Tuesday, April 15, 2014

Harry Rickshaw Reid

Chinese businessmen ask for Harry rickshaw Reid for Real Estate Opportunity Tours of Nevada and beyond.

Monday, April 14, 2014

Harry Realtor

Sunday, April 13, 2014

Harry Reid And The Communist Chinese Nevada Land Grab

This is typical. The mainstream media paints a picture to convey a narrative that they hope will cover up what's really going on behind the scene. Sadly for these liars, deception is not a cinch like in the old days.

Big network media and government want everybody's gun because they assert we can save all the little children if we do so. But the reality after watching the standoff at the Bundy Ranch in Nevada with the BLM is, these federal goons are composed mostly of cowards who only wish to bully Americans. When confronted by an armed populace these filthy pieces of trash turn tail and run like a pack of dogs.

The networks also claimed the BLM was only interested in saving some turtles. But that was a line of crap. The truth came out on infowars.com the Harry Reid has been colluding with the communist Chinese to steal land from a Nevadan and give it to the Chinese to build a solar plant. As soon as the truth began to emerge, not on network television till this juncture but over the internet, the BLM decided to stand down and return Mr. Bundy's cattle.

But that isn't going to satisfy me. I want those BLM goons and their bosses rounded up for prosecution. In addition Harry Reid must be driven out of the Senate. He needs to resign immediately and if he know what's good for him he'll flee the republic. Put it this way. After this treason by Harry Reid conspiring with the Communist Chinese to steal an American's land, if the people of that state are stupid enough to return the scum to the Senate then they are a doomed tribe of fluoridated zombies.

Saturday, April 12, 2014

Castro And The Bundy Ranch

Yes I'm really pissed off about the BLM stealing the Bundy Ranch in Nevada. If you know me there is no hypocrisy in my anger and here's why. The Bundy family, like the Estrada-Palma family put their labor building an infrastructure necessary to have a cattle ranch. Things like fences and water systems and such. Some of you know that I'm a Georgist and favor a land location value systems to fund society which eliminates urban land hording.

However, out west on the ranges the cattle ranchers are the only people struggling to run a cattle business there. Most of us are content to live in the more populated urban areas where the greatest amount of valuable property in horded then sold later for a fortune. That's bad because every parcel of urban land that is horded is not being put into use creating wealth or storing it in a dwelling for the owner. Wealth creation is therefore block on this horded property, the taxpayer enforces this stupid economic policy and I damn sure don't like it.

Now the Bundy situation is quite different in several ways. Firstly, nobody is rushing to the Nevada range lands to create some wealth. Mr. Bundy and his family did this over a hundred years ago building the infrastructure that makes it possible for his family to create enough wealth to live and provide beef in the marketplace for us to eat. He is willing to pay the state of Nevada for the grazing rights but I part slightly from this thinking procedurally. That's because I feel the highest most powerful level of government, the local government, should collect the land location value taxes and keep most of the money to run local needs. Part of the site value tax would be sent to the state government and a portion to fund the federal government. Anything and everything resulting from labor like income would be tax free under the Georgist anti slavery model.

Instead we are witnessing the implementation of the Fidel Castro economic plan. That's where a gang of armed men ride onto your ranch, steal it and take all your cattle. If you're smart like some of my family was you shut up and dealt with it because it's too late by that point. If even smarter you got the hell out of Cuba and went to a free country like America like my immediate family did before I was born in Miami. The fool hearty Cubans though who protested the stealing of their property like the young teenaged boy who dare inquired of Che, that lovely face which adorned so many future victims of his thinking, as to why his family farm was being taken? Che immediately drew his pistol and shot the boy in the head murdering him on the spot.

You think this won't happen in American then you are a dumb ass because it's already here. Those stupid assed BLM goons aiding in the criminal seizure of the Bundy Ranch are so dumb they don't even realized their property is as good as gone too and it will be stolen from them when they are old when they need their property the most. In this, their fate is well deserved and the cancer virus' their loving bosses dose them with will go part of the way in paying these unamerican snakes back for their steroid fogged brains' bad behavior.

Friday, April 11, 2014

Feds Are Destroying Water Infrastructure Out West

The Federal government has become a criminal gang that uses the same tactics of Joseph Stalin in the Ukraine. Today's Ukraining of America has the Bureau of Land Management using classic Stalinist tactics to drive the people off of their land such as destroying the water infrastructure that the people built themselves generations ago and maintain and improve until this very day. These American commissar must be put in prison or we're as good as the Ukraine.

Thursday, April 03, 2014

Bliss Nancy Pelosi!

My baloney has a first name.

It's N A N C Y.

My baloney has a second name.

It's P E L O S I.

And if you ask me why I'll say.

Pelosi's stupid everyday.

Cause she's simply got a way, to say something stupid everyday.

Friday, March 28, 2014

That Turkish False Flag Attempt

I'm really disgusted with these false flag attacks. There have been so many false flag attacks going back to the sinking of the Maine and before that as well, it's getting harder and harder to keep up with them all. I heard about Turkey taking down Twitter and YouTube as part of the mainstream media background white noise campaign to hide crimes in broad daylight. Hell it worked too for about a day until the Internet caught up with the media-lies-by-omission.

Apparently Turkish military bigwigs were caught on tape planning an attack to kill their own troops then blame Syria. To cover up this treason the Turkish Prime Minister thought he'd take down social media sites. The Prime Minister never heard about the Streisand Effect.

Let's help the Prime Minister feel Bab's pain. Tell everyone you know that the Turks have been caught planning a false flag attack against Syria that would include Turkish troops being murdered. But don't feel smug wherever  you are. All the big government scum do these false flag attacks then get away with it using total control over mainstream media. When the media universally blacks out all coverage of false flag attacks they don't exist in the minds of the general public. Even when an attack is admitted like the Gulf of Tonkin to be a fake attack that never happened it is memory holed by the fluoridated public. The 50,000 dead G.I.s and million or so Vietnamese as well have been long forgotten like the lie.

Russia does it. So does America. Hell the Romans did it and the British perfected it. The false flag attack has been the most effective tool of tyrants to sucker peaceful people into war. Here they are defined:

Third Degree False Flag Attack - This is an attack that never actually occurs and can be summed up by the movie "Wag The Dog." In the modern world, Gulf of Tonkin type attacks are staged completely over the media and never actually occur.

Second Degree False Flag Attack - Stand down and allow an enemy attack to go forward as was the case with Pearl Harbor and Benghazi.

First Degree False Flag Attack - This is an attack by a government on their own people or troops that is blamed on an enemy. The 9/11/01 attack is a classic example of a First Degree False Flag Attack and thus far the most successful. Even today there are still enough duped people that the 9/11 traitors roam freely among us.

The point of these definitions is to focus on the basic fact that some of our protectors are the real killers. As long as they continue to get away with it they will continue to do false flag attacks. Hang the ring leaders and these treason's will be much less likely to occur in the future.

Won't you...help hang...a false flag traitor...today?

Wednesday, March 26, 2014

Follows Karl, Not Groucho Marx

Sunday, March 23, 2014

Malaysia Flight MH370 Last Known Position

Monday, March 10, 2014

Mea Culpa Bob Costas

Saturday, March 08, 2014

Who's Bad Enough and who Bores Us?

Monday, March 03, 2014

Angela Merkel

Friday, February 28, 2014

New Ukrainian Prime Minister

Wednesday, February 26, 2014



Monday, February 24, 2014

Piers Morgan's New Job

Sunday, February 23, 2014

Petty Crime Dog De Blasio

Sunday, February 16, 2014

Eric "Caught Red Handed" Holder

Four Generations - One Roof

Actually if you count the RV there were two roofs. Every morning I woke up I brought mom her expresso. Then I’d get her some breakfast before Tiree left for work leaving me to look after Kylie. So I’m not working but I’m busier than ever. Mom was approaching ninety-two and couldn’t do much for herself and Kylie couldn’t do anything for herself. For example mom couldn’t lift her hands above her head. This didn’t present a problem in the winter as much. I put a couple of space heaters in the RV that would come on automatically when the temperature dropped. But as the weather turned warmer I discovered mom could not work the roof top A/C controls. She couldn’t reach her hands that high. So this meant in the cool early morning hours she was fine but as the temperature climbed I had to remember to turn the air conditioner on so mom wouldn’t get too hot. Then in the evening I’d need to turn it down or off depending of the weather. This wasn’t going to work and with all the other things I had to do I was afraid I’d get busy and lose track of mom. I got a couple of air conditioners that had electronic controls that mom could work herself if she needed to turn up the A/C or shut it down when she got cold.

It was strange having mom living with us and I’d never expected it in a thousand years. Mom’s hard to live with because there has only been one way thing could be done - her way. We had our falling out during the years. So I’d never contemplated mom living with me. But here she was. Strangely enough this wasn’t mom that I’d grown up with. She was much more subdued and agreeable. When I was younger and living with her there was nothing I could ever do right in her eyes. Now mom’s world had shrunk down to the RV at my house. She spent her days watching her shows on TV. I’d run a cable from my house into the RV to make that happen. Then around noon or so I’d bring mom her lunch. She didn’t eat dinner and usually went to bed around six in the evening. Time was giving mom fits. She would get confused whether it was morning or evening and the days of the week were trying as well to her. She had her calendar which she attempted to mark off each day. The TV was hard for mom to master too. There was a thousand channels but all mom wanted was to watch the Price is Right or a soap opera. The technology and the number of choices were too much for her and she’d complain, “This damn TV. There’s nothing on.” That was mostly due to her short term memory. I’d try to explain how to work the TV remote control and the on-screen guide. She could recall experiences from her childhood or when she worked at the Justice Department in DC fifty years ago. Bobby Kennedy use to come down to her office to chat with her and joke around until the CIA killed him too. But anything new went in one ear then right out the other. That meant I would become the remote control.

