Catching Up

Okay. I realise that I haven't been writing my blog, and I really have no excuse. So there.

Anyway, I am now writing it again. Amazingly enough, things have come full circle (unfortunately) and I am once again undomiciled. I won't go into details right now, but it had to do with a medication problem and the subsequent loss of my job, back in April. I have spent the past eight months looking for another job, to no avail. This is either because there are not any jobs out there, I am not qualified, or people just don't want to hire a nutcase like me. I suspect the last reason pretty much hits the nail on the head.

Anyway, I got kicked out of my apartment at the beginning of this month, so I and my cats are now homeless. My cats are being looked after by several of my former neighbours, and I check on them daily and take them food. They are doing okay, despite the shitty weather.

I, on the other hand, after exhausting all of my financial resources and selling just about everything that I had that I could get any money for (including two thirds of my DVD collexion and my university ring)am now living in a homeless shelter here in Baton Rouge, which sucks greatly, only slightly less than if I DIDN'T have a homeless shelter to live in and had to sleep under a bridge or something. More about this later.

I filed for unemployment back in May, and got no response, so I filed again in August and got no response, so I filed again in October and (you guessed it) got no response. So, after I got kicked out on my ass, I went down to the secret headquarters of the Louisiana Workforce Commission, to find out how come they never got in touch with me. I talked to a nice man on the phone in the lobby (they won't talk to you in person) and he told me that they would re-open my case. He also told me how to apply for the back benefits that I WOULD have received, had they done something about my claim when I filed it, at least ONE of the three times. Yay.

This process involved my listing each week that I didn't receive benefits in a long, drawn-out three-page letter and giving it to them, which I did. Hooray! I finally got some action out of them!

The action I received was a stack of automated letters (one for each week that I claimed) informing me that I would not be receiving benefits for that week, because I had "failed to file in a timely fashion". As a result, I will now start drawing the unemployment benefits that would have kept me from being homeless, had they actually processed my claim one of the times that I filed it. Imagine my joy.

Well, I was told that I could have my old job back. That is supposed to happen this week, provided I pass a background check. They didn't have one before, but now they do, and I have to pass it. I already peed in a cup for them. So, if (and when) I get my job back, I will cease to receive the unemployment benefits which I am supposed to receive, starting LAST WEEK, which means that I will be able to collect maybe two weeks' unemployment before starting my new (old) job.

I am not making this up. I never thought that bureaucracy could be so convoluted. It is. So, I am waiting for unemployment and/or my job to kick in. Meanwhile, I am staying at an homeless shelter, which I wouldn't have to do had (a) the LWC had processed my claim "in a timely fashion" or, (b)I had gotten my job back a few months earlier, before I ran out of money and got kicked out on my ass.

So now, I guess my blog's title is valid once more. Yay. Tonight, it is back to the shelter, where I will be regaled by my fellow homeless persons, eat a meal (can't complain here)and drift off to sleep with visions of my former life dancing in my head,like, back when I really had one.

Gout, Groans and Gripes

I suffer, albeit infrequently, from gout. Gout is a form of arthritis characterised by rapid, painful swelling of joints, particularly in the extremities. It is far more common among men than women, but can affect women after menopause. My particular form is inherited (usually maternally) and results in high uric acid levels. I usually don't have much of a problem with gout, so long as I avoid certain foods, such as: large amounts of red meat and organ meat, any seafood that turns pink when you cook it, too much alcohol or (particularly true) caffeine.

I haven't had an attack of gout in a long time, and (I admit) I have indulged in much too much caffeine lately, which frequently triggers an attack. I have had way too many energy drinks lately, and colas (non-decaffeinated)and, about a week ago, I woke up and my right elbow felt like red-hot needles had been shoved into it. It was red and swollen (see above picture: this is today, much better). The whole week, it hurt like hell. Gout starts with a sharp, burning pain that devolves into a dull ache that becomes a stabbing pain every time you flex the joint. Finally, the entire area itches like crazy, and when you scratch it, it gets worse. That is gout. I'm stuck with it. I could take allopurinol, but that's another expense.

So, of course, this week, every drunk, lunatic and generally annoying person seemed to come in. Maybe the same number came in and I noticed it more, because I was so miserable:

- There was the drunk who comes in all day long, jabbering on his cell whilst trying (and failing twice)to pay for his purchases using his debit card. Even with the assistance of myself and a customer (there was a line) he only succeeded on the third try. He never stopped jabbering. He came back later, still drunk, and insisted that I give him the balance on his card (which, of course, I can't do). He came back later and tried to make a purchase (which I had to void), but his money had run out.

