to take time off for Cox -- I mean Suddenlink.

"No. That won't be necessary."

"You would have caller ID then."

"I don't really want it." I thanked her for talking to me and then hung up.

She was polite the entire time (unlike those necrophiliacs at AT and T), and really didn't directly point out how stupid my line of questioning was. (Perhaps I'll see one of those hidden taxes they like to throw into a cable bill.) It made me appreciate the company a tad bit more ... and then THiS came and thoroughly blew me away. What other station shows Breaker! Breaker!? None! Not a single one. I'm sure that movie has been on television for at least a decade. (That said, I still won't watch it, but I'm glad it's there.)

So, thank you, Suddenlink. Thank you for your wonderful line-up and for your employees who put up with my moronic shit. Now, if you could Sy-Fy to change its name back you would be a corporate god in my book.

Six six tie. Daughter scored.

2~6. Not a good game. Still time though.

Kevin Smith twitters too much when stoned.

Christbait Rising

Kohl's is set to open in the Bayshore Mall this weekend. (And hello to my friend who works there.) As to be expected, there are plenty of Humboldt County denizens who are practically masturbating with their credit cards in anticipation of "brand names" and savings. I know the mall is happy to have another anchor store, too. Afterall, the gods of capitalism must be appeased, and if you let them go too long without worshipping, well they look like every other mall across the country. The Bayshore Mall is no different.

The great god Capitalism has not been kind to the Bayshore Mall. Stores are closing faster than a prudish girl's legs on prom night. Patronage has dropped, and two anchor stores bowed to the devil of Bankruptcy. Enter Kohl's and pre-Christmas madness.

Kohl's is providing Humboldt County with something like 120 jobs. Of course, the shop local acolytes don't bring that up in their mantras. On the flipside, the slaves to the almighty dollar claim Kohl's will save the mall and our local economy. The reality is a little of both and none of either. Yes, there are 120 jobs created, but that isn't nearly enough to raise the poverty levels here (and that really isn't Kohl's responsibility). The store will bring shoppers to the mall, but it won't save it or the economy. Like Target before it, Kohl's will have little overall affect on anything.

It's not that I'm being all doom and gloom and anti-capitalism just to be contrary. (At least not in this case.) It's just that the problem of economy, jobs and strife in Humboldt County is so huge that it will take more than a few big chain stores to fix it. It will take a Miracle.

Humboldt is, in many ways, just like the rest of the country, but its isolation and lack of industry combined with fairly liberal economic policies and a huge underground drug economy also makes it a bit of a special case. It's a place that is teetering on the edge of extinction, but has been there for so long that it no longer seems like a reality. Its residents, though, are happy to continue pretending that nothing is wrong, that shopping local will save our city, and that the church of Kohl's will make the mall a majestic place once again. Those on the dole will grow fewer in number, and all the other stores in the Bayshore camp will magically profit just from having Kohl's nearby. 120 jobs can't be all bad, right?

No. Of course not. But 120 jobs won't eliminate the line at Free Meal. It won't replace a few bad fishing seasons. And it definitely won't address the overwhelming amount of people in need of social services. Since we continue to embrace this cannibalistic form of capitalism, though, I think it is safe to say that the most we can really hope for is that it is a start.

If the local stores are to survive (and there's no reason to think most of them can't), the owners need to rethink their business models. If you provide better service, good prices and items you can only get on the Internet, you will not even have to worry about Kohl's. If, however, you look at Kohl's as the nail in your coffin and absolutely refuse to rethink your business plan ... well, you deserve what you get.

Walking home through fog. Got a bad feeling about today.

This heat is killing me. Where am I? Africa? Damn.

More high temperatures for Eureka. This shit is not ideal.

The Happiest Place on Fucking Earth

Big Pete's in Eureka was filled with cheering football (the American football, not "soccer") fans who were absorbed in multiple screens of pigskin madness. It was enough to make a sane man drink.

Met a friend whom I haven't been able to talk to in a while, and talk we did. Got filled in on her life, her new beau (congrats!), the pain, the misery, and so on. She asked me questions on what kind of shit I've been taking. I answered. It was a nice, long lunch, and I left the pizza place happy that she seemed okay. I can't go into all the stuff, but with all that is going on, "okay" seems like it's one place it would be very hard to be. I admire people who can face the shit head on instead of either blaming the world or withdrawing deeper inside (which I am very guilty of). I admire that bravery. I envy it. In turn, I start to despise myself because of it. Knives are sharp, and I see the fascination...