So now I had this big ass RV taking up two thirds of my driveway. Then of course my son Matt’s Eclipse spun a bearing. He’d been staying over his girlfriend’s house and I had not seen him or his car for a while. Then he come over and tells me his car doesn’t sound right. I came outside and told him to fire it up. The thing had a scary knock and I yelled for him to shut it off immediately. I was hoping it was something in the top of the engine and I removed the valve cover. Everything looked normal so I crawled under the car and had a look. The number one piston rod bearing was shot. Plus it was obvious my son had been running the car like this for days increasing the damage. We began pulling the engine apart so we could rebuild it.

Almost immediately my son Matt disappeared to his girlfriend’s house leaving me to deal with his car. However, I was so busy with mom, Kylie and other chores around the house that the car would sit there almost two years before I had time to fix it. Rebuilding a car in like doing a multi-dimentional puzzle so it’s hard enough to do it right. Having to wait two years to reassemble a car doesn’t make things any easier. Fortunately, the car was tagged so I didn’t get any hassles from the government. In the meantime Matt use my car. He used it until it jumped time on him. He led me to think the car was in the lot at his work broken down. After a couple days when I found the time my wife and I rode around to his work for me to see what was wrong with the car. However, when we got there my car was nowhere to be found. I figured it must have been towed by mistake. We heading back home to get Matt to see if his work had had the car towed. Then on the side of the road we stumbled upon my car abandoned there several days earlier by my knuckle headed son. Man I was PISSED! I waited by the car so it wouldn’t be impounded while Deni left to get a tow truck. The tow truck driver led me to believe my Celica was an interference engine that would be ruined if the car jumped time. However, he loved my car and I think he wanted it and told me wrongly about the timing belt situation. I got the car home rather down about the demise of my car. Then I thought I’d check on the Internet. Sure enough my car wasn’t an interference engine which meant a hundred and fifty dollars in parts along with several hours of work and my car was back on the road again.

Around this time most mornings real early Tiree would come upstairs with Kylie in her arms for me to watch while she went back to bed. I was in bed by seven or eight every night and up by three or four in the morning ready to go. Kylie would lay there on the bed while I was on the Internet surfing. After a little bit she’d drift back off to sleep. She was so helpless and I suppose her being sick those times after the vaccines left me very worried. She looked up at me with her sick eyes that asked me if she would be okay. I talked to her while walking the floor with her worrying terribly. The baby couldn’t tell you how she felt leaving me to fret until she got better. There is so many dangers in the world now started with my own government. They put fluoride in the tap water and aspartame in other food and drinks meant for children. Vaccines are filled with deadly poisons like mercury then jabbed into a baby’s arm. If I ever have my way the scumbags responsible for poisoning children to boast corporate profits and control the population will never get out of prison while the top filth will hang.

Tuesday, February 11, 2014


As I’ve previously stated, my family is rough on cars.  They look for weak points then attack. If I don’t intervene with oil or something the vehicle could be reduced to a driveway paperweight. These days in Maryland, all cars with regular tags must be able to move at least once every two years - up to the emissions testing station to be sure it’s not polluting the environment sitting in your driveway not running because you are rebuilding the engine. Sure you can buy a waver which temporarily buys some pollution plenary indulgences absolving you of any legal jeopardy for not proving your cars isn’t polluting sitting there in the driveway with no engine.  This situation posed a problem for my son Matt. He bought a car and we did the necessary repairs to pass the notorious Maryland safety inspection where the garage that gets to most likely repair your car also gets to say what’s wrong with it. Buying a second hand car includes the detective story of it’s life on the road. In this case it had run off the road near as I can figure it and damaged some of the passenger side suspension which had to be replaced. That was the easy part. Hidden in the belly of the beast was a cracked heater core. Replacing a heater core means pulling out the dashboard, airbag and anything else in the way. I made Matt do it. Fortunately these repairs were done then we switched inspection stations with a different one as the original inspection was now void anyway and I damn sure wasn’t going to reward that establishment for finding all those flaws in the first place.

But the car passed inspection and my son was happily motoring around town. However, lurking deep inside his Eclipse engine is a paper head gasket put there originally by the manufacturer in a cost saving move. Apparently they last around eighty thousand miles or so and Matt’s had ninety thousand showing on the odometer. The car began spewing oil out the back of the engine through the blown head gasket. But because the problem was external I foolishly thought I’d only need to replace the head gasket and doing so take all the parts off I’d just put on doing the timing belt about a week before. We pulled everything apart then the emissions warning letter came in the mail the following day. This put us under the gun time wise. Mind you by this time I can only work on Matt’s car while I’m not looking after Kylie. In addition I’m out in the open and subject to the whims of the weather. This can be aggravating because there are perfect days that I’m watching Kylie then when her parents have her it’s poring rain. Even so I pushed forward and got his car back on the road only having to buy one emissions waver from the state of Maryland.

My son was back on the road and all the other cars in the family fleet were running good. Well after I put a timing belt and tune up stuff on my son-in-law’s Camry the cars were running smoothly. Then I got to thinking about my weather problem. I had replaced my old windows with new thermal windows when we first bought the house. I still had the old windows so I decided to use them to build a greenhouse/car port. That’s just what I did. It only took me a couple days work and I had a nice greenhouse built mostly from these recycled windows and some wood my buddy Ricky gave me for free. It could have used a bit more paint but it was nice. Plus I noticed right away that it was toasty in there on chilly days due to the greenhouse effect.

It was a good thing I had the greenhouse as this was when my wife blew her car up and I had to replace the engine. Man I took my time, worked at night and even in the rain. My productivity soared! On top of that I started using the greenhouse for starting seedlings for my raised bed gardens getting a jump on the growing season.

Yes indeed I was feeling rather happy with the way things were going. As is normal under these conditions life intervenes. It was a Friday and the caller ID showed the call was from my sister’s house in Virginia. I grabbed the phone and said hello. It was my mother on the line as she’s been living with my sister for a couple years since having a medical crisis. She was over ninety at that time but her health had improved since she’d been sick and hospitalized. My sister is also a nurse like my wife and had gotten mom’s health headed back in the right direction.

But be that as it may, mom was on the line and she was pisses off. “Come and get me now dammit!” She demanded on the other end of the line. I tried to explain to her that my house was filled up and I had no extra bedrooms. She’d have to sleep on the sofa to which she declared she didn’t care if she had to sleep on the floor. Needless to say mom, my sister and brother in-law had a bit of a falling out. It’s understandable. I love my mother but the truth be told she’s hard to live with. It’s her way or the highway. As Kathy nursed her back to health she was setting in motion the conflict that would ensue as mom developed the strength to begin running Kathy’s life again.

So there I was with my ninety-one year old mom sleeping on the sofa in the living room. Don’t get the wrong idea. Mom was real happy about the setup. She got to see my kids and her great granddaughter Kylie more than once or twice a year during the holidays as was the case normally. The stress was gone from the conflict with my sister and brother in-law. Plus I was getting her espresso every morning which she loved and cooking her food for her including the bread which she’d given me the recipe for that I had been using for Deni and her coworkers. So mom was happy despite the situation. But for me it looked like a hell of a thing especially after retrieving her things which had been unceremoniously packed into black trash can bags that now filled my living room.

I needed to get mom her own room and I had an idea. I could get an RV and park it in my driveway. Then I could connect sewage into my t-junction clean out pipe on the side of the house. All I’d need to do is figure out how to hook up electric and water and I have in effect an efficiency apartment for mom. So I began hitting the craigslists ad and looking at RV’s. I found the Ford we decided on up in northern Maryland in Carroll County. I paid a few thousand for it and began to drive it south to Edgewater. Then I noticed the damn thing running hot. So I pulled over and Deni followed suit in the car behind me. I popped the hood and verified what I suspected the problem to be - a stuck thermostat. So I sent Deni home for the tools, she returned and I did a roadside extraction of the thermostat. A car doesn’t actually need a thermostat to run but you won’t have heat in the winter without one.

I managed to get the RV into the driveway finally and began preparing it for mom. I hooked up the sewage using a macerating pump that allow the tanks to be easily pumped out into the t-junction. I got a hose that came with a heating element so it wouldn’t freeze up in the winter which was fast approaching now. Mom was anxious to get into her RV which she could see from the living room window. I got the electric hooked up after having the power converter replaced and installing a new power cord then put all of mom’s things away inside. The big day came for mom and we moved her into her new place. She was shocked as it was much nicer inside than she’s imagined especially with all of the wood paneling. In addition it was narrow which made walking back and forth easier with things to grab a hold of. Also, I place some grab bars in key spots.

Mom settled in for the winter in her new RV driveway apartment. Her rent was zero. She had no utilities and I rigged up a buzzer she could ring if she needed me. So what could be wrong with this scenario?

