Can a pig whistle?

Lately I’ve been drinking a lot of Manhattans. I am sure it comes as quite a surprise to you that I like my drink.  A lot.  I think perhaps I have watched too much Mad Men and yearned for the day of yore.  I can imagine my dad going to work in the 60s, a bright energetic 20-something, being called into his boss’ office to have snort of the old Scotch and talk about the secretaries or the Celtics.  Except he doesn’t drink and he didn’t work in an office.  More of a factory.

Back to my drinks.  I haven’t sworn off vodka, but the Martinis are become less of my standby and more of my pinch hitter.  I’ve been challenging bartenders to make me something with rye, like a Manhattan, which with Rye might really be a Brooklyn, but I digress.  I like the name and I think I’m supposed to like Rye. If it’s good enough for my Ruben, it should be good enough for my drink.  And I do.  I like  Bullit and I like Templeton.  Last night, when ask what the good rye was, the barkeep handed me list of the top shelf.  And there it was.  I had heard about it.  I had seen it, but I had not had it yet.  Whistle Pig!  It was delicious and yummy.

I could go on and on about how this flavor or that flavor blew my mind, but I can’t and I won’t.  I was drinking.  I can tell you what I do remember, though.  $19.  Wow.  A pizza place in Oakland charged me $19 for a cocktail.  Yeah it was a fancy wood fired pizza joint, with a water view.  (Don’t get too excited, the estuary is nothing too special.)  I’m not complaining I was just surprised.  I think I’ll go find another Manhattan in a few moments.  Cheers!

Parking Wars: The Follow-up Episode

Shortly after I posted my open letter to the parking Nazi here, a friend parked in one of these oh-so controversial spaces.  He was meeting me for lunch.  The soon to be crazy cat lady chased him down and ranted about the access “the truck” needed.  Keep in mind his car was more than 30 feet up the street of the supposed door to be used.  And two other cars were blocking said door.  He said he walked on and tried to ignore her.  Finally, he turned as said, “are you an officer?”

“No,” was the reply

” Are you going to write me a ticket?” he asked.

“No.”

He turned and walked away as she went back to the rant on the truck.

After lunch we walked back to his car and there was a note on the windshield.  “Leave your # so we can call you when the truck comes or else we will have to tow.”

Seriously? Who is giving this crazy lady their phone number?  That would render the phone useless.  Why would she think that anyone listens to her.

Oh, and I spent 10 minutes talking to the parking enforcement officers in the neighborhood today.  They reconfirmed how ridiculous this was and that no company would be towing our cars.

You realize I have now made up my mind to tape the open letter on their office.  Probably quite often.  There might even be a picket line.

A Piece of Tape Too Far

An Open Letter to the Parking Nazi at 217 (or is it 229, Who can tell?) Harrison in Oakland, CA.

As you and I both know, I park in front of your building when I drive to work.  I park there because there are always spots there.  You have done such an effective job of scaring everyone away, there is always a spot.  You must realize it is your fault that I infuriate you so much.

(For those of you coming late to this party, 217 Harrison has a banked curb leading to 4 loading docks;  3 of these docks have been converted to office walls or doors, making them LEGAL parking spots.  The office puts flyers on cars, trying to intimidate them into leaving.  I love knowing that 95% of the time I have a spot waiting for me.)

I returned to my car recently, finding 2 new notes.  There was they typical “NO! NO! NO!” flyer, which is often found in on the sidewalk around the neighborhood.  There was also a note, loaded with vitriol, about how you’ve told me many times not to park where I park.  There was also paper taped to my driver’s side window saying “Tow this car!”

I think it is time we clear the air.  For the last several days there have been no flyers on the cars parked where I often park.  Are these your cars or have you been ill?  If you have, I hope you feel better.  I’m neither vindictive or evil, contrary to what you believe.   I feel sorry for you.  Your parents must not have taught you the hard lessons about sharing.  Did you scream when other kids touched your toys?  It must have been lonely not having friends as a child.  The public parking spots on Harrison Street are not yours alone, you really need to share them.  I can only surmise sharing is foreign to you.  I would also point out that putting flyers all over car does not make you my friend.  It does, however, make your passive aggressive and inconsiderate.

Let’s not talk bullshit about how the (mythical, magical) truck needs to park parallel and therefore you are saving me from being blocked in.

  1. Trucks back up to loading docks
  2. Trucks block traffic all the time in our neighborhood
  3. I have never, ever, ever seen a truck at your location
  4. Let’s not forget the time you told me, in our only conversation that you needed access to the windows 8 feet off the ground,  which  told you was ridiculous
  5. Go ahead, block me in.  I work till after 5, often after 6.  What truck driver is leaving your business that late?  That’s right. None.

I won’t minimize the fact that you want these spots all to yourself (or possibly your firm.)  Its an admirable, if misguided goal.  The fact remains that these are public spots and the signs you have posted are not legal.  You do not own the street and any implicit easement was eliminated when your firm build walls rendering the loading docks ornamental.  The parking authority won’t write tickets for the spot I park in and tow trucks won’t be towing me based on your note.  The past 18 months of results bear all this out.