I got into my car after our discussion. It was warm. Very warm. Eureka is experiencing a heat wave. Supposed to be seventy today. That's suicide weather. The first song I hear in my car? The definition of irony. I kid you not. This is what I heard.


I hate the world that I think hates me
Punch holes in the wall you know that hurts me
Feel dark and cold and alone it burns me
Wish someone would come and touch me
Walking alone in the prison yard
Seeing eyes that seem to see me so hard
Crawling like a snake right back into my room
Feeling like a dead man rolling around in my tomb
There's nothing like finding someone when you're lonely
To make you want to be all alone
There's nothing like finding someone when you're lonely
Makes you feel so...
Walk in to a crowded room I start to freeze
Words fall short mouth turns to wood it's time to leave
Never happy, never sad, iron face
Can't stop looking I keep walking place to place
There's nothing like finding someone when you're lonely
To make you want to be all alone
There's nothing like finding someone when you're lonely
Makes you feel so...
Aww, yeah!
Hearing those sounds that seem to keep me sane
Knifing eyes that point me at my brain
Reaching out my mind it's useless
Reaching out my soul, it's senseless
I feel the mute frustration when I see your eyes
I'm inches away, but in isolation, it hurts to try
Reach out my hand - it turns to stone
I get up, walk out the door, I'm better off alone
Theres nothing like finding someone when you're lonely
To make you want to be all alone

Rollins Band Lonely

Seriously? How does that work? God? Karma? Craziness? Unbelievable. A week of shit, and this. Sometimes you can only shake your head in total frustration.

Last night I hung out with my daughter's vice parent, the tattoo artist/piercer John Lopez (who did my wonderful teeth bracelet), and his daughter (I don't name kids here). John and I are like brothers. We clicked well together the instant we met, and we can go years without talking to each other and have no awkward moments. Last night we talked politics, life, tattoos, and so on. Great stuff. The girls played long and hard, eventually trying to crash together on the floor while the Disney Channel did its best to brainwash us. I love those conversations. I love being engaged. I love "talking shop," and I miss the days I worked with him. We had good times, and good talks.

Past two days has been good talks, and has really gotten me thinking. Time to make sushi, though. Don't want to disrupt the flow of the universe.

Football fans who congregate in restaurants for games have a rapist~in~waiting vibe.

16~1

Daughter's team up 5~0 at half. Very physical game.

Another Night of No Sleep in Eureka

I am starting to feel like I must be cursed. All the lights are out. Television off. My daughter is asleep, hopefully dreaming of making a goal in tomorrow's game. I, however, spent far too many minutes staring at the blinking lights of the cable modem and imaging what would happen Videodrome were real. So I got up, e-mailed an actress I think is incredible and want to do a piece on for The Last Picture Blog. I'm hoping she'll say yes.
It was nice to see some comments from people who would like to see the "therapy" continue. Too kind. Believe me, though, I'd rather keep it bottled up and let it explode now. It will be amusing for everyone involved. Well, maybe not everyone ...

The beggar woman was gone from the corner today. She either found "honest work," like her sign mentioned, went to a better corner, or decided the gig was up. Of course, it could be that this lady let herself and her daughter get picked up and some guy has them with the hopes they'll make him a YouTube star. (He's sharpening his knives, ladies. Smile for the fucking camera, and wipe away those damn tears! We'll all be famous!)

I really thought I'd see her today. I was a bit disappointed not to. Maybe she did some introspection (and had "friends" tell her she needs to not be so "serious" because you "bum us out"). Maybe not. You can't expect too much from a person lest they disappoint you ... or themselves.

So where did she go?

If you're begging in Eureka, there are a couple of places to keep in mind. First is the mall. This seems especially popular if you are twentysomething, have dreads, are white, and have a dog of some sort. Also, if you have a sign offering to take verbal abuse, this is the place for you. You have a captive, guilty audience. They are stuck at a light, and they don't want to look at you. If you're good at your "job," you can make them feel guilty for getting a shirt at Anchor Blue and they'll toss you a George Washington. If, however, you get someone like me in line, I just crank up the music and stare right at you with a look on my face that begs for you to come over for a few friendly words.