Saturday, February 08, 2014

More Chores For Sure

The only thing that would grow successfully on dead Steve’s side of the house was poison oak. Well, I suppose I should back up and explain dead Steve first. Actually, as my property is sort of out on a peninsula I only have two neighbors, Steve and Steve, at least when I first moved into my house. On one side there is Steve and Kathy and on the other Steve and his mother. Dead Steve was about sixty-five and his mom around ninety. After only being in our place several months dead Steve appears at the door and reports that his mom had passed away. We consoled him as best we could under the circumstances over the next several weeks. Then, I didn’t see him anymore. Finally, after about six months had passed I saw a woman working in his yard who turn out was his ex-wife. I waved and asked, “Hey is Steve alright?” She replied in a somber tone. “No. Steve died of a heart attack.” Apparently the stress of his mom dying was too much for his sixty-five year old ticker and he’d been dead for almost half a year. Hence, he and the property became dead Steve’s.

So his young teenaged son inherited the property which presented legal hassles which resulted in it remaining vacant for years. The main motherlode of poison oak flowed from dead Steve’s yard and I was constantly battling it after the wife and I discovered the hard way that we had a noxious weed problem. We both got poison oak with Deni really getting the worst of it perhaps because her fair British skin had never been exposed to the three woes of the American boy scout camper such as your’s truly. Hell, I’d already contracted all three on numerous occasions though not like Chris Defransisco who while going for his poisonous plant merit badge retrieved every dandelion, oak seedling and other non poisonous plant in the forest failing to get his badge. After several days he came down with the worst case of all three I’d ever heard of. He had to be hospitalized. One would think that this alone would qualify one for that badge but one would be wrong however.

Be that is it was, I had to do something about the poison oak invasion from the north. That side of the house is the dark side and nothing else grew despite my efforts. So, I decided to defend the property from invasion the way it has been done for centuries. I dug a moat along the property line. Actually, it was a long Koi pond that ran along the fence line forming a barrier the poison oak couldn’t penetrate. But digging my Koi moat took six months. As soon as I began digging the rainy season set and lasted until my pond was filled with water spiting the rain even if it wanted to fall. I went as far as to incorporate my downspouts from the house to flow into the pond. On the other side of the house I rigged up the downspouts to water my raised bed gardens. Now we had the small pond my wife built, with her own hands and the big pond/moat. In the future this moat would become a key factor in preventing the fence from being torn down as was the fate of the fence that divide Steve and dead Steve’s yards. But that is another story I may, or may not get around to telling.

During all the time I dug the moat, by shovel mind you, I was beginning to watch Kylie as well. The first couple months my daughter took off and watched my granddaughter herself. But then she had to return to work and I took over the daycare duties. When my kids were young I was not around as much as my stay at home wife since I was working a job or three to make ends meet. So I missed out on a lots sadly while they grew up though I still spent almost all my free time with them. Now my youngest family member was with me constantly and I was loving it. My daughter and son-in-law were pleased as well since my rate was very reasonable for watching their child - free. That’s pretty much all you do with them when they’re young. You watch them grow intermingled with feeding, changing, degassing and holding them while they sleep. Oh sure there’s an art to putting a child in the crib after rocking them to sleep in your arms that mothers do in a Houdini-like fashion. Babies always woke up on me right in the middle of the act of putting them down and they began to cry forcing me to abandon the put down. Then again I don’t really mind just holding the baby - for hours. Sometimes when I had to do something I’d pass my sleeping granddaughter off to my wife and she’d attempt the crib-down. She was about fifty fifty on her success rate having at that point been well into her second decade without rearing a baby herself. So she was a bit out of practice.

As I’ve previously discussed, my family is a band of automobile serial killers. They are murder on cars. So my wife calls me while she’s on her way to work shortly after I’ve completed the big pond and feel I’m really making some progress getting things done now. Those are the times I should tremble in fear for disaster lurks just around the bend. The bend my wife overheated the car on was probably the most dangerous spot she could have picked. I snatched her up with neither of us becoming highway fatalities, in my little $950 craigslist.com 91 Celica, took her to her work then returned to guide the tow truck back to the house. Then a couple days later before I’d even decided what to do about her Corolla my Celica clutch gives out. So I had to put a new clutch in my car first because it was the quickest thing I could do to get one of the cars back on the road. My wife borrowed one of Will and Tiree’s cars in the meantime to get to work until my Celica was back on the road about a week later. Then I had to pull her Corolla engine out and tear it apart so I could rebuild it. There was no structural damage on her motor like on the previous engine that my wife and son Mathew savagely and brutally destroyed. After about a month I had her Corolla back on the road with a rebuilt engine and it ran like a sewing machine too I’m telling you!

Deni’s mom and step dad paid us a visit to see Kylie and that was nice. Living in England it’s not often that Deni gets to see her family. Brian, Deni’s step dad gave me some advice on the generator I’d bought minding from his experiences with the British military. When the hurricane hit in 2011 knocking out out power for five days Deni became keen on the idea of getting a generator. Having a 5.8 earthquake strike that very same week helped as well. We looked into big boxstore hardware generators but they were all made in China and worthless after a couple of uses and cost around $1000 for a 5000 watt machine. After a bit of research we decide to get an army surplus diesel generator that produce 10,000 watts of power. I got it from Ft. Mead just up the road for a bit over $700 and had it towed and stuck in the backyard. This generator came on a trailer and was BIG! It was tough even getting the thing off of the trailer without any of us getting killed. It needed some basic maintenance but after replacing some fuel line, filters and buying a battery and cables the thing fired up and ran like a Mercedes. This generator would come to set the county government on my hyde among other things but this is a story I shall come to tell a bit later on when the time is right.

So things were going along pretty smoothly which always sets my mind to fretting. Then I hear that Kylie has been to the doctors and gotten shots. Damn, I thought. I should have warned the kids about the shots but she seems so young still. When I did so but they mostly blew me off it appeared anyway by the vacant look in their eyes and their passive aggressive appeasing response. Then in about a week Kylie came down with a bad cold or flu or something. Well I never liked it when the kids were sick and back then I didn’t know about the vile scum at the top of the vaccine manufacturing heap. So I couldn’t sleep for worrying about her and would check her crib every hour on the hour. Once I found her awake and fussing I’d pick her up and walk the floor with her patting her back trying to break up the congestion. She’d look up at me even as a baby with a gaze that asked me “Granddad, am I going to be alright?”  Night after night I walked the floor with her until she was back healthy again. Her health was my major concern now as my daughter and son-in-law had not yet realized the dangers waiting on the corporate shelves designed to make little children sick and dead. I’d already put my foot down with my son-in-law Will before Kylie was born, about the aspartame gum. He asked if anybody had seen his gum and I told him I threw it in the trash and if I find anything else with aspartame that would meet the same fate. He realized I was serious and looked into the health questions about aspartame but more importantly discovered it’s in just about all of the gum nowadays. Then when my old girlfriend Lorrie died of a brain tumor after thirty years of drinking diet Coke I know Will was wary of the stuff and didn’t consume anymore himself. So when I called him over to the trashcan where I’d placed the full bottle of Pedialyte that he’d planned to give to my granddaughter he listened. I pointed out that it contained aspartame and that the scum providing this for babies should be shot. Will agreed and from that point forward he read all the label before giving anything to Kylie. After having walked the floor with Kylie my daughter got use to Granddad taking over in the wee hours of the morning. Now that I’m on old man time, we get to bed seven, eightish most nights then we could be up at three AM or earlier. That’s the way humans evolved over millions of years of blurry eyed parents depositing their children into the arms of grandparents leading a life so dull that they would be getting up that early in the morning rather than as in the olden days of not so long ago only just getting to sleep by that hour.

I wish Will would have been more diligent with regards to vaccines. They went ahead and let the medical priests give Kylie another round of injections. Sure enough within a short time my granddaughter was sick again although this time much more so. I heard her labored breathing and I worry despite my wife’s assurance as a nurse that she’ll be fine. Kylie gets worse. Then I wake up in the middle of the night and Deni is already awake. She has a worried look on her face and I immediately ask, how’s Kylie. Then she launches into one of her preconditioning speeches to calm me before giving me bad news. I demand to know and for her to cut the crap. She tells me Kylie is in the hospital and she has pneumonia. Deni says she’s waiting for a call now to get the latest. I made an espresso worried sick. Then I started getting angrier and angrier. I’d told everybody how I felt about those damn vaccines and now here she was sick again. After sipping a bit I my coffee I told Deni that I didn’t give a damn what her nurse training taught her about vaccines. I said the concept was a wise idea that is being administered by a criminal gang. Then I warned her that it made no difference what she believed and it only matter what I believed regarding this situation. I told her, “Here’s my advice to you if you like our marriage and the person you see standing before you now. If you all ever give my granddaughter one of those vaccines again and something were to happen to take her away for me I will never be the same ever again. Now you all have to ask yourself if you’re willing to risk everything and trust the criminals running the vaccine machine for profit who also make money when they get you all sick?”