Perhaps you had an “incident” and your sense of reality is skewed.  Did you take the brown acid at Woodstock?  seriously, you were warned. Let me help you in ways your parents and coworkers clearly have not.  Your notes and wishes won’t change reality.  The fact that you don’t want people parking there won’t make it illegal.  I want to win the lottery.  Just because I want to, won’t make it so.  Nevertheless, my odds of success are far higher than yours. Rather than tilting at windmills, perhaps you’d be happier accepting reality and getting on with your life.  This isn’t the Twilight Zone and you won’t wake up tomorrow finding that your misguided sense of reality is the new truth.  Grow the fuck up.

How sad must your life be if you spend this much time placing flyers on cars that aren’t yours?  I’ve seen your work on other vehicles and more importantly, all over the neighborhood.  Clearly you realize that we work near the water and the wind kicks up in the afternoon, cascading your inane flyers over several blocks.  I’m guessing the police are looking for you.  With all the green initiatives in the Bay Area, how do you sleep at night knowing you are a major litter contributor, let alone resource waster?  Have you no consideration for the forests you’ve decimated and the trees you’ve condemned to be part of your folly?

I think you would be better off finding a new hobby.  I don’t think it would be out of line to suggest you start fostering cats.  Start with one, and with your obsessive nature you can add more. Clearly, you will agree that being a crazy cat lady is far better than your fixation on my parking habits.  Let’s be honest, you’ll probably have more friends as the Crazy Cat Lady than you will as the Parking Nazi.  Or at least  you’ll have cats.  And Grumpy Cat on the internet.

Of course if you really wanted to have my car towed, you would have called a tow company.  And since the car isn’t yours the liability you and your company would face in the light of an illegal seizure would be monumental.  It appears that the note you put on my car is a feeble attempt at drawing unsuspecting innocents into your fantasy.  I think it is time you gave up on this fantasy, became and adult and embraced reality.

As I have tried to empathetic to your plight, I know your therapy bills are probably much higher than any plan your company provides, I feel I must be honest with you.  You have annoyed me far more than you have a right to.  I’ve stopped finding your notes funny, silly or sad.  That you have gone so far as to use tape on my car, I feel that your behavior encroaches on battery or defacing of property.  My car is my property and it is not your bulletin board.  Any further defacement of my vehicle will result in my filing charges with the police and ultimately lead to a civil suit.  I am actually considering a class action suit.  You have badgered many people and I’m only too happy to find them and develop a much larger action.  Do you really think all the people you’ve pissed off don’t care?

This is a warning.  My attorney is only too happy to proceed on my next phone call.

I hope you are feeling better.  Perhaps your therapist should increase your Xanax.  You might suggest that on your next visit.

Gravity Catches up to The Glass Teat (with appologies to Harlan Ellison)

I’m realizing that my television viewing has been changing, albeit subtly.   I’m not sure if my tastes are changing or if they suits in charge of some of the networks are nudging me away.  In either case, my viewing defaults have become exceptions, rather than givens. (Unspoken truth : I’m becoming a bitter old coot.)

Before we bought the house, I found myself moving toward HGTV as a first stop.  I would watch David Bromstad on “Color Splash” and enjoy the designs and whimsy.  I would watch “Design on a Dime” and think, “yeah, I can’t do that.”  But I was basically in love with the programming and it often helped spur my creativity. Now, not so much.  (Hidden meaning to this paragraph:  my parents ruined my life by keeping me from being a designer.)

Sure, “Love it or List it” and the “Property Brothers” were fun at the beginning.  But the manufactured drama part always annoyed me.  So did the “David can’t find us a decent house… till the end of the show” meme.  And then the endless reruns.  Luckily there is still Kitchen Crashers.  Yeah, I’m a sucker for Allison’s good looks.  She’s no Mike Holmes, which is a good thing.  Who doesn’t love a contractor in high heels? (Hidden meaning to this paragraph:  Lee like TV with good looking women; it is why channel surfing was invented.)

But it seems like design shows have gone by the wayside, mostly.  Every time I turn on the channel it seems to be some flavor of House Hunters.  And while I understand that the house buying candy is quite popular, it’s not for me.  In fact, having just checked, from Noon to 11pm today, the only programming is flavors of House Hunters and Love it or List it.  Seriously? (Subtext:  America still like a buffet.  What programming idiot missed that?)

Can I just request more David Bromstad,Sabrina Soto, Candice Olsen and Genevieve Gorder?  Having just looked, even finding the personalities on the HGTV website is a pain.  No thank you, I don’t need another “let’s have the amateurs have a contest “show. (Smart Creative People yes!  Stupid reality based game shows, no!)

Sadly, this is the same process The Food Network went through and MTV before it.  Ever try to find a music video on MTV?  Music is the 2% of its programming they don’t want you to watch.  But if you want to learn about teen moms or Italian Brats in New Jersey, it’s the network for you.  (Sad truth, MTV no longer cares what I think.  Nor did they ever)

I used to love watching the Food Network.  I learned a lot from Alton Brown.  “Good Eats” should be required viewing for any home cook with a life.  Sadly, Alton has gone from “Good Eats” and “Feasting on Asphalt” to “Cutthroat Kitchen”.  If I wanted to watch games, I’d watch GSN, which I don’t.  And if they think I want to watch “Pioneer Woman” or “Hungry Girl” they are mistaken.  (Hidden meaning:  tv thinks we are all stupid.  Oh wait, Honey Boo Boo and Duck Dynasty are still way too popular.  Shit even Toddlers and Tiaras take a back seat to those.)

