Neighborhood Update

Here is the news from our old neighborhood in St. Paul:
1. A pregnant lady got beaten and raped on the corner of 3rd and Earl, just 4 houses down from our old house.
2. two drug busts on our old neighbor's front lawn.
3. The crack house on the corner burned down.

It's really saddening, because they are trying to make that neighborhood a good place to live, but people there are desperate. They have no money, no real jobs, and it's a competitive city. You have to have your sh*t together to make it work. Even if you are a college grad, you have to hustle it. As Frank Sobotka from The Wire would say, "We used to make shit in this country, build shit. Now we just put our hand in the next guy's pocket."

Which is why there are problems in East Saint Paul. There is no industry anymore. The Ford plant just closed there. Where do these people go for jobs? Now they just rob other people, or as my neighbor Jeff does, make meth out of their kitchens and create a drug distribution channel, with traffic goin in and out all night. I have a previous post that touches on this guy's weirdness.

I feel lucky that we got out when we did, not to mention getting $175,000 for our tiny 960 sq. ft. house. And did it without a realtor. I think we missed the housing crash by a couple of months.

Milwaukee Neighborhood Update:

1. My former landlord, Mark, has put up a 4-sale sign in his front lawn, 3 weeks after we moved out. No one has rented his place, and he is way behind on his payments. Since my neighbor told me that the cops were there last week and she hasn't seen anyone, I wonder if the bank foreclosed on him. I also wonder if he listed the "meth-ready kitchen" as a bonus on the realtor's sell sheet.

As far as our new place, it rules. We have enough room here, without even using the sunroom in the back and the studio space upstairs. It feels like some sort of Bavarian castle. The fireplace is ready and begging to be used. Our landlady watches the Pack every Sunday and drinks Coors and shots of brandy while hollering at the t.v. She's in her late 60's. I will now call her Grandma Coors. Last week when the pack won she said, "I'm gonna have to fly my Packers flag out front, Old Glory is gonna have to take a backseat for awhile." I love Wisconsin.

UPDATE:

Since I have received 2 e-mails, a phone call, and an angry (perhaps rightfully so) anonymous post from someone who apparently knows me (by the way, if you are who I think you are - you didn't get the phone message?) I have re-thought my stance on the fact that the activity on my blog is sinking faster than Tommy Lasorda's libido. I will press on due to increasing pressure. I will only say this to all the people who have hollered at me in the past few days: you will be personally held responsible for my cocaine habit, as well as the ensuing bills from the various treatment programs I'll be in (on the upside, I will get to hang with Lindsey Lohan and Owen Wilson).

By the way, did I mention that my refrigerator caught fire last night? Can't I get at least one night of peace please?

What am I,
F#ck*ng Job from the Bible?

When do the locusts come? Will I have to make a midnight run to True Value for the bug bombs? gas masks? how about a flamethrower? I'm seriously thinking about calling The Wolf from Pulp Fiction to help me sort this out.

I haven't called my parents in over a week, I haven't talked to my buddy Voss on our birthday plans, even though I told him we'd talk on Sunday. It took me 5 days to cancel an insurance policy that cancelled itself. Jess and I had to share one car for a week, then I promptly had to drop $700 to get the other car out of the graveyard. I have to have some time to at least notify people of what's up, but I'm on more CPR jobs than Gage and Desoto from Emergency 51. If my refrigerator isn't on fire, than I'm unloading appliances in my basement, finding out which cardboard box has my toothbrush, bugging my old landlord for my deposit back (oh yeah, I'll have to make an appointment with my lawyer too), entertaining out-of-town friends, watching Isaac while Jessica hangs one of the FIVE art shows she's had since we moved, working on the ROOF LEAK, unclogging the kitchen sink, updating a web design for a freelance client. interviewing for A BIG design agency, finding a refrigerator, finding a bed for Isaac, figuring out where the gas leak is coming from, ARRRRRRGGGHHH.

Seriously, I know I have to push all these things back and call people, BUT MY REFRIGERATOR IS ON FIRE. How ridiculous is this situation? I will now light myself on fire and jump out the window.

Updates

So I have been working on a post for the past few days that basically says, "I told you Cleveland would spank New York," followed by about 5 paragraphs of supporting evidence along with reasons why Arizona and Colorado were even in the playoffs and why Joe Torre has lost his marbles. Then I realized that no one really cares, which brings me to:

update 2: We moved, we have been living out of boxes for two weeks, I unloaded a washer and dryer into the basement last week and my schedule is still thrown off. I'm living in a new house, I have a new job, I have been recruited for another new job, Jessica has a new job, she's had 5 shows since we moved here, we didn't have a car, then we did, now we have 2. Isaac being Isaac requires parlay time. Basically, our lives have been busier than ever before, which leads me to:

update 3: I might just pull the curtain on this blog thing. Seriously, I don't see where I'm going to fit the time in. Maybe when I settle into a nice routine, I might think about putting my time into it, but right now I can't even update my Netflix queue. Now how sad is that? Believe me, I would love nothing more than to write down all the thoughts I think are amusing (like how many times I listened to Jimmy Kimmel's podcast where he said he would put his cousin Sal in the back of his massage circle because he farts so much,) but reality dictates that I stick to my gravy job. If someone wanted to pay me to make semi-amusing comments about how much my butcher looks like Paul Rodriguez, I would definitely take them up on it. But seeing how I have a better chance of waking up to find that I was meeting George Clooney in the afternoon to swing the wrenches at our favorite course, I will continue to climb into my Oldsmobile and pimp myself to work.