We sat there silently for awhile then I said “SCREW IT! I’m going to the hospital.” We dressed and drove to the hospital. I thought the worst thoughts. Would I be sitting home not seeing the last days of my granddaughter? NO WAY IN HELL! We parked then made our way down the quiet corridors of the hospital still in the middle of the night. In the emergency room I found Kylie lying on her mom’s stomach receiving oxygen. Kylie was awake and she appeared to be responding to the treatment. I relaxed a bit then went back on the offensive. I’d already read the vaccine riot act to my wife. My daughter was too mainstream to believe me at that point in time but Will was another matter altogether. I pulled him aside. In a voice only he and I could here I began to talk to him. “I want you to listen to me and listen good. This is the second time Kylie has gotten sick after receiving a shot. Now I’m talking low because I don’t want these nurses and doctors hearing me. That are well meaning like Deni and would never hurt anybody but they are dupes of the medical industrial big pharma complex that thrives on making people sick especially kids. Now you may think I’m crazy and there’s only a thousand to one chance I’m right. My question to you is, are you willing to take that chance with your daughter’s life? “

Will is very smart and has looked into the vaccine question. Thus far Kylie has not received further shots and she has been the picture of health. I pray it stays that way. After all they discovered the cure to autism. You have to convert to Amish.

Thursday, February 06, 2014

Kylie Arrives

Then the realization hit me. My numbskull kids having babies? Oh the horror. I remembered every knuckle headed thing they ever did then transposed that over a childrearing responsibility landscape. Right off the bat, everyone of my kids started fires in the house and I’m only here to tell the stories today because…well I can’t say really. Dumb luck most likely? There was my son Matt at around five years olds built a campfire - in my bedroom on the carpet. He didn’t figure it would leave a permanent mark on the rug then threw more newspapers on it to hide the spot but also fortunately smothering the fire. In those days I still subscribed to the Washington Post though I was also getting the Washington Times as well so there was plenty of kindling around that Woodbridge townhouse. I learned of the inferno while downstairs in the kitchen. I hear the older sister early warning system. That being my ten year-old daughter using the term “aw.” Aw in and of itself may not be a bad thing, as things go in life. If my daughter saw a puppy or a kitten she might very well use aw to describe how she felt about the varmints. But that aw would be a long steady tone like aaaaaaaaaaaaaaw - isn’t that cute? The aw that echoed from upstairs was a warning aw that began with a low toned aw rising slowing but steadily to a higher tone. Generally, a parent can tell the seriousness of a tattling situation by how many octaves the aw’s travel. In this instance Tiree began with a baritone aw then rose to a aw that had the dogs barking in the neighborhood. At that instance I smelled smoke and rushed up the stairs to my bedroom. I found Matt standing there innocently enough over a smoldering pile of papers. There are times to discipline your children. Then there are times when they get you so mad it’s best to have them leave for a spell. That was one of those times. I said to Matt, “GO!” He obliged trotting down the stair wondering why he didn’t get a spanking.

Mind you, as numbskulls go, my daughter was the least of the quadrupled of siblings being blessed with x chromosomes or at least not cursed with y’s. Even so she was the last one that attempted to burn us out. That was in the house we rented in Davidsonville. For now, due to the statute of limitations the story may be told without fear of landlord repercusions. Hell, I’d only been to bed a couple hour after getting home from the Post. Then at four o’clock in the morning the smoke alarm starts going off. I open my door and look up at the smoke alarm. There is no smoke so I begin pushing the button to shut it off but it won’t shut off. I keep jamming the broom handle harder and harder into the button but nothing! Normally I have to have a couple expressos before doing anything complex after first waking and this would be no exception. The more I probed with the broomstick the angrier I became at not meeting with success shutting the damn noise off. Finally, in a fit of rage I turned the broom around and whacked the alarm off the ceiling. It crashed to the floor but to my amazement the siren continued like some demon force. So I stomped on the alarm crushing it into numerous pieces. When the siren kept howling, I was finally conscious enough from being jarred from my bed to realize it was another alarm ringing in the house. I yelled out in desperate confusion, “Dammit! There’s no fire!” At that very moment my son Matt opened the basement door and said, “Oh yes there is!” The smell of smoke at that very instance filled my nostrels. I raced down the two flights stairs into the smoke filled basement. There I found Tiree’s TV with a candle she’d left lit burning atop the set which had burned down setting the set itself to smoldering. No actual fire had broken out yet and it was even conveniently drizzling outside a bit. I ordered a couple of the boys to grab the bottom of the set and carry it outside dropping it onto the patio deck in the rain. I looked around and there was no damage aside from Tiree’s destroyed TV. Finally, one of the knuckleheads was being punished for their crimes instead of me for a change. I bid them all a good night and went to bed content having feared the worst then being punished the least. I still had to replace the alarm I destroyed.

Though my daughter was heads above the boys for which there are amply genetic reasons for survival of the species, that this is the case having boys manipulated later in life into adulthood by the girls. Even so I was surprised Tiree would even have a baby the way she railed against the concept as a youth. She didn’t like getting shots either and watched her mom getting loads of needles having her older brothers. Having said that the reality of having the ultimate puppy, a child, proved too alluring for her to resist. So she put aside her fears and had a baby. Deni woke me up and said Tiree and Will were at the hospital as Tiree was in labor. There were some complications that the hospital staff handled professionally. If I recall my wife was around during the actual delivery process as she’s a nurse. By the time I final got to the hospital all dangers had passed and mother and new daughter were doing fine. Will stood there like a proud father. I looked at Tiree holding my granddaughter then sat down. In a minute my wife grabbed the baby and laid her in my arms. I held her and marveled at how much she looked like her sonogram picture. She was a good fit laying there and into my life as well. Her parents had to provide for her but it’s grandparents’ job to watch over the grandkids and keep them safe. We have the time. I still remember my grandfather Hoppy telling me to walk facing the traffic so I didn’t get run over. Kylie laid there sleeping quietly on my lap. This would be how she’d spend the first few years of her life with me holding her rocking in the chair.

Wednesday, February 05, 2014

My New Full Time Job

Then my son-in-law came up to me one morning. He had a concerned look about him. As I said he and my daughter had the big bedroom in the basement. Deni and I had already installed a shower downstairs so they wouldn’t need to share a bathroom with my younger sons. Sharing a bathroom with teenaged boys is not something to brag about nor ever look forward to. I took a peek in that bathroom recently and there is not a bathroom in any gas station in the worst part of any ghetto that could compete with the shear horror. I immediately slammed the door. The thing has to be demoed,walls ripped out, gutted and completely redone, but not by me! Well not the demolition and removal. That’s on the boys like all future snaking of the kitchen sink. It’s the quickest way you can train teenaged boys to never dump grease down the sink. After cramming fifty feet of snake down a filth filled drain then back again doesn’t build a hardy appetite, let me promise you that. However, the more skilled aspects of bathroom building the wife and I handle. I do all the plumbing, cutting, lifting and screwing of the cement board and I get to go outside to the rented tile cutter and get soaked with water cutting tiles for Deni. She doesn’t trust me with putting up the tiles just like her rule about me and electrical work. So she also installed the light in the shower.

As I said my son-in-law came up to me and launches into the news and his plans. Will is a real responsible person and is crazy about my daughter. She married well which didn’t appear promising judging by her first few boyfriends including the one convicted for the armed kidnapping and carjacking. “Tiree is going to have a baby. I’m looking into apartments now.” Before he could go any farther I told him to hold up a minute. I explain that they didn’t have to move but he pointed out we were out of bedrooms. Then I pointed to the big laundry area next to their bedroom. I had used the area for a number of things including as my failed workshop with electrical wiring incident that got me originally banned from doing further electrical work by Deni. “You know when Tiree was a kid when we lived in Woodbridge she had a room smaller that that area.” I explained to Will. “It seems to me it makes more sense to have you all stay here for a few more years especially with the added expenses of a baby. That way you could pack away some money to be able to afford your own place instead of throwing money down a rent hole for an apartment.” Will seemed to relax and agreed that would be a good plan as long as I didn’t mind. I assured him that I didn’t because I was looking forward to the arrival of my first grandchild. I was, in fact, really excited about it. Then Will began to explain how he was working early in the morning doing his locksmith job and Tiree was working late into the evening so they wouldn’t need daycare. I laughed to myself and knew that was a pipe dream. My daughter was a manager at Build-a-Bear which now has turned into a General Manager. She might have to go in at Five AM during the holiday season and not return home till midnight. My son-in-law also had emergency jobs all the time that kept him out late and he begins work at Six in the morning.

Though it hadn’t been but several months since leaving the Washington Post, I was wondering about what my next job would be. Will had answered that question after screwing around with my daughter. I would be granddad daycare. Sure everybody had notions of how things would be when the little one arrived. But I knew her parents were busy with work and needed daycare. I also knew I didn’t want strangers raising what I now knew would be my granddaughter thanks to ultrasound. That ultrasound picture was so clear I could already see Kylie had a very pretty face which often is not the case with babies. Well it’s true. Where did the expression, “A face only a mother could love,” come from?

Having pointed out the space for Kylie’s room in the unused part of the basement, Will contacted his brothers who both had worked in construction and some friends too. Before I could say Home Depot, Deni was on the way there with a construction material list. One morning not long after my suggestion to build a bedroom and awoke to banging. I walked downstairs to find Will, his brothers and a couple of friends framing up the room with two-by-fours. Before the end of the daylight they had the room framed with sheet rock on all the walls. I was so impressed and anxious to see the room completed that I put up the sheet rock on the ceiling the following Sunday morning. I also did most of the taping of the seams, plastering joint compound and sanding. Lots of sanding. I found an Anderson triple pane window on craigslist.com then used it to replace the old basement window in the new room. Finally, my daughter bought the most hideous shade of hot pink the mind could imagine might exists in some universe, for me to paint onto the walls. Her in-laws gave her a piece of carpet which I cut wall-to-wall for Kylie’s room and tack stripped it down. A crib and a few pieces of baby furniture and my granddaughter had her own room. Aside from the glowing pink paint job, it was nice - really nice. Will, his brothers and friends did a pretty good job. I didn’t do half bad either especially abiding by my no electrical prohibition. The room was decorated and ready to go with months to spare.