Yes, I will still watch “Diners, Drive-ins and Dives.”  It does provide a great deal of inspiration to the food I plan and make.  But for god sakes, do I really need “Guy’s Grocery Games?”  No fucking way.  What happened to real, meaningful cooking shows?  Where is Bobby Flay and Emeril Lagasse when we want them? “Restaurant Impossible” is nice candy, but it is way too easy to overdose on.  Yes, I did. (I’m admitting I am kind of a sad case here, but you got that.)

So helpful creative shows are out.  Goofy personalities are in.  Maybe I should work on being just a bit more eccentric in my demeanor.  Maybe I should be more like Moon Boy, Butterbumps or Patchbface? Oh ho! I kno!.  Nope, that’s not happening don’t fret.  (Yes, it was the gratuitous ASOIAF – Game of Thrones for you non readers – mention.)  

Thank god for endless commentary on football this time of year.  And yes, I do dwell on the fact that one horrid call was a contributing factor to the 49ers being the 5 seed rather than the 1 seed in the play offs.  Who said I was rational?  Not I.  (Football is life, but you knew that.  And yes, the Steelers got screwed out of the playoffs.)

If you’ve made it this far, you have my sincerest wishes for a Happy New Year for you and yours. (ok, deep down I’m really just a nice guy.)

Blue Tuesday

It was a Tuesday, much like any other Tuesday.  Filled with hopes and dreams after the depression that was Monday, but still lacking the joy of a camel on Wednesday.  Nevertheless, dawn broke and employment beckoned.  So, I got up, showered, dressed and joined the commute to work.  This was the day the BART strike ended, but there weren’t many trains running in the morning.  Thusly I drove. Amazingly enough, nothing memorable happened on the way to the office.    When I drive, I park on the street (surely you know this and the parking Nazi at 229 Harrison St.), but then I climb some stairs and take a sky bridge over the train tracks to my office.

Our story will start at lunch.

I decided that lunch should be consumed about 12:30 or so.  I grabbed my book and made my way to Chop Bar for lunch.  I eat there at least once a week and would eat there more if my diet didn’t prohibit me from my previous lusty relationships with their Reuben and Hamburger.  But, at least they have two different salads that allow me to believe I’m eating both healthy and (marginally) decadently.

We may be different you and I, but when I sit at the counter by myself I like to leave an open seat on either side.  It probably goes back to relatively large size and not wanting to encroach on other people’s space.  Or have them in mine.  I don’t like strangers in my space.  Especially, on BART.  So I took a seat one to the right of the couple talking.  She was on my left and he was on her left.

As I opened my copy of The Republic of Thieves, I quickly realized this couple was not a couple.  I saw that there was an open seat between them, but the real eye- opener was his voice.  Gravelly like a rock quarry and grating like brake calipers with worn pads, he was trying too hard to hit on the woman next to him.  He was 3 or 4 beers into drinking his lunch and she was scarfing down the last few bites so she could escape.  “Good,” I thought, “it will make it much easier to read my book.”

I enjoyed roughly 5 minutes of peace when another woman walked in and took the same seat. She ordered a drink and set up her iPad for use.  And then it started.  Reading became difficult and soon reading became a charade.  This was entertaining.

“Is your accent fake? It seems like it.”

He wasn’t happy with that question.  He was from New York and New Yorkers sound like him.  How could she not know?  Turns out she was from upstate New York, so he belittled her for that.

“Is Yiddish your first language?” I couldn’t really believe she asked that.

“Why would you say that!” he raged as though she called his mother a whore.

“My Husband’s Jewish.  You look Jewish.”

From there he attacked her naiveté.  And then he got to the fact that he has triple citizenship: US, Italy and **gasp** Israel.  If this guy is Jewish, I many consider converting. I’ve always thought the Hare Krishnas were on to something.  If G-d wants me in heaven, he needs me to have a ponytail to pull on, right?

Let’s be honest:  he was an asshole and she seemed to one of the people who help keep the average IQ at 100.  Not stupid, but she’s not in line for a Nobel Prize or finishing the Times Crossword Puzzle any time soon.

By now she’s flustered and her food arrives.  She asks for a to-go box and gets out of there quickly, though he is still trying to engage her.   3 minutes after she leaves, he leaves.

At this point I’m the only one at the counter.  I’ve probably read 5 pages. I’ll never finish this book (I did).  I notice the staff gathering at the other end of the counter buzzing about what happened.  I wait a moment. When one looks my way I say “if you want to know what happened I’ll tell you.”

They had missed most of the conversations and thought he was nice.  I dissuaded them of that opinion.  We all had a good a laugh and I went from the guy who comes in all the time to marginally more than that.  Good thing I can chat with some of them about Game of Thrones.  Yeah, I know a bit about that.

A weird experience:  a bit annoying and ending with a laugh.  Not bad for lunch.  But for Tuesday?  Nope.  There’s more.  So much more.

I tried to leave about 5pm, but silly little things kept cropping up and it was just after 6 when I was able to head to the elevator and make my way to my car.  Since I drove, I get off on 2, say goodnight to the guard (yeah, our building has the guard on 2) and walk across the sky bridge towards my car.  Straight across is the parking structure for the building and there is a large apartment complex to the left.

