Category Archives: Misc

When the Police Don’t Get It

I recently went over an old non-public blog  of mine that I haven’t used since 2009. I found this entry from December 2008. I decided to rerun it on this blog. I was inspired to rerun the entry after reading this article: Police Brutality and Deaf People. Though my experience didn’t have a lot to do with the fact that I’m hard of hearing. It had more to do with the cerebral palsy I’ve dealt with since I came out of a comatose state when I was a toddler. My experience also wasn’t so bad, really, but I think it could have gotten worse. I think that if Bob hadn’t come out of the store when he did, the cop would have taken me downtown and put me in a holding cell for the night. I might be wrong, I’m not sure I heard him right, but I think the cop did say “I’m going to take you in” just before Bob came out.

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Most of you know I can’t drive because of my eyes. I might have some of you under the impression that I drink all the time and I’m always drunk. I have a few friends who think I’m an alcoholic and have suggested I get help more than once. I often drink a lot when I drink, yeah. But it’s not all the time.

The cops have stopped me a few times, just for walking. I was not drunk, but my balance isn’t very good and I guess most people who meet me for the first time are going to assume I’m drunk whether I am or not. I sway a little when I stand and I often stumble and trip when I walk. If you want me to walk in a perfectly straight line, you can forget about it because it’s not going to happen.

I understand why the cops stop me. It is part of their job to keep the streets clear of drunks. If they see a questionable character, it’s part of their job to check it out. I don’t object to their stopping me, but it’s a little scary when a cop rolls up behind you and flips on the flashers. I’ve even been barked at through the loudspeaker. To me it sounds like “Buhluh! Buhluh!”

I ought to give myself a pat on the back, though. I’m often a nervous wreck when communicating with most people, but all the times that I’ve had to talk to the cops I was strangely calm and level headed. This does not erase the fact that I half expect to be hauled downtown and locked up until someone can pick me up.

Last time this happened was back in September. I was walking to the store for a pack of cigarettes. The store is about a ten-minute walk from my house and I’ve considered it a blessing to have a store within walking distance. It meant I could get what I needed without asking for a ride.

That kind of changed in September. I was about to walk into the store’s parking lot when I looked over my shoulder into a pair of headlights. I thought the driver of the car was on his way to the store, too. I didn’t wonder why he was going the wrong way on the road, nor did I wonder why he was half on the shoulder, half on the road and aimed straight at me. I just thought I was in his way, so I started walking to the left across the parking lot to give him more than enough room to get by me. Then I heard two amplified and highly distorted words blast from a speaker. When I looked over my shoulder again, it was no longer just two headlights. Now a set of red and blues danced on the roof of the car.

I knew right away what it was about. I was prepared to go through the usual rundown of questions and then be on my way. The cop climbed out of his car, looked at me and said something. I’m pretty sure of what he said, but because I didn’t quite hear him right, I explained that I don’t hear very well and asked him to repeat.

“Have you been drinking?”

That’s what I thought he said. My answer was no.

He spread his arms. “Then how come you can’t walk straight?”

I explained.

“Have you been using drugs?”

Again my answer was no.

“Are you carrying any weapons or drugs on you?”

“No, sir.”

He asked me for ID, I gave him my state ID card. He looked at it and again asked me if I had any weapons or drugs on me. I said no.

“I’m going to pat you down.”

All right, now I’m feeling humiliated. People are driving by on the road and some of them are probably my neighbors. I was just going to the store for a pack of cigarettes, for God’s sake. That’s what was on my mind, but all I said was “Okay.”

He did the pat down, but all he found were my keys and my wallet. No weapons or drugs on me, except for what I might have stuffed up my ass, maybe?

So comes another set of questions. “Where are you going? What are you doing? Is that your shirt? What’s that on your shirt? You walk to the store every day? How come you don’t drive? You can’t drive at all? You walk to the store every day? Is that your shirt? Where do you live? Just down the road? You walk to the store every day…?”  Pretty much the same questions over again.