Tiree’s due date was the beginning of October 2010. Now all I had to do was wait to see how the next phase of my life would develop. Of course now that the room was built I could focus on my normal chores like the vegetable garden which I built the first years we where in the house. My wife thought me crazy and in hind site I don’t know but I had six pallets of construction grade bricks delivered to our house. I use them to build raised bed gardens and I used every single brick. In fact, I need to find some more bricks to finish the paths. My yard philosophy is a no grass policy. Every inch of yard must be producing food or be a pathway leading to the garden beds producing the food. Even though it was a lot of work and I’d never laid a brick before in my life, now I can sit on the raised bed garden walls and plant, weed, harvest, etc. without stooping over. Working in my garden I thought about what it would be like having my granddaughter playing in the garden. Those questions would be answered soon enough.

Thursday, January 30, 2014

Gangrene Shoots

So I settled in outside of the Washington Post. It was now December 2009 and all the talking heads were talking about green shoots and used expressions like, "moving forward" or "going forward." The recession was now over. Despite these pronouncements people were still losing their jobs but I continued to feel confident nonetheless. I had a long history of working hard at many things and I was a proven quick learner. So naturally I disregarded everything being said in the big media about how rosy the economy was improving knowing things were really tough. But I'd been through stagflation and recessions before.

After taking a few weeks off I began applying for positions for a number of jobs like graphic artist, editor, proofreader, auto mechanic, etc. Those first few weeks after leaving the Post my wife enjoyed having me around doing the chores. We had the thousands of dollars the Post paid me to leave voluntarily, my wife was really starting to make some unbelievable income and though I was not working I was working harder than ever around the house. The bills were getting paid and my wife didn't have to do any of the house chores especially dishes or cooking. In fact, to jump to the present, she has forgotten these skills completely now and is helpless in a kitchen unless she has to boil water to make her OWN coffee. Well, coffee is what the label says on that container of freeze dried brown water she drinks as a sort of cafe-like beverage. I drink freshly ground French roasted espresso so I'm a java snob. Be that as it may, my wife works the graveyard shift at the hospital since getting her nursing degree. She was like the runner up for the Valedictorian at the college. She got A's in everything I'm telling you.  After graduating lots of hospitals made her offers and she finally accepted a position at the Washington Hospital Center. She really loves her work too. She didn't hate being a housewife for the first twenty years we were married especially being with the kids. But she detested doing housework and preferred ignoring it mostly in favor of reading romance novels - mindless drivel don't you know?

Anyway…I began packing my wife hot dinners-to-go for her to take to work. She loved eating my homemade bread so I thought I's send her to the hospital with a loaf or two one evening. She returned in the morning with demands from her coworkers for more bread. Hence began my pastime baking bread. My wife's nickname is Deni and the hospital staff began referring to my bread as "Mr. Deni's Bread." We have a couple of fig trees out back that produce more figs than you can imagine and I'm glad we choose the dwarf trees to plant instead of regular size. I used the figs to make walnut fig bread. However my wife's coworkers seemed to like the cinnamon raisin the best.

So add to my chores being the family/hospital bread baker. In addition I had been the gardener, auto mechanic for all friends and close family, plumber, brick layer, firewood splitter and hauler, upstairs and downstairs maid not only for my wife but also my daughter and her husband who were living with us and our three sons. Mind you they ARE slobs. Perhaps my son Matt is tidy about his room and my son-in-law is saddled picking up after my daughter. Fortunately they all work steady jobs except at that time my youngest wasn't employed yet. He's since joined his siblings in the workforce. Feeling fortunate to have them all working I figured cleaning up after them a bit wouldn't kill me and I had the time to do it. To sum up, I took on all jobs that popped up around the house with the exception of the electrical work which my wife handles. The reason for that is some unfortunate attempted remodeling which required some drilling where an electric wire ran behind the wall. Somehow I nicked the wired four or five times then drilled throughout it tripping the breaker and luckily not electrocuting myself in the process. Then wiser heads prevailed and it was decided that my wife would from there forward do all the electrical in the house or hire an electrician. She lets me replace the bulbs still because I tall.

But even accomplishing a huge number of tasks around the house and making my family's life easier doing the cooking and other chores I figured eventually I'd run out of things to do about the place. So I continued putting in those application. The shocking part was there was no response. Of all the applications I put in I only received one interview and that was as a mechanic for a gardening center. Although I'm an excellent mechanic, which shall be discuss somewhat later, I have little paid experience beyond my days with AAA driving a wrecker. Having said that I have worked on my own vehicles for forty years now because I'm too cheap to pay mechanics but that would not help me land the job. I kept putting in applications as 2010 arrived. I began another project that consisted of taking an old free brick wall from N.E. Washington DC, demoing it, hauling it back to the house and using it to construct a front patio and pathway around the side of the house. In addition I started digging the big Koi pond that runs along that pathway. Currently, I'm redoing that pond enlarging it but that is another story too for you Koi pond lovers.

I never really got down about not immediately finding work. I was too busy around the house and my wife really loves having me as a housewife. Also, at that point my list of things that needed doing continued to grow. Naturally, though I have not before mentioned it, my family is in reality a gang of automobile destroyers. They have this illusion that all cars need is a bit of gas once in a while and they'll run forever. Then when my wife car breaks somehow like when she and my son Matt combined to blow up her Corolla engine, she looks at me with one hand on her hip and say, "My car is this or that…" with a look that establishes beyond reasonable doubt that I have been somehow negligent. Then I get on Craigslist.com and scrounge up a replacement engine for $800 buck delivered, swap it out with the blown engine and she's back on the road. Well back on the road until a year later she ran it hot warping the head and forcing me to rebuilding the replacement engine. Ah but that too is another story I may or may not need to tell. But throw in my oldest son's 1990 Camaro with a fuel problem and my time was pretty dear. Still I wondered what my future role would be.

Sunday, January 26, 2014

The Last Days At The Post

I'd already signed the separation severance contract in Costa's Office. He'd reminded me I didn't have to go. At the end of the day I was a good worker who didn't missed work, showed up on time, worked my entire shift and did it with a smile most times.  I didn't hold any grudges against anybody there. Everybody had their reason for doing whatever they did and I figured mostly it had nothing to do against me personally. The Washington Post had gone from the workers' paradise to a barebones operation continually shrinking leaving the remaining employees living in fear. In the golden days if you said or did something management deemed inappropriate they'd send you to charm school like with Ronnie. The Post would coach you up to be a better employee. Now you were gone if you screwed up. Gone.

I arrived at work that last Friday on time as usual. Most of the others like Crystal had already left but I held out as long as I could because the income was nice. But doing little to earn the money for a corporation that I now suspected of involvement in insurrection against my country was not tolerable. I needed to get out. I wasn't at work more than fifteen minutes when my manager, whose name still escapes me, came over to my desk and informed me I could leave. She was giving me the whole shift slide out of work that last night. I thanked her and gathered my things. That lump gathered in my throat as I saw the people who I would not see anymore most likely and I thought about all the people who'd already left. That made me sad and I walked around the floor saying my goodbyes. I said goodbye to Dailin who I do speak with still to this day. Then I was walking down that darkened hallway to the elevator for the last time. I'd already given my badge to management so when I said my goodbyes to the guards the last time I left the building forever.

I got into my Toyota and started down L Street for home. The neighborhood was a different place in the new economy. In better times L Street was hopping as long as legally possible at night. Now most of the clubs were shut and the street was dark with few people. One street over was the old red light district but since there were no customers with money even the oldest profession was in a depression. However, only a few weeks before leaving the Post for the last time I was putting my things into my car to leave for home after finishing my shift. A woman about 35 or 40 years old came down 15th Street looking a bit intoxicated. She looked at me in a gesture that asked me if I want to purchase sex from her. At the same time she had that look of shame and desperation. It looked like she'd walked down 15th Street from a bit north where it was residential. Who knows what situation drives an apparently middle class woman into the streets as a prostitute? The economy was changing radically and it was seizing up. I declined her offer.

I didn't miss that drive home though most nights it was a piece of cake. It amazes me how in the middle of the night on a straight road people can crash their cars. I'd seen my share of nuts coming home. Like the guy who flew past me in the snow. Before long he was several hundred feet ahead when his car spun around sliding backwards scraping against the median divider wall made of concrete. Let me tell you it's a shock to suddenly see some cat's headlights turn around then pointing at you. By the time his car came to a rest I past the idiot and thought I'll bet you won't be acting like a damn fool anymore. I was wrong. In my rear view mirror I see his headlights spin around and in less that a minute the nut passes me again!

But this last drive home was quiet. I figured I'd get another job somewhere. I have lots of skills and I'm a hard worker. Those things come in handy when looking for work but what really gives me an edge is my ability to speak. In all the interviews I've ever been on I was offered the job except once. Even then they called me when the guy they picked didn't work out. So I felt confident about the future and certainly much more principled not working at the Post any longer.