Being the observant buy I am, I scan the building to my left (It’s called The Bond, in case you care.)    Not expecting to see much I looked and saw too much.  I stopped and gathered myself.  FUCK!  I didn’t know what to do.  On one hand I’m appalled. On the other I’m shocked.  I turn and walked back to the guard at the desk.

“Uh, can you call the cops for me?” I stammered.

The young guard looked and me quizzically.

“Not 911. It’s not an emergency, but there is a naked man masturbating in the window across the street.  I really don’t think the women of the building want to see that.”

And by naked man, I’m guessing 6” 375lbs.  He’s got a substantial and firm gut.  I really shouldn’t know this much.

I’m all for letting consenting adults do whatever they want in the privacy of their own homes, but nothing about this event was private.  It was meant to be a spectacle.  I figured I should do something about it.  I don’t want to be guy who did nothing.  That’s too easy and too wrong.

The guard pulls up the camera on that side if the building and, nope, it stops right below his window. He believes me but doesn’t know what to do.  He radios his coworker.  The coworker won’t talk on the radio and insists they talk on the phone.

When he gets off the phone, he tell me that since it is not in our building he can’t do anything, including calling the cops for me.

Seriously?  I might have been shaking with anger when I left.  So much for doing the right thing.

Years ago, when I worked in the Financial District in San Francisco a coworker caught a guy trying to steal his wallet from his jacket.  The jacket was behind his office door.  We were on a locked floor in a secure building.  This guy was in a ratty suit.  If you glanced, he looked like he belonged in the office.  If you looked, you could see the suit was threadbare and his shoes had holes in them.  I came when hell yelled for me and we escorted the thief to the guard downstairs.

When we got there, the Guard shrugged, the thief bolted out the door.  We looked to the guard who calmly said, “I didn’t see him do anything, I can’t do anything.  There’s too much personal liability and I’m not allowed to.”

That’s when I learned the cameras in the elevators were props and building security is an oxymoron in most cases.

Back in the present, I walked back out of the building and about 10 minutes had passed .  The Wanker, as I was calling him in my head, was still at it, although off to the side, rather than front and center.  As I crossed the street, I realized the light was on in the lobby of his  building.  I walked across to the building and knocked on the window for the desk person to let me in.

I was probably a bit disjoined as I explained what the problem was.  She looked at me like I was nuts.  I asked if she was going to do anything.  Clearly she couldn’t use the “it’s not my building” excuse.

“We got a call about that earlier,” she said.

“Oh.”  I started to leave.  And then I stopped.

“When did you get that call?” I asked.

“Around 11.”

“Seriously? It’s still going on!  Don’t you think this is a bigger problem than that?”

Then she told me in effect that it was none of my business.

I left there madder than a hatter.  No wonder people don’t speak up more often and try to help; doing the right thing can be aggravating when others prevent you from doing anything.

Oh, and he was jerking off, fully naked, in the window again Wednesday after work.  I still see him in the window most nights, but now he stays a few steps back and has at least a shirt on.  I doubt that will last.

 

 

 

Parking Wars: A Descent into Madness

As you might have heard, we had another BART strike in the Bay Area.  This forced every commuter into new modes of transportation.  That meant I had to drive to work.   There were two key impacts here:  traffic was ridiculous and I needed to move my car each day at lunch.  There are plenty of pay lots, but with the abundance of 4 hours spots, and meter maids that only make 1 circuit, it seems silly to pay $7 a day.

You may recall, I have an on-going feud with a business around the corner that harasses people who part outside of their office.  The walls of their office had been cargo bay doors, but now they are walls.  There is one door which might still be a bay, so I don’t park in front of it.

I tend to park other places in the morning, because I can always park in front of their faux driveway in the afternoon.  A few weeks prior I had noticed they had added a new sign on their walls (not the steel doors that protect the walls at night).  They read “Tenant Parking Only  Violators will be towed.”  This is the part of our show where we get to discuss reality and some people’s lack of it.  I have no doubt that the tenants want to park there.  But, as I discussed with a parking enforcement officer, unless there is an official city sign, those signs that were bought on line for $20 hold no weight.  Wow they must be committed to the cause.

(Seriously, check out that link.  Clearly there is a market for people tricking others into not parking in legal spaces.  I bet they make a ton.  Wish I was selling these idiots their signs.  And yes, I know I completely ignore the fourth wall.)

They must have forgotten that the street and sidewalk are public property.  They have no specific rights to stop others from parking there.  While there was a cargo door they had easement rights of access and the right to be unimpeded, but they forfeited those rights when they built walls. The reality is that if they tow someone’s car for parking legally in front of a wall, in a public space, they are liable for the cost and inconvenience. I personally would love for them to tow me so I can sue them and go after punitive damages.  I will.

As delusional as their signs and appeals for drivers to park other places are, they have finally hit a new low.  Last week I got a new harassing flyer.  I put it back in their mail slot, so I’ll have to paraphrase.

[In an angry, yet pleading tone:]

You can’t park here.  We will have you towed.  Really we will.  We haven’t yet because we don’t know how to contact you.  We need these spaces because when we use the cargo door, we need to park the truck at an angle so as not to block the street.  We WILL tow you.

