Got an email notice from Zillow about an apartment I was looking at in North Fremont last December. It’s available soon. I know enough about the city now to know I would have done fine there. Not as well as I’m doing here but that’s why I made the extra effort. Continue reading Zillow
Category Archives: Rants
Get Off Our Lawn
The Memphis Zoo is run by the Memphis Zoological Society. Established in the early 1900s, they are a private, for-profit association that started with humble concrete cages. In 1986, the Zoo came up with a plan to expand. Since then, the amount of party space the zoo provides has increased exponentially while adding a dozen or so major exhibits. One HUGE problem – they don’t have enough parking to accommodate this long-term master plan. I love the Memphis Zoo and have spent years there as a patron and volunteer. I saw this picture of the new zoo parking solution in Overton Park and it makes me sick.
The Greensward is the only truly open, grassy area available to the public in Overton Park. The old forest trails are more valuable than anything in that area. That doesn’t mean we should sacrifice the iconic grassy lea at the center of Overton Park. Everything else is golf course, art stuff and the Levitt Shell. The east side of the park has the pavilion but losing the greensward and Rainbow Lake limits options for enjoying the park in general. The amount of space left for team sports, recreation and relaxation is a fraction of what we had a couple years ago. Let them keep parking there now and that’s where they’ll build the parking garage in the future.
The Zoo gets paid for every car that passes through their gates. Currently, $5 per car. They should at least raise the price of parking to $20 a car and see how many people choose to walk less than a mile from the free street parking just outside the park grounds. What about the brand new garage in Overton Square? Make the the garage free and charge for the shuttle to the zoo. It would boost the Square economy and account for the overflow parking. Or see if Rhodes wants to go halfsies on a North Side Parking Project? I’m sure they need more parking too and Snowden school hardly uses that big patch of grass they call a field.
Parental Control
When a child reaches 18 years old and expresses a desire to strike out on their own, the proper response is pride. Continue reading Parental Control
I Am Not My Hair
I almost forgot. The most important discovery I’ve made since arriving in the Pacific Northwest. Further proof that everywhere is pretty much the same… Continue reading I Am Not My Hair
Three, Some…
Last night, I was propositioned by a couple. It started with a blonde woman sporting bottomless cleavage sidling up to me at the bar. I’d seen her come in behind an aging frat boy in a backwards baseball cap. Her guy took up a post on the opposite end of the bar. Slurring from the start, she opens with a diatribe about how she is much smarter than she seems. I smile and nod. To further convince me, she describes specific aspects of her appearance and assumptions people make because of it. I listen with sincerity, knowing all too well the plight of being pretty with big breasts. Continue reading Three, Some…
#punklife
“Where can I find a good punk scene?” she asks.
“What exactly is it you think punk is?” I reply to the adorable pixie-girl with a purple mohawk. She giggles and admits she doesn’t know. It’s surprising how often I hear beautiful young people complain that the punk scene is just not what it used to be. There’s a subculture of post-punk children that are brainwashed to think they have come too late to be involved in a real punk scene. They shave their heads, sew patches on their denim and pay too much money to see old guys play music that only mimics days long passed. How can they be nostalgic for something that’s literally right in front of them?
The core of punk is less a music genre and more a way of life. The music ranges across a vast spectrum of styles but there’s a consistent energy almost bordering on angst in every group. Something soulful and genuine that can’t be cultivated – only unearthed. The best way to maintain legit punk status is to continually not care what other people think of you and your art. That’s exceptionally hard to do, especially in today’s instant-gratification social mediaverse. And the irony is once you’ve discovered what it is to be punk, the meaning changes again. It’s a concept that never stops moving because it’s so close to the beating heart of society.
The calling card of any healthy punk scene is having fun on stage. But that is a temporary part of the underground whole. There are very few days of glory for someone living a truly punk lifestyle. Most days involve working for someone you don’t respect and complaining about things you can’t change. The monotony of everyday life washes up against you like waves on a beach until you’re so fed up you can’t hold it in anymore. That’s when the artistic element of punk emerges, raw and gasping from underneath the cruel nihilism of entropy.
From the Dugout
I’m technically a smoker. However, I detest cigarettes. A few times a day I excuse myself, step outside and take a couple hits off my bat. Just one inhale, sometimes two out of a small pipe that resembles a cigarette. A wafting smell of something that’s not tobacco and I step back inside. Usually this is 25 feet away from an entrance or on mostly private property but sometimes I’m just walking down the street. No one notices or cares. Just another smoker on the street. When I pull out a blown glass pipe in the same situation, the entire tone changes. Stares, whispers, attention.
The paraphernalia carries a connotation – you know, the doing drugs kind. I transform from a smoker into a junkie. Okay, not quite as extreme as that but what if I change the venue to a public park? The movement for medical marijuana has foundations in children’s medicine while smoking pot next to a playground is illegal? Marijuana is supposed to be available to anyone 21+ and yet holistic medicinal applications are forgotten in the gleeful rush of recreational use.
I understand the desire to protect children from scenes of unfettered drug use and debauchery but that’s not the situation we’re talking about. The difference is in the user, not the substance. I choose to smoke because that’s what works for me. All I ask is the freedom to inhale with the same impunity as cigarette smokers. That’s what I already do with my stealth method. I’d rather be able to use a pipe because it’s easier on my throat. That shouldn’t be too much for the general public to swallow.
Cost of Living
The most poignant parts of my life happened in books. Every time I discover something great it’s with a fictional companion. Not a wonder I feel destined to write a story. In the meantime, I’m working on telling my stories out loud. I’m the Jane Austen character that wishes she was Jane Austen, not believing in myself is part of the magic. That ability to zone out and take apart the world around me. Not caring what people think and simply continuing on my mission.
I feel freer now than I ever have. The problem is it hurts to breathe. I’m not wanting for anything except more time to process things. Constant sources of entertainment and new experiences. Potential to start over in career paths I once loved. Living in denial this long is a bit like leaving a cult (or a bunker). The cost of living in my previous life was so infinitely higher than here. Shifts in resources have been dramatic to say the least but the difference is truly the human resources.
Some family networks are too large to fail. Fortunately, I found a great divestment option that only costs me biological children. A prodigal soul made better by the journey, regardless of results. I come from a fertile bunch and resisting the call of motherhood was never an easy decision. My only problem is sapiosexuality doesn’t promote good genetics. I’m not a physical specimen that should get replicated. That said, I’m pretty sure I gave birth to a religion recently, so I might live up to my original namesake.
Smoking Pot
I had a job interview today. It went like all the other job interviews I’ve ever had. Smile, make a good impression, get offered the job. Difference this time is I didn’t use a stage whisper when I asked about the drug test. After all, weed is legal here so I don’t have to lie about using it. I was very clear when asking if that was going to be a problem. I don’t consider it a problem no matter their response. Continue reading Smoking Pot