Wednesday, January 22, 2014

I Take Time Off Before Leaving

Just like everybody else I called in sick those last few weeks as I had hundreds of unused sick leave. You always had to speak to a manager to successfully complete the sick call in. One of these last cases of faux illness I got Bill on the phone. "We're going to need you tonight." Bill insisted over the phone to me. "Bill you're going to have to get use to not having me around anyway." Was my reply. Then this manager made some comment about how this would effect any references for me which angered me quite a bit. I replied, "Yeah…well when I walk out the door the last time in a couple week I'll be handing the Post back hundreds of hours sick leave I never used." He knew I always bent over backwards to do my job and didn't take advantage like some. Like the time one of the salesmen bought the staff Chinese food for our efforts making him a killing selling ads we built. Liz ordered enough food to feed herself for a week. Ronnie even chastise her for her gluttony. Needless to say she had little or no sick leave saved up. In fact she did the "beg off" constantly as well. Make it to work at the Post for a few hours, beg off to your manager and you're out the door with a full day's pay. I never did these scams so Bill's little comment bugged me and I told him I hadn't planned on looking for him to give me a reference.

I was told Dailin took the buy out too so there was now enough workers leaving the paper. No one would need to be pushed out of the Washington Post building kicking and screaming - at least not at that point in time. Dailin was a funny guy. I suppose he has a couple years on me and his personality and lifestyle are similar to mine. However, he's Chinese having been born in Mao's China before emigrating to America. He tells the story about when he was a young man and heard a knock at the door. He opened the door to find a government official standing there who began speaking to him. "GOOD NEWS COMRAD! You are going north to grow food for the people!" And that was that. Dailin grabbed a few things and before long was on a train heading north to do hard labor. He said it was really cold where they we at and the barracks didn't have any heat. Still the way he told the story came out humorous or at least he could see the humor now. I'm sure he wasn't smiling back in the 1960's though. But even enduring these hardships that I couldn't even imagine there he was working with me at the Post leading a similar life. He had some kids though younger than mine. He was married but lived in Virginia.

The Washington Post building looked dingy and outmoded for the new reality. This seven story office building taking up half the city block just around the corner from the White House was a shiny facade on the outside complete with a red restored linotype machine sitting by the front door. There was new photo art on columns by the main 15th Street entrance of workers diligently creating the paper. The truth is there was few on these ad columns who at that point worked for the paper. Former workers came for visits, especially managers, because they missed crew. They'd been forced to leave before they wanted to and were left with an expensive lifestyle that a manager's pay scale could afford easily. However, the retirement package meant a drastic drop in everything including healthcare, cash and prizes. Plus I sure many missed the prestige that came with the position so a visit brought back the glory days. Then they would return home to a wife who I personally heard them arguing with while in the last days of their employment at the paper. Well, I heard the manager's side of the conversation and it didn't sound positive for the outlook of the future. Everything had deteriorated in the economy so fast that it took many by surprise. Not me however. The building was in the same state. On the outside everything appeared normal and prosperous. Walk by, come in the front entrance or enter as a top Washington Post editor or manager in the new garage, take the renovated elevators to their offices and you'd be impressed. The rest of the building was a different story. These were the same halls, walls, tiles that Woodward and Bernstein has walked 50 years ago before the Watergate days. The building was now a dinosaur bombarded by Internet asteroids every second of the day. On the ad ops sixth floor half the joint was vacant and dark. In the beginning of my days working at the Post, going to the cafeteria meant crossing this area and nodding to the workers on the way to the elevator. Now it was dark and lonely. All of those classified workers were gone now. Walking to the elevator you could hear your heel clicking and echoing back in the silent emptiness.

Friday, January 17, 2014

I Can't Leave Fast Enough

Everyone I had worked with over the past decade was gone. It seemed like I was the last man standing from a time that no longer existed. Be that as it may, I still had to hang on for the remaining weeks and not be fired or I would get nothing but a hand shake from the guards out the side door. I probably wouldn't even unemployment. This wasn't going to be as easy as it was in the past. Operations had been a fun place to go to work because there was plenty of work to do with a bunch of jokers. With no ad revenue everybody's job was in doubt. So the days of joking around were over and I kept having to remind myself to speak in whispers, at least to the few people I trusted.

I was looking over the Style section that I was closing. Of the few ads was a rare full page ad for woman's apparel. The more I looked at the proof the more the outline of the model revealed more than the paper allowed. However it was a close shave as to whether this breeched the standards. So I took the ad to Bill, one of the last old managers to get his opinion. After looking it over Bill agreed. "Oh yeah. Take that over to Gordon to have him touch it up." I grabbed the ad jacket then headed for Gordon's desk. I threw the jacket down on Gordon's desk with the offending graphic facing up. "You wanna fix that Gordon?" Gordon looked at the ad for a moment then asked, "Fix what." Rather than speak anything aloud in the subdued, hostile working environment that I found myself in I grabbed the ad then wrote over the face of it, "Lose the Toe." Gordon immediately understood this to mean the camel toe and noticed the devil's triangle of which I wished to refrain from evening mentioning. I could hear the complaining if I said vagina or labia or God forbid little man in the boat. Rather, even though time was not of the essence as there was little to do for anyone, I simply wrote "Lose the Toe."

Shortly thereafter my manager, who's name escapes me now, walked by my desk and said, "Tom can you step into my office for a moment, please." That never sounded pleasant especially now so. "Sure." I responded and followed head hung low behind my manager into her office. "You mind closing the door please." She requests as she sits behind her desk. "Okay." I respond though asking to have the door closed is never a good sign either. That's when I noticed the recently flagged vagina ad jacket sitting on her desk so I relaxed a bit. I figured my manager is going to thank me for the good catch keeping the revealing pose out of the paper. She begins addressing me as she points to the ad. "We can't have that Tom." I look down and agrees. "That's right boss. That's why I flagged the ad for Gordon to fix." Now I'm anxiously waiting for my "good save" when drops the bomb on me. "No Tom. We can't have toe. You can't say toe at the Washington Post." I look at the word toe and time slowed to a crawl. A black cloud fell over me and thoughts raced through my head. Was I to be fired for writing the word toe? Not even the words camel toe but toe? Obviously after Gordon was done with the ad someone on the crew, and I have my suspects, had complained about the word toe. "We can't use the word toe?" I ask feeling my anger building. "No not at the paper." She answers and it's obvious she's actually serious. I wanted to delve into what scenarios where it would have been appropriate to use the word toe.  But I thought better of the idea. "Oh yeah boss. Now I see your point. I'm sorry about the screw up but I'm grad we didn't let it run like that." Nodding she replies, "Yes I am too. That's all I had to discuss with you Tom. You can go now." That was a relief for me as I felt I was safe from being fired for used the word toe. However, it also put me on high alert of how these last few week would be.

I sat back at my desk with a look that said I wasn't having a good night. Crystal picked up on this as she passed by and stopped next to my desk. "Hey. Everything okay?" I hadn't noticed her until this second and turned. I smiled shaking my head. "Don't say toe." Crystal was perplexed by my comment. "What?" She asks. "Toe." I respond. "You can't say toe. It's against the policy of the Washington Post." Crystal is more confused than ever. "What the fuck are you on about boy?" I explained my recent infraction and run-in with my manager. "Oh my God. I can't believe it. They've got to grow up." Crystal concludes laughing then walks away toward hers desk. I can see Crystal shaking her head still in disbelief as she turns back towards me with an expression that asked "really?". Then she disappears below the cubical divider line. My phone rings. I grabs it. "This is Tom." "What if my car needs a tow? Is that against the policy of the newspaper?" I realizes it's Crystal on the line joking about my toe scolding. "Honey you better watch it on the company phone throwing the T word around." We laughed then hung up before drawing any notice. All joking aside, it was not a time to draw attention to one's self doing anything other than working hard and smile like a happy shoe shine boy.

The following week I was reading an article in the paper about Jimmy Carter feeling that most people who did not support Obama's health care proposal were actually racists. I found that odd since how could Carter know what was the motivation for anybody's position on anything? Speaking to Gregorio nearby I remark, "It says in the paper that Jimmy Carters think people against Obama care are actually racists." Gregorio looks up and asks, What?" I repeat was I just read in the paper. Then Lavinia speaks up and challenges my statement saying that not what Jimmy Carter said. So I assured her he did at least according to that day's Washington Post. Then a began reading the article out loud to prove to her that he apparently did say these things. As I was concentrating on the words of the article I took no notice of the anger building within Lavinia. Suddenly she exploded. "YOU THINK YOUR SO DAMN SMART. YOU'RE AWAYS SAYING SOMETHING AGAINST OBAMA OR DISCUSSING RACISM. I HATE YOU. I REALLY HATE YOU." I don't know how long she stood over me screaming vile hatred at me but Costa hearing the screaming came running out of his office. He hush her up then ushered her into his office. The door closed behind them and I wondered what would become of Lavinia?

The two remained in Costa's office for around half an hour. Lavinia still had several hours remaining on her shift. Would she be written up? Would she be suspended for screaming at me on the floor like she did right in front of the head of ad operations? Certainly of the tables were reversed I'd have already been escorted out the door sans my badge to ever get back in. But when Lavinia emerged from Costa's office she walked over to her desk across from mine, never making eye contact, gather up her things and left for home. No she wasn't getting fired or suspending. She got the rest of the day off for screaming loud enough for everybody on the ad ops floor that she hated me. Great! The Washington Post is all about fairness and equality. Some are more equal than others.