Another good spot is across from Gold Rush Coffee on Broadway, right at the foot of the driveway that serves as an exit for the Bay View. Often you'll see a "war" vet there. (Yeah, I'm a war vet, too. I've been at war with myself for 25 years, and my tour ain't over yet. Where'd you fight?)

Old Town has the roaming beggars. The Gazebo (hi, George!), the "boardwalk," outside coffee shops -- these are all places you can panhandle until your throat's dry. With the economy the way it is, I doubt you'll get much, but at least you can meet some people.

A lot of the beggars Eureka is proud to display actually get money from other sources. Some even share kids for that whole "family in need" bit. I wouldn't say they don't "need" your money (hell, I need your money, too), but do they depend on it to survive? There's a good chance they do not. Now, the younger white dread boys probably don't collect SSI, but the older ones you see may.

It can't be an easy life. It can't even be entirely pleasant. I imagine that it wears on you mentally at some level. (God, I must be getting tired. I'm starting to express sympathy!) It's not something I'd want to do unless I had to, though I think I'd rob a bank first if I were that desperate. At least then I could keep some self respect.

My daughter is stirring in her sleep. It's after eleven now. I gotta get up at six. Most likely I will be up at four again and will unable to get back to sleep. Hopefully we'll both take a nap tomorrow afternoon. Why soccer is scheduled at nine a.m. is beyond me, but who am I to question such things?

Okay, time to wrap this up. Thanks again for the kind words on keeping the therapy going. I may do that private blog, and there will be plenty of you getting invites if that is the case. Deleted, who is one of the commentators, is probably one of the most introspective people I know, and she's understood the power of all that. She also knows the outcome of letting it go deep to fester and mutate. I appreciate her presence. Moondust is another one. She's got her own demons right now, but I know she'll slay each and every fucking one of them and put their heads on stakes outside her door. For me, though, it's not a "I don't want to write about it because I upset people," it's a "I don't want to write about it because I'm tired of hearing about it."

One last thing before I go. One of those people who got on my case about being "so deep" and "not being cool about my feelings" (not to mention not "choosing my words so they don't hurt") today did several of the things she accused me of. She got deep. She got extreme in her feelings (she's hurt over a relationship that just went South) and was hurtful with the words she used (at one point calling the guy a "lying motherfucker"). Now, I just spent a lot of time a day or so ago having her dress me down because I dared to use my blog to vent. And here she was doing the same. But whereas I was calm and cool not only when I wrote the blog post, I was also calm and cool when she decided to unleash Hell on me for being "kind of a jerk about things." Keeping this in mind, I let her vent (she doesn't have time to do a blog, so she uses her friends as sounding boards. I'm sure they don't mind this.

I let her say what she had to. I let her get it out. Normally, I would've stopped there. Maybe offered advice if she asked. Not this time, though. This time I decided, "Good for the goose ..."

"Maybe if you weren't so hypocritical he wouldn't have cheated on you. I mean, do you tell him not to be a certain way, but then turn around and be that way yourself?"

That was the wrong thing to say if you want to keep a person calm and not come across as a dick. I, however, did not care about either of those things. Listening to her explode was a highlight of my day.

At one point she said, "I may be venting, but I'm not doing it in my blog!"

"You're right," I said. "But only because that would take some guts."

At this point you would think I would've gotten hit. Instead, she became sheepish. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "This isn't the same, though."

"I know it isn't," I answered, "because this is all about you. It doesn't feel good to have all your feelings invalidated in one laser-like sentence, does it?"

She again repeated it wasn't the same, but what little conviction was there initially was now gone.

"Again, I know. It isn't the same because I'm not being a hypocrite about this and you are. You can't tell me not to put my feelings out there and vent because it makes people uncomfortable and makes me seem hurtful and then turn around and do the exact same thing. I'm not surprised he cheated. I'm surprised he wasn't caught sooner."

She apologized for her actions, and I said I didn't care to hear it. I told her I wished her the best in this relationship that has gone on for years, and I said I hope she really thinks about her feelings next time she unleashes in my general direction because next time I wouldn't be as nice.

Night!

Tourists out in full force today. Lack driving skills.