- There was the guy who was going to buy a bottle of Grey Goose, but couldn't make up his mind, so he went to ask his wife about it, so I had to void it off, which required calling a manager, and then came back and wanted it, after all.

- There was the stupid cow who set a half-dozen items on the counter and then discovered that she had nowhere near enough money (she was buying for other people), which required me to void it off (see above). After she left, I remarked, "What have we learned here? When you send someone out for party supplies, send the one who can count!" That got a laugh from the line behind her.

- There was the guy with the cane who always smells like a septic tank (no kidding), and who pays me in loose change for Thunderbird Red. Most of the coins look like they have been corroding in a sewer, and his bills always smell like a sewer, too. I have to hold my breath when I wait on him.

- There was the bum who buys one can of Steel Reserve Malt Liquor at a time, drinks them on the bench in front of the store, and comes back for another one, until he is incoherent. It is illegal to drink on the premises, and I usually tell him to leave, but I was so miserable,
I really didn't care, so I left him alone.

- There was the weird little guy who mumbles to himself and once screamed, "I get a crazy check!" at me. He is so unbelievably rude that, this past week, I actually told him that he had better acquire some manners if he wanted to keep buying his booze from me.

Well, the gout is getting better and so is my temper. This week-end was gorgeous, unlike last week. There are more monsoons on the way. Dad's memorial service is on Friday. I still have stuff at the storage place. Life is a bitch, as usual.

For information on gout, go to http://www.mayoclinic.com/health/gout/DS0090.

Sturm und Drang

Last night, we had the worst storm since Hurricane Gustav. I got home about 10:30. Josh had texted me earlier and asked if he could come over. I said okay, because I was going to stay up late anyway. I got home and there was nothing to eat but a few leaves of lettuce and three eggs. He brought over two packages of chicken ramen and he had ramen and I had ramen with an egg in it, which was all I had had to eat all day. Poverty really, really sucks ass.

We sat up for awhile and watched Adult Swim. He asked if he could stay over, because there was supposed to be bad weather that night, and I said okay, because I didn't mind the company and, anyway, there had been a severe weather warning on television. I checked the weather on the net and it said that severe thunderstorms and high winds were expected. He went to sleep. I went to sleep around 1 or so.

Josh and I are good friends, but, lately, he has been demanding more and more of my attention. I don't mind giving it, when I can, and he can be good company and fun sometimes, but sometimes he can be an emotional drain. He has been talking a lot about getting a job, but he doesn't seem to put much effort into it. I told him about a place that was hiring and gave him the manager's name, but he just keeps coming up with excuses to not go. He could get the job by showing up. He just won't show up. All I can do right now is try to figure out ways to try and motivate him. I can't solve his problems for him: I have enough of my own.

So, about 2, I am waked up with what sounds and looks like an artillery duel outside, accompanied by gale-force winds and driving rain. Josh sleeps through most of it, until one really loud thunderclap wakes him up. He looks around and then goes back to sleep. I just sit up until it lets up, around 4. I wake him up around ten and send him home. It rains most of the day.

Around 1:30 in the afternoon, my boss calls me and asks me if I can come in for 3 instead of 4, and I say yes. It is raining lightly when I leave for work. I get my check and discover that, amazingly, after I pay the bills, I will actually have enough to buy food and stuff. Yay! So, I pay a couple of bills and go to work early.

I am supposed to get off at 10, but one of the managers asks me if I can stay until 12, because they are short one person, so I shag grocery carts in the pouring rain, which is getting worse by the minute, until 12. I load up on cheap pot pies (fifty cents apiece!), but some actual real MEAT on sale (I'm giving some to Travis and Fernando)and ride home in moderate rain. By the time I get home, I'm pretty soaked, but the light show was awesome.

Anyway, I ate a pot pie (chicken and broccoli), the last of my lettuce, a real piece of MEAT and had some wine. It's still raining, but I'm dry now. It's supposed to storm tomorrow, too.

No real point to this one, sorry. More like a diary entry. Anyway, it was a hell of a storm!

Pease Porridge Hot ...