This is so ridiculous that I don’t know where to start.  How about that it’s a very wide street and only a double trailer will block the street?  Or that trucks that are unloading block streets all the time? Perhaps they use the only driver in the US that worries about other cars being able to drive when they are off-loading?  If they park at an angle, how will the cargo be off loaded to the bay, if the truck isn’t flush?  Let that sink in gentle reader.  Reread this list till you realize that it has been proof of sorts.  (I’m sure more than a few of you took geometry in high school.)

Thus, I believe we can safely say that if their goal isn’t to use the bay door as a cargo bay, because the cargo must go the sidewalk before it can be lifted up, then they don’t really need a bay door and the need to not block it is silly.  The truck can park parallel to the parked cars.  I really can’t see how they are making their case.

Therefore, I propose a call to action.  Everyone should find a reason to park in front of 229 Harrison St. in Oakland.  (This is a visual daily double.)   If you look at the picture, you’ll see 4 garage doors:

  1. The first has a stair case in front of it you can park there
  2. I’ve never seen the 2nd open, I wouldn’t park there
  3. The third is an office wall
  4. The fourth is an office wall

This is our cause, take up your keys and park happily.  And when the wicked witch of parking delusions accosts you, tell here Lee sent you.  I don’t suffer fools and neither should you.

This was the start of an exciting several days, don’t miss the next post, you won’t believe my Tuesday.

The Black Marks on My Permanent Record

Sometimes I reflect on the various events, characters and problems I’ve run across in my career.  Like today, I thought back to an event that happened in late 84 or early 85.  It was a different time.  One of the most important members of a company was the receptionist.  On some levels it was because that was the first person visitors met, but more importantly the receptionist was the voice of the company.

There was no email, faxes were becoming prevalent and a PC on every desk was not a given.  In 1984, I had one of the first 10 PCs in the company.  There were over 200 people in our office.  More significantly, there were very few direct lines to desks.  Every call came to the receptionist and she transferred them to an internal extension.  I sat just inside the ever open double doors, not far from the lobby.  There was nothing between Tina and I.  Except my cubicle walls.

In those days, I was trying to make my mark at work, but I was still a clumsy guy always fumbling for the right thing to say and understanding how to behave in a corporate environment.  And this was corporate – an insurance company in the Sears/Allstate family.  I knew enough not to hit on the receptionist.  Not that she wasn’t really cute; she was a very attractive Hispanic girl, a tad younger than I, from San Francisco’s Mission District.  I wasn’t suave enough to flirt or ask her out.  I wouldn’t have, because I knew she had a boyfriend and my father had taught me not dip my pen in the company ink.

I recall her vividly asking me one day, “Lee I need a favor.”  Always wanting to be helpful I walked to the counter and offered my kind assistance.

Lee’s rule of work #1 – always help the pretty girls.

Of course what she wanted was not at all what I was expecting.  I knew she was taking classes at CCSF, being a reasonably fresh graduate perhaps she wanted help with math or something similar.  It’s not like I was the guy who put staples in the stapler or could solve crossword puzzles with ease.

“Lee, you’re a native speaker and I’m having trouble with Spanish.  Would you help me with my homework?”

I was dumbfounded.  Floored.  She answered every call and transferred them to my desk.  She knew my last.  How she thought I was from Mexico, Guatemala or Spain escaped me.  Now I realize this might have been an opening to ask her out.  So much for being on my game.

“My last name is Greenberg.  I’m Jewish, not Mexican.  No habla espanole.”  Ok, so I was often confused for being Mexican when I was working in East San Jose.  I am a bit dark skinned and was more so when I was younger.  I could tell people I couldn’t speak Spanish and that was it.  My ethnicity traces to all over Europe, not the Americas.  I laughed very much at this exchange.  I don’t recall her reaction.

I recall this incident and realize I might not have handled it as tactfully I should have.  Ah, the perspective of 3 decades.

There was one other incident with Tina I recall.  This wasn’t quite so fun and it was handled much better.  Sometime later, in 85 I believe, there was a commotion in the office.  I walked around to see what was happening and Tina was running into my department.  I think I had moved to another part of the floor by then.

It turned out her boyfriend, or I should say ex-boyfriend, had come to see her in the office.  And by “see her” I mean he had a knife he wanted to stab her with.  We quickly found a closet and put her in there.  It was the wiring closet for the phones as I recall.  We all went back to our desks and acted as nonchalant as we could.  I have a vague recollection of a large man running by.

About 30 minutes later I had heard the police had him on one of the lower floors.  Wow.  I think she left the company within a month or two of that incident.  Over the next 9 years at that firm I realize I was witness or near witness to several other events I would group with this one.  I would not categorize the CFO walking into a board meeting with her dress tucked into her panty hose in the back as one of them.  But it was memorable.

I’m pretty sure you, gentle readers – all 40 of you, will ultimately have the opportunity to read about most of them.  Shall I continue?

 

 

Trouble Me (with appologies to 10,000 Maniacs)

My regular readers, as opposed to my irregular writing schedule, will know that commuting is a common topic.  And why not?  I do commute 5 days a week, 52 weeks a year, more or less.  Today I got into my car and my chariot roared to life.  Soon the radio kicked in and Peter Gabriel’s “In Your Eyes” changed my consciousness.  It was 1988 and I was joined by 50,000 of my closest fans watching the Amnesty International Benefit Concert.  Being over the hill, I also like harkening back to my 20s and a simpler time without as many worries.

