I believe in the jinx!

This blog post a day for a month thing I’ve been trying, without announcing it, is for the birds.. ha, pun.

Adding to the non-news of the story is, after hearing what happened, the head (commissioner?) of the parks department heard what happened, admitted his agents were a wee bit overzealous in their duties and rescinded the ticket.

Now, did they break the law? Yes they did. Should they have been fined? Probably not. Did FOX News need to drag Clementine and her father into an interview about a ticket they’re not going to have to pay? Erm, nothing else to report on FOX? Nothing… at all? There wasn’t ANYTHING else going on in the entire world more interesting than a dismissed ticket? Really?

My pain cries out to be noticed
but it’s voice is drowned in the
silence, of a thousand screaming
more, amidst the teeming masses
lying huddled on my floor.

And when the windows opened
the sunlight streaming in..
they run and hide, to brood
and grow, and again push back
the light, in the darkness
they rave and shout and
wreak madness on my floor.

I sit and stare, in wonder and
disgust at the horror on the floor
where pain and guilt chase anger about
and no-one can find the door. I know
that I can never rid my room, of what
has gone before, for in knowing that
as I sweep them up, and remember each
and every one, I would yet be adding to
the clutter of my floor.

Oran Canfield is self destructive, a junkie who despises himself, everyone around him, he will do anything to sabotage his happiness and he’ll spend several hundred pages proving it to you.

Born to (but not really raised by) activist neo-hippie genetic-material-donors (parents isn’t a word I’d use) his father leaves, on his mothers birthday, when Oran’s very young, stating he’s in love with someone else. His not-much-of-a-mother then spends the next decade or so foisting off her problem (raising a child/children she apparently doesn’t really want) on other people. Some whom she’s recently met. Circus schools run by Wavy Gravy. New age/experimental school where ‘field trips’ are shipping the students off to Mexico to work as indentured servants for several weeks.

Oran experiments with drugs and alcohol over the years, starting with getting drunk while at an experimental school at eight years of age when none of the staff stopped the child from swilling wine because this would be a ‘learning experience’ for him. He ends up the typical junkie lying to himself and everyone else about his addiction. Selling everything he owns, stealing from friends and roommates.

Oran going in and out of rehab multiple times never allowing himself to believe or accept the help offered. It’s all garbage as far as he’s concerned. In once circumstance he spends his entire rehab time shooting up in the bathroom and goes into withdrawal upon leaving rehab.

Over and over we’re witness to Oran shooting himself in the foot, blaming others for his problem, running and turning away from anyone who tries to care or help.

I kept looking for the ‘Great Tragedy’; The famous (or about to be famous) musician brought down by drugs. The politician who might have brought prosperity to the country. The doctor that could have cured cancer, etc. and it’s not here. Yes, losing oneself to addiction is a tragedy and I feel bad that he’s gone through it. I kept coming back to this one thought while reading this memoir: “Why should I care?”

Beth Lisick is quoted as saying about this book: “This is the kind of life story that begs to be told.” and I have to ask ‘Why?’ If I wanted to hear tales of addiction, self destruction and tragedy I could attend any AA meeting in the world. Lots of kids who went to the same schools as he were sent off to do manual labor, were picked on, were lonely, were failures with women/girls. Millions have had absentee, abusive or parents who just couldn’t be bothered to care. What makes Oran Canfield’s story so much more special than anyone else’s who’s had a hard life and made bad choices that I need to read a book about it?

His one claim to fame, other than having met some somewhat famous people such as Wavy Gravy and a nameless actor in rehab, is his father wrote ‘Chicken Soup for the Soul’. That’s not enough to make his story worth publishing over anyone else’s.

I’m giving this two stars, it deserves two and a half but that’s not an option. The writing isn’t bad. It flows well. It does use one literary vehicle that annoys me a great deal and that is jumping, chapter to chapter, from one time frame to another. Back and forth through the entire book. I much prefer a linear story and saw no reason why this couldn’t have been written that way.

In the end I just couldn’t bring myself to care about Oran or his problems. There wasn’t anything to make him special to me. He’s just one of millions who’s fallen and not been able to get back up again.

Grocery shopping today I once again found a container of Lays Stax covered in some type of syrup, goo or something else disgusting. I’d told them about this TWO months ago and it was still there, sticky, waiting… evil. I happened to see one of the managers as I was walking from the Deli and told him about it.

Heading off, yet again, to do my shopping I stopped in the cookie aisle picked up a pack of the creamé and wafer cookies. Being paranoid I checked the expiration date; MAY 15, 2009, yet again there’s three month old food on the shelf. I walked back across the store to find the manager as apparently both email and phone calls are ineffective in getting things taken care of. Brought him over to the shelf and we found several more expired packages. *sigh*

Once again I headed off to do my shopping. Being disabled I have a limited amount of time I can stand and walk before I’m ready to collapse. Walked into the aisle to pick up some canned beef gravy for one of our long time favorite family meals (Shells & Gravy with Meat) and there’s NOT ONE can of beef gravy on the shelf. No national brand. No store brand. Nada. There’s one can of ‘Brown’ gravy but I’ve never seen a ‘Brown’ out grazing in the field so I didn’t even consider it.

Disgusted I walked off figuring I’ll pick up something else to fill the menu spot. Get over to the Thomas’ bagel end-cap and there’s NOT ONE package of plain bagels on the shelf. I think the manager was shadowing me as the moment I swore, quite loudly, he was there asking what was wrong. I explained and said I was sick of not finding basic staples I’ve bought for years on the shelf.

After apologizing he said he was going to ‘make things right’ and walked off. A few minutes later I’m heading for the last couple things I need. Having had to backtrack several times I’m beat, soaked in sweat, dead tired. Both managers came hurrying up. “We just had a truck come in and we found the gravy you wanted. Is four enough?” he said as he put a bag of canned gravy in the cart “These are on the house, I’ll make sure the cashier knows not to charge you for them.” THEN the other manager hands me a $20 gift card “For your troubles… we’re really sorry you had such trouble today.” he said.

So I ended up walking out of the store with $115 worth of groceries, after coupons, store discount card and the $20 gift card I ended up spending $81. Saved me nearly $45.

Speak up people, be heard. Don’t accept poor service and disappointment. Bitch and be amazed what happens.

Last night I got out of the shower and could swear I heard water running. I checked under the bathroom sink. I knew the shower was off, I was just in there. I checked everywhere in the house. Finally I grabbed a flashlight and went outside. Turns out someone had come up from the sidewalk, who KNOWS when, and turned the faucet on wide open (this is on the East side of the house and has no hose). The side yard was a freaking waterfall, the sidewalk, 20 feet away, was under water. If that had run all night it would have cost us a fortune. I called the cops knowing there really wasn’t anything they could do and they promised to step up patrols in the area for a few days.