I answered each question as honestly as I could. I was starting to get the impression that he was looking for a reason to take me in, but then one of the employees came out of the store to drop some trash in the bin. The employee just happened to be Bob, who is often at the register when I go in the store. Though we never talked much,  we’ve done business for five years and we know each other well enough.

So, the cop goes to Bob and asks him if I really do stop in the store just about every day. Bob convinced him that I do and even tells the cop that I really do live just down the road. Finally, finally the cop is convinced that I’m not a drug dealer, a vandal or a burglar, or whatever the hell he thought I was. Finally he gave me back my ID card and let me go into the store and get my cigarettes. This whole detainment lasted about twenty minutes.

I was very thankful that he was not waiting for me when I came out of the store.

The Return of Anxiety

It was about a week ago when I had a total meltdown. I had been feeling great for quite a while, confident and secure. I wasn’t worrying about much. I was having fun, goofing off and enjoying myself. And then the meltdown happened. One minute I was fine, the next minute I was completely aware of how stupid and annoying I am. A wave of depression washed over me and I felt like I owed everyone an apology. An apology for what? I don’t know. I guess for existing within their range of awareness.

This happens once in a while. I usually choose to get drunk when it happens. Yes, yes, I drink, well, often. But usually I drink because I enjoy it and not as a means of comfort. When I’m in a total slump, I drink because it gives me some measure of peace. It numbs my senses to whatever is bothering me. By the time the alcohol wears off, the worst of whatever it was that had me so down will be behind me. At least that’s how it usually works out.

But even though the worst is behind me, there’s a sort of recovery stage that follows. I have to rebuild my confidence. It’s a slippery slope. I gain some ground and I lose some ground, and eventually I make to the top of the mountain again. Eventually I will be able to stop second guessing myself and everything will be dandy.

This anxiety, or whatever you call it, might well be over nothing. Right now, though, I’m not so sure that it is. But whether it’s over nothing or not, I’ll make it to the top of the mountain, eventually.

My Childhood Home

This is the house I lived in when I was kid, all done up in Sims 3. I lived there from the time I was a toddler until I was thirteen. It’s the setting of the Where I Want to Be song that I posted some weeks ago. Not everything measures up quite right, but it’s close enough. The outside siding had been yellow instead of white, but the Sims didn’t have a yellow siding that looked right. The furniture is placed as I remember it best, though I might be wrong about some thing.

house1

The front.

house2

The back. The deck and patio were not there in the beginning. I remember helping my dad build the deck. I’m guessing I was around five. The patio came soon after the deck, My brother, my sister and I had our handprints in the corner that is not touching the deck or the house.

house3

I chose brightly colored furniture just so it would show up better, but much of our furniture was dark colored. The walled-in spaces between the rooms were closets. And that door by the refrigerator, that was where the basement stairs were, but the Sims were being a pain in the ass about fitting the stairs in there, so I left them out.

house6

The basement. The wall in the middle wasn’t always there. My dad built that when I was about eight or nine so he could have a band room separated from the rest of the basement. The room behind the stairs, that was where the washer and dryer were. There was also an old junked up motorcycle leftover from my dad’s teen years, and an old coat hanging on the wall, dirty, dusty, and infested with spiders. The space behind the stairs was more or less a place to store junk.

 house4

We built the garage when I was around eight. I remember helping my dad with this too. The space between the garage and the house was a room where my mom had her hair salon. I wanted to include that room, but the Sims wouldn’t let me make a wall from a ground level building to a building on a foundation, so that’s another thing I was forced to leave out. So, my mom had a hair salon and my dad did a lot of auto body repairs in the garage.

house5

When I was around ten, we added onto the house. We moved the deck back, built a family room with a fireplace and a bar. We also built a larger bedroom for my parents. My brother moved into their old bedroom and I had a room to myself.

The house was on an acre of property. There was a hill in the backyard. The bottom of the hill was where we rode our motorcycles. The woods were behind the property. There were many other houses in the neighborhood like ours.