Know Your Rights

I guess an explanation is in order. I've gotten so many e-mails that have expressed no small degree of irritation/disappointment that I won't be doing therapeutic posts anymore (including my favorite from Moondust) that I feel the need to explain.

The blogs where I just throw some introspection out there have brought me nothing but grief, which all kind culminated yesterday. It's been going on for months, but yesterday was the final nail in that very personal coffin. I may do a private blog at some point, but as of now, this blog will be anything but the emotional stuff. I just don't feel like hearing the backlash or the mixed messages. I guess that's why paying a therapist is good. Onward, Christian soldier.

If you've been stuck in rush hour traffic in Eureka, California the last few days you may have noticed someone at the corner by Adel's. It's a woman with a poorly made sign saying that her family needs help. She's got her daughter (10 or so?) in tow. I don't know if she is really in need or is trying to elicit the sympathy quarter, but I can't help but feel bad for the kid and kind of want to slap the woman silly. I guess it's not as bad as the homeless people with dogs.

What is this teaching the kid? If the kid is smart she'll grow up to be the exact opposite of her mother. Unfortunately, dumb usually begats dumb. I'm not saying this family doesn't need help, but I deal with people who need help five days a week. You can see it in their eyes and mannerisms. They look beaten and tired. This woman does not. Me thinks the lady lies.

For the past few days I've watched the cars waiting at the light. I've watched her, bored daughter by her side, walk up and down the sidewalk in front of the restaurant, hoping to get someone to roll down his or her window and stick out their hand. I watch people not wanting to make eye contact. I watch them go about their business, isolated in their Accords as this woman desperately wants what they are most likely working for.

In a Utopian world, there would be no begging and everyone would have what they need. In a fair world, her family and neighbors would take care of her. In a just world she would be left to her own devices with no social systems to fall back on, just her wits and strength. In a world that tries to be all these things she'll be begging on the streets either to scam or because the safety nets have failed her or haven't met her needs.

I wish her daughter luck. I hope that in ten years or so I don't see her on the corner working or begging. I hope she sees where that cardboard sign leads them, and I hope she chooses a different road. This is Humboldt, though. The beggar's path is the most traveled.

Two cases of swine flu at HSU.

This blog going strictly news and views effective now.

Stress free morning! Almost ran over a lady though. Sun in my eyes. Symbolism? It's always sunny in Eureka.

The First Sun

I don't know what I was thinking. All this stress. All this worry. All I have to do is not think and shut it off. Put it in a box. Not let real life intrude. There are plenty of people who get through life without planning or thinking ahead. They get through life fine. I talk to them every day. Ha!

There are people who go through life with big smiles on their faces, blissfully unaware of what is going on around them or what lies ahead. I call them Wide-Eyed Lobotomies. I don't think I could be that if I tried. They're mostly New Age Crystal Faithers. They thinking "smudging" will destroy their cancer and believe in things like karma and the magic of dolphins. That will never be me. I believe in the power of words and symbols. Now I'm looking for the sun ... that sort of thing.

What I can do, however, to relieve this stress, this stress that kept me up half the night grinding my teeth, is just lock it up. Ignore it. Put it away and never think of it. I took what I need and laid it out. The only thing that matters to me is my daughter. Keeping her safe, secure and happy is my goal. She is really all I have to answer to. Everything else is just extra. It can all disappear and as long as I have my little girl it will be good. I can lose all the books I love, the friends, the family -- whatever. I feel good knowing I can walk away anytime and still be okay. I took a lot on. Now I throw it to the wind and let it fall where it may.

The golden dawn breaks the morning clouds, burns away the fog. The useless becomes the useful. The barriers are broken down. Tonight I think I'll be able to sleep (perhaps due to exhaustion from not sleeping last night).

I have a job, a roof over my head, my little girl. What the rest is icing on the cake, as they say. Well, icing tastes real good, but it isn't necessary. It can all go and I'd still be okay. Don't need movies or books to help entertain me. I'm a people person! (I love sarcasm.)

Never be a Wide-Eyed Lobotomy. No way. But why did I ever think that thinking, the bane of humans everywhere, would be good for me? Look where it got me. Nah. Put it away. Don't think. Don't worry. Just react. It works so well for everyone else. How can it possibly go wrong? Lord ...

The Last of Three Suns

Breezy and warm. Storm coming.