It was a great show. Sting cancelled so Springsteen and E-Street Band and Peter Gabriel and to play longer sets, which was fantastic, because dreams of blue turtles bored me to tears.  I thought about being 15 and riding my bike to the record store to get Gabriel’s first solo album.  Yeah I was that cool.  So cool I didn’t have a girlfriend, but my music rocked.

As I was enjoying my groove, I came to the 4-way stop where I turn left.  Still, bopping a bit, I watched the car to my left move across the intersection and the SUV to my right turn right.  As the first car  passed me, I pulled out.  (Insert the sound of dishes breaking.)  So much for my groove.  The 2nd car to my left decided the stop sign didn’t apply to her.  She slammed on her breaks and glared at me as I deigned to follow the traffic laws that did not apply to her.

I gathered my wits in time for the SUV’s driver to decide that he was really a wide receiver for the Denver Broncos and the turn was a fake, moving in a pseudo U-turn to cut me off.  Clearly, starting a turn and finishing it is optional today.  I missed that memo.

I moved along my path, keeping in mind I’m only 4 blocks from home.  Ok, maybe 6.  Up ahead is a stop light, with a free right turn.  There are 3 lanes of traffic on the busy artery ahead, but the turn lane is generally pretty empty.  A head sat a car, frozen in terror because all 3 lanes weren’t clear.  You know the driver; he won’t turn right unless they can turn into the fast lane.  What ever happened to merging?  I’m pretty sure this is the same driver that enters the freeway at 30 miles per hour because the people in the slow lane go to fast and they believe NTSB has empowered them to make the world safer.

Before we can turn and I can continue my descent into madness, the song changes to Rainbow’s “Since You’ve Been Gone.”  I turned it up to 11.  Or 12.    The car blocking my progress finally turned and because the artery was open for ½ mile, I had no trouble gunning it and passing them within 50 yards.  The rocking sound track clearly helped push my adrenaline forward and my mood moved from Peter Gabriel inspired Romance to heartbreak’s rage.

Your poison letter, your telegram
Just goes to show you don’t give a damn

My mind often jumps from tangent to tangent.  You know who doesn’t give a damn?  The GOP. My mind is still overwhelmed by this week’s spin that the President decided to shut down the government.  Even after that bastion of integrity John Boehner, decided that previous budget and spending agreements in congress could be left on the side of the road like a hillbilly’s trash, because it was time “to take a stand.”  Seriously?  Politics is all about compromise and agreements.  By showing that previous agreements can easily be reneged on to achieve specious goals, we can only conclude that any future agreements will be as solid as tissue paper.

This entire government shutdown is ridiculous, and seems to be staged by the very conservative right.  Let me restate the facts as I know them.

  1. The GOP does not like the Affordable Care Act (ACA/ObamaCare)
  2. The ACA is the Worst Thing that has ever happened to this country (Noelle Nikpour GOP Strategist)
  3. It is worth defaulting on the national debt to stop the ACA
  4. The GOP agreed to a spending bill/debt ceiling increase then decided to hold the nation hostage
  5. The ACA is a law that was passed. (We all know how bills become laws from School House Rock, right?)
  6. The GOP wants smaller government, isn’t that what they’ve just achieved?
  7. For every action there is an equal, but opposite reaction

My outrage reached a boil as I saw Noelle Nikpour make that statement on TV about the ACA being the worst thing to happen to this country.  Slavery, the great depression, the civil war, the Viet Nam war, Prohibition, Hurricanes Katrina and Sandy all pale compared to ObamaCare (they should trademark that name to make sure it is hated by all the people who still think our president is a Kenyan Muslim. Of course he’s neither.)  I am sure there was always an undercurrent of hate and prejudice within politics, but it has become hard to miss.

I’ve put it out there; either you agree with me or you don’t.  I’m not going to change your mind and I respect your right to your opinion, though I believe the conservative movement often wishes we liberals and moderates were not allowed to have opinions.  What I want to do is bring two significant points forward that mean quite a bit to me and probably should to you.

First, when the government defaults and that seems to be the ultimate goal of the Tea Party influenced GOP, you and I will be affected.  When the economy tanks, those of us over a certain age and having attained some success are deemed expendable.  We can be replaced at 70% efficiency at 75% of the cost.  Leadership, influence and helping other achieve more are less important than pure cost savings.  I have been let go too many times not to understand what happens.  Hero on Monday; too expensive on Friday.  We all can be replaced.   I have been.  You might too.  Lifetime employment ended in the 70’s we didn’t see that till the 90s.

Since the GOP has taken the government and legislative process hostage because they do not like a law that was passed, how long before the Democrats do the same thing?  What does this mean for our way of life and democracy as a whole?  This is the political equivalent of a spoiled child taking his ball and going home.  Eventually that child either grows up and learns or has no friends.  I’m not sure we have time for the GOP to lean that lesson.  They have already spent years shouting that they refuse to.

I’m more depressed than I am angry.  And I’m plenty angry.  All that’s left is for the evangelicals to remind us that this is the first stage of the rapture they want and the rest of us are going to hell.  I expect that message in the second half of October.