~

It’s been a long road.
So many days have gone by.
There are times I will always remember,
And I still have the old pictures.
I’m sitting here thinking
How I’d like to be there again.

When I was a kid we had a house
At the end of Big Buck Lane.
The world wasn’t much more
Than our neighborhood,
But that was all we needed.
In the spring and summertime
We’d ride our bikes where we wanted,
As long as we stayed within our limits.
It was just three short streets,
But I had felt free.

I want to be there again.

Sometimes we’d sit on the grass
By the basement window
And listen to mom and dad’s
Band practice after sunset.
And I remember playing basketball
On the patio beside the deck.
We had no hoop to shoot for,
But still we managed to score.
Life wasn’t always easy,
But I had felt at peace.

I want to be there again.

It was a time when I was pure at heart
And life was new and full of adventure.
The trails in the woods were haunted war paths
And the sandpit had buried treasure.

Our weapons were cap guns
And plastic bows and arrows.
Sometimes swords and knives
Were the juicer choice.
Before Nintendo came into our home
And motorcycles were what we rode,
Before we got into bigger things,
That’s where I want to be.

I want to be there again.

Where I Want to Be

It’s been a long road.
So many days have gone by.
There are times I will always remember,
And I still have the old pictures.
I’m sitting here thinking
How I’d like to be there again.

When I was a kid we had a house
At the end of Big Buck Lane.
The world wasn’t much more
Than our neighborhood,
But that was all we needed.
In the spring and summertime
We’d ride our bikes where we wanted,
As long as we stayed within our limits.
It was just three short streets,
But I had felt free.

I want to be there again.

Sometimes we’d sit on the grass
By the basement window
And listen to mom and dad’s
Band practice after sunset.
And I remember playing basketball
On the patio beside the deck.
We had no hoop to shoot for,
But still we managed to score.
Life wasn’t always easy,
But I had felt at peace.

I want to be there again.

It was a time when I was pure at heart
And life was new and full of adventure.
The trails in the woods were haunted war paths
And the sandpit had buried treasure.

Our weapons were cap guns
And plastic bows and arrows.
Sometimes swords and knives
Were the juicer choice.
Before Nintendo came into our home
And motorcycles were what we rode,
Before we got into bigger things,
That’s where I want to be.

I want to be there again.

Kiss, Live, At My House

Dreamt that the band Kiss was preforming a concert inside my house. They set up stage in the office, there were the lights, the huge speakers and everything. The living room was set up with rows of seats facing the office. There were a lot of people here. I didn’t make much of an observation of the audience, but I think it was at least a thousand people. How all this fit in my house, I have no clue. Somehow the house was just roomier, though the rooms didn’t look like they expanded much.

It being my house, I was free to go anywhere I wanted, including the stage. Why was Kiss playing a concert in my house? The dream pixies allowed me to understand that Kiss was playing here because someone I know knows the band, though it was never made clear who that someone was, nor was it made clear the details of the agreement between me and the band. It was clear that I had some say about things, but I pretty much just stayed out of everyone’s way and let them do their thing.

After the concert, the band went up to the attic, which had been transformed into a dressing room. After a while I went up there. There were some people standing around, a table with food on it and a bunch of stuff lying around, like guitars and other things you’d expect to see in a rock star’s backstage room. I walked up to one of the band members and asked if he’d be interested in autographing an old Kiss album that I had somewhere. He gestured over his shoulder at some things leaning against the wall and said he already autographed a bunch of stuff for me. And then he said something else that I couldn’t make out. So, I did that thing I always do when someone says something I didn’t hear. I pointed at my ear and said, “I’m sorry, I don’t hear very well.” He rolled his eyes and walked away. I got embarrassed and began beating myself up.

Weird dream. I’m not even a Kiss fan. I like their music, but that’s as far as it goes.

