| (no subject) |
[May. 27th, 2008|08:14 pm] |
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I saw a fat man fall today. Fall hard. He was huge, really really fat and huge. I got no satisfaction from it. Maybe I'm getting the flu? |
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| Register to vote bra |
[Dec. 29th, 2007|07:03 pm] |
So, the last day to register and/or switch your party affiliation is December 31st, this Monday. If you go to usayfoundation.org it is so easy -- just fill in your info and it fills out your form, just print it out.
Have it postmarked by Monday.
PS you must be registered as REPUBLICAN to vote for Ron Paul in the primaries. Sucks but whatev, you can change right back.
dp |
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| Home. |
[Dec. 24th, 2007|12:25 am] |
Downtown Ft. Myers was a hangout spot for my group of friends. It wasn’t very large and didn’t have many shops. There was a park under the overpass where US 41 dissected the downtown going north and south. Centennial Park was a place where we would hang out, where we would feed the homeless on Tuesday nights and where we would meet when a large group was all going out together. Due to waterfront development of high-rises the park has been shrinking and will eventually be developed into nothingness.
Every Tuesday night was our Food Not Bombs meeting. About 15 teens would get together, make vegan food and serve it to the homeless and hungry in the park. In January things began to change. To appease investors and contractors our city councilmen decided to review a proposed ordinance which would make it illegal to serve food in downtown parks. Centennial is the only park downtown. A group of concerned people made a group to work against the proposed ordinance. This coalition consisted of: Councilman Wright who didn't agree with the ordinance, the Red Cross and Salvation Army, Ruby Tuesday (the chronically sick woman who lives out of a shopping cart), Victor (the Vietnam Veteran with schizophrenia), a big-time attorney who fought the same kind of ordinance in Orlando, my two good friends and me. Although our meetings were never quite normal (occasionally ending with Victor getting into a fight with a statue of Robert E. Lee), we formed a plan that convinced the council and Mayor Humphrey to postpone their decision. This ordinance can be reviewed again at any of the future monthly meetings (that is, as long as it's on the docket) but at the time the council did not want Ft. Myers to have to front $20,000 per month in legal battles.
Harborside convention hall was across the street from the historic post office which was across the street from the park. Harborside is a large, tacky, orange colored building where events are held. Some of their events include: Art for Acts where Bob Rauschenberg and Sharon Stone tried to get money for our local abused shelter for women, concerts with Baby ‘V’ (from American Idol) and rapper Young Weezy, as well as cage wrestling, boat shows, and citrus growers conventions. I worked there from sophomore to senior year and most of my friends worked there on-and-off for at least some period of time.
The Ramada Inn (which is now unfortunately called The Ambassador Hotel) is currently the tallest building downtown. On any given weekend instead of finding my friends and me at Ft. Myers Beach you would be likely to find us lounging at the twin kidney-shaped pools located at the Ramada. Surprisingly, never once did anyone question us whether or not we were guests of the hotel. We showed up in our suits with towels and plunged in, no problem.
The Ramada is an old hotel with an interesting feature. The doors to the rooms are a bit too heavy. This weight makes it necessary to push a door closed because it will not shut all the way by itself. This was quite a discovery. When we learned about this, we began to wander around the hotel to see what could come of it. I learned that about one out of every twenty to thirty doors a maid would forget to push closed. From this point on, any homecoming, prom, or other even which required us to stay the night out we could always count on the Ramada to offer us a room.
One weekend my senior year, after my friends and I had had our fill of swimming we decided to take the stairs to the roof of the Ramada. We went up the stairs on the West side of the Ramada, a staircase that I had never been up before. On the third or forth floor we came out of the staircase and to our right was a hallway that we had never seen before. It was a dingy, dark hallway with broken furniture and other useless items. Amongst the items was an old out-of-tune piano. The top had been lost and it was severely scratched and chipped. Evan Thompson, my long time friend, stepped up and tried to play a few familiar songs. Even with Evans obvious musical talent and deep, cheerful, voice a crisp, recognizable melody was impossible to make out of the profoundly out of tune piano. Afterwards we made our way to the roof and watched the sun set behind the Caloosahatchee.
Times like these show what the Ramada was to me. It always offered something fun, something slightly risqué. I felt a wave of sadness when the Ramada was bought out and it became the Ambassador. It was repainted and I heard rumors of trespassing swimmers getting the boot. Luckily this happened after our reign at the Ramada was over.
By the time I finish my time at FSU, Harborside will have tripled in size, swallowing up the historic post office. The once sprawling Centennial Park will become nothing more than a grass lot under an overpass. The city ordinance that we vehemently fought against will eventually pass and it won’t even be possible to feed the homeless in what is left of the park. All of this is due to the development of high rises and turning Ft. Myers into the “Convention center of South Florida.”
