Perhaps I will write about it one day. Won’t be around for a few days while I get my head straight. Love ya guys and talk to you soon.
Tagged politics, obviously.
Here in my town last year, a city council member got all racist and birther with a news reporter. I wrote about it once before.
It seems that an important decision was before the city council. One that was newsworthy. A reporter for a local tv station, who happened to be a black woman, was doing her job as a reporter and calling the city council members to get their opinion and anything else they might have to say about this apparently important issue. Most gave a no comment or an innocuous non-statement. One, however, got pissy.
Why did SHE want to know? Was SHE going to vote? No, obviously. It was a vote before the city council. Was she even American? Should we send her back to Kenya with Obama? Et cetera.
So it all blew up and then he pretended he didn’t know she was black. This lady is a TELEVISION reporter for the local news. She appears on local tv every evening. Yet this guy didn’t know she was black.
Whatever, dude. We here in South Dakota might be rural. We might be simple in the Lynard Skynard “Simple Man” context, but we ain’t idiots.
No one would suggest a person go back to Africa UNLESS they knew they were black. I mean, come on.
So the reporter lady was a bit miffed. Rightfully so. She complained to the mayor and an investigation was launched. The dipshit in question eventually “apologized” but in the most unapologetic way ever. It was an unapology, sort of “I didn’t do anything wrong, but since everybody’s mad, yeah, I guess I’m sorry”.
That shit wasn’t good enough for a lot of us. Some politically active person started a recall petition so that we can put this clown’s ass up to a vote and I got in my car and actually drove down to sign it.
I have never done that with a petition before. I always sign petitions, too. I figure, let’s vote on it! no matter what it is. But I only sign them when I run into them….at the library getting books, at the courthouse paying fines, at the strip mall buying beer.
This time, though, I went to THEM.
They were sitting in a circle in a corner of Black Hills Bagels. They were all surprisingly old. I looked around when I entered and they noticed me looking around. I made the pen sign with my hand….”Check, please!”
They all nodded.
I went over. Immediately, the youngest woman in the circle, who was about 85, poked a big fancy microphone in my face. She was from NPR. Would I care to share why I was signing the petition?
“Because I thought those were racist comments and I don’t want a racist on my city council,” I said.
They all nodded and smiled.
So I signed the petition, wished them luck, and went up to the counter and got a giant pizza bagel.
It was fucking excellent.
So my neighbor, who was outside smoking a cigarette and who seemed a bit drunk, just apologized to me about “All the loud sex” he just had.
I have never talked to this guy before.
“No, it was great,” I told him. “I practically sprained my wrist jacking off with my ear pressed to the wall.”
He chuckled nervously and went back inside.
So I have internet through this company, see? And I recently moved…but in the same building. It wasn’t so much of a move as a shift.
I shifted, like a tranny.
And after I got everything settled and got my computer squared away in the corner, I decided, what the hell, let’s hook up the internet just to see.
BOOM! I had internet. In a matter of minutes I was posting drivel to Tumblr and spanking it to porn.
The problem was I didn’t have internet, the guy who lived here before me did. I didn’t know this nor even care. Today, though, reality set in. I was out walking my dog and there was an internet company van in the alley. My dog took a shit right next to it, in fact. After we were done with our walk, BOOM! I had no internet.
So I called up the company and in a few hours they sent out a dude who, after looking at all the special internet wires, became confused.
“Apartment A had a disconnect order today. That’s what happened. The guy who lived there moved out. But you’re saying you live in A?”
“But we have you down as living in B. A transfer would be $35. Are you sure you didn’t just move?”
“Oh, no. I’ve always lived in A. There must be some confusion.”
“I am only able to live in apartments denominated by A or 1, due to Inflated Ego Disorder (IED). I’ve prescribed myself Budweiser and am muddling though. Any prayers are welcome”
“Well, Mr. Kindt. The company has you down as living in apartment B for two years now. You probably didn’t know since you receive your mail via PO box. I’ll fix the error and get you back online in a jiff.”
“Thanks a million.”
BOOM! 35 bucks saved.
Just to watch him die.
Actually he had a butcher knife and threw a brick through the library’s window after being kicked out.
The drunkest people in my town can be found at the library. That’s why I stopped going there. No one likes to be around a bunch of drunks. I’m a drunk and even I don’t like it.
I used to go there to write and be disappointed in the selection of books, but not anymore.
Plus, I still owe them four bucks.
A ChiPit, which is a chihuahua/pitbull mix.
I have seen pictures of him on two different handheld devices and he is strikingly cute. Soon he will be here for a trial run, wherein we hang out together for the day and see if we like each other.
I was quite surprised that there was such a thing as a chihuahua/pitbull mix. It makes me wonder: are there St. Bernard/chihuahua mixes? Would they be called San Bernardos?
They most certainly should.
His current name is “Marley”, which is unacceptable. People in their 20s who smoke a lot of pot and don’t really listen to Bob Marley name their pets this. They might have Bob Marley on a t-shirt and they might even stink of patchouli, but I’m not fooled. Posers!