The Pound

Last night I dreamt that I was about to get rid of Buddy, my cat. I don’t know why I had to get rid of him; the fuzzy little dream pixies hadn’t casted enough magic dust to make that part clear. I carried him out of the house to a waiting car. But, as I was putting him in the car, I asked the driver where we were taking him. The driver replied, “The pound.” To that I said, “No, I’ll keep him until I find someone who wants him.” And carrying Buddy, I turned away from the car and went back in the house.

When I woke up, a spark went off in my head and I had the inspiration for a new blog entry.

~The Pound~

(Intro-out, fade-in with an old Snoop Dogg tune where he’s rapping about smoking a joint and how his mind is on his money while his money is on his mind, and bow wow wow, yippy yo, yippy yay.)

When discussing the pound around our pets, instead of saying the actual word “pound”, it’s probably better to spell it out every time you need to use the word. Just say P-O-U-N-D instead of “pound”. This is important because if our pets know what  we’re talking about, they might get the shivers, or at the very least, they might give us their big ole sad eye looks that say “Don’tchu wuv me anymore?”

I know of more than a few people who have taken pets to the pound over the last several years. There are various reasons why they might choose to do this. They might not be able to afford the pet, they might not have time to take care of the pet, they might feel the pet is too much trouble or they might just decide they don’t want the pet anymore. There’s probably a hundred different reasons why someone might decide to take their pet to the pound, or the animal shelter, as the pound is more commonly called these days.

I’ve given up on telling people why it’s probably not the best idea to take their pets to the pound. I gave up, because first, no one listens to me, and second, because I found that giving such advice makes people mad. So, I’ve started keeping my mouth shut and I try not to think too much about the situation.

Every time I hear that someone took their pet to the pound, I feel a pang in my heart. The thing that really gets to me is the pet had a home, a family. The pet was comfortable, and then one day the pet finds himself in a not very comfortable setting, with lots of other animals, some that are probably not friendly. On top of that, the pet is probably scared as well as heartbroken because his owners took him to the pound and left him there.

Yeah, I know some of you are sneering and rolling your eyes. Because you know the shelter will find a good home for the dog or cat you left in their care. In many cases, I’m sure the shelters do what they can, but the pound is not a paradise full of happy dogs and cats and people waltzing by the pens adopting pets by the minute. Shelters often have too many animals in their care, too few workers to take care of the animals, and too few people coming in looking to adopt a new pet.

If you have a pet that you want to get rid of, try to find a new home for him. I know this can be hard, but I’m sure you’ll eventually find someone to take the pet.

(Fade-out, Snoop Dogg: “Bow wow wow, yippy yo, yippy yay. The sounds of a dog brings me to another day….”)

The Song for Grandma

I posted this on Facebook after Grandma’s funeral in September, but now that I’m using my website again, I want it on my blog. The handwritten version of the song is in the purse she has with her. I think this song is the most important thing I’ve ever written.

It’s a chapter that will be hard to close.
Life won’t be the same as it was before.
Today we’ll bury a piece of our hearts,
But your touch will always linger.

We’ll have the memories,
And you’ll be with us in some sense.
But your laughter and your southern drawl
Will be something we’ll hear only in our hearts.

I will bear the weight of your casket,
My brother and I, and our cousins.
We’ll carry you from the hearse
To the place where Grandpa waits.

We’ll always have the memories,
And you’ll be with us in some sense.
But your laughter and your southern drawl
Will be something we’ll hear only in our hearts.

How I Plan to Make my Firepit

There’s been a lot of sticks and branches falling out of the trees and landing on my lawn. I have a barrel in the backyard for burning sticks and leaves, but some of the branches are too big for it. I could break them into smaller pieces, but I can’t fit a whole lot into the barrel at once and that means the process of burning yard waste is much slower than I would like.