Thursday, January 16, 2014

Tumbleweed Goes Down Hard

I had not yet signed the papers that would set in motion my departure from the paper but I would need to do so in the coming weeks. In the mean time Crystal and several others including Utha had accepted the offer. Crystal was tired of the politics at the paper and Utha had medical problems that she was sure to place her among the ones fired if she did not go voluntarily. She'd go and take the money.

As I sat down for work Gregorio looked over at me and he was trying to contain his joy. "The boy's gone." He said under his breath about information that was not meant for just anyone's ears. I assumed what Gregorio was talking about was Tumbleweed but just to verify he asked, "Tumbleweed?" Gregorio nodded and went back to work. About that time I see Tumbleweed walking across the floor. He sits down and I can hear him begin asking where his page dummies were for his sections. This was a sign of bad things to come. "Where's my dummies?" He mumbles several times. Then Costas taps Tumbleweed on his shoulder and says, "You want to step into my office." Tumbleweed replies weakly, "Do you know where my dummies are?" Again Costas disregards his questions and asks him into the office. I watche as Tumbleweed, Costas and another manager walk into the office and close the door behind them. That's never a good sign I thought.

I looks over at Gregorio. "What did he fuck up?" Gregorio replies obviously overjoyed, "He ran the wrong directory the other night. He's gone buddy…I'll tell you that." Gregorio went back to sorting through his papers with a smile remaining on his face. After about half an hour had passed the door to Costas' office opened and Tumbleweed emerged with one of the managers by his side. Tumbleweed was crying as he was led off the floor towards the elevators. As he was leaving he turned back looking at me. I looked back nodding as if to say, "see I told you so." Tumbleweed turned and left the paper for the last time.

After several days Gregorio came to me laughing then says, "You got to hear this one Tom. When Costas called Tumbleweed into his office he told him, 'I guess you know why we're calling you in here?' Then that idiot admits he's been online gambling at work and looking at porn. Well Costas told him that actually it was because he ran the wrong directory but thanks for the tip." Me and Gregorio both laugh. "Well I tried to warn the boy." I remark. "But the fool wouldn't listen."

It was the following weekend when Randy came over to my house to have me fix his windshield  wiper. What had happened was, In typical Randy fashion, he had pulled over to get gas but left his intermittent wipers on which he forgot about when he grabbed one of them lifting it off the glass so he could clean the windshield better. While gripped the blade the wipers engaged cause the one he wasn't holding onto to go through it normal motion. However, the blade he was hanging onto got out of sync. When he shut his wipers off from that time forward the blade in front of the driver side stuck straight up instead of returning to the normal resting position at the bottom of the windshield. It was driving Randy crazy. Randy was one of those people that should be banned from using tools. He just didn't have the patience for it. He had had Dave come by to help remove a flat on his boat that had been that way for a decade or more ending his cruising the bay for the most part. The condo association had finally gotten around to warning Randy to move it - or at least  see if the boat actually could be moved. The flat tire was by the curb so Randy could not get the four-way lug wrench on the nut unless he jacked up the tire so the four-way would clear the curb. However, when he jacked up the tire to get the wrench on the nut the tire would spin as he tried to remove the lug nut. He looked like a monkey trying to fuck a football hopelessly attempting to remove the tire. I got the wheel off using a socket wrench and a brain.

So I begin to work on removing the passenger side wiper of Randy's Chevy. I'm not paying Randy any notice as I work on the wiper. Randy is fiddling around with the other wiper and asks, "So what went down with Tumbleweed?" I shook my head thinking about it. "I warned the boy and everything I said would happen, did happen. IDIOT!" Randy continues working on the driver's side wiper. "I tried to talk some sense into the boy too but he obviously didn't listen to me either. I even had Paul called him." Randy says about their old boss who knew a thing or two about being forced out by the Post. "Well a lot of good that did." I remark as I pop the wiper blade off. I'm examining the mechanism to establish what might needed to be removed next. "Have you had any word from him?" Randy nods. "Yeah. About a week ago. He's putting in applications and he's still working that retail job he had when he was still at the paper.

I hear a cracking noise on the other side of the car that Randy is working on then I hear Randy curse, "Dammit!" I look up from my work noticing Randy is trying to pry off the driver side wiper blade using a big screwdriver. Sadly, he used his windshield to pry up on the blade sending a big crack running across the entire front of the glass. I look over the damage. "Good job, Randy. You just broke your own windshield. If you wanted me to fix your car you should have let me fix it. You know how dangerous you can be with tools."

This was more than Randy could take and the two called it a day. Randy headed home with a cracked windshield and the goofy wiper. The following week I signed the paper. However there were still two slots to be filled by volunteers or by two who would be picked. Moral continued to deteriorate in ad operations.

Wednesday, January 15, 2014

The Knives Come Out

From that day forward the attitude for most of the staff changed toward their fellow coworkers. They were now the competition. Many feared losing their health care benefits if their were fired like Ann whose husband had a bad heart. Soon it would become apparent to those who feared losing their jobs most that, should something happen to seven other people to get them fired, it would be just a pity. If one of the staff tripped up, then putting a foot out to help them on their way out the door might just save one's job. I sensed this uneasiness in people's faces at work but simply wrote it off as them worrying about losing their jobs. He never suspected where and by whom I could be stabbed. I only knew things were different. Seeing things from my perspective I didn't feel desperate so I never focused on the desperation of others on the ad ops floor.

When Gregorio showed the piece of paper from across the room to me and I understood was that it was some kind of joke on Tumbleweed. Gregorio was the new supervisor for pagination. He had beaten out Tumbleweed who naturally had also applied for the position because he was after all "the senior paginator." So when the younger, less experienced Gregorio got the nod over Tumbleweed there was some bad blood between him and his new boss, Gregorio. Therefore in hindsight, perhaps playing a practical joke wasn't the brightest idea Gregorio ever had but it was another slow night in the middle of September. That was supposed to be the busy season yet by nine in the evening everything was done. Still I was busy drawing on the computer and didn't pay much attention to Gregorio. Being hard of hearing didn't help matters either. Being a bit proud about admitting I'm getting older and more deaf, I generally would give some confirming gesture or acknowledgement to make someone believe I heard them rather than make them repeat themselves. Tonight was no different as I smiled at Gregorio's prank on Tumbleweed. Perhaps if he'd have grasped the nature of the joke I may have advised Gregorio against it.

The joke consisted of a fake letter created by Gregorio supposedly from the owner of the paper. In it the letter chastised Tumbleweed for his poor work habits then says he's fired. To most people this would be an obvious joke as why would Donald Graham soil his hands firing so lowly an employee as Tumbleweed. He had multiple choices of henchmen for the job. Tumbleweed, not being the sharpest tack in the box, thought the letter was actually real and that he was being fired. He called his mother at home because Randy wasn't around to talk with now and it was too late to call his house.

"What?" Was his mothers stunned response. However, after a few minutes of him explaining how he found a letter delivered to his desk supposedly from the head of a national newspaper she knew it was only a joke. Then she thought of a way this could help her son keep his job. "Look David." She advised over the phone. "You need to file a complain with personnel immediately. Anyone involved will most likely be fired and that's going to improve your chances for remaining on the job." Tumbleweed felt a bit uneasy about the plan but followed his mother's instructions nonetheless and shot off an email to personnel.

After sending the email Tumbleweed started having second thoughts. He walked over to my desk and began talking to me from out of nowhere about the prank. "Hold on man. What are you talking about Tumbleweed?" I broke in not understanding what Tumbleweed is mumbling about. "I think I screwed up, Tom." Tumbleweed replied looking very worried. "How did you screw up, man?" Dave asks turning towards Tumbleweed. He explains the whole prank and about when I was going to stop him to assure him that he's not been fired - and the editor has bigger fish to fry Tumbleweed says, "So I complained to personnel." My mouth dropped open. "You did what? How did you contact personnel." Tumbleweed replies, "I just emailed them. I'm sorry Tom. I'm sorry." He sighs. "Well it's too late now. Nothing good is going to come of this Tumbleweed. Think about it. All this is going to do is get your boss in hot water but I doubt they will fire him for it. So from now on you are going to have to work with Gregorio everyday. He's going to assign you the really hard jobs just hoping you'll screw up. Man nothing good is going to come out of this." All Tumbleweed kept repeating over and over was, "I'm sorry man. I'm sorry." It would not be very long waiting to find about what was really meant by the apology.

In the mean time the gave the heads up to Gregorio who saw the fake letter still sitting on Tumbleweed's desk. He walked over grabbing it before ripping it into pieces. When Tumbleweed finally returned to his desk Gregorio had a few choice words for him before storming off. Tumbleweed looked over to mee. "I'm sorry man." I shook my head and responded, "You just better tell personnel tomorrow that you got all worked up for nothing and over reacted." Tumbleweed nodded signaling to me that this would be his intentions. So I relaxed hoping I had defused trouble for both Gregorio and Tumbleweed.

Sadly for all parties this would not be the case. I had expected personnel would contact me to get his take on the incident and sure enough within days he received a call to go to personnel. When I walked into the office, sitting there with the young woman in personnel was the head of operations, Costa. Hmmm, I thought to myself sitting down after introductions. Interesting. At first I'm asked about the prank. I explain what I knew about it and tried to forward the idea that Tumbleweed simply over reacted. However after giving my statement something quite unexpected happened.