The other night, I was just thinking and wandering around on the internet (as I am wont to do) and I suddenly remembered an old children's rhyme that I learnt around (it has been that long) 50 years ago. Boys and girls used to chant it, but the versions were slightly different, and the girls had a clapping game that went along with it. The whole version went like this:

Pease porridge hot, pease porridge cold,
Pease porridge in the pot, nine days old;
Some like it hot, some like it cold,
Some like it in the pot, nine days old.
Can you spell that with four letters?
I can: T-H-A-T.

The thing is, that the girls never learnt the last bit of the rhyme, because they used it for their clapping game. The boys all used the last two lines because the whole purpose was to find another boy who didn't know the rhyme and trick him, hopefully in front of his friends. I wondered whether or not this rhymes was still around, so I asked customers about it all night last night.

I found that most men or women about forty or above were familiar with the rhyme, and that some of the men knew the last two lines, while none of the women did. When I asked younger customers, in their twenties or thirties, I found that only a few of the men were familiar with the rhyme at all, whereas over half the women were. None of the women I spoke to were familiar with the last two lines.

I have made pease porridge before, and felt nostalgic for it. If you have never had pease porridge (it is virtually unknown in the Southern United States), it is a thick pea soup, usually made with split yellow peas, onion and spices, including cardamom, which gives it flavour. I decided to look up a recipe for it and found one on the internet, and, oddly enough, was redirected to a page for Some Like it Hot, a 1959 Billy Wilder comedy starring Jack Lemmon, Tony Curtis and Marilyn Monroe. The title was taken from the children's' rhyme. I never knew that.

The story is essentially a farce which deals with two musicians who witness a mob hit and are pursued by the mob (including George Raft, who played gangster roles in the 1930's). They hide from the mob by dressing in drag and joining a women's orchestra, after which all kinds of highjinks ensue aboard a train.

Wilder had the worst time with the young Marilyn Monroe, who was always forgetting her lines, so that pieces of paper with her cues on it were stashed around the set, on pieces of property, behind cabinet doors or anywhere she would be, out of the shot. He swore he would never work with her again. The film garnered six Academy Award nominations, but lost out to Cecil B. De Mile's spectacular, Ben Hur.

All that from a children's rhyme. When I get paid on Thursday, I am going to collect the ingredients and make up a pot of pease porridge. The rhyme about it being in the pot "nine days old" is accurate": the stuff will last forever in the fridge.

Dear Mr. President

I recently draughted this leter and sent it to President Obama at whitehouse.gov. It will be interesting to see if anyone answers it, and what the answer may be. I also forwarded a copy to the Opinions Editor of the Local newspaper, The Advocate (not to be confused with the gay-oriented magazine of the same name. I just want to see how important us po' folk really are to the powers-that-be.


Dear Whoever Reads This For The President:

We all really appreciate the efforts being made to help stabilise the economy, but I have one question about these bailouts.

I recently filed my income tax for the calendar year 2008. I was supposed to get $1008 back on taxes, which I desperately need because I am very poor. I made just over $13,000 last year, working for a corporation which, like so many retailers in America, will not let me work full-time so they won't have to give me benefits.

Imagine my suprise when I got a letter from the IRS informing me that, due to a previous debt to the US Department of Education, all of my tax return was being kept by the government. I was not aware that I still owed the Department of Education anything, but, if the government says I do, than I probably do.

My question is this: if our country can use my tax money to bail out huge corporations and forgive their mega-debt, why can't you guys forgive my paltry little debt and give me my $1080 back? I assure you, I will not use it to buy an expensive condo, join a country club or vacation in Aruba. I will use it on mundane things like paying my rent and utilities and putting food in my mouth and the mouths of my two cats. Where is MY economic stimulus package?

I await your reply.

Sincerely yours,

Carl L. Thayer

March Madness

Well, today is St. Patrick's Day: Erin Go Bragh! I am celebrating by cleaning the bathroom (why the hell I started this, I will never know!), which is turning out to be a real task, as the walls are filthy with years of soot from the deadly gas furnace (see previous post). It is a beautiful Spring day, bright and sunny and about 20 degrees (68F)outside. I have the windows open, and a gentle breeze is blowing. The only problem in my life today (other than that I am totally broke until Thursday) is that, apparently, Yin is about to come into heat, so Yang is beginning to act like he wants to mate her. I fired off a quick SMS to Kyle, telling him that the time to fix the cats is NOW: I do not need kittens. I hope I hear back from him soon, because I don't know where I will scrape up the money, otherwise: my next check is already spent on bills.