I may or may not be adopting this dog simply to change his name, the poor little bastard. I won’t alter it too much. Probably, I’ll just call him Barley since I’m a vegetarian.
Mob Barley: the little tiny dog from a friend of a friend.
Today, I had my greatest challenge yet with the whole walking 3 miles everyday thing.
Blizzard. Pronounced in French: Bliz-ZARD.
Wind. Freezing wind, lots of snow. In fact, this is what it looked like out on the highway yesterday afternoon:
No travel advised, but I traveled nonetheless, being all man. There is a romance to the cold and snow that I think I mentioned on here before. The bundling up, the layers, the getting ready. It’s a damn event, just going outside. I like that for some reason. Love it, in fact.
And I was ready. I have lived in this weather my whole life. I can drive around expertly in a tiny Corolla, even in a foot of snow.
I had on 3 pairs of socks. My boots, of course. I don’t do longjohns, so I had a pair of pajama bottoms under my jeans. I wore a t-shirt, a flannel, a hoodie, and my coat. Big-ass mittens. Toasty stocking cap.
And out I went. At first I listened to the wind, noting echoes off the sky. Well, off the low cloud cover. Something would bang clear over where they keep all the industrial shit and it would bounce off the clouds and come back to me, sounding like it was just around the corner. Even though I was outside, all the snow and the low clouds made everything seem really close, like I was inside in a way.
Then I put my earbuds in and listened to country music radio. Oldies mixed with newies. I hate the newies mostly, but the oldies make up for it: Waylon and Willie and me. There is one newie I have taken a liking to, a dark, dismal song by someone called Kacey Musgraves. Or K.C Musgraves. Or Casey Musgraves. I’m not sure. You can bet your sweet ass I’ll be looking for it, though. I haven’t heard a brilliant modern country song since Friends In Low Places and that’s now an oldie.
Using the calculator on your phone, you can probably figure out that I’m really fucking old by my above statement. I just walked three miles in a blizzard, though. What did you do?
Once they put on Toby Keith, I shut off the country station because I fucking hate him and found a pop radio station geared toward women. Which was very new to me. “What girls like!” they say in promos. SHE ONE OH SOMETHING. Even their weather forecast was called “The She Cast”. I shit you not.
The music was atrocious. Computerized pop love songs. Harlequin Romances of songs, with a lot of buzzes and beeps and thumps and chirps, due to the computer generation and lack of musical instruments. Good god it was horrible. I was thinking: I don’t know any women like this! then looked up to the low cloud cover and gave thanks to God Almighty.
No one was out. Saturday morning and blizzard conditions. All I saw were blades clearing roads. Also, Christmas decorations.
Still? Really? It’s the fucking 12th.
Why do I always feel compelled to go out in them? Whenever NO TRAVEL is advised I’m all “I need asparagus!” and start cleaning off my car.
Today, though, I think I will stay in, even though I have no asparagus. I am curled up on the couch watching Mythbusters and drinking Lapsang Souchong, which is the best blizzard tea. When I get hungry, I will eat soup—without asparagus.
It was a trip to the store like any other. I had my list, my money, my bag. Mainly I was after big portobello mushroom caps. In my world, these are “burgers”. I tear off the thick stem and fry the cap up. I dice the stem and some onion up and sautee. I put this on top of the “burger” and melt cheese over the whole mess. Ker-pow! vegetarian burgers. Try adding a few drops of liquid smoke to the stem and onion concoction while you’re sauteeing.
So I needed whole wheat buns and cheese and an onion and of course the caps. I get the buns first and then hold up the caps next to them so I have a perfect fit. I needed a few other things: black beans, lentils, jasmine rice. And oregano.
This was, like, a week ago.
I had my own little jar for the oregano. At the co-op where I shop, I buy in bulk, thus most of my containers are constantly being reused. I haven’t bought an actual “bottle” of olive oil since 2010.
“I can’t believe how much of a hippie you’ve become,” my son said over Christmas when I scolded him and told him to take his beer bottle out of the garbage and put it in the recycling bin. I thought about going to my closet and bringing out my shotgun to show him that I still have a little cowboy in me yet, but decided against it. By the way, I am a member of the H.W.G, Hippies With Guns. We’re a small, very stoned, special interest group. We never go marching because we’re always on the couch watching Cartoon Network.
So I got home and unpacked everything and no oregano. “Didn’t I buy some oregano?” I asked my cat, scratching my head. She was standing in the kitchen with me, hoping it was time to eat. She is always hoping it’s time to eat. After she eats, she’s like “Man, I can’t wait to eat again!” That’s her whole life. Well, that and naps.
I called the co-op and it wasn’t left there. I searched the car but didn’t find it. I scrutinized my receipt and, yes, sure enough, I bought some oregano.
I didn’t think much of it after that. God does have a sense of humor after all. I mean, look at the giraffe, for fuck’s sake.
Tonight, though—right now, in fact—I am in the middle of making a tomato sauce and WHERE IN THE HELL IS MY OREGANO?