 

Binging on Waves

I haven’t written in a while because my muse has left the building.  I have realized that I am approaching 30 years in the work force, because working in the comic book store, while fun, was not a career nor official entrance to the rat race.  I have many stories about the various people I worked with and situations I encountered.  I know there are more than a few black marks on my permanent record.  And know of those belonging to several others.  I’m tempted to write up a few of them.  You might laugh.  You might cringe.  You might even understand me a tad better, but I doubt it.  I’ll probably sound way too snarky, but that is nothing new to you.

Lambchop and I have been binge watching “Breaking Bad.”  We saw season 1 a few years ago.  Our DVR went out during season 2 and it took two tries to get that restarted, but once you really start watchinbg, you need to keep riding that roller coaster.  There is NO getting off.  Last night we got to episode 43 – Salud.  No spoilers as I know a few others are watching it.  Who knew binge watching was a thing? 

This started because I set up a Roku to stream internet video to my TV.  Of course that also required adding a booster to my wi-fi network.  Ultimately this was all possible because I could upgrade my internet connection from 3mb/s (I rarely got over 2.5) to 12mb/s (though we really do not get more than 8.5).  Ostensible I did this so we could finally watch “Downton Abby.”  Nope, we’ve never started.  It’s still “Breaking Bad” in the Stuff and Things Lounge.

But I see how the binge is helpful.  I’ve talked to people who stopped watching “The Wire” after one episode.  As you probably know, I believe “The Wire” is the best TV show in the history of the world, getting better each season, with a bit of mis-step in the final season.   But it takes a commitment.  It is intelligent and uncompromising.  Characters don’t ever say “remember that time…” to clue in the viewer of things they might have forgot.  It rewards repeated viewing. It expects the viewer to be inquisitive and curious.  There are layers and layers.  Black, white and a lot of gray; good guys, bad guys and anti-heroes.  And a stained glass window.  It is not the candy many shows have become.  If you haven’t seen it, go watch the first 4 episodes and tell me you aren’t hooked.

Utilizing Netflicks to its full advantage has been fun.  It wouldn’t be possible without faster speeds to the house.  I know I’m not the first to say this, but I think traditional TV is closer to dead than alive.  Streaming, binge watching and the internet have reduced TVs influence and relevance.  I would guess more people watch Ellen than the national news.  As much as I like Brian Williams, he’s not Walter Cronkite.  We may never see another Edward R. Murrow.  Sadly, Bill O’Reilly is the larger than life news caster, who doesn’t read the news.  Luckily, so is Jon Stewart.

I’m not really an earlier adopter. I’m generally on the front of the bell curve before mass adoption.  As a point of reference, I didn’t see why a PC needed more than two 512k floppy drives. Hard drives?  Pshah.  I see the world changing more clearly than I have in a while, and clearly you realize I am late to the party.  Your cable and satellite providers are still the way to go when you want to watch Honey Boo-Boo, Real Housewives or Ellen.  Broadcast TV is not dead, but it is on life support.

The new models of entertainment and viewing are bringing larger and more potentially satisfying programs to you.  Plots need not be wrapped up in an hour.    If you chose you can watch a season of TV show in a week:   a few hours each night, without commercials.  Or you can grab your movies off the internet or stream them live, with no loss in picture quality.  I’m not a shill, but check out a Roku, it might change the way you think.  There are other similar devices.  Join the wave before you are on the back side of the curve.  Then you can be ready for the next big thing.  Its coming.

 

 

Parking Wars, Carnage on the Oakland Front

There are many disappointments in our lives.  Santa never brought you that candy apple red Schwinn Stingray you had to have when you were 9.  Daddy never bought you a pony.  Your mother made you eat lima beans.  Don’t worry, mine did too.  Heidi Klum didn’t like your dress on “Project Runway” and told you were out.  (But then she kissed you.  Twice.)  And there is never a parking spot when you need one.

About a year ago my office moved to a new location.  It only moved a mile or so, but it moved a way from the BART station.  The City of Oakland does provide a free bus service that goes from BART to a few blocks from the office.  Sadly, the bus is not a time saver over walking.  Thus, my commute has increased by 20 minutes each day.  This necessitates driving to work on occasion, to make sure I am on time for early meetings.

Parking in our neighborhood is unique.  The lot next to the office is $6 for 12 hours.  That’s it, no options.  Across the street, and connected to the building over the train tracks, is a lot that charges $7 if you are in by 10 and out by 6.  Needless to say I generally work well past 6.  And when that lot changes to hourly, it is $2.50 per hour.  Of course I can afford either of these, but it galls me that I must pay for parking after driving and spending $10 or so in gas.  Call me petty.

There is plenty of street parking within 4 blocks of work.  What makes it tricky is that there is a mix of parking meters (too expensive), 2 hour parking (too short) and 4 hour parking (almost just right).  If I get to work before 9 am and move my car by 1 pm or so I can park for free.  A lot of thought has gone into this strategy.  I know the meter maids are focused on the meters.  4 hour spots are probably almost an afterthought.  What are the odds my car is being viewed right when I park? 0.  I figure there is also some grace between checking, so that it is a 5 hour window, if not more.  I drive at least 1 day per week and I’ve not gotten a ticket yet, knock on plastic.