On Saturday, Travis and Fernando and I went down to watch the annual St. Patrick's day parade (see above photos). We walked there in the drizzling rain (suitably Irish weather)and stopped in a nearby pub for Guinness (Travis had lager, instead)and watched the parade go by for awhile. Another place was serving meat pies and jambalaya, so we ate and hung out for awhile, before walking back to State St. I had to go to work at 4, so I went home, showered, changed into riding clothes and headed for work.

The whole parade route, down Perkins rd., was a total mess. There were beads and cups and trinkets strewn everywhere! It was as messy as any Mardis Gras parade I have ever seen, even in New Orleans. I was appalled. I was more appalled after I passed Acadian Thruway and a pickup truck with two little shits in it passed me, screaming obscenities, like: "Get off the fucking road, motherfucker! Fuck you, faggot!" Yeah, I know: I should be used to it by now.

But I hadn't gone half a mile when a second pickup, full of rednecks passed by, and the one on the passenger side leaned out the window to shout expletives at me and threw a fucking beer bottle at me! Of course, he missed by twenty feet or so; the bottle landed in the grass on the side of the road. They had a keg in the back of the pickup. I memorised the license plate and wrote it down when I got to work, but then it got misplaced. No matter: the cops wouldn't have done anything, anyway.

So, that kind of sucked. One of these days, I am going to catch up to one of these fuckers and beat the living shit out of him. I am so tired of this crap! Here I am, minding my own fucking business, riding to work in the fucking rain and not one but two pickup trucks full of inbred, trailer-trash cretins have to fuck with me, within the space of one half-mile on one of the busiest streets in the city!

I have said it before, and I'll say it again: Baton Rouge is in no way bicycle friendly.

Peace. Out.

William Rissler Thayer 1924-2009

It is my sad duty to report the passing of my father at age 84, of complications due to Alzheimer's and rectal cancer. He died peacefully: he had just finished breakfast (he always loved breakfast) and went back to his room and just died, just like that.

We didn't always have a great relationship, particularly when I was a teenager. To be blunt, he hit me a lot. I used to think he hated me, but I understand a lot more about it, now. I was his oldest child, and he didn't quite know what to do with a pubescent and then teen boy, especially one who really didn't like to be told what to do very much (and still don't)and wouldn't necessarily always see his point of view. Our family situation was very volatile as well, due to my mother's mental problems and alcoholism. I don't think he really wanted to hurt me so much as he felt like he had to strike out at someone, and I was handy.

But, in so many other ways, he was a wonderful father. He was intelligent and well-read (as was my mother) and willing to discuss just about any topic with his kids, no matter what it was. I don't ever remember being told that I shouldn't ask about something, or that I was too young to know about a subject. He discussed things with me on a peer level, even when I was a child, and was tirelessly patient in his explanations of things.

He involved me and my brother in all manner of "projects". We worked on the family cars, did carpentry and plumbing and painting and were encouraged to build things and use tools. He helped me build my first stereo from a kit when I was 12. He took us on outings to all kinds of different out-of-the-way places to see things that he had discovered and found interesting. He had a tremendous influence in the formation of my intellect.

In later years, especially after my mother died, in 1997, we became very close. We spent a lot of time discussing politics, ethics and current events. He had a keen, incisive mind that could quickly cut to the meat of any question. I greatly enjoyed long talks with my Dad.

He was a veteran of World War II, and worked on the Manhattan Project, which developed the Atomic Bomb. He met and worked with people like J. Robert Oppenheimer, Enrico Fermi and George Kistakovsky. He was a great crusader for liberal causes. When the fundamentalist organisation Operation Rescue surrounded a local women's clinic in an attempt to shut it down, Dad took his two weeks' vacation to stand in the hot July sun and help defend the clinic.
That was my Dad. He detested authoritarianism in all of its guises, and was always outspoken about it. He saw no difference between the enemies he had fought in World War II and their modern counterparts, despite what they were calling themselves these days.

I lived with him and cared for him for about a year, before the Alzheimer's got too bad and he had to move to assisted living. It was heartbreaking for me to watch this splendid mind decay slowly into ruin. Alzheimer's is cruelest to those who love the one with it. He never once thought anything was wrong. He died happy.

As St. Thomas More remarked, when asked if he would go to heaven: "How could God refuse one who is so blithe to come to him?" My Dad was a man of strong faith. I know where he is now, and I'm sure he's stirring something up there, too.