For the last week or so, I’ve been thinking I ought to have a firepit. It would make the burning of yard waste easier. It would also be nice to have a fire once in a while, just to sit around and shoot the shit over beer.  When I first moved into this house, my mom had suggested a couple times that I make a firepit for the purpose of having people over and hanging out in the backyard at night. But I wasn’t for it at the time, partly because I didn’t feel like making a firepit and partly because I don’t have people over very often.

I’m still not likely to have people over much, but I think a firepit would be nice. However, if I’m going to make a firepit in my backyard, I want it to be something I like. I don’t want to just dig a little hole and surround it with rocks. What I want to do is build an outdoor fireplace in my backyard. Something a little more fancy than the usual hole-and-rock style firepits.

Photo-0025
Click picture for larger version.

Yesterday, after playing around with a tape measure and making crude sketches, I figured out exactly what I want to do. I will dig a hole twelve inches deep and make it perfectly square, with thirty-two inches on all sides. I will also make the floor of the hole flat. So, twelve inches deep and thirty-two inches on all sides, and a flat floor. That’s the first step.

Next, I want there to be a wall of concrete blocks surrounding the hole. This is as much for safety as it is for looks. A concrete wall should reduce the chances of the grass catching on fire. The wall will be twelve inches high. So, the wall twelve inches high surrounding the hole twelve inches deep, that means the overall depth of the pit will be two feet.

Home DepotI looked on HomeDepot.com. They’re selling concrete blocks sixteen inches long, eight inches wide and eight inches high for $0.98 each. These concrete blocks are perfect for what I have in mind and they cost a lot less than I was expecting. I’ll need ten of them. Two sides of the pit will have three of these concrete blocks. That will make the walls forty-eight inches long, which is sixteen inches too long. But then the other two sides of the pit will only have two concrete blocks each and everything will come together.

nullBut the concrete wall will only have a height of eight inches and I want it to be twelve inches. I also don’t want there to be square holes in the top of the wall where spider webs will start appearing. Home Depot is selling these solid blocks that are sixteen inches long, eight inches wide and four inches high for $1.04 each. I’ll need ten of them, to place on top of the first layer of concrete blocks. The concrete wall will have a height of twelve inches and there will be no holes except for the firepit itself.

So, that’s what I want to do.

For the Record, I’m Not Gay

I’m sure some people are relieved to hear that. In particular, my gay friends, who probably feel much better knowing my ugliness won’t be chasing after them anytime soon. Yes, I’m very supportive of the gay rights movement. I feel strongly that they should have the same rights as everyone else. It’s because I believe in the Constitution, Human Rights and God. All three say pretty much the same thing when they’re talking about the human race. It all boils down to Live and let live.

Sometimes I make jokes that probably give people the impression that I’m gay. There was a time when I would be offended if someone thought I was gay. There was also a time when I was not a supporter of gay rights. I was, in fact, against gay rights and gay people. But over the years I’ve moved away from that way of thinking.

These days I don’t even mind if gay men find me attractive, and they’re welcome to say so too. My reply will probably be a simple thanks.

People Are Good

I don’t subscribe to the cynical belief. Kinda ironic, I think, because I often feel anger toward a lot of people. I have trouble forgiving, and man, I can hold a grudge. If someone treats me disrespectfully, I’ll never forget it. And there are people who I hate with passion. But even so , my faith in humanity has not diminished.

I believe the majority of people are good. And I don’t mean they’re good in order to make themselves look less evil, like a cynical person would believe. But rather they are good because that’s who they truly are. I don’t mean they’re saints, because even the best of people have their failings, and some very good people can do some very hideous things.

I guess what I’m trying to say is, the good comes before the bad in most people. They’re good, but they have their moments where they think bad thoughts or feel greedy or selfish, etc. But the good in them heavily outweighs the bad.

Sure, there’s people who have more bad than good in them, but that’s not the majority of humanity, not in my opinion. I really cannot see things from a cynical point of view. I find a cynical person’s way of thinking disturbing, and ridiculous. And it’s funny, because I’m often accused of being a negative person, but I think my way of thinking is less negative than a lot of people I know.