When it comes to parking, people can be very touchy.  Perhaps you’ve seen the TV show “Parking Wars” where drivers and meter maids to at it tooth and nail.  No one ever believes they deserve a parking ticket.  Of course they do 99% of the time when they get one.  I also recall a study that was done years ago that proved that people took longer to leave a parking spot if someone was waiting for it.  It was a form of territoriality, drivers keeping what they perceived as theirs, not wanting another to have it.

That ranks right up there with people not wanting to split the bill at lunch or dinner in a group because someone “ordered something expensive” or “I didn’t have a drink.”  People are petty.  Don’t go out with a group if you can’t handle sometimes paying a bit more or bit less.  It evens out over time.  And don’t park in a spot if your fragile psyche can’t handle knowing someone will park there after you.  It is not your lover; it is a cold, undeveloped piece of ground.

As I started developing my parking strategy near the office, I avoided three loading docks between 217 and 229 Harrison St. in Oakland.  If you click on the link, you’ll see there are 4 loading docks, but there is a stair case in front of one.  It turns out, there are walls behind loading dock doors.  There is not a loading dock behind the doors, there is an office with a small window on each wall.

Of course each loading dock door is painted with the logo “No Parking 7/24/365.”  When they raise the doors, they also have no parking signs, the type you’d buy at the office supply store for $2.99.  These are, on the walls and the remaining loading dock edge.  Since you can’t simply put up a sign to prevent the public from parking in front of your wall (as opposed to a garage or loading dock), I consider this their art project.  I park there all the time.  It is very convenient to work.

IMG_2070 IMG_2071

The third time I parked in front of this office, a note was left on my car.  I was appalled at the audacity of whoever left it.  How dare they say I couldn’t park there?  I guess they believe by putting up those silly signs they believed they were writing new laws.  Delusional and petty were the words that came to mind.  I took the paper and put it my car to throw away later.  Why litter?

IMG_2106

It is hard to imagine what went through the broken mind that wrote this note.  I guess a single “no” was not enough. Bold strokes and underlines were also required it seems.  And, as you have clearly surmised, knowledge of the law is not necessary to create nasty notes.  It is not illegal to park in front of an office wall.  At least to my understanding of traffic laws.

I guess intimidation works.  The spots in front of the loading docks are open fairly often.  From the notes they leave on cars and the effort they’ve put into their “art project” I have concluded that these are not stable people.  I’m not inviting them over for dinner.  Given my druthers, I’d park elsewhere, but these are convenient spots.  Over the last 11 months I’ve collected 8 flyers.  Maybe they will appreciate like baseball cards.  Actually, I wet them, and stick them back on the windows of their office.  It is my way of adding to their public art project.  I assume they wanted participation.

A few weeks ago I was not parked in front of the loading docks, but I noticed that 4 cars had notes on them.  The last one as I walked by had 2 notes.  I had to laugh as I noticed the flyer on the driver’s side was from the car’s owner.  I don’t recall the exact words, but the note called the “parking authority” on the concept of having a legally parked car towed.

Earlier I had come to the conclusion that the building wanted the parking spaces kept empty so they could use them.  What hubris, I thought.

The next day I had this confirmed.  I had parked in front of the stairs, which is a spot that is never harassed.  Behind me they had put out orange cones to keep the spaces empty.  Hubris is not strong enough word.  The cones were stamped “apple bottom” or something equally ridiculous.  Not PG&E, a cable company, a phone company or the government.  My quick thinking lead me to believe these were a public danger, fallen off the back of some turnip truck.  It was my civic responsibility to removed them from the street, to protect other members of the community.  I picked them up and stacked them on the stairs.  Crisis Averted.

Later I came back to my car to go to lunch.   The cones were back and there was a note on them.  I figured someone else could move them this time. I’d move them after lunch.  After lunch, as I surmised, someone else moved them.  I sense a movement starting in the neighborhood.

The other day I was meeting a friend for coffee.  I went downstairs to meet him and ran across him coming out of our parking lot because it full.  Being ever the quick thinker, I jumped in and guided him to these often vacant stops.  After we parked and started to walk away, some sort of sad station wagon pulled up.  A woman of certain age leaned out the window.  She was a sad case.  Her hair was dyed too dark, with an overly trendy and trying too hard platinum stripe ringing her face.  I stifled a laugh as she called out to us.

“You can’t park there.”

“Sure we can.”

“You can’t block our loading dock.”

“It’s not a loading dock. It’s a wall.” I laughed out loud.

“It says no parking.”

“So? It’s not an official sign.   It is an art project.”  I kept laughing

“We need access to the loading dock.”

“It’s a wall.”

“Sometimes we use the window.”

I looked at the window.  The glass didn’t pop out.  The screen was roughly 1.5 feet by 3 feet.  Its bottom edge was over 7 feet off the sidewalk.  I should my head.

“Now you are just being ridiculous.”

We walked away and ignored her as we went for our coffee.  I saw her glaring at me that night when I walked back to my car across the street from her office.

This ends year 1.  I predict year 2 will be an all our war.

Writer’s Note:  I spoke with a traffic enforcement officer the other day.  I asked about the legality of these notes and the threat of tow.  She laughed. She suggested that if they tow me, I should sue.  I am wondering if I should harass them, as they have harassed me.

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