Homeless - 38

Trick or Treat, fellow ghouls, goblins, witches, sorcerers, Jedi knights,

It is the time for the changing of the seasons. The sun, which used to be a blistering adversary to contend with, is now our treasured ally especially in the early morning hours, helping to get the vital juices circulating within my young supple body. The paths of the moon and sun across the sky have changed due to an alteration in the planetary tilt which is a handy thing to know when you are trying to locate a shady spot in a part of town that has depressingly few trees. I know of a pool that has plenty of shade but the lowered temperatures exclude that option for the foreseeable future.

Halloween used to be a good time to live in a apartment complex - chance to revisit with neighbors made during the summer and make new pool friends. During that night I would prop the door open and have the TV tuned to a Halloween themed movie (,screams, blood, body parts everywhere). All the little munchkins would come by dressed in their costumes yelling 'Trick or Treat!' and I would chunk a handful of candy in each of their bags and I would offer the accompanying adult(s) a can of beer and/or a shot of whiskey which was taken more often that not. Of course, I was imbibing myself and wearing a gorilla mask or some silly clip on thingy over my head. Any candy left over would be taken to the office the next business day where the last vestige would be obliterated by the adult humans... or those life forms masquerading as such. That hasn't happened in the last few years due to, in my opinion, child predation and lack of community responsibility. These days, kids have to look over their shoulder for unsavory characters that may be following and use a Star Trek tricorder to assay their haul for the night to check for any toxic ingredients. Ahhh, the good ol' days when all we carried was a sawed off 12 gauge pump for the occasional night critter...sigh.

You probably wondering about my shoe situation since the last time that subject was available for discussion was some time ago and the weather is a bit cooler these days. If you recall, I was down to one pair, the ones that I used in that week long manual labor project. They were recalling better days and so was I, due to the noticeable lack of 'new shoe' aroma. Some things even a cedar shoe horn can't stop. I saw an ad in the paper by a bank that if you opened an account with them you'd receive a sizable gift certificate to a sporting goods store. So I rolled the dice, opened an account to receive the certificate, went to the specified store and, lo and behold, they had my size and my usual brand; the only pair left - I got lucky. The old pair are now taking a break in a garage in North Dallas and I'm hoping that they can be returned to service without the ...unpleasant attributes that they have acquired in their long and loyal tenure. They should feel fortunate that they have a second chance, unlike a previous pair that came to a undeserved and ghastly end.

Let's talk about gas; no, silly, I'm talking about fuel for the truck. I've heard of people's experiences with cheap fuel and the deleterious effects it had on their vehicles but never had to contend with that myself since I was a loyal customer to a brand at the time. Since the fuel budget has somewhat tightened recently, I've been fueling BT at a place that sells gas that is usually a dime per gallon cheaper. My point-of-view was that fuel was fuel; that the only difference was the additives that were mixed in by the oil companies to better serve their customer's needs and, hopefully, establish a long and lasting relationship that encouraged repeat business. It seems that I was wrong about that, too. Over the past 4 weeks, I noticed that BT didn't quite start up per her usual norm. In the past, a half-second turn of the ignition and the engine was deeply purring with the promise of barely restrained power and the rest of the vehicle deploying like the Batmobile - sensors and offensive/defensive systems online and tracking, probing the environment for threats, seeking targets to lock on to and...never mind. But lately,she has been sluggish to start, not unlike me on a recent chilly morning. I was thinking, Great, I need a new starter. However, the past 12 - 15 gallons of fuel that were used came form one of the top 4 fuel companies since the price per gallon was less than a couple of pennies difference. This past weekend we had the opportunity to help move a washer/dryer to a location nearly 30 miles distant. On the return trip while entering the freeway system, I thought what the hell, it's been a while since I let BT rampage and punched it. I checked the aft sensor sensor array (right rear view mirror) for any pursuing hostile alien deep space heavy fights (cops) on my six and I saw a puff of smoke spew from BT's exhaust system but she was accelerating without any engine components making noise or falling off and there were no flashing alarms in the cockpit....errr, instrument panel. I thought, hmmm. A few miles down the road, I got off at an exit and got back on the expressway, again an ebon blur screaming at full throttle. This time, no cloud of foulness obscuring the rear 180 degree field of vision. Since then, her start up behavior has returned to normal. At 4:53 AM this past Wednesday, after a satisfying ignition sequence, her on board offensive systems came online instantly, located and locked on to a cat crossing the parking lot. Fortunately, I was able to disengage the autonomous fire control authorization protocols and the unsuspecting feline survived without losing one of its' lives So I guess the lessons here are: a) don't put any cheapness in your fuel tank and b) every now and then, ride like the wind. Remember, it's not just your transport, it's also your home.

And talking of another lucky break. Late last week, while visiting a grocery store for coffee and doughnut, I spotted a card in the parking lot; it was a Target Gift card that was a bit scuffed up and I started to return it to its' resting place but there was a tremble in the Force and I kept it.Target sells a large 2 lb. jar of dry roasted peanuts for $5 and this is a handy staple to have around if your food budget had undergone a recent reduction also. A handful at mid-morning, maybe an oat and honey granola bar for a late lunch and another handful of peanuts around dusk, with a Dr. Pepper to wash it down, and you're good for the day without spending a cent. Anyway, I was out of that manna and had planned to replenish regardless of the content of the gift card; hell, even a few cents would have been welcome. As it turned out, there was over $4 on the card. I made the purchase, thanked the spirit of the universe for the gift and entered the peanuts into the inventory of BT's on board food locker.