As much angst as I appear to have, I know that this was bound to happen. This is something that has been in the works for years. I am glad that I had my time with the downtown area. I know that my brother’s generation will have a downtown with things to do. It will have shops and clubs, chic coffee joints and a huge concert hall. The saddest part is that they will never come to know the simple pleasures of having nothing to do but still having the time of their lives. |
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| On the Road Again |
[Dec. 22nd, 2007|02:36 am] |
Six-thirty. Time to wake up and begin the arduous, two-hour ordeal of getting ready. This day, November 12th, today, was the most important day in his life. He needed no alarm to wake up. Every morning at around the same time his eyes would open slowly and he would swing his legs onto the linoleum floor. Before rising he always switches from one mask to another: the former, for his sleep apnea, to insure that he wakes each morning and, the latter, an oxygen mask to supply his oxygen depleted lungs life-giving air.
His uniform was hanging on the back of his bathroom door. Margie, his widowed neighbor, had pressed and hung it yesterday. There is a special bond between people who have dealt with loss; something that neither one needed to articulate, just accept.
He didn’t shower, didn’t need to. When a man doesn’t sweat he need only shower when he feels that it is time. After putting on his bedroom slippers and making his bed, he slowly moved to his chair, sat down, and picked up his black marching shoes. They were gleaming, but out of habit, he began to shine them, the left and then the right. When he decided that the already perfect shoes where finished, he placed them back on the floor next to his shoehorn.
From his dresser he got a new white undershirt and put it on. Five months worth of AirStreamer magazines where neatly fanned out on top of the dresser. Aside from Virginia and the Cowboys, he loved nothing more. His land yacht was more than sold and he hadn’t felt the grip of its steering wheel or the cool breeze of the open road in three years.
He went to the bathroom and preformed his morning rituals. Instead of using his electric razor, he pulled out his old blade, with shaky hands sharpened it and, shaved his beard. He then dressed, looked in the mirror, straightened his uniform, and left his room. He had breakfast alone at the cafeteria.
“Happy Veteran's Day Russ!” Said the attendant as he passed the head nurse’s station.
“Thank you and good morning Marie. How are you today?”
“Well I’m just peachy. Oh! Before I forget, I have what you asked for, would you like it now?”
“Why, yes Marie. That’s actually why I came by.”
“Well, here you go. Good luck today and be careful!”
At this, Russ left. The LeeTran stop wasn’t too far and he didn’t have to wait too long for it to come. Riding down Daniels Avenue, he looked out to a familiar and yet so unfamiliar surroundings. He had been there and had seen the once swamp-like area of southwest Florida develop into a large urbanized city and watched as the suburbs spread out. He passed 75, which wasn’t extended that far south when he first moved there, and US 41, which had become a slow, unsightly road, seemingly jam packed with fast food restaurants and pawn shops.
When the bus passed the US 41 intersection Daniels turned into Cypress Drive. He passed Cypress Junior and Senior High School, the alma mater of both of his daughters. He tried to remember the plays that Karen was in and the flag twirling shows before football games that his youngest daughter (who never could make cheer leader) did.
Finally it was his stop, Ruttenberg Park. He had spent many Saturday afternoons here, playing softball with his girls or looking for the newest Nancy Drew at the now-closed library. This was the spot where he had chosen. Getting off the bus, he looked at his watch. It read a quarter to noon. The sun was bright and he wondered if it was a bad decision to leave his tank at home. Even though it was on wheels he knew that it would have been too difficult for him to bring and he gave it no more thought.
He straightened his uniform and put on his hat. He slowly walked down the sidewalk until he found a spot that seemed right. He stepped off of the sidewalk onto the grass, to keep out of the way of the passerby. Unfolding what Marie had given him, he straightened his uniform and stood at attention facing the oncoming cars.
The day got hot and Cypress Drive had, as usual, heavy traffic. He remained standing the way he was taught. He remained completely still except for a slight bobbing of his head which was uncontrollable and, for the most part, unnoticed. As cars passed many honked at him, some waved or shouted and others just looked. As he began to perspire, standing there, next to a park that was barely used and unkempt, in a town where he lived and worked, married and raised a family, in a town where he retired and always looked forward to returning to after cross country exploration and a town where he would be buried next to his wife, he knew what he was doing was right.
***
His funeral was held at the VFW. The ceremony was small, consisting of his friends from the war, some fellow AirStreamers, his daughters, a grandchild and his wife’s brother.