Costa went about explaining that he and personnel had come to the conclusion that the prank was all my idea and that I'd put Gregorio up to doing it. I at first dropped my jaw stunned by this nonsense. Were they going to fire me over this? In addition Tumbleweed had claimed I had repeatedly sexually harassed him by calling him gay. Naturally I had done this many times joking back and forth just as Tumbleweed had done to me. After listening to Costa and the woman from personnel saying they used secret evidence to find me culpable I didn't know what to say. It appeared Tumbleweed was trying to get me fired too! I thought about all the food I'd given Tumbleweed and the times I'd fixed his car plus the Fourth of July invites. The more he thought about that and the kangaroo court being used to find me guilty the angrier I became. When Costa handed me the paper signifying I was being written up rather than fired I took it and said. "I'll take that money to leave. You can believe that." Costa responded not to do anything rash even though they had already written me up before even hearing my side of the story. They had already made up their minds citing such evidence as me laughing when Gregorio showed the fake letter from across the room. I was the oldest person in the room and the only one who was hard of hearing. It never occurred that deafness might have something to do with why I would laugh about a gag I'd never actually heard of when told from across the room. I knew I wanted out and the sooner the better. I took his little paper and left the personnel office.

When I returned to pagination I saw Tumbleweed sitting there wearing a smirk across his face. He had the look of somebody who felt they finally had the upper hand after a long time being on the bottom. I sat at my desk and began working. From behind I heard Tumbleweed say, "Hi Tom." I didn't even bother to turn around to acknowledge that Tumbleweed was alive. Things were pretty much the way I had warned and that was before he knew Tumbleweed had tried to get me fired too. I knew the paper would not get many chances to fire me now because I was taking the money and leaving. I knew I had to keep my mouth shut and watch out because a cannibalistic attitude took over advertising operations. Now everybody's face took on the look of fear and doubt about the future. Gregorio had kept his job and he hated Tumbleweed now were his words could express. In addition, just as I had warned, Tumbleweed claiming that all of this sexual harassment was occurring right outside the office doors of the head of advertising operations, Costa, looked rather bad. Nobody came away happy except temporarily for Tumbleweed. He wore the stupid grin for several more weeks until he began to see where I might have been right about the outcome and his mother very wrong. He had tried everyday to make chit chat with me but I pretended Tumbleweed wasn't there. In my mind Tumbleweed had tried to get me fired and now he wanted to be buddies again. To me this demonstrated how out of touch Tumbleweed was and that he was liable to do or say anything. So it was better to have no contact with him as far as I was concerned.

Tuesday, January 14, 2014

2009 - Randy Gone, Seven Going

Randy was on the phone with personnel when Tumbleweed walked up hold an ad jacket containing the last ad he needed to close his section. Tumbleweed knew Randy was talking to personnel when he heard Randy refer to the person as Edna. She worked in personnel and had been involved providing orientation to Tumbleweed when he was hired. So Tumbleweed listened in on the conversation as he waited and heard the word retire. Randy hung up finally and hadn't even realized Tumbleweed was standing nearby as he was preoccupied shuffling through some papers. "Who's retiring? Tumbleweed asks causing Randy to whirl around in his chair. "Me if all goes well." Tumbleweed could tell that Randy was serious. He didn't know what to say. Then Randy continued but in a more hushed voice. "Look, the longer I stay here at this point the better the shot that Tom is going to get me fired. He was out to get me and look at all the people who are gone now since he became the top guy in operations. Even though he's gone now he's poisoned the well. The paper's looking for any reason to can employees. They used Tom because the guy was a big oaf and the paper is getting him to be their heavy and look for any reason to fire anybody so they can cut costs. I'm getting the hell out now with something rather than have personnel trump something up and 30 years worth of retirement and everything is down the drain." All Tumbleweed can say is, "Are you going to be able to retire and get by with what they'll pay you even though you're not sixty-five yet?" Randy smiles and replies, "Oh yeah buddy. My mortgage is a hundred seventy-five bucks a month so I'll be just fine." Tumbleweed a bit shocked responds, "A hundred seventy-five dollars a month! My condo fee is way more than that." What Tumbleweed didn't say was his mortgage was ten times higher than Randy's puny payment and his was getting ready to increase again - or so he'd been warned. However, since the collapse in the market the rates had not gone up sparing Tumbleweed further financial misery.

By the middle of the summer Randy was gone. He had made it safely into retirement. The early retirement had cost him dearly and if only he could have stuck it out three more years he'd of really been set up financially. But at least he got something and for the time being it seemed he would be able to get by with it. When Randy left there was no fanfare or parties. Those were now a thing of the past at the paper. Everything grew darker at the building as more time passed. Half of the floor was now darkened where in recent times not so long ago employees for the paper were doing a job that was now no longer required. Those jobs were either killed by the Internet or their services were replaced by a software program that did their job for almost nothing twenty-four hours a day and never asked for a raise, formed a union nor demanded benefits. Randy had been a stabilizing influence on Tumbleweed. Before doing anything rash he always ran it past Randy first. Sure Randy played many practical jokes on Tumbleweed but that was just fun and games like things were back in the sixties at the paper. All the new hires got hazed in one way or another in those days. If one of the new employees wasn't walking around asking for a left handed wrench that he'd been told to fetch by one of the older workers playing a practical joke that everybody else was in on then someone must have just passed away at the paper. But all jokes aside, Tumbleweed knew that Randy knew the deal around the paper. He'd already saved Tumbleweed's ass several time by catching something that would have published in Tumbleweed's section. Tumbleweed had already been suspended two times while Randy was working along side him. Tumbleweed was on thin ice and he knew it. Now with no more Randy looking over his shoulder Tumbleweed was on his own - at least he felt that way, with the exception of the advice given to him by his mother.

Tumbleweed's outward appearance began to change. He looked more unshaven, unkept and like he'd not gotten enough sleeps. His eyes had dark circles. The last thing he wanted to hear when he got to work on such a nice August night that there was going to be a meeting. Everyone was a bit apprehensive when they were told to meet in the big conference room at eight o'clock, not just Tumbleweed. It was not that time of the month for what was now the monthly blood letting. Talk about the meeting and rumors were running rampant. The entire staff for operations now numbered only twenty-nine. That number included everybody from ad makers to paginators, artists, etc. The crew was a skeleton of its former self and even then there was not enough work to go around. The recent contract the union and paper signed allowed for the paper to keep a percentage of key employees regardless of seniority. These franchise employees could be kept on while employees with more seniority could be fired. Not everybody knew this as the big summer meeting began. But the contract language that allowed the paper to lay off any employee regardless of seniority was certainly on senior paginator Tumbleweed's mind.

The head of advertising operations took to the lectern and began speaking. "As you know the paper has had a drastic drop in the number of ads. The paper is not offering a buy out per se but a cash payment to leave. No matter what, seven of you will be reduced from the staff." Ann spoke up, "What if seven of us don't want to go?" Costa the head of operations very quickly answered that question. "Then management will decide which people will be let go." "Will they still get the money if they are forced out?" Someone from across the room yells. "No." Is Costa's no nonsense response. Everyone in the room remains in a stunned silence. "How will management decide which employees have to go?" Ann continues asking the questions on everybody's mind. Costa replies into the microphone, "That will be depending on the needs of the paper." Liz speaks up. "What about seniority?" Costa attempts to explain how twenty percent of the staff can be kept regardless of seniority. The remaining employees would be culled based on seniority after the key employees were taken off the table for termination. Still I see confusion in most people's eyes and say, "It's sort of like the twenty percent of the employees the paper picks can be tagged like franchise players in the NFL." Around the room but with a couple exceptions, the men all nod understanding their fate while the woman mostly remain confused. The room rumbles with a bit of chatter as those who understand explain things to those who do not understand or don't want to believe it. Costa breaks in over the speakers. "This decision will be made in eight weeks. Talk to your managers if you have questions." The meeting adjourned and the staff walks out in stunned silence. They look like they were lining up for a wake.

 As they all file out to return to their desk they began mumbling to one another. People like Liz had always counted on seniority to protect her from her bad work habits, lateness and absenteeism. Some employees had real health problem that also cause them to miss work. That was their problem now not the paper's. Needless to say Tumbleweed was very worried. If six people took the deal and only one person had to be fired he knew it would be him. He just knew it. That night when he got home he told his mother about the meeting and the two stayed up for hours discussing the possible ramifications especially in lieu of Tumbleweed's recent back to back suspensions. Forget about the fact that pagination had too many people. Several sections of the paper had been eliminated or combined with other sections.

I drove home that night not so worried about the meeting. I'd already been told that I was among the twenty percent that would be insulated from being axed. However, with everything that I'd come to learn of recently about things that never made it into the paper, I'd become really disgusted by the entire lying operation. I felt sort of dirty for being a part of it. Everyday I read about some additional case of government corruption or even treason that would never receive one dot of printer's ink in the paper. At the same time the only ads the paper could count on were ones bought by the federal government. Without those ads the paper would fold up like a dixie cup. However without the official stories and editorials that those government ads paid for perhaps the same fate might befall the government. As far as I was concerned the paper and the government were in bed together. Getting out of advertising operations did have its appeal to me and at least I felt I had a choice in the matter unlike most of the other's on the floor. They mostly prayed some other seven people would take the money and go.