In my reading, I've come across of more than one news item regarding the enviable plights of some young notables in the entertainment industry; of how they're screwing up, that they are going to burn in hell, that the fate of this very planet hinges upon their well-being, etc. I haven't read one word of about what you are...about to read but it is not be taken as an excuse for their behavior; rather an attempt to perspectize things. Consider the following...

1) They are filthy rich, so loaded with money that they could buy an Amazonian pygmy to light up their bong hits with a $100 bill. They could buy a case of high-end beer, drink a bottle and throw the rest of the case away, etc. And they are still making more money in a month than you and I could possibly make in a couple of decades. Hell, their dawgs eat better than a lot of humans. Finances are how a lot of people measure success.

2) Consider the industry and the environment they're in. They're idolized by millions who are blinded by the glitter and lifestyle, material possessions and fame. They can do no wrong. If you don't think that affects the evolving sense of self and maturation in those idols, I have some prime land on Pluto that I will sell you cheap right now.

3) They are young and their decision making processes may not appear straight forward to the rest of us who are not as rich or famous. So they like to party just as many people do at that age. Let's see...experimenting with drugs, consuming massive quantities of alcohol, going without knickers, shaving their heads, making poor decisions, dancing the night away, passing out in vehicles, puking their young guts out, hanging with the wrong crowd, forays into the sexual arena...yep, been there, done that (not the head shaving thingy) and so have many, many other people who turn out OK later. As they mature, they will realize that some of those elements are not necessary and/or satisfying and delete them from their lives. I believe that is called growing up.

4) And lastly, they are being forced into rehab. The above three items are par for the course considering the current infrastructure of their lives but this item is the one that really triggers my aggression circuits to battle stations. As I said before, they are young, impressionable and malleable and it seems to me that they are being coerced into this alternative. Given enough time (and they have the money), they would probably grow out of the need to express themselves in such a destructive manner and discover other ways to share themselves in more positive, more satisfying life-affirming expressions. My one serious transgression involving municipal authorities (1988) was doing 55 mph in a 40 mph speed zone at 3 AM while appreciably hammered to which I was the proud recipient of a court mandated participation in a 4 week rehab Monday thru Thursday, 6 PM - 10 PM, with a required attendance of an AA meeting on Friday, Saturday and Sunday. And, of course, I had to pay for the rehab - after all, it's the American way. I was grouped in that rehab with, to name a few; a guy who was abusive toward women drunk or sober, a guy who had a fondness for getting drunk and raping women, a woman who had inclinations for sexually abusing young boys under the influence, a guy who continually attempted to transform the relationship with his sister to one of a romantic nature (booze was not a factor) and last but not least, a guy that was sleeping with another guy who supplied him with 'heeavy' drugs and then killed his supplier when he found out that his supplier enjoyed other similar relationships. And there I was, Snow White, blinking wide eyed innocence in the corner within a room full of wolves unwilling to subscribe to their interpretation of me, that I was sick and needed help. I was originally scheduled for a 4 week 'readjustment' but due to my charming personality, sense of humor, good looks and unwillingness to say that I was sick and needed help, I had the august honor of spending an additional 3 weeks in that nurturing environment which ended with me still unwilling to say that I was sick and needed help. Looking back, it would've been prudent of them to check me for weapons at each meeting - could've saved some tax payers' money and possible future victims. Maybe they changed but I don't know. I'm of the mind that people don't change unless deep within their heart and within the privacy of their thoughts, they would rather die than to continue to live they way they are living, thinking and behaving; not just from an intellectual basis but an emotional one as well. Perhaps now you can see how the comment about the 'aggression circuits' was birthed. Before you successful rehabers come for me with torches and pitchforks, I'm not saying rehab is a bad thing; it can be beneficial if the individual arrives at that conclusion unaided, without being pressured or manipulated. Hmmmm...maybe their rehab environment is a bit more upscale than mine was...with chair massages twice a day and pedicure. Oh, well.

I neglected to mention the hitchhiking grasshopper I picked somewhere along the way back from the washer/dryer relocation. He/she/it was latched on to the passenger side windshield wiper, facing forward and maintained that position the entire journey despite the skin shredding velocities and the exoskeleton shattering G forces that had to be the ride of its' life. It maintained that position even as I went to sleep that night, no doubt serving as a temporary guardian of honor to keep me from harm lest any foul, despicable evil should strike in the cool, still darkness. It was gone in the morning when I awoke before the dawn. It had probably travelled further than any of its kin, leaving the comfort and safety of hearth and home to explore, to see what was beyond the next horizon, to experience new vistas of knowledge and wonder. Abandoning forever everything and everyone, armed only with a thirst for discovery, its' own audacity and determination, it struck out in the ultimate adventure knowing that at the end its' journey, the greatest predator of all would be waiting to welcome it, and that it would die alone...so far from home.

Do not ask how that makes me feel or I will be coming for you.

Have a pleasant evening,
David

Note to the DEA:
The phrases 'experimenting with drugs' and 'bong hit' were merely contextual embellishments with absolutely no credible foundation in the experience of myself, anyone I knew, currently know or will know in my remaining time on this planet.

Note to the Highway Patrol:
I probably overstated the 'Warp 80+' comment. I was merely keeping pace with the traffic around me. The 'ride like wind' comment was not an encouragement to disregard legal mandates regarding speed; merely, to enjoy the road touring experience within socially sanctioned boundaries of safety and fuel conservation.