“Grandpa has passed onto a better place. He told me once that when he did ‘kick the bucket,’ as he put it, that he didn’t want a sad funeral. He loved his life and lived each day as if it were the best day of his life, but he was ready for what was to come. He told me that from the things he loved, he had very few that he still held onto. His wife moved on; his girls married and moved away; his photography, taken with his shaky nerves; his home, renovated and rented; his keys taken and his large diesel-consuming love sold. Grandpa’s last day on this Earth was spent doing the last thing that he held onto: trying to change the world.”
As the eulogy concluded, per his request, On the Road Again began to play. On by one, the people that he loved and who loved him moved to the front of the VFW, taking a last look of Russell's calm face resting in a velvet casket and to look at a stand which held the cardboard, the sign found next to him on the afternoon of November 12th. His youngest daughter began to weep when she read its lone message. “Honk for Peace!” |
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| New Scanner Baby! |
[Mar. 27th, 2007|01:38 pm] |
I love my new scanner. More to come I hope. |
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| Action Sampler |
[Oct. 25th, 2006|01:40 am] |
My new camera. Four photos, one taken every quarter second. It'll be amazing.
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| good news/ I wish I had more patience |
[Oct. 17th, 2006|12:00 am] |
1 hr. 50 min. until Nip/Tuck
14 Days until my birthday
15 Days until Halloween
16 Days until I find out if I am in FSU
34 Days until Death Cab for Cutie
I found out that if you fight enough you really do get what you want. My school didn't send my transcript to FSU and I was fucked. They basically said that it was my fault and to get over it. I fought and fought and fought and two hours before my appointment with the principal to try to solve what happened, my guidance counselor called and told me that FSU would accept my application in the first batch, letting me know November 1 instead of December 12.
Yesterday I bought the coolest thing ever. A Moleskine notebook (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Moleskine). This is the same notebook that Hemingway used when he was in Italy. I love it so much and have just been writing in it constantly. It makes me want to be a detective or journalist or writer. They all seem to use the same stenographers pad and all look really cool writing in it. |
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| (no subject) |
[Oct. 12th, 2006|06:37 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | estoy cansado | ] |
| [ | music |
| | the format | ] |
Today I watched Amélie and realized how much I love foreign films. I usually go for films in spanish (especially if Gael García Bernal is in them) and they are just so amazing and sexy. Later today or tomorrow I'm going to watch Love Actually again. It's a British comedy so I guess that's foreign. And let me tell you, the Brits know how to make their movies. I saw The Decent a few weeks ago, and let me say first off that a horror movie with an all woman cast is brilliant, and it just was an amazing horror film all around. Later this week I will be getting Amores Perros and I just can't wait. And I have no idea why this is interesting to anyone. |
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| (no subject) |
[Oct. 9th, 2006|11:25 pm] |
So I'm sure a lot of you remember the Dateline "To Catch a Predator" right? Well I've been thinking about that whole "sting" thing for a while and it's been bothering me. At first, I admit, that I thought it was a pretty entertaining thing. But what i realized was that the whole thing is entrapment. The so-called online company "perverted justice . com" that Dateline hires to catch their "wantabe pedophiles" is a really fucked up company. I suggest that you all check out CorruptedJustice.com. This sight exposes what perverted justice is, an organization that is determined to ruin lives, whether people are pedophiles or not. I can not understand why this isn't illegal. The creator, owner, and guy who runs the whole program "Xavier Von Erck" not only describes that he has, "Gotten people fired, gotten people kicked out of their homes, we've broken up relationships and friendships," but he also says that if someone is falsely accused (or justly accused) and commit suicide that he would feel nothing. I have not felt this disgusted about something for a while. |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 20th, 2006|11:03 pm] |
I think I'm going to start actually writing and posting my pictures in here again. I'll have my holga (120)film developed and then get some prints by the end of the week. I know, so much anticipation.
Tell me what you think of this Dostoevsky outtake:
GV, "Man is afraid of death because he loves life, that's how I understand it... andthat what nature tells us."
Krillov, " That is base, that is the whole deceit! Life is pain, life is fear, and man is unhappy. NOw all is pain and fear. Now man loves life because he loves pain and fear. That's how they've made it. Life now is given in exchange for pain and fear, and that's the whole deceit. Man now is not yet the right man. There will be a new man, happy and proud. He for whom it will make no difference whether he lives or does not live, he will be the new man. He who overcomes pain and fear will himself be God. And this god will not be.
GV, "So this God exists, in your opinion?"
Krillov, "He doesn't, yet he does..."
Ev
There's so much more but this last line is so amazing. In the infinity of the universe everything is and isn't at the same time... it's blowing my mind man. |
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