Important stuff you'll still find. But I don't see a daily post going up here unless I discover cocaine.

The Agony of Defeat

This is an actual photo of the Brewer's bullpen


Here's a recap of what I wrote my buddy Voss the other day:

"?It took me a full day to write this, but a begrudging congratulations to you and the Cubs. It looks like the $500 trillion you guys spent in the off-season has allowed to withstand a complete collapse in the last 10 games. Unlike the Brew Crew, which had the Klement's Chorizo sausage out on the mound in the 8th inning to protect their 7-run lead over the Padres. WTF, man? Is all the Knackwurst and Miller High Life going to their heads?

By the way, didn't I tell you way back in May that Cordero was a chump? Listen to the Gang man. WE NEED A BULLPEN. I personally asked the owner of the Brewers to try to sign Dennis Eckersley to a 1-year, $19 million contract. Hell, the one-armed candle salesman that sports a captain's hat next door can do a better job at holding leads. I am going to the Milwaukee tryouts next year. At least I can go out to the mound with a look on my face that says "There's no F*cking way we're losing this game," unlike Turnbow, who constantly looks like he just pissed himself. Now we'll have to rely on all of the comforting sausage, cheese and beer sales in the offseason to make enough money to bring Lee Smith out of retirement. Great. Anyway, I can't wait to cheer on the Cubs, because after all, I am a midwestern guy, and my dad would have said "I don't give a damn if you do live in Milwaukee, I'm rooting for the Cubs." Well screw you, dad. And you're right somehow. I'll resurrect my dad and the ghost of the '84 Cubs and root them to the NLCS (remember, if the Cubs improbably finish off the D-backs, the Padres won't have a chance, unless Steve Garvey suits up again.... I'm just sayin')."

Whoops, looks like the Padres just lost. Enjoy Denver. No, really. Enjoy it. I'll be giggling like a 3-year old when Cleveland spanks New York and then escapes Boston with the ALCS. Then they'll destroy whatever team is coming from the national league. Don't say I didn't warn you.

open for business

I'm up and running.

10 days

I'm soooper busy this week. Work is hectic. I am not able to work on my design resource isea, or write down what's going on in the crack shack. I smelled something horrible this morning @ 2. They were cooking something, and it wasn't food. It made me kind of sick.

Will write and work on design resource when i get a minute or two. We move in 10 days.

Tis the Season to be a Carnie

There is something quietly disturbing about having a carnie shack up with you when the state fair summer season comes to an end. We found out that our "My Name is Earl" nightmare version of a landlord has a buddy that's a carnie. Oh, and he also happens to live upstairs with said nutty landlord, "faces of meth" girlfriend, and Tony. He also brought his girlfriend to live here, a very classy, sophisticated socialite by the name of Crystal. That's right folks, we have 5 people (and 27 hours of Jeff Foxworthy comedy material) living above us now.

I have started a countdown by writing the number of remaining days we have left in this house that should be placed in Hazzard County. Living here has now become the equivalent of the Waltons, if only Ma and Pa drank themselves to death and the kids promptly dropped 60 IQ points and installed a meth lab in their bath tub.

The carnie's name is Perry, and my wife counted no less than 8 people coming in and out of the house during the day (another 4 at night).

These people play loud music and party until about 5 AM, then promptly disappear until the afternoon, when they crank back up. Tony told me that they are rock stars, which explains the noise and the ability to be wired 24-7. It also explains why I mysteriously started calling our home "the crack shack" about a week ago. I guess I have a nose for these things, or maybe it was the numerous, mysterious 10-minute "runs" they would take, pulling all of the shades and locking the doors when they got back with their wadded up, 10-year old McDonald's bags. Also, we watched the girlfriend frantically wash her truck IN THE RAIN. It was almost as good as watching her trying TO DRY IT IN THE RAIN. Let me type that again. SHE TRIED TO DRY HER TRUCK IN THE RAIN. Not a mist, or a drizzle. A full-on rain. Maybe that's what tipped me off. Call me a pessimist, but I don't think you can ever completely dry a truck while it's still raining.

My landlord has a 12-year old son from a relationship with an old girlfriend, and she is getting married to some other guy. He was supposed to go to court because she wants full custody. In order to make the hearing an easy choice for the judge (and to avoid paying child support), he gets wasted before he goes to court, and promptly gets put in a holding cell until the evening because he's all f*cked up. My guess is that she has full custody now.

Perry and his girlfriend Crystal got in a huge fight and she stole my landlord's motorcycle this morning and rode to a bus station, where she ditched the bike and hopped the first bus going to Phoenix.

There is also now a dog living upstairs. That was just today. Can't wait for tomorrow.